ect 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