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_ ACT V - SCENE II
(Within Greatchurch. Olof and Gert, dressed as penitents, stand in the pillory near the entrance. The organ is playing and the bells are ringing. The service is just ended, and the people are leaving the church. The Sexton and his wife are standing by themselves in a corner near the footlights.)
SEXTON.
Lars the Chancellor, he was pardoned, but not Master Olof.
WIFE.
The Chancellor has always been a man of peace and has never stirred up any trouble, so I can't understand how he could want to have anything to do with such dreadful things.
SEXTON.
The Chancellor has always had a queer streak, although he has never said much, and though he was pardoned, it cost him everything he had. I can't help being sorry for Master Olof; I have always had a liking for him, even though he has been a fire-brand.
WIFE.
Well, what's the use of making a young fellow like that pastor?
SEXTON.
Of course, he's rather young, and that has been his main fault, but I'm sure time will cure it.
WIFE.
What nonsense you are talking, seeing that he's going to die to-day.
SEXTON.
Well, Lord, Lord, if I hadn't clean forgotten about it! But then it doesn't seem quite right to me, either.
WIFE.
Do you know if he has repented?
SEXTON.
I doubt very much, for I am sure his neck is just as stiff as ever.
WIFE.
But I suppose he'll thaw out a little now, when he sees his class of children whom they wouldn't let him prepare for confirmation.
SEXTON.
Well, I must say that the King can be pretty mean when he turns that side to. Now he is making the pastor do church penance the very same day his children are being confirmed. It's almost as bad as when he made the dean drink with the headsman, or when he sent those two prelates riding through the city with crowns of birch bark on their heads.
WIFE.
And his own brother Lars has been sent to shrive him.
SEXTON.
See, here come the children! How sad they're looking--well, I don't wonder. I think I'll have to go in and have a cry myself--
(Enter the children about to be confirmed, boys and girls. They begin to march past Olof, carrying bunches of flowers in their hands. They look sad and keep their eyes on the ground. A number of older people accompany the children. A few curious persons point out Olof and are rebuked by others. Last of all the children in the procession comes Vilhelm, one of the scholars with whom Olof was seen playing in the First Act. He stops timidly in front of him, kneels, and drops his bunch of flowers at the feet of Olof, who does not notice it because he has pulled down the hood of his penitential robe so that it hides his face. Some of the people mutter disapprovingly, while others show signs of pleasure. Marten comes forward to take away the flowers, but is pushed back by the crowd. Soldiers clear a path for Lars Pedersson, who appears in canonicals. The crowd disappears gradually, leaving Lars, Olof, and Gert alone on the stage. The playing of the organ ceases, but the bells continue to toll.)
LARS.
Olof, the King has refused to listen to the petition for pardon submitted by the City Corporation. Are you prepared to die?
OLOF.
I am not able to think so far.
LARS.
I have been ordered to prepare you.
OLOF.
That will have to be done in haste, for my blood is still running quickly through my veins.
LARS.
Have you repented?
OLOF.
No!
LARS.
Do you want to pass into eternity with an unforgiving mind?
OLOF.
Oh, put aside the formulas, if you want me to listen to you. I can't think that I am going to die now--there 's far too much of life and strength left in me.
LARS.
I must tell you that I don't think so either, and that it is for a new life in this world I am trying to prepare you.
OLOF.
Then I may live?
LARS.
If you will admit that you were mistaken in the past, and if you will take back what you have said about the King.
OLOF.
How could I? That would be to die indeed!
LARS.
This was what I had to tell you. Now you must decide for yourself.
OLOF.
One doesn't parley about one's convictions.
LARS.
Even a mistake may turn into conviction. I shall leave you to think the matter over.
[Exit.]
GERT.
Our harvest wasn't ready. It takes a lot of snow to make the fall crops ripen--nay, centuries must pass before you will even see the first shoots. All the conspirators are under arrest, they say, and te deums are sung on that account. But they are mistaken; conspirators are abroad everywhere--in the royal apartments, in the churches, and in the market-places--but they dare not do what we have dared. And yet they'll reach that point some time. Good-bye, Olof! You must live a little longer, for you are young. I shall die with the utmost pleasure. The name of every new martyr becomes the rallying-cry for a new host. Don't believe that a human soul was ever set on fire by a lie. Don't ever distrust those feelings that shake you to your inmost soul when you have seen some one suffer spiritual or physical oppression. If the whole world tell you that you are wrong, believe your own heart just the same--if you are brave enough to do so. The day when you deny your self--then you are dead, and eternal perdition will seem a mercy to one who, has been guilty of the sin against the Holy Ghost.
OLOF.
You speak of my release as though it were a certainty.
GERT.
The Corporation has offered 500 ducats for your ransom, and if it cost only 2000 to get Birgitta declared a saint, then 500 should suffice to get you declared guiltless. The King doesn't dare to take your life!
[Enter the Lord High Constable,
followed by the Headsman and soldiers.]
CONSTABLE.
Take away Gert the Printer.
GERT
(to Olof, as he is being led away).
Good-bye, Olof! Take care of my daughter, and don't ever forget the great Whitsunday!
CONSTABLE.
Master Olof, you are a young man who has been led astray. The King will pardon you for the sake of your youth, but as a safeguard he demands a retraction wherein you take back whatever you have ventured beyond and against his orders.
