must arm the people. For the doors to the popish armory have been
broken open at last, and hereafter every one calling himself a
man must fight for the freedom of his own spirit.

Olof. But where is the enemy? I am burning for battle, yet see no
one to fight against.

Lars. No need to summon them; they will come! Farewell! You may
begin whenever you are ready, and may God be with you!

Olof. Don't go. I have much more to talk with you about.

Lars. Here comes the vanguard now--to arms!

[Exit Lars.]

(A crowd of townsmen with their women and children pass across
the stage to the church door at the right. They stop in front of
it, bare their heads, and make the sign of the cross.)

Gert the Printer (disguised as a townsman). It's Whitsun Eve, and
nobody has rung the vesper bell--that's very strange.

A Townsman. The church door is closed. Maybe the priest is sick.

Gert. Or not yet out of bed.

Townsman. What do you mean?

Gert. Only that he might be sick abed.