Half a year after, in the Autumn, the confirmation being deferred till
then, the candidates were all assembled in the school-room for
examination, and among them Ovind Pladsen and Marit Heidegaard. Marit
had just come down from the pastor, who had given her a book and much
praise, and she laughed and talked with her friends on all sides. Marit
was now quite grown up, free and easy in her manners, and the boys as
well as the girls knew that Jon Hatlen, the first young man in the
district was paying attention to her. She might well be glad they
thought as she sat there.
Close by the door there stood a group of girls and boys who had failed
in their examination, and these were crying, while Marit and her
friends were laughing. Among them was a little boy in his father's
boots and with his mother's church handkerchief,--"Dear, oh dear!" he
sobbed, "I daren't go home again."
And those who had not yet been called up, were so affected by the power
of fellow feeling that it caused a general silence. Fear seized them in
the throat and eyes; they could not see clearly, neither could they
swallow, though feeling a constant desire to do so.
One sat and reckoned up how much he knew, and although a few hours
before he had found he knew everything required, he now saw with equal
certainty that he knew nothing; he could not even read. Another called
to mind all his wrong-doings from the earliest time he could remember,
till now when he sat there, and he though it wouldn't be strange of God
if He didn't let him pass. A third sat and took signs from everything
around him. If the clock, which was on the point of striking, should
not sound till he counted twenty, he would pass; if the footstep he
heard in the passage was that of the farm-boy Lars, he would pass; if
the great raindrop that ran down the window pane should get to the
bottom, he would pass. The last and final proof should be, if he could
get the one foot twisted right round the other, but this he always
found to be impossible. A fourth felt sure that if they would ask him
only about Joseph in the Bible history, and about baptism in the
Catechism, or about Saul, or the Commandments, or about Jesus, or----he
sat and was still proving himself, when he was called. A fifth had a
strong partiality for the Sermon on the Mount, he had dreamt about the
Sermon on the Mount, he was certain to be heard in the Sermon on the
Mount; he said it over to himself, and he thought to go out and read it
over again, when just then he was called up to be questioned on the
Prophets. The sixth thought about the pastor, who was such a good man
and knew his father so well, and of the schoolmaster, who had so
friendly a face, and of God, who was so really good, and had helped so
many before both Jacob and Joseph, and then he thought that his mother
and sisters at home would be praying for him, and that would certainly
help. The seventh sat and gave up in despair all the things he had
thought he would be when he grew up. Once he had thought of being a
general or a pastor, and once he had even dreamt of being king, but now
that time was gone by. Up to the present he had thought of going to
sea, and of becoming captain, perhaps a pirate, and thereby to attain
great riches; now gave up first the riches, then the pirate, then the
captain, and the mate, and he stopped at the common sailor, or, at the
most, the boatswain, if ever he got to sea at all, but probably he must
just take a place on his father's farm.
The eighth was more confident of himself, but yet not sure; the
cleverest even was not sure. He thought of the clothes he was to be
confirmed in, and what they could be used for if he did not pass; but
if he passed he should go to town and get cloth clothes, and come home
again at Christmas time and dance, to the envy of the youths and the
astonishment of the girls. The ninth reckoned differently;--he made up
a small account book between himself and God. On the one side he wrote,
"Debit; He shall let me pass," and on the other side, "Credit; so shall
I never lie any more, nor tell tales; always go to church, leave the
girls to themselves, and never swear any more." The tenth thought that
if Ole Hansen had passed last year, it would be more than injustice if
he, who had always got on better at school, and besides was of better
family, should not pass this year. By his side sat the eleventh, who
revolved in his mind the most fearful plans of revenge in case he
should fail, either to burn the school down, or else to leave the
village and come again as the thundering judge of the pastor and the
whole of the school commissioners, but proudly to let mercy go before
justice. To begin with, he would take a place with the pastor in the
neighbouring district, and there be number one next year, giving
answers so as to astonish the whole church.
The twelfth sat by himself under the clock, with both his hands in his
pockets, looking over the assembly with a dejected and sorrowful air.
No one here knew what was his responsibility. One at home knew it; he
was betrothed. A great daddy long-legs came crawling along the floor
near to his feet; he used to tread upon the odious insect, but to-day
he kindly lifted his foot to let it go in peace whithersoever it would.
His voice was mild as a Collect; his eyes said continually that all men
were good; his hands slowly moved out of his pocket and up to his hair,
to smooth it down. If only he could squeeze himself through this
dangerous needle eye, he would recover himself again at the other side,
smoke tobacco, and make his engagement public.
