Olof. Will you please read me the point dealing with the faith--

Courtier. The faith--there is nothing about it. Oh, yes, let me see--from this day the Gospel is to be read in all schoolhouses.

Olof. Is that all?

Courtier. All? Oh, no, I remember! I have a special order from the King to you--and a most sensible one--that, as the people are stirred up over all these innovations, you must by no means disturb the old forms; must not abolish ma.s.ses, holy water, nor any other usage, nor furthermore indulge in any reckless acts, for hereafter the King will not close his eyes to your escapades as he has had to do in the past, when he lacked power to do otherwise.

Olof. I see! And the new faith which he has permitted me to preach so far?

Courtier. It is to ripen slowly.--It will come! It will come!

Olof. Is there anything more?

Courtier (rising). No. If you will only keep calm now, you may go very far. Oh, yes--I came near forgetting the best part of all. My dear Pastor, permit me to congratulate you! Here is your appointment.

Pastor of the city church, with an income of three thousand, at your age--indeed, you could now settle down in peace and enjoy life, even if you were never to get any further. It is splendid to have reached one's goal while still so young. I congratulate you! [Exit.]

Olof (flinging the appointment on the floor). So this is all that I have fought and suffered for! An appointment! A royal appointment! I have been serving Belial instead of G.o.d! Woe be to you, false King, who have sold your Lord and G.o.d! Alas for me, who have sold my life and my labors to mammon! O G.o.d in Heaven, forgive me! (He throws himself, weeping, on a bench.)

[Enter Christine and Gert. Christine comes forward, while Gert remains in the background.]

Christine (picks up the appointment and reads it; then she runs to Olof, her face beaming). Now, Olof, I can wish you joy with a happy heart!

(She starts to caress him, but he leaps to his feet and pushes her away.)

Olof. Leave me alone! You, too!

Gert (coming forward). Well, Olof, the faith--

Olof. The lack of faith, you mean!

Gert. The Pope is beaten, isn't he? Hadn't we better begin with the Emperor soon?

Olof. We began at the wrong end.

Gert. At last!

Olof. You were right, Gert! I am with you now! It's war, but it must be open and honest.

Gert. Until to-day you have been dreaming childish dreams.

Olof. I know it. Now the flood is coming! Let it come! Alas for them and for us!

Christine. Olof, for Heaven's sake, stop!

Olof. Leave me, child! Here you will be drowned, or you will drag me down.

Gert. What made you venture out in the storm, my child?

[Exit Christine.]

(The ringing of bells, the joyful shouting of crowds, and the sounding of drums and trumpets become audible.)

Olof (going to the window). What has set the people shouting?

Gert. The King is providing them with a maypole and music outside North Gate.

Olof. And are they not aware that he will chasten them with swords instead of rods?

Gert. Aware? If they were!

Olof. Poor children! They dance to his piping and follow his drums to their death! Must all die, then, in order that one may live?

Gert. No, one shall die that all may live!

(Olof makes a gesture dismay and repugnance.)

ACT IV

(A Room in the House of Olof's Mother. At the right stands a bedstead with four posts, in which the Mother is lying sick. Christine is asleep on a chair. Lars Pedersson is renewing the oil of the night-lamp and turning the hour gla.s.s.)

Lars (speaking to himself). Midnight--Now comes the critical time.

(He goes to the bed and listens. At that moment Christine moans in her sleep. He crosses the room and wakens her.) Christine! (She wakes with a start.) Go to bed, child; I will watch.

Christine. No, I will wait. I must speak to her before she dies--I think Olof should be here soon.

Lars. It is for his sake you are watching!

Christine. Yes, and you mustn't say that I have slept. Do you hear?

Lars. Poor girl!--You're not happy!

Christine. Who says one should be happy?

Lars. Does Olof know that you are here?

Christine. No, he would never permit it. He wants to keep me like the carved image of some saint standing on a shelf. The smaller and weaker he can make me, the greater is his pleasure in placing his strength at my feet--

Mother (waking). Lars! (Christine holds back Lars and steps forward.) Who is that?

Christine. The nurse.

Mother. Christine!

Christine. Do you want anything?

Mother. Nothing from you.