(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 glass.)

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.

Christine. Dame Christine!

Mother. Don't make my last moments more bitter. Go away from here!

Lars (coming forward). What do you want, mother?

Mother. Take away that woman! And bring the father confessor—I shall soon die.

Lars. Is not your own son worthy of receiving your last confidences?

Mother. No, he has done nothing to deserve them. Has MÅrten come yet?

Lars. MÅrten is a bad man.

Mother. O Lord, how terrible Thy punishment! My children standing between myself and Thee! Am I then to be denied the consolations of religion in my last moments? You have taken my life—do you want to destroy my soul, too—the soul of your mother? (She falls into a faint.)

Lars. Do you hear that, Christine! What are we to do? Shall we let her die in the deception practised on her by a miserable wretch like MÅrten—and perhaps get her thanks for it—or shall we turn her final prayer into a curse? No, let them come, rather! Or what do you think, Christine?

Christine. I dare not think at all.

Lars (goes out for a moment, but returns quickly). Oh, it is horrible! They have fallen asleep over their dice and their tumblers. And by such as those my mother is to be prepared for her death!

Christine. But why not tell her the truth?

Lars. She won't believe it, and it is cast back on us as a lie.

Mother. My son, won't you listen to your mother's last request?

Lars (going out). May God forgive me!

Christine. Olof would never have done that!

(Lars returns with MÅrten and Nils, whereupon he leads Christine out of the room.)

MÅrten (going up to the bed). She's sleeping.

Nils (places a box on the floor, opens it, and begins to take out aspersorium, censer, chrismatory, palms, and candles). That means we can't go to work yet.

MÅrten. If we have waited all this time, we can afford to wait a little longer—provided that damned priest doesn't show up.

Nils. Master Olof, you mean?—Do you think that fellow out there noticed anything?

MÅrten. What do I care? As soon as the old woman gives up the coin, I am free.

Nils. You 're a pretty thorough-paced rascal, you are!

MÅrten. Yes, but I am getting tired of it. I am beginning to long for peace. Do you know what life is?

Nils. No.

MÅrten. Pleasure! "The flesh was God!" Isn't that the way it's written somewhere?

Nils. "The Word became flesh," you mean?

MÅrten. Oh, yes—of course!

Nils. You might have been it pretty big man, with your head!

MÅrten. Yes, indeed! That's what they feared, and that's why they whipped the soul out of my body in the convent—for after all I had a soul once! But now there's nothing but body left, and now the body is going to have its turn.

Nils. And I suppose they whipped all conscience out of you at the same time?

MÅrten. Well, practically.—But now I want that recipe for spiced Rochelle which you were talking of when we fell asleep out there.

Nils. Did I say Rochelle? I meant claret. That is, it can be either the one or the other. Well, you take a gallon of wine and half a pound of cardamom that has been well cleaned—

MÅrten. Hush—damn you! She is moving. Out with the book!

Nils (keeps on reading in an undertone during the following scene).

Mother. Is that you, MÅrten?

MÅrten. It's Brother Nils praying to the Holy Virgin. (Nils lights the censer without interrupting his reading.)

Mother. What a precious boon to hear the word of the Lord in the sacred tongue!

MÅrten. No sweeter sacrifice is known to God than the prayers of pious souls.

Mother. Like the incense, my heart is set on fire with holy devotion.

MÅrten (sprinkling her with holy water). The stains of sin are by your God washed off!

Mother. Amen!—MÅrten, I am passing away—The godlessness of the King makes it impossible for me by earthly gifts to strengthen the Holy Church in her power of saving souls. You are a pious man—take my property and pray for me and for my children. Pray that the Almighty may turn their hearts away from all lies, so that some time we may meet again in heaven.

MÅrten (taking the bag of money she hands him). Goodwife, your sacrifice is acceptable to the Lord, and for your sake my prayers will be heard by God.

Mother. I want to sleep awhile in order to be strong enough to receive the last sacrament.

MÅrten. No one shall disturb your final moments—not even those who were your children once.

Mother. It seems cruel, Father MÅrten, but it's the will of God. (She falls asleep; MÅrten and Nils withdraw from the bed.)

