"Many a one
Owes to his country his religion,
And in another, would as strongly grow
Had but his mother or his nurse taught him so."
_The Complete Angler._
The church at Vandstrup lay on rising ground from the river. It was
white-washed, covered with red tiles, and surrounded by a white-washed
wall enclosing God's acre, in which so many slept the last long sleep.
There were a few poplars planted close to the church-yard wall, and a
few weather-beaten ash trees, with a single dwarfed weeping willow
over a grave. On Sunday, John Hardy watched with interest the
church-going people collecting by the church gate. The men in dark
Wadmel jackets with bright buttons, and the women with red ribands
bound on their caps and knitted sleeves. The women left their wooden
shoes in the dry ditch by the roadside, and put on leather shoes, and
waited for the Pastor's arrival. Accuracy of time was not expected,
and only when the Pastor appeared did the men throng into the church
on one side and the women on the other. The interior of the church was
simple to a degree. John Hardy with Karl and Axel sat on the men's
side, and Froken Helga and Kirstin on the other. The service was
similar to that of the English Protestant service, although relics of
what would be now called Romanism remained. There were candles on the
altar, and the Pastor chanted some portion of the service. John Hardy
longed for the sermon. The thorough honest feeling exhibited by the
Pastor's character in his home, with his evident refinement and
education, had excited his curiosity as to what the sermon would be.
The text of the sermon was from the fifth chapter of St. Matthew, part
of ver. 42: "Give to him that asketh thee!"
"When a man comes and asks anything of you, what should you give? The
best thing is sympathy and love; material gifts he may want, but these
kindliness will dictate, and kindliness is the real gold of life. If
no power exists to give what is necessary to assist your neighbour in
a material sense, yet to your ability give; and if you give at all,
give kindly. Those of you who want not material things, yet may want
kind sympathy when God smiteth with sorrow. Recollect, then, that that
is the time for kindliness to be proved that is golden."
This was the epitome of the sermon, and John Hardy could not hear a
sound in the church, so intently was it listened to.
"I could understand your sermon, Herr Pastor," said Hardy; "it was
preached in such simple Danish, and I liked it. But what interested me
was the earnestness with which you were listened to: every word was
heard by every one of your congregation, and I could see felt."
"It was not always so," said Pastor Lindal. "I have won the sympathy
and friendship of the children of my parish by years of work amongst
them. The character of the Jutland people is suspicious--there is a
strange mixture of shrewdness and stolidity; they are slow to
appreciate, but when once their sympathy is won, they are fast
friends. It is impossible for a sermon to have any effect without you
have won their friendship on other days than Sundays."
John Hardy said nothing, but he thought that the application was true
to other lands than Denmark, particularly England.
The Pastor had to perform another service at an Annex Kirke (a
subsidiary church), and left after a short meal to do so. Froken Helga
went to her room, and Karl and Axel implored Hardy to go fishing; but
he refused. "It is not right to do so," he said; "we have to keep the
Sunday, and fishing is not keeping the Sunday."
"But everybody does here, and more than, other days," said Karl.
"That may be," said Hardy; "but I cannot do what I do not think is
right."
Kirstin was present and heard this conversation, and it met her
evident approval. She told the boys that the Englishman must not be
teased on a Sunday, that he might wish to read his Bible, and that he
must not be disturbed. The boys left the room in bad humour.
"Kirstin," said Hardy, "my being here will, I dare say, give you more
trouble, and I wish to recognize it. I am an Englishman accustomed to
many servants, and may be careless of what trouble I give. You must
not judge me by what is the custom in Denmark. Here is forty kroner;
will you kindly give what you think fit to others in the house, and
keep the rest yourself?"
"No," said Kirstin, "I will have no money. Herr Pastor says you will
pay for your stay here by teaching, and it rests with him; also it is
too much."
Hardy had to pocket his money again with a dissatisfied look, but
Kirstin understood him; and his face, on which nature had written
"gentleman," and which she had closely observed since Hardy's arrival,
appealed to her.
"I have seen the gentleman," said Kirstin, "look at Froken Helga, and
I will tell the gentleman something that may serve him. Froken Helga
can never marry. Her duty is to her father and her brothers, and she
knows and feels that."
John Hardy was not in love with Froken Helga; but yet this simple
Jutland peasant had divined what might occur, and had forewarned him.
The explanation of Helga's conduct towards him was clear. He saw that
she daily visited the people in the parish, and told the Pastor what
was necessary to tell him, and that her usefulness in the parsonage
and in every corner of it was a want that she filled. Kirstin
understood all this, and saw that it could not be interrupted without
a breach of duty.
