IS MUSIC LAWFUL?
On awaking she was still in the skies. The thoughts that day poured in
upon her would follow, but were caught and carried away by something
which filled the whole air,--it was the Sabbath bells. She sprang up
and dressed herself, got something to eat in the breakfast room,
wrapped herself warmly up, and hastened away;--never before had she
been so thirsty for the Word of God!
When she arrived, they had just begun, and the door was shut. The dean
was standing in front of the altar, she waited by the door till he had
concluded, and the assistant had removed his gown; she then went up to
the so-called bishop's pew, that stood in the choir, hung with
curtains. The special pew for the minister's family was higher up; but
if there was any one who felt a desire for seclusion, they retired to
the bishop's pew. As Petra reached it, and glided in, she saw Signe
seated at the farthest corner. She retreated a step out, but just then
the dean turned to go from the altar to the vestry; she hastened back
into the pew, and sat as near the door as possible; Signe had put down
her veil. This grieved Petra. She looked over the congregation, crowded
together in the high wooden pews, the men on the right hand, the women
on the left; their breath lay above them like mist in the air; the ice
was inches thick upon the windows, the rudely carved wooden images, the
heavy drawling singing, the people muffled up,--it was all in unison,
harsh and distant,--she thought of the impression nature made upon her
that afternoon she left Bergen; here she was also only a timid
wayfarer.
The dean ascended the pulpit, he too looked severe. His prayer was:
"Lead us not into temptation." We knew that the talents God had given
us, contained in themselves the elements of temptation; but He would be
merciful and not suffer us to be tempted above that we were able to
bear, for this we should always remember to pray;--for only by laying
our talents at His feet, could they be of any real service to us. The
minister enlarged upon the theme, setting forth our double duty--on the
one hand to work out our life's calling according to our talents and
position, and on the other to develope the spiritual life in ourselves,
and in those committed to our care. One must be careful in the choice
of a vocation, for there may be a vocation sinful in itself, and there
may be one that would become so for us,--either because it did not suit
us, or because it suited our lusts and passions. Again: as surely as
everyone should choose a vocation according to his talents, so truly
may a choice both right and good in itself, become a snare to us, if we
allow it to take up all our time and thoughts. Our spiritual life must
not be neglected any more than our duty as parents to our children. We
must be collected in ourselves, that the Holy Spirit may have its
constant work in us; we must plant and guard the good seeds of
Christian life in our children. There is no duty, no pretext, that can
liberate us from this, though the opportunities may vary. And now he
went further--into THEIR calling that sat there, their houses, their
conduct, their opinions. Then he drew examples from other conditions
and nobler occupations, that cast their side rays down upon us.
From the moment the dean waxed warm in the pulpit, he was an entirely
new man to those who knew him only in daily life. Even in appearance,
he was changed; his reserved and powerful face had opened, revealing
the play of thought within; his glance was full, and he looked
earnestly as he set forth the glad tidings of salvation. The shaggy
head stretched itself up like a lion. His voice rolled in thunder, or
struck in short earnest variations, sometimes falling to a gentle tone,
but only again to take new heights. Indeed he could never speak except
in a great room, and with eternity over his thoughts; for his voice had
no harmony till it rose, his countenance no clearness, his thoughts no
striking perspicuity, till they burned with enthusiasm. Not that the
material was first found then, no, if affliction had enriched his soul,
reflection had done so too; he was a diligent worker. But he was not
adapted to general conversation, he must have it to himself, at all
events he must be able to inflect his voice. To open a discussion with
him, was almost like attacking a defenceless man, but dangerous
nevertheless; for his convictions were quickly expressed and with such
force that reasons were left in the back ground; if at last he was
pressed to give them, one of two things happened, either he completely
overset the opposing party, or he became suddenly silent, because he
was afraid of himself. No one could more easily be brought to silence
than this powerful, eloquent man.