MÅrten (opening the bag and kissing the gold coins). What stores of pleasure lie hidden beneath the hardness of this gold—Ah!

Nils. Are we going now?

MÅrten. Oh, we might, as our errand here is done, but I think it would be a pity to let the old woman die unsaved.

Nils. Unsaved?

MÅrten. Yes!

Nils. Do you believe in that?

MÅrten. It's hard to know what one is to believe nowadays. One dies happily in this faith, and another in that. All assert that they have found the truth.

Nils. And if you were to die now, MÅrten?

MÅrten. That's out of the question!

Nils. But if?

MÅrten. Then I suppose I should go to heaven like the rest. But I should prefer to settle a small account with Master Olof first. You see, there is one pleasure that surpasses all the rest, and that's the pleasure of revenge.

Nils. What has he done to you?

MÅrten. He has dared to see through me; he has exposed me; he can read what I am thinking—Oh!

Nils. And that's why you hate him?

MÅrten. Isn't that enough? (Somebody is heard knocking on the door leading to the street.) Somebody is coming! Read, damn you!

(Nils begins to drone out the same verse as before. The sound of a key being inserted in the lock is heard. The door is opened from the outside.)

[Enter Olof, looking greatly agitated.]

Mother (waking up). Father MÅrten!

Olof (goes to the bed). Here is your son, mother! Why didn't you let me know that you were sick?

Mother. Farewell, Olof! I forgive you all the evil you have done to me, if you will not disturb the few moments I need to prepare myself for heaven. Father MÅrten! Bring here the sacred ointment, so that I may die in peace.

Olof. So that's why you didn't call me! (He catches sight of the money bag which MÅrten has forgotten to hide, and snatches it away from the monk.) Oh, souls are being bartered here! And this was to be the price! Leave this room and this death-bed! Here is my place, not yours!

MÅrten. You mean to prevent us from fulfilling our office?

Olof. I am showing you the door!

MÅrten. As long as we are not suspended, we are doing our duty here by the King's authority, and not by the Pope's.

Olof. I shall cleanse the Church of the lord without regard to the will of King or Pope.

Mother. Will you plunge my soul into perdition, Olof? Will you let me die with a curse?

Olof. Calm yourself, mother! You are not going to die in a lie. Seek your God in prayer, He is not so far away as you believe.

MÅrten. A man who won't save his own mother from the pangs of purgatory must be the Devil's prophet indeed.

Mother. Christ Jesu, help my soul!

Olof. Will you leave this room, or must I use force? Take away that rubbish! (He kicks the ritual accessories across the floor.)

MÅrten. I'll go if you'll let me have the money your mother has given to the Church.

Mother. So that's why you came, Olof? You wanted my gold! Let him have it, MÅrten. I'll let you have all of it, Olof, if you will only leave me in peace! I'll give you more than that! I'll let you have everything!

Olof (driven to despair). In God's name, take the money and go! I beg you!

MÅrten (grabbing the bag and going out with Nils). Where the Devil is abroad, there our power ends, Dame Christine! (To Olof.) As a heretic you are lost for all eternity! As a law-breaker you will get your punishment right here! Beware of the King! [Exeunt.]

Olof (kneeling beside his mother's bed). Mother, listen to me before you die! (The Mother has lost consciousness.) Mother, mother, if you are alive, speak to your son! Forgive me, but I could not act except as I have done. I know you have been suffering all your life for my sake. You have been praying to God that I should keep His paths. The Lord has heard your prayer. Do you want me now to render your whole life futile? Do you want me now, by obeying you, to destroy that structure which has cost you so much in toil and tears? Forgive me!

Mother. Olof, my soul is no longer of this world—it's out of another life I speak to you: turn back! Break that unclean bond which ties your body only. Take back the faith you got from me, and I will forgive you!

Olof (weeping bitterly). Mother! Mother!

Mother. Swear that you will do it!

Olof (after long silence). No!

Mother. The curse of God is upon you—I see Him—I see His angry look—Help me, Holy Virgin!

Olof. That is not the God of love!

Mother. It is the God of retribution!—It is you who have provoked His ire—and it is you who now cast me into the flames of His wrath!—Cursed be the hour when I bore you! (She dies.)

