Hans Nilsen Fennefos came of a family that had long since become
followers of Hauge, on the occasion of one of his visitations to
their neighbourhood. From his earliest childhood he had heard of the
beloved teacher; his mother used to sing the hymns he had written,
and Fennefos himself was named after him.
There was, therefore, much that might seem likely to make him a
disciple; but the boy had a headstrong and passionate disposition,
and up to his twentieth year his wild and thoughtless life was a
source of grief to his mother.
One night, however, it happened that he came home late from a dance,
and as he crept up to his bedroom, he heard his mother singing, as
she laid awake:
"Commit thou all thy goings,
Thy sorrows all confide,
To Him who rules the heavens,
The ever-faithful Guide.
For He who stills the tempest,
And calms the rolling sea,
Will lead thy footsteps safely,
And smooth a way for thee."
It was a hymn lately introduced into the neighbourhood, and one which
his mother, as he knew, prized greatly; but hitherto he had never
taken any special notice of it.
At the sound of his mother's voice, the recollections of the dance
and the fumes of drink vanished, and, as he listened, the words took
a marvellous hold of him.
He wandered all night in fear and sorrow round his father's house,
and it was not until the rising of the sun that he was enabled to
find any peace.
It was the first time that he had been absent a whole night. As he
entered the room, his mother rose up from her seat, and was about to
rebuke him; but when she saw his altered look and bearing, she only
said gently: "My son, the Lord has visited you this night."
From that time forward Hans Nilsen went no more to dances. After many
years of tribulation and inward struggles, he at last gained
confidence, and spoke with his friends and others of the one thing
needful. He appeared also at the meetings, and it was the general
opinion that so captivating a speaker had not been heard among them
for many a day.
But the elders, mindful of Hauge's injunctions, would not permit him
to go forth among the Brethren round about the country until he was
thoroughly grounded in doctrine, and until a change of life had
manifested itself in him.
He was more than twenty-five when he was first sent out; and after
five or six years of almost uninterrupted wanderings from place to
place, partly by invitation, and partly as he was led by the Spirit,
he had become a well-known and highly valued lay-preacher over all
the west country and northward, even beyond Trondhjem.
The times had long since gone by when a clergyman, accompanied by a
bailiff or a drunken lieutenant, could break up the meetings, revile
the lay-preacher, spit in his face, and cause him to be driven out of
the parish.
But if the lay-preachers were less exposed to outward violence than
in the old days of persecution, there were dangers of another sort,
which in many ways made their position difficult.
The clergy had not changed their minds; but as they could no longer
imprison or publicly revile "these enthusiasts, deceivers, and
hypocrites," they preferred to scheme against and vilify them in
private.
A new ordeal of patience and long-suffering was thus imposed upon the
Brethren, especially upon their leaders and preachers; for as their
numbers increased, it could not but happen that some disciples would
fall into open sin, or be discovered to be hypocrites and impostors.
On such occasions the clergy were on the alert; active and energetic,
both in public and in private, they gave currency to disparaging
stories about the Haugians, men who despised the house of God, and
worshipped Him in their own dismal meetings, where all sorts of
profanities were said to be carried on.
From the official class this spirit of suspicion, and often of
hatred, spread itself among educated people, to the injury of these
peaceable and thoroughly worthy folks.
From such sources the current literature also proceeded to picture
the ignorant lay-preachers, and to draw comparisons with the regular
deans and pastors, the men of light and peace. The writers of the
day, as a rule, knew but little about the lay-preachers, and relied
on these descriptions; the clergyman they were well acquainted with.
Most people knew him from holiday visits to the parsonage, which
stood out as bright spots in the memories of their younger days--the
journey thither in summer by moonlight through the woods, and in
winter over the crisp white snow, with accompaniment of tinkling
sledge-bells.
It was thus that they knew their pastor, genial, friendly, and
earnest. What a capital talker he was at the social board, and how
ready to join in harmless merriment! How pleasant, too, was the great
roomy parsonage, full of youthful mirth, tempered by the gentle
gravity of their reverend host!