OLOF.
Then the King is still in need of me?
CONSTABLE.
There are many more who need you, but don't rely on his mercy until you have fulfilled his condition. Here is the King's warrant. In a moment your fetters may be shed, if so be your will, but it will be just as easy to tear up this sheet of paper.
OLOF.
One who contents himself with 500 ducats is not likely to care very much for a retraction--
CONSTABLE.
That is a lie! The headsman is waiting for you. But pray listen to a few words from an old man. I, too, have been young, and moved by strong passions. They belong to youth; but those passions are meant to be killed. I did as you do. I went around telling the truth, and all I got in return was ingratitude, or, at the best, a smile of derision. I, too, wanted to build a little heaven here on earth--(speaking with marked emphasis) of course, on other foundations than yours--but soon I came to my senses, and the chimeras were sent packing. I have no desire to make you out a man wishing to gain notoriety by getting himself talked about--I don't believe anything of the kind. You are moved by good intentions, but they are such as must cause harm. Your blood is hot, and it blinds you because you exercise no self-control. You preach freedom, and you are plunging thousands into the slavery of license. Retrace your steps, young man, and make atonement for your errors! Restore what you have torn down, and your fellow-men will bless you!
OLOF
(agitated to a point of desperation).
It is the truth you speak; I hear it, but who taught you to speak like that?
CONSTABLE.
Experience--that which you lack!
OLOF.
Can I have lived and fought for a lie? Must I now declare my whole youth and the best part of my manhood lost, useless, wasted? Oh, let me rather die together with my mistake!
CONSTABLE.
You should have broken loose from your dreams earlier. But calm yourself! Your life is still ahead of you. The past has been a school--hard, to be sure, but all the more wholesome. Hitherto you have given your life to whims and follies. Now you have some inkling of what reality demands of you. Outside that door your creditors are waiting with their claims. Here are their bills. The clergy of the young Church demand that you live to finish what you have begun so splendidly. The City Corporation demands its secretary for the Council. The congregation demands its shepherd. The children of the confirmation class demand their teacher. Those are your legal creditors. But there is one more waiting outside, to whom perhaps you owe more than all the rest, and who yet demands nothing at all--your young wife. You have torn her from her father's side and set her adrift in the storm. You have broken down her childhood faith and filled her mind with restlessness. Your reckless deeds have goaded the brutal mob into driving her out of her own home. Yet she does not even demand your love: all she asks of you is permission to spend a life of suffering by your side.--Now you can see that we, too, give a little consideration to other people, although you call us selfish.--Let me open this door, which will lead you back into the world. Discipline your heart before it hardens, and thank God for granting you more time to work for mankind.
OLOF
(breaking into tears).
I am lost!
(Constable gives a sign to the Headsman, who removes the fetters and the garb of penitence from Olof; then the Constable opens the door to the sacristy, and delegates from the lords, the clergy, and the city guilds enter.)
CONSTABLE.
Olof Pedersson, formerly pastor of the city church at Stockholm, do you hereby repent of your misdeeds and retract what you have said beyond and against the King's order? Do you declare your willingness to keep your oath to the sovereign of this realm, and to serve him faithfully?
(Olof remains silent. Lars Pedersson and Christine
approach him, while many of those present make
pleading gestures.)
OLOF
(in a cold and determined voice).
Yes!
CONSTABLE.
In the name of the King, I set you free!
(Olof and Christine embrace. A number of persons
come forward to press his hand and utter words of
congratulation.)
OLOF
(in the same cold voice).
Before I leave this room, let me be alone a moment with my God. I need it! Once upon a time I struck the first blow right here, and here--
LARS.
Right here you have won your greatest victory this very day!
(All leave the room except Olof, who falls on his knees.)
[Enter Vilhelm cautiously. He looks very much surprised at seeing Olof alone and free.]
VILHELM.
I come to bid you farewell, Master Olof, before you pass on to another life.
OLOF
(rising).
You have not deserted me, Vilhelm! Help me, then, to mourn those happy moments of my youth that are now nothing but a memory!
VILHELM.
Before you die I want to thank you for all that you have done for us. It was I who gave you those flowers, which you haven't noticed.--They have been trampled on, I see. I wanted to bring you a reminder of the days when we were playing under the lindens in the convent close at Straengnaes. I thought it might do you good to hear that we have never thanked God, as you said we would, because you didn't return to us. We have never forgotten you, for it was you who relieved us of those cruel penances, and it was you who flung open the heavy convent doors and gave us back our freedom and the blue sky and the happiness of living. Why you must die, we do not know, but _you_ could never do anything wrong. And if you die because you have rendered help to some of those that were oppressed, as they tell us, then you should not be sorry, although it hurts very, very much. Once you told us how Hus was burned because he had dared to tell the truth to those in power. You told us how he went to the stake and joyfully commended himself into the hands of God, and how he prophesied about the swan that should come singing new songs in praise of awakened freedom. That's the way I have thought that you would meet your death--with your head thrown back, and your eyes toward the sky, and the people crying: "So dies a witness!"
(Olof leans against the pillory, his face showing how the words of Vilhelm strike home to him.)
GERT
(his voice heard from a distant part of the church.)
Renegade!
(Olof sinks down overwhelmed at the foot of the pillory.)
[THE END]
August Strindberg's play: Master Olof: A Drama in Five Acts
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