SCENE 2

(Enter Jeppe.)

Jeppe.  I’ve got to have time to get dressed, Nille!  I can’t go to town like a hog without my breeches or my jacket.

Nille.  Scurvy-neck!  Haven’t you had time to put on ten pairs of breeches since I waked you this morning?

Jeppe.  Have you put away Master Eric, Nille?

Nille.  Yes, I have, but I know mighty well where to find him again, if you don’t step lively.  Come here!—­See how he crawls.—­Come here!  You must go to town and buy me two pounds of soft soap, here’s the money for it.  But see here, if you’re not back on this very spot inside of four hours, Master Eric will dance the polka on your back.

Jeppe.  How can I walk four leagues in four hours, Nille?

Nille.  Who said anything about walking, you cuckold?  You run.  I’ve said my say once for all, now do as you like. [Exit Nille.]

SCENE 3

Jeppe.  Now the sow’s going in to eat her breakfast, while I, poor devil, must walk four leagues without bite or sup.  Could any man have such a damnable wife as I have?  I honestly think she’s own cousin to Lucifer.  Folks in the village say that Jeppe drinks, but they don’t say why Jeppe drinks:  I didn’t get as many blows in all the ten years I was in the militia as I get in one day from my malicious wife.  She beats me, the bailiff drives me to work as if I were an animal, and the deacon makes a cuckold of me.  Haven’t I good reason to drink?  Don’t I have to use the means nature gives us to drive away our troubles?  If I were a dolt, I shouldn’t take it to heart so, and I shouldn’t drink so much, either; but it’s a well-known fact that I am an intelligent man; so I feel such things more than others would, and that’s why I have to drink.  My neighbor Moens Christoffersen often says to me, speaking as my good friend, “May the devil gnaw your fat belly, Jeppe!  You must hit back, if you want your old woman to behave.”  But I can’t do anything to protect myself, for three reasons:  in the the first place, because I haven’t any courage; in the second, because of that damned Master Eric hanging behind the bed, which my back can’t think of without blubbering; and thirdly, because I am, if I do say it who shouldn’t, a meek soul and a good Christian, who never tries to revenge himself, even on the deacon who puts one horn on me after another.  I put my mite in the plate for him on the three holy-days, although he hasn’t the decency to give me so much as one mug of ale all the year round.  Nothing ever wounded me more deeply than the cutting speech he made me last year:  I was telling how once a savage bull, that had never been afraid of any man, took fright at the sight of me; and he answered, “Don’t you see how that happened, Jeppe?  The bull saw that you had bigger horns than he, so he didn’t