Petra had trembled as soon as the dean began his prayer; she felt
whereto it tended. The further he got in his sermon, the more she felt
he was true to himself; she crept together, and she saw Signe do the
same. But he proceeded unrelentingly; the lion was out after his prey,
she felt herself pursued from all quarters, shut in, and captured;--but
that which was seized so vigourously was gently held in the hand of
mercy. It was as if without a word of condemnation, she was simply
folded in the embrace of Divine love. And there she prayed and wept;
Signe did the same,--and she loved her for it!
As the dean descended from the pulpit, to go past into the vestry, the
reflection of his communion with the Most High still overspread his
countenance. His gaze fell directly and inquiringly upon Petra; and as
she looked right up to meet it, a ray of mildness shone forth: he
glanced quickly into the corner at his daughter as he passed on.
Signe rose soon after; her veil was down, so Petra did not venture to
go with her; she therefore waited longer. But at dinner they all three
met together; the dean spoke a little, but Signe was reserved. If the
dean--who was evidently about to bring the recent events into
conversation,--gave the slightest allusion to it, Signe turned his
remarks in a shy delicate way, reminding him at once of her mother;--he
became silent, and by degrees sorrowful.
There is nothing more painful than an unsuccessful attempt at
reconciliation. They rose without being able to look at each other, to
return thanks for the meal. In the dining room it became at last so
oppressive, that all three would willingly have left the room, but no
one wished to go first. Petra for her part, felt that if she went, it
would be for ever. She could not see Signe again, if she might not love
her, she could not bear to see the dean sorrowful for her sake. But if
she was to go away, she must go without taking leave; for how could she
take leave of these people? The mere thought of it agitated her so,
that she could with the greatest difficulty suppress it.
An oppressive silence like this, when each is waiting for the other,
becomes more insupportable every moment. We cannot move, because we
feel it will be noticed, every sigh is heard, and if we are quite still
it is heard too, for it is heard as harshness. We are kept in suspense
because no one says anything, and we tremble lest any one should
begin.--They all felt this to be a moment that would never return.--The
walls that we build up between each other rise higher, our own guilt
and that of the others increases with every breath; now we are in
desperation, now in wroth; for the one that behaves so to us is
unmerciful, wicked, we don't tolerate THAT, we don't forgive THAT!
Petra could not bear it longer, she must either escape or scream.
But just then sledge bells were heard on the road, a man with a wolf
skin coat dashed by, and turned in at the farm.--All breathed easier,
and listened for the liberation. They heard the stranger in the hall,
he put off his travelling coat and boots, and talked with the servant
who assisted him; the dean rose to meet him, but turned so as not to
leave the two girls alone,--they heard the stranger talking again, and
this time nearer, so that his voice made all three look up, and Petra
rose, fixing her eyes on the door,--there was a knock,--"Come in!" said
the dean in an agitated tone; a tall gentleman with a light complexion
and spectacles appeared in the doorway, Petra gave a scream, and
fainted--it was Odegaard. He was expected at the deanery at Christmas,
although no one had told Petra, but that he should come just at this
juncture, must have been in the ordering of Providence; this was felt
at once, and by them all.
When Petra recovered consciousness, he was standing beside her, and
held her hand. He continued to hold it, but said nothing, nor did she;
she was powerless even to rise. But while she continued looking at him,
two tears rolled down her cheeks. He was very pale, but quite calm and
kind; he withdrew his hand, and walked across the floor; then he went
to Signe, who had crouched down among her mother's flowers in the
furthest window.
Petra longed to be alone, and so withdrew. Domestic matters required
Signe's attention, so the dean and Odegaard repaired to the study, to
take a glass of wine, of which the traveller stood in need. Here he was
briefly told the events of the last few days, it made him very
thoughtful but he said nothing. They were interrupted in a singular
way.
Two women and three men came past the windows, following one after the
other; as soon as the dean caught sight of them, he sprang up: "There
they are again!--now for a trial of patience."--In they came, first the
women, then the men, slowly, silently. They placed themselves along the
wall under the book shelves, opposite the sofa where Odegaard was
seated. The dean set chairs, and brought others from the next room;
they all took seats with the exception of a young man in a modern suit
who declined, and leaned against the door post, not without a defiant
expression and with both hands in his pockets.