Olof. Mother! Mother! (He takes her hand.) She's dead! And she has not forgiven me!—Oh, if your soul be still within this room, behold your son: I will do your will, and what was sacred to you shall be sacred to me! (He lights the tall wax candles left behind by the friars and places them around the bed.) You shall have the consecrated candles that are to light your road. (He puts a palm leaf in her hand.) And with this palm of peace shall come forgetfulness of that last struggle with what was earthly. Oh, mother, if you see me now, then you must forgive me! (In the meantime the sun has risen, and the red glow of its first rays lights up the curtains; at the sight of it, Olof leaps to his feet.) You make my candles fade, O morning sun! You have more love than I! (He goes to the window and opens it.)

Lars (entering softly and looking around surprised). Olof!

Olof (putting his arms around him). Brother, all is over! Lars (goes to the bed and kneels for a moment; then he rises again). She is dead! (He prays silently.) You were here alone?

Olof. It was you who let in the monks.

Lars. And you who drove them out.

Olof. That should have been your task.

Lars. She forgave you?

Olof. She died with a curse on her lips. (Pause.)

Lars (pointing to the candles). Who arranged these ceremonies? (Pause.)

Olof (irritated and humiliated). I weakened for a moment.

Lars. So you are human, after all? I thank you for it!

Olof. Are you mocking my weakness?

Lars. I am praising it.

Olof. And I am cursing it!—God in heaven, am I not right?

Lars. No, you are wrong.

[Enter Christine while Lars is still speaking.]

Christine. You are too much in the right!

Olof. Christine, what are you doing here?

Christine. It was so silent and lonesome at home.

Olof. I asked you not to come here.

Christine. I thought I might be of some use, but I see now—Another time I shall stay at home.

Olof. You have been awake all night?

Christine. That is nothing! I will go now if you tell me to!

Olof. Go in there and rest a little while we talk. (Christine begins absentmindedly to extinguish the candles.)

Olof. What are you doing, dear?

Christine. Why, it is full daylight.

(Lars gives Olof a significant glance.)

Olof. My mother is dead, Christine.

Christine (as she goes to Olof to let him kiss her on the forehead, the look on her face is compassionate but cold). I am sorry for your loss. [Exit Christine.]

(Pause. The brothers look for a moment in the direction where she disappeared, then at each other.)

Lars. I beg you, Olof, as your friend and brother, don't go on as you have been doing.

Olof. The old story! But he who has put his axe to the tree cannot draw back until the tree is down. The King has betrayed our cause. Now I will see what I can do for it.

Lars. The King is wise.

Olof. He is a miser, a traitor, and a protector of the nobility. First he uses me to hunt his game, and then he wants to kick me out.

Lars. He sees farther than you do. If you were to go to three million people, telling them: "Your faith is false; believe my words instead"—do you think it possible that they would at once cast aside their most intimate and most keenly experienced conviction, which until then had been a support to them in sorrow as well as in joy? No, the life of the soul would be in a bad condition, indeed, if all the old things could be disposed of so quickly.

Olof. But it is not so. The whole people is full of doubt. Among the priests there is hardly one who knows what to believe—if he cares to believe anything at all. Everything is ready for the new, and it is only you who are to blame—you weaklings whose consciences will not permit you to sow doubt where nothing but a feeble faith remains.

Lars. Look out, Olof! You wish to play the part of God.

Olof. Well, that is what we must do, for I don't think that He Himself intends to conic down to us any more.

Lars. You are tearing down and tearing down, Olof, so that soon there will be nothing left, and when people ask, "What do we get instead?" you always answer, "Not this," "Not that," but never once do you answer, "This."

Olof. Presumptuous man! Do you think faith can be given by one to another? Do you think that Luther has given us anything new? No! He has merely torn away the screens that had been placed around the light. The new that I want is doubt of the old, not because it is old, but because it is decaying. (Lars points toward their mother's body.) I know what you mean. She was too old, and I thank God that she is dead. Now I am free—only now! God has willed it!

Lars. Either you have lost your senses, or you are a wicked man!

