Olof. I don't quite understand.
Courtier. Don't mind me, please. You see, I have been educated in Paris. Francis the First—O Saint-Sauveur!—that's a man who has extreme views. Do you know what he told me at a bal masqué during the last carnival? (Olof remains silent.) "Monsieur," he said, "la religion est morte, est morte," he said. Which didn't keep him from attending mass.
Olof. Is that so?
Courtier. Do you know what he replied when I asked him why he did so?—"Poetry! Poetry!" he said. Oh, he is divine!
Olof. What did you answer?
Courtier. "Your Majesty," I said—in French, of course—"fortunate the land that has a king who can look so far beyond the narrow horizon of his own time that he perceives what the spirit of the age demands, without trying to urge the masses to embrace that higher view of life for which they will not be ready for many centuries to come!" Wasn't that pretty clever?
Olof. Oh, yes, but I think it must have lost a great deal in being translated. Things of that kind should be spoken in French.
Courtier (preoccupied). You are quite right.—Tell me—your fortune ought to be assured—you are so far in advance of your time?
Olof. I fear I shall not get very far. My education was neglected, unfortunately—I studied in Germany, as you may know—and the Germans are not beyond religion yet.
Courtier. Indeed, indeed! Can you tell me why they are making such a hubbub about that Reformation down there in Germany? Luther is a man of enlightenment—I know it—I believe it—but why shouldn't he keep it to himself, or at least not waste any sparks of light on the brutish herd to which they can be nothing but so many pearls thrown to the swine. If you let your eye survey the time we are living in—if you make some effort to follow the great currents of thought—then you will easily perceive the cause of that disturbed equilibrium which is now making itself felt in all the great civilized countries; I am not talking of Sweden, of course, which is not a civilized country. Can you name the centre of gravity—that centre which cannot be disturbed without everything going to pieces—the instability of which tends to upset everything? The name of it is—the nobility. The nobility is the thinking principle. The feudal system is falling—and that means the world. Erudition is in decay. Civilization is dying. Yes, indeed—You don't believe that? But if you have any historical outlook at all, you can see that it is so. The nobility started the Crusades. The nobility has done this and that and everything. Why is Germany being torn to pieces? Because the peasantry has risen against the nobility, thus cutting off its own head. Why is France safe—la France? Because France is one with the nobility, and the nobility is one with France—because those two ideas are identical, inseparable. And why, I ask again, is Sweden at present shaken to its nethermost foundations? Because the nobility has been crushed. Christian the Second was a man of genius. He knew how to conquer a country. He didn't cut off a leg or an arm—nay, he cut off the head. Well, then! Sweden must be saved, and the King knows how. The nobility is to be restored, and the Church is to be crushed. What do you say to that?