After a long silence, during which the dean filled his pipe, and
Odegaard who did not smoke surveyed the visitors, the conversation was
at length opened by a pale light-haired woman of about forty. Her
forehead was rather narrow, her eyes large, but shy; they did not
know exactly which way to turn. "The father gave an excellent sermon
to-day," she said, "it touched upon what we were just thinking
about;--for up at Oygarene we have been talking much about temptation
lately."--She sighed; a man with a small face and large forehead sighed
also: "'Take away mine eyes from beholding vanity, O Lord, and quicken
thou me in thy way.'" Then Else, she who had first spoken, sighed again
and said: "Lord, wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by
taking heed thereto according to Thy word."--It seemed rather strange,
for she was no longer young. But a middle aged man who sat with his
head to one side, rocking backwards and forwards, his eyelids never
really lifted, said as if half asleep:
"Temptation, Satan's fiery dart,
None is exempt from sharing--
Who taketh part in Jesu's death,
The name of Christ thus bearing."
The dean knew them too well not to be aware that this was only the
introduction, so he waited as if nothing had been said, although there
was again a long silence with repeated sighs.
A little woman, who became still less by stooping, and was enveloped in
such a manifold number of shawls that she looked like a parcel,--her
face almost lost,--now began to move uneasily in her chair, and at last
a "hm, hm!" was heard. The light-haired woman was at once frightened
up, and said: "There is an end to all music and dancing in Oygarene
now;----but----" She stopped again, whereupon Lars, he with the great
forehead and the short face, continued:--"But there is one man, Hans
the musician, who WILL NOT give it up."--While Lars was thinking of the
rest, the young man came out with it: "Because he knows that the dean
has an instrument to which they both dance and sing at the deanery
here."--"It certainly cannot be greater sin for him than it is for the
dean," said Lars.--"And the music must be a temptation at the deanery
too," said Else cautiously, as if to help the matter forward. But the
young man added more strongly: "It is a stumbling block to the young,
as it is written: 'And whosoever shall offend one of these little ones,
it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and
he were cast into the sea.'" And Lars continued: "We request therefore
that you will send away the instrument, or burn it up, that it may
cease to be a stumbling block--" "To your parishioners," added the
young man. The dean smoked vigorously, and at last with an evident
struggle for self command, he said: "To me music is not a temptation,
it is refreshing and elevating. Now you know that that which can make
our spirits free, makes us better able to receive and understand high
things; therefore I believe most assuredly that music is of service to
me."--"And I know there are pastors," said the young man, "who
following the words of Paul, will nevertheless give it up for the sake
of their parishioners."--"It may be that I understood his words so
once," replied the dean, "but I do not now. One may well give up a
custom or a pleasure; but one must with reluctance make oneself
narrow-minded or foolish with those that are such. I should not be
acting wrongly towards myself only, but also towards those to whom I
should be a guide; for I should be giving an example against my
convictions." It was seldom that the dean gave so long an explanation
out of the pulpit. He added: "I will neither send away my piano, nor
burn it; I will hear it often for I often feel the need of it,--and I
wish that in all innocence you also could now and then refresh your
spirits by song, and music and dancing; for I believe these things to
be right and proper."
The young man bent his head to one side: "Twi!" spat he.
The dean's face grew scarlet, and deep silence ensued. Then the man
rocking, with a loud voice struck in:
"O Lord, my God, I can testify,
His cross in patience bearing,
With poor and rich, with women and men,
'Tis a cause of anxious wearing;
For flesh and blood as frail and weak,
We all alike are sharing.----"
Then Lars said in a mild tone: "So you say that music and singing and
dancing are right, do you? then it is right to rouse Satan through the
senses; hm!--so that is what our pastor says; very well then, we know
it now!--that all these things connected with idleness and sensuality
are elevating and helpful, ... that that which is a temptation is
right!" But now Odegaard,--who saw by the dean's face that things were
going wrong,--hastened to interpose: "Tell me, my good man, what there
is, that is NOT a temptation?"