John Hardy went to his room, and did not come out of it until they
were all assembled that Sunday evening in the little dining-room.
The Pastor was tired, but very conversational; and when his great
porcelain pipe had been filled as usual by Helga with Kanaster, he
said, "I was struck by your evident interest in our service; but I was
pleased to hear that you refused to go fishing with Karl and Axel,
because the sabbath should be kept. Now, we have not that view,
although it is the best view; and I say frankly that if you had taken
the boys fishing, I should have not objected; but you said you felt it
was not right, and I honour the thought. There is with us in Denmark a
strong feeling against the Established Church, and a political
question arose some years ago which will well illustrate it. On the
7th of January, 1868, a bill was brought before our Lower House of
Parliament as to military service, and the question was raised whether
theological candidates should be eligible for military service. The
issue was raised in the Lower House of Representatives and fought
there. It then passed into the Higher House of Representatives, and
was fought there. The strife was long and intensely bitter, the
greater part of the population of Denmark becoming partisans for or
partisans against the clerical party. After the fight in the Higher
House, it was again referred to the Lower, and refought there, and so
again to the Higher House, with two interludes of appeals to the
country. The clerical party described the position of the clergy in a
florid style. They declaimed that poets and painters had represented
the life of a Danish priest as a beautiful idyl, each scene in
relative harmony with surrounding nature, whose heart is not touched
as wandering in the path-fields he hears the bells of the country
church ringing in the morning of the sabbath. How lovely is the little
white church, with its red roof and quaint gables, amidst its woods
and meadows! The little parsonage standing in its own garden, with a
little belt of trees close to the church, while around it flock the
little country houses, as a hen gathers her chickens. Nothing is more
exquisite than the perfect affection and peace that exists between the
country clergyman and his congregation. He is the teacher of the
young, the comforter of the old, in each house a welcome guest, and
the estimation in which his holy calling is held invests him with
respect. In spiritual need or worldly care every one of his
congregation hasten to their minister. He is the curer of souls,
adviser, father, friend. The homes of his flock are his own, and it is
his pride to confer happiness and promote contentment."
"That is a bright picture," said Hardy.
"Yes," said Pastor Lindal; "but the opposite party drew another, which
attracted many partisans. They said his reverence has a good time of
it. He has a house which is better than a Danish farmer's, and a farm
which is just as good. He has horses, cows, pigs, sheep, and poultry.
He has, moreover, tithes and dues of many kinds; and besides these, it
is necessary to stick a dollar in his fist whenever one must make use
of him. Whilst the Danish farmer has to sweat behind his plough, the
clergyman sits at his ease smoking his pipe in his study, and has
nothing more to do than to preach on a Sunday, and to hear the
children read once a week. Everything that is congenial to the taste
of the Danish farmer, the clergyman turns up his nose at. He abuses
the leaders of the people, and only reads conservative newspapers, and
on election days he votes against all his parish. The farmer maintains
and pays him, but his conviction is that he is better than any farmer.
What, therefore, can be more stiff-necked of him than to refuse to
serve his country with his own, reverend person? Off with his black
coat and clap on a red, and let the corporal teach him. He is a
learned fellow, but, doubtless, stupid at drill."
"That last," said Hardy, "is a reference to Holberg's play of 'Erasmus
Montanus.'"
"Yes," said Pastor Lindal; "and it amused the country. But they got
hold of another idea, and tore it to shreds: they said if the flock
goes to war, the shepherd should not be absent. The result, however,
was that theological candidates are liable to military service, and it
makes a difference of possibly twenty men yearly. It, however, proves
one thing, and that is, the Lower House had got hold of the clerical
gown, and were determined, with bull-dog tenacity, to rend it."
"A similar question in England," said Hardy, "would have produced the
same result."
"That I can well believe," said the Pastor; "but with you a
congregation can be sold to the highest bidder, and is. There is no
thought in England of adjusting the payment for church work to the
work done, and so long as this exists it is a dangerous feature."
"Without doubt," said Hardy.
Before going to bed, Hardy said to Froken Helga, "Good night," as he
had done on previous nights, without more than a bow; but to his
surprise she held out her hand, and said--
"Thank you, Herr Hardy; I have rarely seen my father so interested to
talk with any one, and it is kind of you to interest him."
"It is the contrary, Froken Helga; he interests me," said Hardy.