Whose burden will then be the heavier? However, it doesn't matter, because it's borne for your sake. And this much I know: that terrible struggles are awaiting you; that daring thoughts are growing in your mind; and that I can never share your struggle, never help you with advice, never defend you against those that vilify you--but still I must look on, and through it all I must go on living in my own little world, employing myself with petty things which you do not appreciate, but would miss if they were not attended to. Olof, I cannot weep with you, so you must help me to make you smile with me. Come down from those heights which I cannot attain. Leave your battles on the hilltops and return some time to our home. As I cannot ascend to you, you must descend to me for a moment. Forgive me, Olof, if I talk childishly! I know that you are a man sent by the Lord, and I have felt the blessing with which your words are fraught. But you are more than that--you are a man, and you are my husband--or at least ought to be. You won't fall from your exalted place if you put aside your solemn speech now and then and let the clouds pa.s.s from your forehead. You are not too great, are you, to look at a flower or listen to a bird? I put the flowers on your table, Olof, in order that they might rest your eyes--and you ordered the maid to take them out because they gave you a headache. I tried to cheer the lonely silence of your work by bringing the birds--whose song you call screaming. I asked you to come to dinner a while ago--you hadn't time. I wanted to talk to you--you hadn't time. You despise this little corner of reality--and yet that is what you have set aside for me. You don't want to lift me up to you--but try at least not to push me further down. I will take away everything that might disturb your thoughts. You shall have peace from me--and from my rubbish! (She throws the flowers out of the window, picks up the birdcage, and starts to leave.)

Olof. Christine, dear child, forgive me! You don't understand me!

Christine. Always the same: "You don't understand me!" Oh, I know now what it means. In that moment in the sacristy I matured so completely that I reached my second childhood at once!

Olof. I'll look at your birds and prattle with your flowers, dear heart.

Christine (putting aside the bird-cage). No, the time for prattle is gone by--from now on we shall be serious. You need not fear my boisterous happiness. It was only put on for your sake, and as it doesn't suit your sombre calling, I'll--(She bursts into tears.)

Olof (putting his arms around her and kissing her.) Christine!

Christine! You are right! Please pardon me!

Christine. You gave me an unlucky gift, Olof, when you gave me freedom, for I don't know what to do with it. I must have some one to obey!

Olof. And so you shall, but don't let us talk of it any more. Let us eat now--in fact, I feel quite hungry.

Christine (pleased). Do you really know how to be hungry? (At that moment she looks out of the window and makes a gesture of dismay.) Go on, Olof, and I'll be with you in a moment. I only want to get things in a little better order in here.

Olof (as he goes out). Don't let me wait so long for you as you have had to wait for me.

(Christine folds her hands as if praying and takes up a position indicating that she is waiting far somebody about to enter from the street. Pause.)

[Enter Olof's Mother. She pa.s.ses Christine without looking at her.]

Mother. Is Master Olof at home?

Christine (who has started to meet her in a friendly way, is taken aback for a moment; then she answers in the same tone). No, but if you care to be seated, he will be here soon.

Mother. Thank you! (She seats herself. Pause.) Bring me a gla.s.s of water. (Christine waits on her.) Now you can leave me.

Christine. It is my housewifely duty to bear you company.

Mother. I didn't know that the housekeeper of a priest could call herself a housewife.

Christine. I am the wife of Olof with the sanction of the Lord. Don't you know that we are married?

Mother. You are a harlot--that's what I know!

Christine. That word I do not understand.

Mother. You are the same kind of woman as she with whom Master Olof was talking that evening in the beer-shop.

Christine. The one that looked so unhappy? Yes, I don't feel very happy.

Mother. Of course not! Take yourself out of my sight! Your presence shames me!

Christine (on her knees). For the sake of your son, don't heap abuse on me!

Mother. With a mother's authority I command you to leave my son's house, the threshold of which you have defiled.

Christine. As a housewife I open my door to whom I may choose to receive. I should have closed it to you, had I been able to guess what language you would use.

Mother. Big words, indeed! I command you to leave!

Christine. With what right do you force yourself into this house in order to drive me out of my own home? You have borne a son, and raised him--that was your duty, your mission, and you may thank your G.o.d for being permitted to fill that mission so well, which is a good fortune not granted to everybody. Now you have reached the edge of the grave.

Why not resign yourself before the end comes? Or have you raised your son so poorly that he is still a child and needs your guidance? If you want grat.i.tude, come and look for it, but not in this way. Or do you think it is the destiny of a child to sacrifice its own life merely to show you grat.i.tude? His mission is calling: "Go!" And you cry to him: "Come to me, you ingrate!" Is he to go astray--is he to waste his powers, that belong to his country, to mankind--merely for the satisfaction of your private little selfishness? Or do you imagine that the fact of having borne and raised him does even ent.i.tle you to grat.i.tude? Did not your life's mission and destiny lie in that? Should you not thank the Lord for being given such a high mission? Or did you do it only that you might spend the rest of your life clamoring for grat.i.tude? Don't you see that by using that word "grat.i.tude" you tear down all that you have built up before? And what makes you presume that you have rights over me? Is marriage to mean a mortgaging of my free will to anybody whom nature has made the mother or father of my husband--who unfortunately could not exist without either? You are not _my_ mother. My troth was not pledged to you when I took Olof as my husband. And I have sufficient respect for my husband not to permit anybody to insult him, even if it be his own mother. That's why I have spoken as I have!

Mother. Alas, such are the fruits borne by the teachings of my son!

Christine. If you choose to revile your son, it had better be in his presence. (She goes to the door and calls.) Olof!

Mother. Such guile already!

Christine. Already? It's nothing new, I think, although I didn't know I had it until it was needed.

[Enter Olof.]

Olof. Mother! I am right glad to see you!

Mother. Thanks, my son--and good-bye!

Olof. Are you going? What does that mean? I wish to talk to you.

Mother. No need! She has said all there is to say. You will not have to show me the door.

Olof. In G.o.d's name, mother, what are you saying? Christine, what does this mean?

Mother (about to leave). Good-bye, Olof! This is more than I can ever forgive you!

Olof (trying to hold her back). Stay and explain, at least!

Mother. It was not worthy of you! To send her to tell me that you owe me nothing and need me no more! Oh, that was cruel! [Exit.]

Olof. What did you say, Christine?

Christine. I don't remember, because there were so many things which I had never dared to think, but which I must have dreamt while father kept me still enslaved.

Olof. I don't know you any more, Christine.

Christine. No, I begin to feel a little lost myself.

Olof. Were you unkind to mother?

Christine. I suppose I was. Does it seem to you that I have grown hard, Olof?

Olof. Did you show her the door?

Christine. Forgive me, Olof! I was not kind to her.