All looked at him from whom these pointed and terse words came. The
question was in itself so unexpected, that Lars could not at once tell
what to reply; nor could the others. Then it sounded up as from a well,
or out of a cellar: "Labour is not."--The voice came from the bundle of
shawls, it was Randi, who spoke for the first time. An exulting smile
came over Lars' face, the light-haired woman looked at her with a
satisfied air, even the young man leaning against the door post for a
moment lost the sneering curl of his lip. Odegaard understood that this
was the head, although it was not to be seen. He therefore turned
himself to her: "What can that labour be, that is without temptation?"
She would not answer this, but the young man replied: "The curse says:
'In the sweat of thy brow, shalt thou eat thy bread;' labour then that
brings us toil and trouble." "And nothing but toil and trouble? No
profit for example?"--To this neither would he reply; but the short
face felt a calling: "Yes, as much profit as one can get!"--"Then there
must be temptation in work also, temptation to too much gain." In this
strait, succour came again from the depths: "Then the gain is the
temptation and not the work."--"Well, but how is it when the work is
carried to excess for the sake of the gain?" She crept in again;
but Lars went on: "What do you mean by the work being carried to
excess?"--"Why, when it makes you like animals and binds you in
thraldom."--"Thraldom it has to be!" said the advocate of the
toil.--"But can it as thraldom lead to God?"--"Labour IS the worship
of God!" shouted Lars.--"Dare you say that of ALL your labour?" Lars
was silent. "No, be reasonable and admit that for the sake of gain,
labour may be carried to excess, as if we lived only for it. Therefore
labour also has its temptation."--"Yes, there is temptation in
everything, children,--there is temptation in everything!" said the
dean as he rose, and put out his pipe as if in conclusion! Sighs issued
from the bundle of shawls, but no reply.
"Listen," began Odegaard again,--and the dean filled himself a new
pipe--"now if labour yields fruit, i.e. profit, then we have certainly
liberty to enjoy that fruit? If it should become riches, have we then
liberty to enjoy these riches?"--This set them thinking, they looked
from one to the other. "I shall answer, while you are thinking," said
he; "God must have permitted us to try to make a blessing of his curse,
for HE HIMSELF led the patriarchs, led His people to the enjoyment of
riches."--"The apostles were to possess nothing," exclaimed the young
man triumphantly.--"Yes, that is true; for God would place them
beyond and above all human conditions, that they should look only to
Him;--they were called!"--"We are all called!"--"But not in the same
way;--are YOU called to be an apostle?"--The young man turned deadly
pale, his eyes retreated under the wall of forehead above them: he must
have his reasons for taking it so to heart.
"But the rich must also work," observed Lars; for work is God's
command.--"Certainly he must, although his aim and method may be
different, each one has his own task. But tell me: shall a man be
ALWAYS at work?"--"He must also pray!" chimed in Else, and folded her
hands, as if she remembered that she had too long neglected it.--"Then
whenever a man is not working; he must pray? Is any man able to do
this? What kind of prayer would it be, and what kind of work? Shall he
not also rest?"--"We must rest only when we can do no more; for then we
shall not be tempted by evil thoughts,--ah! then we shall not be
tempted!" said Else again,--and Erik joined in:
"If ye are weary seek and find
In Jesu's name a peaceful mind,
How sweet is rest!
There comes a time when also ye
To the last resting place will flee,
An earthy nest!----"
"Be quiet, Erik, and listen to this," said the dean. And Odegaard
knitted his eyebrows: "See here: labour has its fruit, and requires its
rest: and it is my opinion respecting society, music, singing, and the
rest, that they are not only the sweet fruit of our labours, but they
also give rest and strength to the soul."
