In God's Way

"In God's Way" belongs to the second group of Björnson's

novels, of which the first group is represented by early

peasant tales like "Arne." In this later category the stories

are of a more or less didactic nature. Although "In God's Way"

lacks something of the freshness and beauty that distinguished

"Arne," it is, nevertheless a powerful and vivid picture of

Norwegian religious life; and it is, of all Björnson's books,

the one by which he is most widely known outside his native

country. In this story Björnson has been influenced by the

social dramas of his compatriot, Ibsen; but it may be

questioned whether he has not brought to his task a higher

inspiration and a stronger faith in humanity than the famous

dramatist possessed. Published in 1889, the main theme of "In

God's Way" was undoubtedly suggested by the religious

excitement which then prevailed in Norway.

_I.--A Strange Home-coming_

Pastor Tuft was walking up and down his study, composing his Sunday

sermon. He was a handsome man, with a long, fair face, and dreamy eyes;

his wife, Josephine, in the days when she thought she was in love with

him, used to call him Melanchthon--that was not many years ago, and he

still resembled in appearance the poet of the Reformation. But his

features had now lost their fine serenity, and he was glad when his

bitter and troubled thoughts on the doctrine of justification--a subject

he had chosen for its bearing on his brother-in-law's conduct--were

interrupted by his wife. Josephine burst into his study in a state of

fierce excitement.

"They will be here in a moment," she said. "The steamer has arrived. Oh,

that woman, that woman! She has ruined my brother's life!"

"If he wanted to settle again in Norway with her," said the pastor,

"couldn't he have chosen some spot where the story of their misconduct

was not known? But to come to the very town! Everybody will remember!"

"Yes," said Josephine; "it is only six years since Edward ran off to

America with Sören Kule's wife. Surely, he will not expect you, a

minister, to receive the woman, especially as Kule is still living."

While she was talking, Tuft stared out of the window. A tall man in

light clothes was coming to the house--a tall man, with a clear-cut,

sunburnt face, and a lean, curved nose that gave him the air of a bird

of prey. By his side was a lady with sweet, delicate features, dressed

in a tartan travelling costume. There was a knock at the door. Josephine

went down very slowly, and opened it. "Edward!"

There was a glow in her eyes as she welcomed her brother, and his eyes

also lighted up. He was about to cross the threshold, when he noticed

that she completely disregarded his companion. In the meantime, Tuft had

come to the door; he, too, made no advances. There was always something

of the keen, wild look of an eagle about Edward Kallem; it became still

more striking as he glared at his sister and brother-in-law.

"Are you waiting," he said, "for me to introduce my wife? Well, here she

is--Ragni Kallem."

So the pair had married in America! If Tuft and Josephine had not been

so eager to impute every sort of misconduct to runaways, they would have

foreseen this natural event. Tuft tried to find something to say, but

failed, and glanced at Josephine. But she did not look as if she were

willing to help him.

For the fact that Edward and Ragni were now married increased rather

than diminished Josephine's bitterness. Although she would not admit it

to herself, her religious objections were a mere pretence. She was

jealous, jealous with the strange jealousy of a sister who wanted to be

all in all to her brilliant brother, and hated that another woman should

be more to him than she was. All her life had been centred on him. She

had married Ole Tuft, a poor peasant's son, because he was the bosom

friend of Edward. Her marriage, she thought, would connect them still

more closely. She wanted to live by his side, watching him rise into

fame as the greatest doctor in Norway. For young Kallem's masters had

predicted that he would prove to be a man of genius.

Possessing considerable wealth, he had taken up the study of medicine,

not as a means of livelihood, but as a matter of love and duty. Then,

six years ago, he had run off with old Sören Kule's young wife, and

Josephine's dream had come to an end, leaving her life little more than

a dull, empty round of routine housework.

This was why she now gazed with hard, cold eyes at Ragni. Edward Kallem

saw her look of wild hatred, and, taking his weeping wife gently by the

arm, he turned away, and led her from the house into the road.

Josephine went upstairs, and gazed from the study window at the

retreating figures. Her husband followed her, with a curious look in his

eyes. Neither of them spoke. In their hearts was raging a storm of

passion wilder than the anger which possessed Kallem, and the sorrow

which bowed down Ragni.