He was the central point of attraction for all, not only for the
cares of wives and daughters, but in all the joys and sports of
youth. "Father's" presence was looked upon as necessary to complete
enjoyment.
His meerschaum pipe was kept filled for him, and when it went out,
the children rushed to light it again with paper spills. When the
wife, with a practised hand, enveloped him in his furs and wraps as
he drove off to his other church the day after Christmas, all
gathered round him, in an affectionate circle.
Nor could any one forget the quiet Saturday afternoons when all left
the house in order not to disturb the pastor, who was preparing his
sermon in the study, the smoke of his pipe stealing out of the
keyhole like a blue serpent. Nor could they forget the Sunday
mornings when his reverence took his dose of egg-flip before church,
in order to clear his voice.
But this genial pastor could be quite another man when he sat alone
among his peasants, discussing school or parish affairs; for language
such as one would hardly expect from a man of light and peace might
then be heard inside his study.
Sometimes it happened that, if on such occasions the young people
gathered in the hall to seek their coats and cloaks for some outing,
a frieze-clad peasant would come tumbling out of the study, and a
momentary glimpse of a red face and a violently agitated
dressing-gown would be obtained through the open door.
Then the wife or one of the daughters would say: "Poor father! that
is one of those horrid Haugians, who give him so much trouble in the
parish."
This feeling against the sectaries did not die out, even after the
movement had become respected and honoured by the university.
The new teachers and clergy who were indebted to Hauge and his
movement, not only for greater sincerity in doctrine and in its
application, but who had even adopted the humble exterior and meek
tones which prevailed from the time that Haugianism began to wane,
seemed suddenly to forget that the Christian life, on the feeble
remains of which they took their stand, was something that the
people, after a long struggle, had gradually acquired of themselves.
Like their imperious predecessors, they coolly began to assume that
they alone were the people's pastors and guides, and that any one who
would so much as touch a hair of their heads, who would deprive them
of one iota of their power and authority, destroyed--yes, destroyed
the people's respect for all that was sacred, and disturbed with a
presumptuous hand the ancient, beautiful, and patriarchal relations
between the flocks and their beloved pastors.
But when Fennefos first began his wanderings, he encountered clergy
of the old school who lay in wait for every word and deed, causing
all the injury and annoyance in their power, both to him and to his
friends.
The utmost circumspection became necessary, and the young preacher
had to bear up against much strife and opposition. His undaunted
spirit was, however, in proportion to his vast bodily strength.
Old people declared that he reminded them of Hauge in his earlier
days, before he had been enfeebled by persecution.
For this reason the letters from the elders at home, which preceded
Fennefos's visits to the Brethren at a distance, always urged that
the young man should be exhorted to submit to those in authority, in
order to avoid strife and offence.
He gradually learnt to control himself, and, in many instances, even
succeeded in preventing disputes between the clergy and their flocks.
This had always been Hauge's desire, and Fennefos, like all the rest
of the Brethren, conformed to it.
In this way, like many other lay-preachers, he so prepared the minds
of the people that a pastor could almost everywhere, and without any
exertions on his own part, find a little nucleus of Christian folk
prepared to attach themselves to any teachers who would not merely,
like the former clergy, give them stones for bread.
Sometimes, however, he found it difficult to control himself. In his
earlier days at home, at Fennefos, he had learnt from the older
people all the circumstance of Hauge's life. He knew the names not
only of all the bailiffs and magistrates, but especially of the
clergy, who had scoffed at, persecuted, and almost worried to death,
the beloved teacher.
And now, as he journeyed through the land, he encountered the same
names. Both bench and pulpit were filled not only in spirit, but in
the body, by the actual successors of the odious persecutors of the
past, past generation.
This often made his young blood boil again; and when, at the
meetings, plain and free speech prevailed, he observed the same glow
among his companions. Still they rebuked and restrained one another;
for the powers that be are ordained of God.
When he journeyed in West Norway, Fennefos always stayed awhile with
Madame Torvestad. The town was a central point in the widely ramified
religious movement, and gradually her house became more of a home to
him than his native place, Fennefos.