Here there was restlessness in the camp; all looked at Randi; she
rocked and rocked, and at last it sounded slowly and quietly: "Worldly
song, and music and dancing, afford no rest, for such excite the lust
and desires of the flesh. THAT certainly cannot be the fruit of labour,
which wastes and enervates."--"Ah! such things are full of temptation!"
said Else with a sigh. This put Erik in mind of the verse of a hymn:--
"We see with shame and sorrow,
From virtue fain to borrow
The vices that abound
Increasingly are found;
They craftily ensnare
And with a pompous air----"
"Be quiet Erik!" said the dean; "you are only rambling."--"Oh well,
that may be," said Erik--and began again:--
"If one will work upon you so
With ticing words that you shall go
In the broad, cursed way of sin,
Be strong, permit him not to win--"
"No, do give over Erik! The hymn is nice enough, but everything in its
own time."--"Yes, yes, father, that is true,--everything in its own
time:--
"Oh I every minute, every hour
Is Thine, it is Thy due,
Our hearts must beat to own Thy power,
And call to prayer anew--"
"No, no, Erik, or prayer itself would lead into temptation; you might
become a Catholic, and go into the monastery--"--"God forbid!" said
Erik, and opened his eyes wide, then shutting them, he began:
"As earth and dust to pure gold,
Are Catholics--"
"Now Erik if you can't be quiet, you must go out with the rest of it.
Where was it we left off?" But Odegaard, much to his amusement had been
following Erik, and could not remember. Then it came peacefully from
the shawls: "I was saying that THAT cannot give rest or be the fruit
of our labours, that--"--"Now I remember: that there was temptation
in,--and then Erik came and proved that there may also be temptation in
prayer. Let us therefore see, what these things may lead to. Have you
ever observed that cheerful men work better than the dejected? Why?"
Lars caught the drift of this: "It is religion that makes us cheerful,"
he said.--"Yes, when it is not desponding; but have you never seen that
there is a religion that makes everything so gloomy, that the world
itself is like a prison?"
Else was sighing so, that the shawls began to move, Lars also looked
sharply at her, and she gave over.--Odegaard continued: "Always the
same, whether it is work, prayer, or play, makes you stupid and gloomy.
You may grovel in the earth till you become an animal, pray till habit
makes you a monk, and play till you are nothing better than a doll. But
combine them and the mind is strengthened; work prospers, and religion
becomes more cheerful."--"Then we have to be cheerful now!" said the
young man, and smiled.--"Yes, and then you too would win sympathy: for
it is only when we are cheerful, that we can see and admire the good in
others, and only by loving others that we can love God."
As no one at once contradicted this, Odegaard made a second attempt to
bring the bundle to the point; "Those things that disenthral, so that
the Holy Spirit can work in us, (for in bondage He cannot work) those
things that assist us, must have a blessing in them,--and that this
does." The dean rose, he had again a pipe to put out.
In the silence which followed, unbroken by sighs, one could see the
shawls working, and at last there issued softly: "It is written:
'Whatsoever thou doest, do all to the glory of God,'---but is worldly
song, and music and dancing to the glory of God?" "Directly, no;--but
may we not ask the same when we eat and sleep and dress? And yet these
MUST be done. The meaning therefore can only be, that we shall do
nothing that is sinful."--"Yes, but is not this sinful?"
For the first time Odegaard grew a little impatient, and he merely
replied: "We see in the bible, that both singing and music and dancing
were used."--"Yes, to the glory of God."--"Very well,--to the glory of
God. But the reason why the Jews named GOD in everything, was because,
like children, they had not learnt to make distinctions. To children,
every man they do not know is 'the man,'--to the child's question,
'Where does, this come from, where that?' we answer always: 'from God';
but as men to men we name the intermediate as well, and not God the
giver alone. So, for example, a beautiful song may relate to God, or
lead to Him, even if His name never occurs in it; for there is much
that points thither, although not directly. Our dancing, when it is the
pure healthful enjoyment of the innocent, is, even if not directly, to
the praise of Him who has given us health, and loveth the child in our
hearts."