Down on a low stool, with his legs crouched up together under him, sat
the uneasy thirteenth; his small sparkling eyes looked round the whole
room three times in a second, and through his strong rough head rushed
all the thoughts of the twelve in broken disorder, from the brightest
hope to the most despairing doubt, from the humblest promises to the
most mighty plans of revenge; and, meanwhile, having bitten his poor
thumb so that he could bite no longer, he began with his nails, and
sent great pieces to all parts of the floor.
Ovind sat by the window, having been up and given correct answers to
everything he had been asked; but neither the pastor nor the
schoolmaster had commended him, though for a whole half-year he had
been thinking what they both would say when they got to know how hard
he had worked, and he felt very much disappointed as well as hurt.
There sat Marit, who, for far less labour and knowledge, had received
both encouragement and reward. It was just to be great in her eyes
he had studied, and now she had reached laughing, the point he had
toiled so hard to attain. Her laughter and joking touched him to the
quick,--the easiness with which she moved wounded him. He had carefully
avoided speaking to her since that evening; years should pass first he
thought, but the sight of her now, so bright and lively, pressed him
down, and all his proud resolutions hung as wet leaves.
He sought little by little to shake it off; much, however, depended on
his being Number One to-day, and to know this he waited anxiously. The
schoolmaster used to remain a little while with the pastor to consider
the order in which the children should stand, and then he would come
down and tell them the result; it was certainly not the final decision,
but it was what they agreed upon together.
The conversation in the room became more and more lively as one after
another was examined and passed; but now the ambitious began to
separate themselves from those who were merely light-hearted. The
latter either went at once to tell their parents and friends of their
success, or they waited for their companions who had not yet been
called up; the former, on the contrary, became more and more silent,
their eyes directed constantly towards the door.
At last the young people were all ready, the last had come down, and
the schoolmaster was consulting with the pastor. Ovind looked at Marit;
she was one of those who had remained, but whether for her own sake or
for others he knew not. How beautiful Marit had grown; exquisitely fine
was her complexion, he had never seen its equal; her nose was well
formed, her mouth smiling. Her eyes were dreamy when she was not
directly looking at any one, but therefore her glance came with
unexpected power when it did come; and she half smiled in the same, as
if to say that she meant nothing by it. Her hair was more dark than
light, it was wavy, and she wore long curls, which, together with the
dreamy eyes, gave a depth and charm that captivated. One could not be
certain who it was that she looked for, as she sat there among them
all, nor what she really thought when she turned to any one to speak,
for that which she gave she took as quickly back again. Under all this,
Jon Hatlen is certainly hidden, thought Ovind, but yet he continued to
look at her.
Then the schoolmaster came. They all with one accord rushed up to him.
"What number am I?" "And I?" "And I, I?"
"Silence! uproarious children,---no noise here; be quiet, and then I
will tell you."
He looked slowly round him. "You are Number 2," he said to a lad with
blue eyes looking beseechingly at him, and the lad danced out of the
circle. "You are Number 3,"--he touched a red-haired quick little boy
who stood and pulled at his coat; "You are Number 5;" "You Number 8,"
&c. He caught sight of Marit,--"You are Number One of the girls." She
blushed crimson over her face and neck, but tried to smile. "You,
Number 12, have been lazy, you idle worthless scamp;" "Number 11, you
couldn't expect to stand higher, my lad;" "You, Number 13, must read
diligently before the confirmation or else you won't succeed!"
Ovind could not bear it any longer. Number One had certainly not been
named, and yet he had stood the whole time so that the schoolmaster
could see him. "Schoolmaster?" He did not hear. "Schoolmaster!" Three
times he had to call before he was heard.
At last the schoolmaster looked at him--"Number 9 or 10, can't say
exactly which," said he, and turned quickly to another.
"Who is Number One then?" asked Hans, who was Ovind's best friend.
"Not you, you curly head!" and tapped him on the hand with a paper
roll.
"Who is it then?" asked many. "Who is it?" "Yes, who is it?"
"He will get to know it himself!" said the schoolmaster decidedly. He
would not have more questions.
"Now go nicely home children, thank God, and make your parents happy!
Thank your old schoolmaster too, if it had not been for him you would
not have been good for much!"
They thanked him and laughed, then went joyously home. One only was
left, who could not quickly find his books, and when he found them, sat
down as if to read again.
The schoolmaster went up to him, "Well Ovind, are you not going with
the others?"
He did not answer.
"Why are you opening your books again?"
"I want to see what it is that I've answered wrong."