Josephine left the room without looking-at her husband. He gazed after

her still with the same curious look in his eyes. Then, pulling himself

together, he went on writing his sermon. "What makes God so merciful to

sinners?" he wrote. "His infinite love? Yes, justification is certainly

an act of mercy, but it is also an act of judgment. The claims of the

law must be first fulfilled. A sinner must believe in order to be

saved."

The point in this was that Edward Kallem was a freethinker. There could

be no forgiveness for him. At the bottom of his heart, Tuft was glad

that there had been no reconciliation. Ever since he had married the

wealthy and beautiful sister of his bosom friend, he had been jealous of

Josephine's passionate attachment to her brother. Her brother had

remained her hero, and the peasant she had married and enriched was

little more than her servant.

While, with these bitter thoughts in his head, Tuft was composing his

sermon Josephine was writing a dastardly letter. It was to Sören Kule.

Edward and Ragni had returned, married. There was an empty house near

the one they had bought. Would Sören Kule come and live in it? So the

letter ran. The next day, Sunday, Josephine went to church in a very

Christianlike frame of mind. She felt she had done her duty, and avenged

herself in doing it.

_II.--The Poison of Tongues_

At first things did not go as Josephine expected. With the exception of

his sister and brother-in-law, everybody welcomed Edward Kallem and his

wife back to his native town. At the house of Pastor Meek, the oldest

and most influential of the clergy, Ragni was introduced to a middle-

aged lady, who startled her by saying:

"I am Sören Kule's sister. I want to tell you that, in your position, I

should have acted just as you did."

This, indeed, was the general verdict. No one who knew Sören Kule blamed

Ragni. An old rake, blind and half-paralysed as the immediate result of

ill-living, he had worried his first wife, Ragni's sister, into the

grave, and then taken advantage of the young girl's innocence to marry

her. The man was a mass of corruption, and his second marriage was one

of those strangely cruel crimes which go unpunished in the present state

of society. Kallem, who was then lodging in the same house as Kule, was

maddened by it. Being a doctor, he foresaw clearly the fate of the pure,

lovely, girlish victim of Kule's brutal passion, and in rescuing her

from it he had displayed, in the opinion of his friends, the chivalry of

soul of a modern knight-errant.

Pastor Meek was a liberal-minded and courageous old man; he showed his

sympathy with the Kallems, and his trust in them, in a practical manner.

"My grandson, Karl," he said to Kallem, "is at school here. I wish you

would let him come, now and then, to your house. He is only nineteen

years old, but he promises to be a first-rate composer. Your wife plays

the piano beautifully. They ought to get on well together."

Kallem was so pleased with this mark of approval that he went the next

morning to the young musician's lodgings, and invited him to come and

live with him. Karl Meek was a lanky, awkward hobbledehoy, with a

tousled head of hair and long red hands, which were always covered with

chilblains. Ragni asked him to play a simple duet, but he made so many

mistakes in playing that she got up from the piano. He was upset, and

ran away from the house. Kallem spent an afternoon looking for him, and

brought him back with his hair cut, his nails trimmed, and his clothes

brushed.

"Can't you see?" said Kallem to his wife. "The lad's shy and afraid of

you. Do, my dear, make him feel quite at home."

Ragni was a sweet and gentle woman, and though she did not like Karl

much at first, she took him in hand, and, little by little, obtained a

great influence over the wild creature. As his fine poetic nature

gradually revealed itself, she began to mother him. They were often seen

walking out together, and as soon as the snow was firm, they used to go

and meet Kallem, and drive home with him, each standing on one of the

runners of his sledge. One afternoon, after they had been skating

together on the frozen bay, they were returning, without Kallem, when a

carriage barred their way. At the sound of Ragni's voice, the man inside

said:

"There she goes! Who is it with her? Another man? Ah, I thought that's

what would happen!"

Ragni shuddered. It was Sören Kule. The paralysed old rake turned his

blind face upon her, as though he could see her, and had caught her

doing wrong. The carriage stopped by the next house to the Kallems.