Here, too, he received letters and communications from the Brethren
round about the country, when anything went wrong with them, or when
they particularly wished him to preach to them.
He was in the habit of visiting or writing to them; and here the
elders sent to him, if they happened to have a trustworthy envoy.
It was not, however, the Brethren or Madame Torvestad that attached
him so much to the place; in fact, he was more at home among the
peasantry.
He had, indeed, great objections to Madame Torvestad.
Upon some points she was too lax; and she was full of German
mysticism, which he could not endure. Above all, she was too
imperious and ambitious, both among the disciples and in her own
house.
What really attracted him was Sarah; not that he was actually in love
with her, of this he was confident. But she was so penetrated by the
spirit of the movement, and so well versed in the Bible and in
religious books, that he knew of no one with whom it was more
delightful to converse.
Sarah stood very high in the estimation of the Brethren, and it was a
real pleasure to the older people to hear her at the meetings. It
was, however, but seldom that she spoke, and she had not much that
was original to say; but she knew so many hymns, texts, and passages
of good books by heart, and, above all, she was so familiar with the
Scriptures, that among all the Brethren her equal was hardly to be
found.
On the table, in Madam Torvestad's sitting-room, there was a fixed
desk, and upon it an open Bible; this was Sarah's place, and by her
side Madame Torvestad had this day placed a comfortable chair for
Skipper Worse.
Several women had arrived, who seated themselves round the room, laid
their hands on their laps, and sighed. Near the stove a couple of
young girls packed themselves by the side of Henrietta, on a bench
that was too short for them; and a small boy, with a sallow face,
whose parents dragged him from meeting to meeting, seated himself on
the extreme end of a bench by the door.
By-and-by the men began to arrive in succession. There were the
brothers Endre and Nicolai Egeland, who had the largest store in the
town; Sivert Jespersen, who in a few years had made a fortune out of
herrings; and four or five of the most eminent followers of Hauge,
either artisans or shopmen.
Madame Torvestad shook hands with them all, and found seats for them,
not a very easy task after a while, although the room was spacious
and the chairs abundant.
Hans Fennefos entered, saluted Sarah, and at the same time inquired
for whom the armchair was placed by her side.
"Skipper Worse is coming this evening," said Sarah, without looking
up.
Hans Nilsen was surprised, and a little disquieted, although he
hardly knew why. Madame Torvestad, who received him graciously, did
not take her usual seat, but moved about in a restless manner, until
at last Jacob Worse arrived.
As he opened the door, an involuntary desire to escape seized him. He
had come from his own airy room, bright with the twilight afterglow.
Here it was dark and stuffy. Two tallow candles in brass candlesticks
threw some light on the table and the reading-desk, but out in the
room nothing was visible, save a row of faces along the wall.
Escape, however, was out of the question; for Madame Torvestad, with
a friendly gesture, took him by the hand and led him in. Moreover,
every one knew him, and all the men came forward to shake his hand,
and to welcome him home again.
His presence at the meeting gave general satisfaction; for Jacob
Worse was an important man in the town, and hitherto he had rather
belonged to those who opposed and derided the Haugians.
They nodded and smiled at Madame Torvestad, who greatly enjoyed her
triumph.
Sivert Jespersen was especially pleased--he and Worse were
acquaintances of old, up at the northern fishery; and Sivert Gesvint,
as he was nick-named, was, when outside the meeting-house, a lively
and enterprising man. Whilst, on the one hand, his tongue was always
ready with texts and hymns, he was no less ready at a pinch to give
any one a helping hand, or to "carry on" recklessly if it was a
question of sailing out first to the fishing grounds.
Skipper Worse growled a little and rubbed his head, when Sivert
Gesvint pressed his hand and welcomed him with effusion. There was an
old affair between them about a consignment of salt, respecting which
Skipper Worse declared that Sivert had cheated him; indeed, he had
told him as much, to his face, many times, when they had met at the
fishing. Sivert Gesvint, however, used only to smile, and pat him on
the shoulder.
