WISE MAN. You are young, and do not know the human heart. In here I have lately been pondering the causes of mankind's misery. Would you like to see how the little object called the human heart looks? [Steps into hut and returns presently with a casket and a lantern, which he hangs on a tree.]
You see the little three-cornered muscle, which now has ceased to beat—Once it throbbed with rage, thumped with joy, cramped with sorrow, swelled with hope. You see that it is divided into two large chambers: In one lives the good, in the other the evil—or, with a word, there sits an angel on one side of the wall and a devil on the other. When they chance to be at odds with each other—which happens quite often—there is unrest in the person and he fancies the heart will burst—but it doesn't, for the walls are thick. Oh, yes, look at this one! Do you see thousands of little scars from needle thrusts? They did not go through, but the pricks remain nevertheless.
PEHR. Who has borne this heart, Wise Man?
WISE MAN. The unhappiest of humans.
PEHR. And who was that?
WISE MAN. It was a man. Do you see the marks of a heel; do you see the nail-prints? It was a woman that trampled on this heart for twenty-six years.
PEHR. And he did not tire?
WISE MAN. Yes, he grew weary one Christmas Eve and freed himself from her. As a punishment, he came under the ban of the Powers; he cannot die, although his heart has been taken from him.
PEHR. Can he never be released from the spell?
WISE MAN. When his son shall have found a faithful woman and brought her home a bride, then the spell will be broken. But that can never be because his son is gone forever.