Before Kule could get out, Ragni had run indoors. Shortly afterwards her

husband arrived. She saw that he, too, had met Kule, and he saw that she

had gone into the bedroom to hide herself. She buried her head in his

arms; it seemed to her that the air was now full of evil spirits.

And so it was. Edward Kallem did not know it, as he was now too busy to

go out anywhere. He was spending a great deal of his wealth in fitting

out a private hospital for the study and treatment of the diseases that

he specialised in. But Karl Meek soon became aware of malign influences

working around him, and around the two persons for whom he would

willingly, nay, happily, have laid down his life. He met an old friend

in the street, who said to him:

"How do you stand in regard to Mrs. Kallem?"

Karl did not take in his meaning, and began to praise Ragni

enthusiastically.

"Yes, I know all about that," his friend interrupted. "But, to make a

clean breast of it, are you her lover?"

"How dare you, how dare you!" cried Karl.

His friend quietly said that he only wanted to warn Karl; the report had

certainly got about.

"You've been a great deal together, you know," said his friend; "that

has given the scandal-mongers something to go on."

Both Edward and Ragni saw that something had happened to Karl when he

returned. He was in a black mood; he did not speak; his blue eyes were,

by turns, strangely savage and strangely sorrowful. He had to go home at

once, he said. He could not tell them now what the matter was, but he

would write to them, as soon as he could pluck up the courage to do so.

He packed his luggage, and Kallem went to see him off.

A few days afterwards, Ragni received a letter from Karl. He was going

to Berlin, he said, to take up the study of music seriously. And then,

for four pages, he talked about his prospects. But there was another

page, a loose one, on which was written in red ink: "Read this when you

are alone."

"I have decided, Ragni," Karl wrote, "that it would be wisest to tell

you why I left so suddenly. Someone has started a dreadful slander

against us. If I do not now tell you, you will hear it from the lips of

some enemy. Ah, God! that I should have brought this upon you! Love you?

Of course I love you. How could I help doing so, after all your kindness

to me? And as for Edward, I worship the ground he treads on. He is the

noblest man I have ever met. But do not show him this letter. Spare him

the evil news as long as possible. Now that I have gone away, it may all

blow over."

Kallem did not get home from the hospital that night until eight

o'clock. When he came home his wife was lying in bed with a headache.

She did not get up the next morning. She was in bed several days. When

at last she got up, her husband noticed that she had grown very thin;

her face had a tired, delicate expression; there were dark rings around

her sweet eyes, and she was troubled with a cough.

_III.--The Fell Work of Slander_

Ragni now did not stir outside her own door. She longed for fresh air,

but she would not go out into the town for fear of the cruel, curious

eyes of the scandal-mongers. Sören Kule haunted her. His house

overlooked her garden, and she got the strange fancy into her head that

he was always sitting at the window blindly listening for her. So she

never even went for a walk in the park-like grounds which Kallem had

purchased wholly for her pleasure.

The poison of scandal had done its work. Her husband, unfortunately,

never suspected that she was really ill; he had a deep longing for a

child of his marriage, and, misled by too eager a hope, he

misinterpreted the strange alteration in his wife's health.

But one evening, when she coughed, some blood came up. Kallem saw it,

and the hideous truth came upon him in a blinding flash. It was the

terrible disease which he had spent the greater part of his fortune in

fighting against. Tuberculosis! But how was it that it had come so

suddenly, and ravaged her dear, sweet, tender body so furiously? She was

in a galloping consumption, and the end was not far off ... a few

weeks ... a few days, perhaps.

"Darling," he said, coming to her bedside one day, "isn't there some

secret you would like to confide in me--some secret that has been

hurting and distressing you? Tell me, dearest, for I shall have no peace

until I know it."

"I will tell you," she said. "I have just been thinking about it. You

will find some papers in my writing-table--they are all for you. Read

them, dear, when----" she broke off abruptly--"by and by. You will

understand that it was for your sake I kept it secret."

He went downstairs, and in the writing-table he found Karl's letter.

Horror, indignation, and helplessness overcame him. Why had he not known

of this in time? He would have gone to every soul in the town, and told

them that they lied.

