dead. On the contrary, when she lay sick of a jaundice last year, I
hoped she might live; for as hell is already full of bad women,
Lucifer might send her back again, and then she'd be worse than
ever. But if the deacon should die, I should be glad, for my own
sake and for others' as well, for he does me nothing but evil and is
no use to the parish. He's an ignorant devil, for he can't sing a
note, much less mould a decent wax candle. Oh, but his predecessor,
Christoffer, was a different sort of fellow. He had such a voice in
his time that he sang down twelve deacons in the Credo. Once I
started to quarrel openly with the deacon, when Nille herself heard
him call me a cuckold. I said, "May the devil be your cuckold,
deacon!" But what good did it do? Master Eric came right down off
the wall to stop the quarrel, and my back got such a drubbing that I
had to ask the deacon's leave to thank him, that he, as a
well-educated man, should do such an honor to our house. Since that
time I haven't thought of making any opposition. Yes, yes, Moens
Christoffersen! You and the other peasants can very well talk,
because your wives haven't any Master Eric hanging behind the bed.
If I had one wish in the world, it would be either that my wife had
no arms, or that I had no back. She may use her mouth as much as she
pleases. But I must stop at Jacob Shoemaker's on the way--he'll
surely let me have a pennyworth of brandy on credit--for I must have
something to quench my thirst. Hey, Jacob Shoemaker! Are you up yet?
Open the door, Jacob!



SCENE 4