Windrank. Didn't you hear what I told you?

Nils. Has your scurvy ending as a skipper affected you so badly that you think of turning monk?

Windrank. 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57.

Nils. You haven't lost your reason, have you?

Windrank. 58, 59, 60--In the name of Jesu, get away from here!

Nils. You had better have a little nightcap with me.

Windrank. 64, 65--That's what I expected! Get you gone, tempter! I'll never take a drink again--until the day after to-morrow.

Nils. But it's a fine remedy against the plague, and with all this cadaverous stuff about, you had better be careful.

Windrank. 70--So you really think it's good for the plague?

Nils. Excellent!

Windrank. Only a drop, then! (He drinks from the bottle offered him by Nils.)

Nils. Only a drop! But tell me, are you suffering from vertigo since you are counting to a hundred?

Windrank. Hush! Hush! There's an epoch coming.

Nils. An epoch?

Windrank. Yes, the day after to-morrow.

Nils. And that's why you keep counting like that?

Windrank. No, it's only because I find it so hard to hold my tongue.

Now, for heaven's sake, keep quiet! Please go away, or you'll get me into trouble!--71, 72, 73.

Nils. Who's inside?

Windrank. 74, 75.

Nils. Is it a funeral?

Windrank. 76, 77.--Go to h.e.l.l, won't you!

Nils. Just another tiny drop, and the counting will be easier.

Windrank. Just a little one--I will! (He drinks. Singing is heard outside.)

Nils. Here come the nuns of St. Clara to celebrate the memory of their saint for the last time.

Windrank. That's fine mummery in days like these when everybody is getting educated.

Nils. They have obtained the King's permission. You see, the plague broke out in the parish of St. Clara, and some believe it was because of the G.o.dless destruction of St. Clara's convent.

Windrank. And now they mean to drive away the plague with singing--as if that bugaboo were a hater of music. But, of course, it wouldn't be a wonder if he did flee from their hoa.r.s.e screeching.

Nils. Will you please tell me who has dared to invade this last sanctuary--for it's here the bones of the Saint are to be deposited before the place is torn down entirely.

Windrank. Then there'll be a fight, I fear.

[The singing has drawn nearer. A procession enters, made up of Dominican friars and Franciscan nuns, headed by Mrten. They come to a halt and continue singing, while the workmen are making a great deal of noise in the background.]

Procession. Cur super vermes luteos furorem Sunnis, O magni fabricator orbis!

Quid sumus quam fex, putris, umbra, pulvis Glebaque terrae!

Mrten (to the Abbess). You can see, my sister, how the abode of the Lord has been despoiled.

Abbess. The Lord who has delivered us into the hands of the Egyptians will also set its free in due time.

Mrten (to the workmen). Cease working, and do not disturb our pious task!

Overseer. Our orders are to work day and night until this den has been torn down.

Abbess. Alas, that unbelief has spread so far down among the people!

Mrten. We are celebrating this feast with the permission of the King.

Overseer. Well, I don't mind!

Mrten. And therefore I command you to cease your noise. I'll appeal directly to your workmen, whom you have forced into this shameless undertaking.--I'll ask them if they have any respect whatever left for holy--

Overseer. You had better not, for I am in command here. Furthermore, I can tell you that they are glad enough to have a chance of tearing down these hornets' nests for which they themselves have had to pay--and then, too, they are pretty thankful to earn something during a time of famine. (He goes toward the background.)

Mrten. Let us forget the wickedness and tumult of this world. Let us enter the sacred place and pray for them.

Abbess. Lord, Lord, the cities of Thy sanctuary are laid waste! Zion is laid waste, and Jerusalem is lying desolate!

Windrank. 100.--n.o.body can get in here!

The Conspirators (within the chapel). We swear!

Mrten. Who has dared to invade the chapel?

Windrank. It's no more a chapel since it has become a royal storehouse.

Abbess. That's why the G.o.dless one gave us his permission!

[The door of the chapel is thrown open and the conspirators appear; among them Olof, Lars Andersson, Gert, the German, the Dane, the Man from Smaland, and others.]

Olof (much excited). What kind of buffoonery is this?