"Ay," he said, "I will tell them so yet. They have murdered

her--cowardly murdered her! Ah, God, I have spent my life and my fortune

in my endeavours to benefit them, and there's not one of them--not

one--honest enough to tell me to defend my wife's good name!"

What drove him almost to madness was that there was none he could go to

and take by the throat, exclaiming: "You have done this! You are

answerable to me for this!" Still, there was one who stood apart from

the others--Josephine. Josephine had not invented the slander; that was

not her way. But she would believe what was invented when it concerned

anyone she disliked. And how she disliked Ragni! Yes, it was Josephine

and her hypocrite of a husband who had laid his darling open to this

sort of attack. Very well! Everything else was gone--his joy of life,

his interest in science, and his love of mankind. But he still had

something to live for--vengeance!

As he was sitting one evening by the bedside of his wife the door

opened, and Karl Meek came into the room. "Is she dead?" said the boy.

Ragni heard the question. She looked up, and tried to smile. Her eyes

rested for a moment on Karl, and then remained on her husband. A moment

after she was dead.

Josephine was surprised to hear that Karl Meek was the only person whom

her brother allowed to follow the coffin of his dead wife. Did that mean

that Edward did not suspect him? Or, more likely, that he had forgiven

him? Ah, if one could be as good as that!

"God's way with sinners," said Tuft, "may seem cruel, but it is really

kind and merciful. The death of that woman will work for Edward's good:

Of course, he feels it keenly now, but he will get over it. It is a

blessing in disguise."

As soon as Tuft uttered these words he felt the sheer brutality of them.

By a strange irony of fate, his own child had fallen ill about the time

that Ragni took to her bed, and the minister and his wife were now

talking over the couch of their suffering little boy. Something was

wrong with his chest, and Josephine would have liked to call in her

clever brother in place of the ordinary family doctor, but she would not

humble herself to beg his help. Perhaps it was the shock of her

husband's words that aroused her, but that night the springs of her

nature were strangely opened. She came downstairs in her nightdress to

Tuft's bed, and awoke him. Her eyes were fixed in a blank stare.

"I can't sleep, Ole," she whispered. "I want to warn you. That woman--

Edward's wife--is trying to take away our boy. We have been too hard on

her--too hard. Now she will make us pay for it."

"You are not yourself, Josephine," said Tuft, rising up, and dressing

himself hastily. "I will fetch the doctor."

"No, no!" she cried. "Ask Edward to come."

Tuft did not dare do this himself, but he got his doctor to approach

Kallem, who made an appointment to examine the child early next morning.

Josephine shrieked when she saw him. Under the stress of mental

suffering, the flesh on his face had wasted to the bone; he was the

image of death. Without speaking to either of the parents he went to the

child, tapped its chest lightly here and there, and then said something

to the doctor and went out.

"He has gone to get his instruments," the doctor whispered. "The case is

extremely serious. An operation must be performed at once."

Josephine did not speak, neither did Tuft. They had been watching

Kallem's face as he bent over their boy, and in it they seemed to read

the sentence of death. They had called him in too late.

They were mistaken. Edward Kallem came hurrying back with a staff of

trained assistants. Tuft and Josephine were locked outside their child's

room. An hour afterwards the door was opened. The boy's life was saved.

This they learnt from their own doctor, but Kallem himself departed

without even speaking to them.

_IV.--The Reconciliation_

That night, over the body of the sleeping child, Ole Tuft at last dealt

sternly and truly with himself. Three times, in the course of the day,

had he gone to Kallem's house to thank him for saving his boy's life.

But Kallem had refused to see him. At the third refusal Tuft understood.

If ever he entered his brother-in-law's house he would enter it a

changed man. He was now vowing that he would begin this new life by

uniting Edward and Josephine. It was his jealousy, he admitted to

himself, which had been the root of all the mischief.

Edward had been his hero, too, in his younger days, and it was this

common worship of a nobler and more gifted nature which had brought him

and Josephine together. Why had he not let it remain the base of their

intercourse? Their marriage would then have been a happy one, and his

own life would have been filled with larger thoughts and more generous

feelings.

While Pastor Tuft was meditating, his wife was acting. She too, had been

refused admittance to her brother's house. So she was writing to him.

