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—