Madame Torvestad now led Worse to the armchair. He felt extremely ill
at ease, and inwardly cursed both Madame Torvestad and Lauritz, which
latter sat on a low stool behind two stout females, where he could
catch a glimpse of Henrietta.
Sarah bashfully welcomed Skipper Worse, who patted her on the head;
he had known her ever since she was a small child.
When they were all seated, and order was restored, Madame Torvestad
said: "Now little Erik Pontoppidan, what was the subject discussed at
the meeting?"
"Sanctification," said the pale boy near the door, in a prompt but
mechanical manner.
"What hymn did they sing, Henrietta," said her mother; "you remember
of course?"
Henrietta had indeed been at the meeting, but being quite absorbed by
the sad news that Lauritz could not lodge with them, she had derived
but scanty benefit from it. When she returned home and learnt that
after all he had received permission, she was so delighted that now
her mother's question came upon her like a bucket of cold water.
She turned very red, and felt as if her senses were leaving her.
Madame Torvestad looked severely at her for a while, and then turned
to Erik Pontoppidan, who gave the first line of the hymn, without
hesitation, the moment he caught her eye.
People nodded and smiled approvingly at the boy. His mother, a stout,
pale woman, and his father, Endre Egeland, were proud of him. Erik
Pontoppidan himself, however, took it very composedly.
Except Lauritz, no one looked at Henrietta, who felt very much
ashamed, and crept behind her two friends. Madame Torvestad now
struck up a hymn, in which all the company joined. To Jacob Worse's
ear, all these voices in the low room, the subdued tones of the
women, and the rough bass of the men, sounded weird and unpleasing.
They sang so very slowly that it seemed as if the hymn would never
finish, especially as Sivert Jespersen, in a manner peculiar to him,
threw in certain shakes and quavers at the end of each verse.
One of the elders had delivered an address at the meeting, and, as
she did not happen to be present, Madame Torvestad inquired whether
any one could tell her something of what he had said. She turned
towards Fennefos, as did several others; but he sat unmoved, with his
lips firmly closed, and looking as if he would not utter a word that
evening.
"According to my poor opinion," said Sivert Jespersen, "the old man
spoke well and simply; it was on the work of the Spirit, as little
Erik remembered so well. He took for his subject Luther's words on
the article, which says: 'I believe that of my own strength and
wisdom I can neither believe in Christ nor come to Him;' and he
showed clearly, at least in my opinion, both from Scripture and from
our daily experience, our miserable shortcomings in the spiritual as
well as in the temporal life, so long as we put our trust only 'in
the arm of flesh and in our own feeble judgment.'"
At this point Nicolai Egeland, who was not very highly gifted in a
spiritual sense, exclaimed: "Lord, I believe; help thou mine
unbelief!"
He knew, in fact, no more than five or six texts, and these he
brought in as they occurred to him, often quite inappropriately; but
the Brethren knew his sincerity, and were lenient with him. He was
not one of those servants to whom many talents had been entrusted.
One of the women sighed, and said: "Yes, that is true, indeed, Sivert
Jespersen; we should not trust to our own wisdom in spiritual
things."
Madame Torvestad now took up the conversation, as she sat turning
over the leaves of sundry small books, which lay on the table by her
side, just opposite to where Sarah was seated.
Some of these were tracts, and some, books of hymns; and as she met
with any passage that struck her, she wove it into her conversation
in such a manner that it seemed to be half her own utterance and half
a quotation.
"A Christian should always bear in mind," she began, "that much that
is high and mysterious can never in this life be comprehended by
feeble man. We should, therefore, never attempt to fathom it, but
should resign ourselves to the might and truth of God, who has
brought us into contact with it. Yes, directly our own wisdom begins
to dwell upon the possibility of that which is revealed to us, we may
be sure that temptation and Satan are at hand--the old wily serpent
who deceived Eve; and we should instantly invoke the protection of
the Almighty against death and hell itself. To this end may grace be
vouchsafed to all of us."
"Amen," said Nicolai Egeland.