For whatever wrong they might have done, she said, they wished to make

amends. They had been intolerant, she allowed, and they were sorry for

it. But surely they were worthy to be accused? Would he not, then, tell

them plainly what they had done to make him so angry?

Some days afterwards, Josephine received a large envelope addressed to

her by her brother. But she was surprised, on opening it, to find that

it was full of papers in two strange handwritings. They were letters to

Kallem, from Ragni and Karl Meek. Josephine trembled as she looked at

them. She began by chance with Meek's letters. Ragni innocent? Good God!

was she innocent? Yes! Now she understood why Edward had driven away on

the day of the funeral with only Karl Meek by his side; but she could

not understand how he had survived it.

The servant knocked at her bedroom door, saying that supper was ready.

"No, no!" she managed to exclaim, as she writhed in shame and sorrow.

She must go at once to her brother if she had to go to him on her knees.

But no! Here were Ragni's letters. She felt as if her brother were

standing over her, and forcing her to read them. Some of them were early

love-letters. There had been no misconduct. Her chivalrous brother and

the sweet, gentle woman whom he had rescued from a horrible fate had

lived apart from one another in America until the day of their marriage.

Josephine slipped from the chair down upon her knees, weeping and

sobbing. "Forgive me! Forgive me!" she whispered, pressing Ragni's

letters in her hands.

Then she forced herself to silence, so that no one might discover her

crouching there in the shame of her crime. She had murdered her

brother's wife--not by words, but by her silence! Yes, she was a

murderess! Well, let Edward deal with her as he thought fit!

She ran wildly out of the house into the dark, rainy street, past her

husband's church, past the white wall of Sören Kule's dwelling. Her

brother was standing in the open door, surrounded by trunks and boxes.

Was he thinking of going away? Tears streamed down her face.

"Edward!"

She could get no further. He drew himself upright, his face white and

stern.

"You shall never enter here!" he said, with a break in his voice.

He bent down to do up a trunk. When he got up she was gone. With a

fierce look in his eyes, he continued his preparations. He meant to

catch the first train the next morning, and get at once far away from

his native town. What he would then do he did not know, except that he

would never return. When everything was ready, he locked the front door

and went to bed. But he could not sleep. Twice in the night the

door-bell rang, but he would not open the door. It rang a third time,

and kept on ringing; and at last he got out of bed. It was Ole Tuft. His

face was ghastly.

"Where is my wife, Edward Kallem? What have you done with my wife?" he

moaned.

"Ragni's grave," said Kallem. "She is there, I think."

And then he slammed the door to. Just as dawn was breaking, the bell

rang again. Kallem went into the hall, and saw that two pieces of paper

had been thrust through the letter-box. On one, Tuft had written: "She

is not there, Edward; she was not there. I found this note on my

writing-table among the letters you sent her. Oh, Edward, it was not

like you to send her away!" On the other piece of paper Josephine had

written: "Read these, Ole, and you will understand all. For my life's

sake, I am now going to my brother!"

"For my life's sake!" Kallem shivered as he read it, and all his old

love for his sister came back to him. Had he killed her? She had wronged

Ragni, true; but it was merely out of jealousy. Jealousy because he had

made Ragni all in all to him, and left her out of his life. He could

have brought his wife and sister together, but he had not tried to do

it. Ah, he, too, was guilty! All her life long Josephine had looked up

to him and worshipped him. Then he had come back from America, and cast

her off, for one who was not worthy of him, so it seemed to her. And in

his fierce pride he had refused to reveal to her the fine character of

his wife.

He rushed out of the door, resolved to find what had become of her. She

was sitting on the steps of the house. As she saw him, she crouched down

like a wounded bird, which cannot get away, yet must not be seen. He

took her up into his arms, and carried her indoors.

"Let me stay, Edward--let me stay!" she said.

He bent over her and kissed her.

"God's ways! God's ways!" said Ole Tuft, as he and Edward and Josephine

walked slowly towards his house through the empty streets in the early

morning.

"But I still cannot share your faith," Kallem said.

"It matters not," said the minister. "There where good people walk, are

God's ways."

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