Master Olof : a Drama in Five Acts by Strindberg, August, 1849-1912

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.)

ACT IV

(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 Marten come yet?

Lars. Marten 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.)