"Hear that, hear that!" said the dean; he knew that he himself had long
misunderstood these things, and misrepresented them to others.
All this time, Lars had been sitting and thinking, now he was ready;
the corn had fallen from the high forehead, to the short peevish face;
there it had been crushed and ground, and now fell out: "Then all sorts
of stories, tales, and nonsense,--all the fiction and invention that
they fill the books with now-a-days, are they also allowable? Is it not
written: 'Every word that proceedeth out of thy mouth shall be truth?'"
"I really thank you for this. You see it is with the mind as with the
house you dwell in. If it was so narrow that you could scarcely get
your head in and your legs stretched out, you would be obliged to widen
it. And fiction elevates the mind and enlarges it. If those ideas were
falsehood that are above absolute necessity, then those which ARE
absolute necessity would surely become falsehood too. They would thus
press you down in your house of clay that you would never reach
eternity, and yet it was just there you wished to be, and it was these
very same thoughts, that in faith should bear you thitherward."--"But
fiction is something that has verily never been, and so it must surely
be falsehood?" said Randi thoughtfully.--"No, it has often greater
truths for us than that which we see," answered Odegaard. Here they all
looked at him doubtfully, and the young man threw out: "I never knew
before that the story of Askeladden was truer than that which I see
before my eyes."--They all tittered.--"Then tell me if you always
understand that which you see before your eyes?"--"I am not learned
enough for that!"--"Oh, the learned certainly understand it still less!
I mean those things in daily life that give us sorrow and trouble, and
that 'worry us sore,' as the saying is. Are there not such things?"
He did not reply, but from the bundle it sounded earnestly: "Yes,
often."--"But if you heard a fictitious history, that resembled
your own in such a way, that as you heard it, you understood your
own,--would you not say of this story,--which gave you the comfort and
encouragement that understanding gives--would you not say that it had
greater truth for you than your own?"--"I once read a story," said
Else, "that helped me so in a great sorrow, that that which had long
been a trouble seemed almost a joy." It coughed from the bundle;--"Yes,
that is true," she added timidly.
But the young man would not agree to this; "Can the story of Askeladden
be a comfort to any one?"--"Everything has its own use. The amusing has
great power, and this story proves in an amusing way, that that which
the world thinks the least of may often be the best,--that everything
assists him who is of good cheer, and that that man gets on, who
makes up his mind to do so. Do you not think that it does many children
good to remember it;--and many grown people with them?"--"But to
believe in hobgoblins and trolls is surely superstitious?"--"Who said
you must believe in them? They are figures of speech."--"But we are
forbidden to use figures and images; for they are the wiles of the
devil"--"Indeed;--where do you find that?"--"In the Bible."--Here the
dean interposed: "No, that is a mistake, for the Bible itself uses
imagery."--All looked at him, "It employs imagery on all sides, as the
Eastern people abound in such. We ourselves use it in our churches, in
wood, on canvas, in stone, and we cannot conceive of the Godhead except
through imagery. And not this alone: Jesus uses figures, and did not
the Lord Himself appear in varied forms, when He made Himself known
unto the prophets; was it not in the form of a traveller that he came
to Abraham in Mamre, and ate at his table? Now if GOD HIMSELF appears
in varied forms, and uses imagery, surely man may do the same," They
were about to assent, but Odegaard rose and gently tapping the dean on
the shoulder: "Thank you! you have shewn most conclusively from the
Bible, that the drama is allowable!"--The dean started in surprise; the
smoke which he had in his mouth coursed slowly out of itself.
Odegaard went across to the bundle of shawls, and bent over to try to
catch a glimpse of her face, but in vain, "Is there anything more you
would like to ask," said he, "for you seem to have thought over several
things?"--"Oh, the Lord help me, I do not think always right."--"Well;
at first after the grace of conversion, one is so absorbed by its
wonders, that other things appear useless and wrong; one is like a
lover, desiring only the beloved."--"Yes, but look at the early
Christians, we must still follow their example."--"No, their difficult
position among the heathen is no longer ours; we have other duties; we
must bring Christianity into the life that now is."--"But there is so
much in the Old Testament against the whole spirit of what you say,"
said the young man, for the first time without bitterness.--"Yes, but
those commands are now dead, they are 'done away,' as Paul says: 'We
are the ministers of the New Testament; not of the letter, but of the
spirit':--again: 'Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.'
