(Olof's Study. There are windows in the background, through which the
sun is shining into the room. Trees are visible outside. Christine is
standing at one of the windows, watering her flowers. While doing so
she is prattling to some birds in a cage. Olof is seated at a table,
writing. With an impatient mien he looks up and across the room to
Christine as if he wished her to keep quiet. This happens several times,
until at last Christine knocks down one of the flower pots, when Olof
taps the floor lightly with his foot.)
Christine. Oh, my poor little flower! Look, Olof, four buds were broken
off.
Olof. Yes, I see.
Christine. No, you don't. You must come over here.
Olof. My dear, I haven't time.
Christine. You haven't looked at the starlings which I bought for you
this morning. Don't you think they sing sweetly?
Olof. Rather.
Christine. Rather?
Olof. It's hard for me to work when they are screaming like that.
Christine. They are not screaming, Olof, but you seem to be more fond of
a night bird that does scream. Tell me, what is the meaning of the owl
that appears on your signet ring?
Olof. The owl is an ancient symbol of wisdom.
Christine. I think that's stupid! Wise people don't love the darkness.
Olof. The wise man hates the darkness and the night, but his keen eye
turns night into day.
Christine. Why are you always right, Olof? Can you tell me?
Olof. Because I know it pleases you, my dear, to let me be in the right.
Christine. Now, you are right again.--What is that you are writing?
Olof. I am translating.
Christine. Read a little of it to me.
Olof. I don't think you could understand it.
Christine. Why shouldn't I? Is it not in Swedish?
Olof. Yes, but it is too abstract for you.
Christine. Abstract? What does that mean?
Olof. You wouldn't understand if I told you, but if you don't understand
what I read to you, then you understand what is meant by "abstract."
Christine (picking up a piece of half-finished embroidery). Go on and
read while I work at this.
Olof. Listen carefully, then, and forgive me if you find it tedious.
Christine. I shall understand because I want to.
Olof (reading). "Matter when considered separate from form is something
wholly without predictability, indeterminable and indistinguishable.
For nothing can originate out of pure non-being, but only out of the
non-being of reality, which is synonymous with being as a possibility.
Being in its possibility is no more non-being than is reality. For that
reason every existence is a realized possibility. Thus matter is to
Aristotle a much more positive substratum than to Plato, who declares it
to be pure non-being. And thereby it becomes plain how Aristotle could
conceive of matter in its opposition to form as a positive negativity."
Christine (throwing aside her work). Stop! Why is it that I cannot
understand that? Have I not the same mental faculties as you? I am
ashamed, Olof, because you have such a poor creature of a wife that she
cannot understand what you say. No, I will stick to my embroidery,
I will clean and dust your study, I will at least learn to read your
wishes in your eyes. I may become your slave, but never, never shall I
be able to understand you. Oh, Olof, I am not worthy of you! Why did
you make me your wife? You must have over-valued me in a moment of
intoxication. Now you will regret it, and we shall both be unhappy.
Olof. Christine! Don't take it like that, dear! Come and sit here by me.
(He picks up the embroidery.) Will you believe me if I tell you that I
couldn't possibly do a thing like this? Never in my life could I do it.
Are you not then cleverer than I, and am I not the lesser of us two?
Christine. But why can't you do it?
Olof. For the same reason that you couldn't understand me a moment ago:
I haven't learned how. And perhaps you will feel happy once more if I
tell you that you can learn to understand this book--which, by the by,
is not identical with me--while on the other hand, I could never learn
to do your work.
Christine. Why couldn't you?
Olof. Because I am not built that way and don't want to do it.
Christine. But if you wanted to?
Olof. Well, there, my dear, you have my weak point. I could never want
to do it. Believe me, you are stronger than I, for you have power over
your own will, but I have not.
Christine. Do you think I could learn to understand that book of yours?
Olof. I am convinced of it. But you must not.
Christine. Am I still to be kept in ignorance?
Olof. No, no--understand me right! The moment you understood what I
understand, you would cease to think of me as--
Christine. A god--
Olof. Let it go at that! But believe me, you would lose what now puts
you above me--the power to control your own will--and then you would be
less than I, and I could not respect you. Do you see? It stakes us happy
to overvalue each other; let us keep that illusion.
Christine. Now I don't understand you at all, but I must trust you,
Olof. You are right!
Olof. Please leave me alone, Christine--I beg you!
Christine. Do I disturb you?
Olof. There are some very serious thoughts that occupy me. You know,
I expect something decisive to happen today. The King has abdicated
because the people would not do what he desired. To-day I shall either
reach my goal or have to start the fight all over again.
Christine. May I not be happy to-day, Olof--on Midsummer Eve?
Olof. Why should you be so very happy to-day?
Christine. Why should I not--since I have been set free from slavery and
have become your wife?
Olof. Can you forgive me that my happiness is a little more sober
because it has cost me--a mother?
Christine. I know, and I feel it very deeply. But when your mother
learns of our marriage, she will forgive you and put her curse on me.
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 pass 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 passes 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 glass 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 God 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 gratitude, 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 gratitude? 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 entitle you to
gratitude? 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
gratitude? Don't you see that by using that word "gratitude" 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 God'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.
