First Scholar. Won't you ever come back, Master Olof? Olof (absent-mindedly). Have you? 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 passed away from me. Pardon me. I am awake now! [Exeunt toward the right. When 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, Mårten and Nils. On seeing them, Olof utters a startled cry and puts one hand to his forehead. Lars drags him out. ACT II A Room in the Foundation Wall of the Church of St. Nicolaus at Stockholm (generally known as Greatchurch), used as a beershop. 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 (Mårten 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 Småland, 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, is n't he? German. No, 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 massacre on Käppling 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 Lübeck 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 noble 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. Windrank. And the Germans never make any discov eries? German. 'Sdeath! Windrank. Now, now! You're no German, you said. Dane (to the German). Can you tell me who invented the story that the Swedes got their present king from the Germans? (General laughter.) German. It was we of Lübeck who gave Sweden a liberator when she was on the verge of ruin. er's Windrank. Here's to the King! Dane. Here's to Lübeck! German (flattered). Really I don't know how to German. Beg your pardon, but it was my Danish broth Dane. How can you be of Lübeck when you are a citizen of Stockholm? Windrank (to the Man from Småland). Why won't our silent brother drink at all? Man from Småland. I'll drink your corn-juice, but when it comes to the King's health, I do like this! (He crushes the tin cup and throws it on the floor.) Windrank (groping with one hand for his sheath knife). You won't drink the King's health? Man from Småland. I've been drinking the cup he offered me so long that I don't care to drink his health any longer. Windrank. 'Sblood! German (eagerly). Hush, hush! Let's hear what he's got to say. Dane (in the same way). Mercy, yes! Man from Småland. The Lord help me when I get home again! Windrank (sentimentally). What is it, my dear man? Why do you look so sad? Do you need money? Look here, now! (He pulls out his purse.) I've half my wages left. What's the matter with you? Man from Småland. Don't let us talk about it. More gin! Gin here! I've money, too. Do you see? Gold! (The liquor is served.) It is n't mine, but I'll spend it on drink to the last farthing, and you'll please help me. Windrank. And yet it is n't your money-how can you do that? German. Who's wronged you, my dear fellow? I can see that you have fared badly. Man from Småland. I am ruined! You see, I got two hundred oxen on trust, and when I came to Stockholm the King's agent took charge of the whole business, and he said I could n't sell them for more than he allowed. It's the King that fixes the price on oxen—it's the King that has ruined me. German. You don't say! Man from Småland. Oh, I know a lot more. He means to take the priests and the monks away from us in order to give everything to the gentlefolk. Dane. To the gentlefolk? Man from Småland. Exactly! I wish King Christian God bless him!-had cut off a few more heads. Windrank. Well, is the King like that? I thought he had those noble fellows by the ear. Man from Småland. He? No, he lets them be born with the right to cut oak on my ground, if I had any. For I did have a patch of land once, you see, but then came a lord who said that my great-grandmother had taken it all in loan from his great-grandfather, and so there was an end to that story. German. Why, is the King like that? I would never have believed it. Man from Småland. Indeed he is! Those high-born brats run around with their guns in our woods and pick off the deer out of sheer mischief, but if one of us peasants were dying from hunger and took a shot at one of the beastswell, then he wouldn't have to starve to death, for they'd hang him—but not to an oak-Lord, no! That would be a shame for such a royal tree. No, just to an ordinary pine. The pine, you see, has no crown, and that's why it isn't royal-and that's why the old song says: The peasants we hanged in lines From the tops of the tallest pines. It has nothing to say about crowns, mind you. German. But the pine carries its head high just the same, and its back is straight. Man from Småland. Drink, good Sirs! You're right welcome to 't. It's a blessed drink. If only I didn't have wife and children at home! Oh, my, my, my! But that's all one! Oh, I know a lot more, but I know how to keep it to myself, too. |