Christine. Do I disturb you?
Olof. There are some very serious thoughts that occupy me. You know, I expect something decisive to happen today. The King has abdicated because the people would not do what he desired. To-day I shall either reach my goal or have to start the fight all over again.
Christine. May I not be happy to-day, Olof—on Midsummer Eve?
Olof. Why should you be so very happy to-day?
Christine. Why should I not—since I have been set free from slavery and have become your wife?
Olof. Can you forgive me that my happiness is a little more sober because it has cost me—a mother?
Christine. I know, and I feel it very deeply. But when your mother learns of our marriage, she will forgive you and put her curse on me. Whose burden will then be the heavier? However, it doesn't matter, because it's borne for your sake. And this much I know: that terrible struggles are awaiting you; that daring thoughts are growing in your mind; and that I can never share your struggle, never help you with advice, never defend you against those that vilify you—but still I must look on, and through it all I must go on living in my own little world, employing myself with petty things which you do not appreciate, but would miss if they were not attended to. Olof, I cannot weep with you, so you must help me to make you smile with me. Come down from those heights which I cannot attain. Leave your battles on the hilltops and return some time to our home. As I cannot ascend to you, you must descend to me for a moment. Forgive me, Olof, if I talk childishly! I know that you are a man sent by the Lord, and I have felt the blessing with which your words are fraught. But you are more than that—you are a man, and you are my husband—or at least ought to be. You won't fall from your exalted place if you put aside your solemn speech now and then and let the clouds pass from your forehead. You are not too great, are you, to look at a flower or listen to a bird? I put the flowers on your table, Olof, in order that they might rest your eyes—and you ordered the maid to take them out because they gave you a headache. I tried to cheer the lonely silence of your work by bringing the birds—whose song you call screaming. I asked you to come to dinner a while ago—you hadn't time. I wanted to talk to you—you hadn't time. You despise this little corner of reality—and yet that is what you have set aside for me. You don't want to lift me up to you—but try at least not to push me further down. I will take away everything that might disturb your thoughts. You shall have peace from me—and from my rubbish! (She throws the flowers out of the window, picks up the birdcage, and starts to leave.)
Olof. Christine, dear child, forgive me! You don't understand me!
Christine. Always the same: "You don't understand me!" Oh, I know now what it means. In that moment in the sacristy I matured so completely that I reached my second childhood at once!
Olof. I'll look at your birds and prattle with your flowers, dear heart.