Olof. For my sake you might have made your words a little milder. Why
didn't you call me at once?
Christine. I wished to see if I had the strength to take care of myself.
Olof, would you sacrifice me to your mother, if she demanded it?
Olof. I cannot answer such a question offhand.
Christine. I'll do it in your place. It pleases you to submit willingly
to your mother's will and wish because you are strong--and I, on the
other hand, feel hurt by doing so, for I am weak. I will never do it!
Olof. Not if I ask you?
Christine. That's more than you can ask. Or would you have me hate
her?--Tell me, Olof, what is meant by a "harlot"?
Olof. You ask such strange questions.
Christine. Will you please answer me?
Olof. Will you forgive me if I don't?
Christine. Always this unending silence! Do you not yet dare to tell me
all? Am I to be a child forever? Then you had better put me in a nursery
and talk baby-talk to me.
Olof. It means an unfortunate woman.
Christine. No, it means something more than that.
Olof. Has anybody dared to use that word to you?
Christine (after a pause). No.
Olof. Now you are not telling the truth, Christine.
Christine. I know I lie! Oh, since yesterday I have grown very wicked!
Olof. You are hiding something that happened yesterday!
Christine. I am--I thought that I could keep it to myself, but it has
grown too much for me.
Olof. Speak--I beg you!
Christine. But you mustn't call me silly! A crowd of people pursued me
all the way to our door and called after me that horrible word which I
don't understand. People do not laugh at an unfortunate woman--
Olof. Yes, dear, that's just what they do.
Christine. I didn't understand their words, but their actions were plain
enough to make me wicked!
Olof. And yet you were so kind to me! Forgive me if I have been hard to
you!--It is a name given by brute force to its own victims. Sooner
or later, you'll learn more about it, but never dare to defend an
"unfortunate woman"--for then they will throw mud at you! (A messenger
enters and hands him a letter.) At last! (After a glance at the letter.)
You read it to me, Christine! It is from your lips I want to hear the
glad tidings.
Christine (reading). "Young man, you have conquered! I, your enemy,
desire to be the first to tell you so, and I address myself to you
without any sense of humiliation because, in speaking for the new faith,
you have wielded no weapons but those of the spirit. Whether you be
right, I cannot tell, but I think you have deserved a piece of advice
from an older man: stop here, for your enemies are gone! Do not wage war
on creatures made of air, for that will lame your arm and you will die
of dry rot. Do not put your trust in princes--is another piece of advice
given you by a once powerful man who has now to step aside and leave to
the Lord to settle what is to become of his prostrated Church. Johannes
Brask." (Speaking.) You have conquered!
Olof (joyfully). I thank Thee, Lord, for this hour. (Pause.) No, it
scares me, Christine! This fortune is too great. I am too young to have
reached the goal already. To have no more to do--oh, what a frightful
thought! No further fighting--that would be death!
Christine. Oh, rest a moment, and be happy that it is over.
Olof. Can there be an end to anything? An end to such a beginning? No,
no!--Oh, that I could begin it all anew! It wasn't the victory I wanted,
but the fight!
Christine. Olof, do not tempt the Lord! I have a feeling that much
remains undone--very much, indeed!
[Enter Courtier.]
Courtier. Good-day to you, Secretary! And pleasant news! [Exit
Christine.]
Olof. Be welcome! Some of it I have heard already.
Courtier. Thanks for your splendid answering of that stupid Galle. You
went after him like a man. A little too fiercely, perhaps--not quite so
much fire, you know! And a little venom doesn't hurt.
Olof. You have news from the King?
Courtier. Yes, and you shall have a brief summary of the conditions
agreed on: First, mutual support for the resistance and punishment of
all rebellions.
Olof. Go on, if you please.
Courtier. Second, the King shall have the right to take possession of
the palaces and fortified places of the bishops, as well as to fix their
incomes--
Olof. Third--
Courtier. Now comes the best of all--the principal point of the whole
undertaking: Third, the nobility shall have the right to claim whatever
of its properties and inheritances have fallen to churches and cloisters
since the revision by King Carl Knutsson in 1454--
Olof. And fourth?
Courtier. Provided the heir can get twelve men under oath to attest his
right of inheritance at the assizes. (He folds the document from which
he has been reading.)
Olof. Have you finished?
Courtier. Yes. Isn't that pretty good?
Olof. Nothing more?
Courtier. Oh, there are a few minor points of no special importance.
Olof. Let me hear them.
Courtier (reading again). There is a fifth point about the right of
preachers to preach the word of God, but, of course, they have had that
all the time.
Olof. Nothing more?
Courtier. Yes, then comes the ordinance: a register is to be established
showing the amount of tithes collected by all bishops, chapters, and
canons, and the King shall have the right to prescribe--
Olof. Oh, that's neither here nor there!
Courtier.--how much of those may be retained, and how much shall
be surrendered to him for the use of the Crown; furthermore, all
Appointments to spiritual offices--and this ought to interest you--to
spiritual offices, minor as well as major, can hereafter be made only
with the sanction of the King, so that--
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 masses, 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 God! Woe be to you, false King, who have
sold your Lord and God! Alas for me, who have sold my life and my labors
to mammon! O God 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.)