"But," asked Sivert Jespersen, turning to the younger people, "how
should we receive this grace?"
"It is the work of the Holy Spirit," said a voice by the door.
"Very properly answered, little Erik. And what do you mean by the
Spirit's work?"
"Sanctification."
"And of how many parts does sanctification consist? can you give me
an answer to that also?"
"New birth, justification, and regeneration."
Everybody was pleased with the quickness of the boy, who sat without
moving a muscle of his face, his mouth open, and generally prepared
to give answers much as an instrument responds to its keys.
At this point Nicolai Egeland became ambitious, and thrust himself
into the conversation, quoting the longest text he knew--"By man sin
came into the world;" but Madame Torvestad interrupted him quietly:
"Very wonderful is the state of the regenerate man; he is the slave
neither of sin nor of worldly affections, not even indeed of innocent
things. When I say that he is not a slave, I do not assert that in a
moment of weakness he may not be overtaken by sin, but that he will
not continue in it. If surprised by the flesh or the devil, he may
fall into sin; but he will rise up and lay his troubles before God,
and seek forgiveness. So long as he is thus established again in
faith, and enjoys peace with God, he remains superior to sin, and
continues to walk in the Spirit."
Sarah watched Fennefos, for she was certain that he would not approve
of the book her mother was reading from. He made no signs, however;
and in the feeble glimmer she could see only the vigorous, clear cut
profile, somewhat turned upwards, as if gazing at the ceiling.
When it became manifest that he would not speak that evening, the
conversation dragged on without animation for about another quarter
of an hour.
All this time Sarah sat by the Bible, and, in the course of the
conversation, looked out a text here and there, sometimes on her own
account, and sometimes when one of the company sought to have his
memory refreshed. She readily found all that was required, and in
many cases was able to repeat the passage at once by heart.
Skipper Worse could not understand what they were talking about, and
he became very weary. The only thing that kept him awake was Sarah's
shapely fingers moving deftly among the pages of the sacred book.
But at last, as he was on the point of dropping asleep, Madame
Torvestad proposed that they should conclude with a hymn.
Sarah took a hymn-book, and held it up for the captain, and the
singing began.
As Worse was sitting half asleep, watching Sarah's fingers, she
suddenly turned her great dark eyes upon him, and said:
"Sing with us."
In a moment Skipper Worse was wide awake, and began to hum, as she
moved her fingers along the lines. He had never been very good at
such singing, and when he came to sacred words he felt ashamed to
pronounce them with his sinful lips.
But he was awake, and, more than this, he began to be at his ease.
Now and then he looked up at Sarah's well-turned shoulders, her white
neck, and the throat which swelled so gracefully as she sang.
They sat so close to each other, as she bent towards him with the
hymn-book, that Skipper Worse was conscious of something pleasant in
her company, the first homelike feeling he had experienced that day.
There was another person also who enjoyed himself thoroughly,
although he did not give a very close attention to the meeting, and
this was Lauritz Seehus in his corner.
He was so elated after his first disappointment, that he did not find
the meeting as wearisome as usual--he could see Henrietta.
Moreover, the sacred words and the singing made so great an
impression on one who had long been absent from such things that he
was much affected, and thanked the Almighty, who had sent him a brief
but bitter trial, that he might the better learn how all things
worked together for his good.
As soon as the hymn was finished, the daughters of the house brought
in tea and bread and butter. After a grace from Endre Egeland, they
all ate well, and drank much tea; and at nine o'clock the party broke
up.
When Worse returned to his own rooms, and saw Madame Torvestad's
guests crossing the market-place as they left her house, he hardly
knew whether to be amused or angry at having been compelled to spend
his first evening on shore among such people.
There among them he observed Endre Egeland, whose moral reputation
was none of the best, and Sivert Jespersen, who had overreached him
so confoundedly in the matter of the salt.
"If Randulf should hear of all this!"
Nevertheless, he could not help remembering how pleasant it had been
by the side of Sarah, and he felt how dull and lonely were his own
spacious rooms.