Baron.  Eric, you’re a big man and therefore you have big ideas.  But what if we should wake him in the process?

Eric.  I’m sure we shalln’t do that, my lord! for this same Jeppe is one of the heaviest sleepers in the whole district.  Last year they tried setting off a rocket under his head, but when the rocket went off he never even stirred in his sleep.

Baron.  Then let us do it.  Drag him right off, put a fine shirt on him, and lay him in my best bed.

ACT II

SCENE I

(Jeppe is lying in the baron’s bed with a cloth-of-gold dressing-gown on a chair beside him.  He wakes up, ruts his eyes, looks about, and becomes frightened; he rubs them again, puts a hand to his head, and finds a gold-embroidered nightcap on it; he moistens his fingers and wipes out his eyes, then rubs them again, turns the nightcap around and looks at it, looks at the fine shirt he is wearing, at the dressing-gown and the other fine things in the room, making strange faces.  Meanwhile, soft music begins to play, and Jeppe clasps his hands and weeps.  When the music stops, he speaks.)

Jeppe.  What is all this?  What splendor!  How did I get here?  Am I dreaming, or am I awake?  I certainly am awake.  Where is my wife, where are my children, where is my house, and where is Jeppe?  Everything is changed, and I am, too—­Oh, what does it all mean?  What does it mean? (He calls softly in a frightened voice.) Nille!  Nille!  Nille!—­I think I’m in heaven—­Nille!—­and I don’t deserve to be a bit.  But is this myself?  I think it is, and then I think it isn’t.  When I feel my back, which is still sore from the last beating I got, when I hear myself speak, when I stick my tongue in my hollow tooth, I think it is myself.  But when I look at my nightcap, my shirt, and all the splendor before my eyes, when I hear the delicious music, then the devil split me if I can get it through my head that it is myself.  No, it is not me, I’m a thousand times a low dog if it is.  But am I not dreaming?  I don’t think I am.  I’ll try and pinch my arm; if it doesn’t hurt, I’m dreaming.  Yes, I feel it; I’m awake, sure enough; no one could argue that, because if I weren’t awake, I couldn’t...  But how can I be awake, now that I come to think it over?  There is no question that I am Jeppe of the Hill; I know that I’m a poor peasant, a bumpkin, a scoundrel, a cuckold, a hungry louse, a maggot, a lump of carrion; then how can I be an emperor and lord of a castle?  No, it’s nothing but a dream.  So I’d better be calm and wait till I wake up. [The music strikes up again and Jeppe bursts into tears.] Oh, can a man hear things like that in his sleep?  It’s impossible.  But if it’s a dream, I hope I may never wake, and if I am crazy, I hope I may never be sane again; I’d sue the doctor that cured me, and curse the man that waked me.  But I’m neither dreaming nor crazy, for I can