faith remains.

Lars. Look out, Olof! You wish to play the part of God.

Olof. Well, that is what we must do, for I don't think that He Himself
intends to conic down to us any more.

Lars. You are tearing down and tearing down, Olof, so that soon there
will be nothing left, and when people ask, "What do we get instead?"
you always answer, "Not this," "Not that," but never once do you answer,
"This."

Olof. Presumptuous man! Do you think faith can be given by one to
another? Do you think that Luther has given us anything new? No! He has
merely torn away the screens that had been placed around the light. The
new that I want is doubt of the old, not because it is old, but because
it is decaying. (Lars points toward their mother's body.) I know what
you mean. She was too old, and I thank God that she is dead. Now I am
free--only now! God has willed it!

Lars. Either you have lost your senses, or you are a wicked man!

Olof. Don't reproach me! I have as much respect for our mother's memory
as you have, but if she had not died now, I don't know how far my
sacrifices might have gone. Have you noticed in the springtime, brother,
how the fallen leaves of yesteryear cover the ground as if to smother
all the young; things that are coming out? What do these do? They push
aside the withered leaves, or pass right through them, because they must
get up!

Lars. You are right to a certain extent.--Olof, you broke the laws
of the Church during a time of lawlessness and unrest. What could be
forgiven then must be punished now. Don't force the King to appear worse
than he is. Don't let your scorn for the law and your wilfulness force
him to punish a man to whom he acknowledges himself indebted.

Olof. Nothing is more wilful than his own rule, and he must learn to
tolerate the same thing in others. Tell me you have taken service with
the King--are you going to work against me?

Lars. I am.

Olof. Then we are enemies, and that is what I need, for the old ones
have disappeared.

Lars. But the tie of blood, Olof--

Olof. I know it only in its source, which is the heart.

Lars. Yet you wept for our mother.

Olof. Weakness, or perhaps a touch of old devotion and gratitude, but
not because of the tie of blood. What is it, anyhow?

Lars. You are tired out, Olof.

Olof. Yes, I feel exhausted; I have been awake all night.

Lars. You were so late in coming.

Olof. I was out.

Lars. Your doings seem to shun the daylight.

Ol