"You have not answered anything wrong."
Ovind looked at him, and the tears gathered in his eyes, he turned his
head away while one after another rolled slowly down, but he did not
speak a word.
The schoolmaster went in front of him,--"Are you not pleased that you
have passed?"
His lips quivered, but he did not answer.
"Your father and mother will be very pleased," said the schoolmaster,
and looked at him.
Ovind struggled some time to get a word out; at last he asked in slow
broken sentences,--"Is it--because I--am a peasant lad--that I am
Number 9 or 10?"
"Surely it must be so," said the schoolmaster.
"Then it is no use for me to work," said he hopelessly, and all his
grand dreams vanished. Suddenly he lifted his head, raised his right
hand, struck it on the table with all his might, cast himself down on
his face, and burst into a violent fit of tears.
The schoolmaster left him to lay there and cry it out; he waited long,
till at last his grief became more childlike. Then he rose took Ovind's
head in both his hands, lifted it up, and looked into the tearful face.
"Do you think God has been with you?" said he, as he looked kindly at
him.
Ovind sobbed still, but not so violently, the tears ran more quietly,
but he dare not look at him who spoke, nor reply.
"This, Ovind, has been a deserved reward; you have not read from love
to religion, nor your parents, but you have read from vanity."
There was silence in the room between each time of the schoolmaster's
speaking, and Ovind felt his glance to be resting upon him, and grew
softened and humbled under it.
"With such angry feelings in your heart, you could not have stood forth
to have made a compact with your God, could you Ovind?"
"No," he stammered, as well as he could.
"And if you stood there conceitedly flattering yourself that you were
Number One, would it not be wrong?"
"Yes," he whispered, and his mouth quivered.
"You are still attached to me, Ovind?"
"Yes." He looked up for the first time.
"Then I must tell you it was I who had your number placed low down;
because I care for you so much, Ovind."
The old schoolmaster looked at him, blinked a few times, and the tears
ran quickly down.
"You have not anything against me for it?"
"No." He looked up brightly though his voice trembled.
"My dear child, I will watch over you as long as I live."
He waited for him till he had gathered his books together, and then
said he would go home with him. They went slowly along: at first Ovind
was silent, battling with himself, but by degrees he overcame. He was
convinced that that which had come to pass was the best that could have
happened, and, before he reached home, this belief was so strong, that
he thanked God, and told the schoolmaster so.
"Yes, now we shall hope to attain to something in life," said the
schoolmaster, "better than running after blind men and numbers. What do
you say to the Training School?"
"Yes, I should like to go there."
"You mean the Agricultural School?"
"Yes."
"That is certainly the best; it gives other prospects than those of a
schoolmaster."
"But how can I get there? I do so wish it, but I have no means."
"Be industrious and good, and the means will be found."
Ovind was quite overwhelmed with gratitude. He felt the kindling in the
eye, the lightheartedness, the endless fire of love, that comes when we
experience the unexpected kindness of our fellow-men. The whole future
presents itself for a moment, with that sort of feeling one has when
walking in fresh mountain air, of being borne along rather than of
walking.
When they came home, both the parents were in the sitting-room, quietly
waiting there, though it was the busy time of the day. The schoolmaster
entered first; Ovind after; both were smiling.
"Now?" said the father, laying aside a prayer-book, where he had just
been reading a catechumen's prayer.
The mother was standing by the fire-place; she smiled, but did not say
anything; her hands trembled, and she evidently expected good news
though she did not wish to betray herself.
"I thought I must just come to give you the good news, that he has
answered every question correctly, and that the pastor said, after
Ovind was gone, that he had not examined a more promising candidate.
"Oh no!" said the mother, and was much moved.
"Well done!" said the father, and turned restlessly round.
After a long silence, the mother asked in a low voice, "What number is
he?"
"Number 9 or 10," said the schoolmaster quietly.
The mother looked at the father, who looked first at her and then at
Ovind,--"A peasant lad cannot expect more," said he.
Ovind looked at him in return; it was as if something would stick in
his throat, but he forced it back by quickly thinking of one cheering
thing after another.
"Now I must leave," said the schoolmaster, nodded, and turned to go.
As usual both parents followed him out; then the schoolmaster taking a
quid, said smiling, "He will be Number One after all, but it is better
not to tell him till the day comes."
"No, no," said the father, and nodded. "No, no," said the mother, and
nodded too; then taking the schoolmaster's hand,--"Thank you for all
you have done," said she. "Yes, thank you," said the father, and the
schoolmaster went, but they stood long and looked after him.