Master Olof Part 7

Olof. The Chapter will demand my surrender and ban me.

Gustaf. Before they get to that point you may fall back on me, but until then--stand on your own feet as far as you can.

Olof. What is Your Highness' will?

Gustaf. Talk to those fanatics in Stockholm.

Olof. And then?

Gustaf. Oh, that's a long way off. I don't dare to think so far yet.--Let them preach. It can't hurt those sottish spirits to hear a new word, even if it be not all true. But there must be no violence; for then the sword will join in the game. Farewell, Olof! [Exit.]

Olof (alone). So the Emperor won't be friends with the Pope!

(The two scholars, who have been waiting among the trees in the background, come forward.)

First Scholar. Shall we go on with the play, Master Olof?

Olof. No, children, there will be no more playing.

First Scholar. Are you going to leave us, Master Olof?

Olof. Yes, and probably forever.

First Scholar. Can't you stay over Whitsuntide, so that we can perform our comedy?

Second Scholar. And so that I can play the Angel Gabriel?

First Scholar. Please do as we ask you, Master Olof! You are the only one who has been nice to us and spared us those terrible fasts.

Second Scholar. Oh, don't go away from us, Master Olof!

Olof. You don't know what you are asking, children. The day will come when you shall thank the Lord that I did go away from you.--Oh, no, I hope such a day will never come!--But let us make our leave-taking brief. Good-bye, Nils! Good-bye, Vilhelm!

(He embraces them, and they kiss his hand. In the meantime Lars Andersson has entered and is watching the group closely.)

First Scholar. Won't you ever come back, Master Olof?

Lars (coming forward). Are you ready to start now?

Olof (to the scholars). No, I shall never come back.

Scholars (as they go out). Good-bye, Master Olof, and don't forget us!

(Olof stands looking after them.)

Lars. I have seen the King.

Olof (absent-mindedly). Have you?

Lars. Do you know what he said?

Olof. No.

Lars. "I have got a harrier to raise the game; now it remains to be seen whether he will come back when I whistle for him!"

Olof. Look at them--playing there among the graves, and picking flowers, and singing the songs of Whitsuntide.

Lars (taking hold of Olof's arm). Child!

Olof (with a start). What did you say?

Lars. I thought you had laid your hand so firmly on the plough handle to-day that there could be no question of looking back. (Olof waves his hand to the scholars.) Are you still dreaming?

Olof. It was the last bright morning dream that pa.s.sed away from me.

Pardon me--I am awake now!

[Exeunt toward the right. Then they are nearly out, Olof turns for a last look at the scholars. These have disappeared in the meantime, and in their place appear the two Black Friars, Mrten and Nils. On seeing them, Olof utters a startled cry and puts one hand to his forehead. Lars drags him out.]

ACT II

SCENE 1

(A Room in the Foundation Wall of the Church of St. Nicolaus at Stockholm (generally known as Greatchurch), used as a beer-shop. A bar full of pots and mugs occupies the background. To the right of the bar stands a table, back of which appears an iron door. Two disguised friars (Mrten and Nils) are seated at this table drinking beer. The other tables are surrounded by German mercenaries, peasants, and sailors.

The door to the street is at the right. A fiddler is seated on top of a barrel. The soldiers are throwing dice. All are drunk and noisy. Hans Windrank, a man from Smland, a German tradesman, and a Dane are seated together at one of the tables.)

German (to the Dane). So you defend a bloodthirsty brute like Christian?

Dane. Oh, mercy, he's human, isn't he?

German. Not, he's a monster! A bloodthirsty brute! A treacherous, cowardly Dane!

Dane. Zounds! But you'd better not talk of blood. Do you remember the ma.s.sacre on Kappling Island, when the Germans--

Windrank. Listen to me, good Sirs! Let's be friends now, and have some fun, and I'll tell you about Americky.

German. Are you going to blame us of Lubeck for what the Germans did?

Dane. Oh, mercy, I was talking of the Germans only--

Windrank. Listen, good Sirs, what's the use of quarrelling? (To the Tavern-keeper.) Four noggins of gin! Now let's be calm and agreeable, and I'll tell you of Americky. (They are served.)

German (sipping). A n.o.ble drink! Think of it, good Sirs, how everything is advancing. To-day the grain is growing in the field--

Windrank. And to-morrow it's made into wine. I wonder who first found out how it's done?

German. Beg your pardon, but that's a German invention. I call it invention, because you discover Americky.