Olof. Don't reproach me! I have as much respect for our mother's memory as you have, but if she had not died now, I don't know how far my sacrifices might have gone. Have you noticed in the springtime, brother, how the fallen leaves of yesteryear cover the ground as if to smother all the young; things that are coming out? What do these do? They push aside the withered leaves, or pass right through them, because they must get up!

Lars. You are right to a certain extent.—Olof, you broke the laws of the Church during a time of lawlessness and unrest. What could be forgiven then must be punished now. Don't force the King to appear worse than he is. Don't let your scorn for the law and your wilfulness force him to punish a man to whom he acknowledges himself indebted.

Olof. Nothing is more wilful than his own rule, and he must learn to tolerate the same thing in others. Tell me you have taken service with the King—are you going to work against me?

Lars. I am.

Olof. Then we are enemies, and that is what I need, for the old ones have disappeared.

Lars. But the tie of blood, Olof—

Olof. I know it only in its source, which is the heart.

Lars. Yet you wept for our mother.

Olof. Weakness, or perhaps a touch of old devotion and gratitude, but not because of the tie of blood. What is it, anyhow?

Lars. You are tired out, Olof.

Olof. Yes, I feel exhausted; I have been awake all night.

Lars. You were so late in coming.

Olof. I was out.

Lars. Your doings seem to shun the daylight.

Olof. The daylight shuns my doings.

Lars. Beware of false apostles of freedom!

Olof (struggling with sleepiness and fatigue). That's a self-contradictory term. Oh, don't talk to me—I can't stand any more. I spoke so much at our meeting—But you don't know about our society—Concordia res parvae crescunt—We mean to continue the Reformation—Gert is a farsighted man—I seem so small beside him—Good-night, Lars! (He falls asleep on a chair.)

Lars (stands looking at him with solicitude). Poor brother—may God protect you! (Resounding blows on the street door are heard.) What's that? (He goes to the window.)

Gert (outside). For God's sake, open!

Lars. Why, it isn't a matter of life and death, Father Gert. [Exit.]

Gert (outside). In God's name, let me in!

[Enter Christine with a blanket.]

Christine. Olof, why are they knocking like that? He's asleep! (She wraps him up in the blanket.) Oh, that I were Sleep, so that you might flee to me when tired out by your struggles!

(The rattle of a heavy cart is heard; then the cart comes to a stop outside the house.).

Olof (waking up with a start). Is it five already?

Christine. No, it is only three.

Olof. Wasn't that a baker's cart I heard?

Christine. I don't know, but I don't think it would make such a noise. (She goes to the window.) Look, Olof! What can this he?

Olof (going to the window). The headsman's cart!—No, it isn't that.

Christine. It is a hearse!

[Enter Lars and Gert.]

Lars. The plague!

All. The plague!

Gert. The plague is here! Christine, my child, leave this house! The angel of death has put his mark upon the gate.

Olof. Who sent the cart?

Gert. The man who put the black cross on the door. No dead body must be left a moment in the house.

Olof. Then MÅrten was the angel of death—and all is nothing but a lie.

Gert. Look out of the window, and you'll see that the cart is loaded full. (Blows are heard at the street door again.) You hear! They're waiting!

Olof. Without proper burial? That shall never be!

Lars. Without ceremonies, Olof!

Gert. Come away with me, Christine, from this dreadful place! I'll take you out of the city to some healthier spot.

Christine. I will stay with Olof after this. If you, father, had loved me a little less, you would not have done so much harm.

Gert. Olof, you who have the power, command her to follow me

Olof. I set her free from your tyranny once, you selfish man, and she shall never return to it again.

Gert. Christine, get out of this house, at least!

Christine. Not a step until Olof orders me.

Olof. I will no longer order you at all, Christine—remember that!

[Enter several Buriers.]

Burier. I've come for a body. No time to spare!

Olof. Begone from here!

Burier. The King's order!

Lars. Consider what you do, Olof! The law demands it!

Gert. This is no time to hesitate! The crazy mob is aroused against you. This house was the first one to be marked, and they are crying: "God's punishment upon the heretic!"

Olof (kneeling beside the bed). Mother, forgive! (Rising.) Do your duty!

(The Buriers come forward and begin to get their ropes ready.)

Gert (aside to Olof). "God's punishment upon the King" is our cry!