And:----'All things are needful unto me,' says Paul further, 'but,' he
adds, 'all things are not expedient.'--Now we are fortunate in having a
man's life before us, that shows us what Paul meant. That is Luther's.
Of course you believe that Luther was a good enlightened Christian?"
Yes, they believed that.--"Luther's religion was cheerful, IT was the
religion of the new testament. His idea of a gloomy faith was, that the
devil was always on the watch behind it; and as for fear of temptation,
those that fear the least are the least tempted. He used all the powers
God had given, the powers of enjoyment too. Shall I give you a few
examples? The pious Melancthon once sat so closely at a defence of the
true doctrines, that he did not take time to eat; Luther snatched the
pen from his hand: 'One does not serve God by work alone,' said he,
'but also in rest and quietness; therefore God gave us the third
commandment and instituted the Sabbath.'--Again, Luther used figures of
speech, the facetious as well as the serious, and he was full of good,
often merry ideas. He also translated some excellent old popular tales
into his mother tongue, and said in the preface, that next to the
Bible, he scarcely knew any better admonitions than these. He played
the lute, as perhaps you may know, and sang with his children and
friends,--not psalms only, no, but lively old songs too; he was fond of
social games, played at chess, let the young people dance at his house;
he desired only that all should be modestly and well conducted.--A
simple old disciple of Luther's, pastor Johan Mathesius wrote this
down, and gave it to his parishioners from the pulpit. He prayed that
it might be a guide to them,--and let us pray for the same."
The dean rose: "Dear friends, now we will conclude for to day." All
rose up. "Many words have been spoken for our edification; may God
grant His grace upon the seed sown! Dear friends, your homes are in
remote parts; you live high up, where the frost more often cuts down
the corn than the sickle. Such desolate mountain places ought not to be
cultivated, and ought now to be left to tradition, and the grazing
cattle. Spiritual life can scarcely flourish up there, it becomes
gloomy like the surrounding vegetation. Life is overshadowed by
prejudice,--as by the mountains under which they grow up. The Lord
gather, the Lord enlighten!--I thank you for this day my friends, it
has been a day of enlightenment for me also." He shook hands with each
of them, and even the young man gave his cordially, yet without raising
his eyes.
"You go over the mountain,--when will you reach home?" asked the dean
when they were ready to go.--"Oh, to-night sometime," said Lars; "a
good deal of snow has fallen now, and where it has blown off, there are
ice-banks."--"Well, my friends, it is worthy of all honour to come to
church under such difficulties.--I trust you will get home safely now!"
Erik answered in a low tone:
"Is God for me, whate'er there is
That will against me fall,
I can with prayer, and joyfully,
Tread under foot it all!"
"That is true, Erik, this time you have hit the mark!"--"Yes, but wait
a moment," said Odegaard just as they were going; "it is not strange
that you do not know me;--but I should have relations up at
Odegardene." They all turned to him, even the dean, who had known,
it is true, but quite forgotten it. "My name is Hans Odegaard,
son of Pastor Knud Hansen Odegaard, who once left you, long ago, with
his knapsack on his back."--Then it sounded from the shawls:
"Goodness,--that is my brother, that."--
They had all gathered round him, but no one was able to say anything.
At last Odegaard asked: "Then it was with you I was staying when I was
once up there with my father?"--"Yes, it was with me."--"And a little
while with me," said Lars; "your father is my cousin."--But Randi
said sorrowfully: "So this is little Hans;--yes, time goes."--"How is
Else?" asked Odegaard.--"This is Else," said Randi, pointing to the
fair-haired woman.--"Are YOU Else!" he exclaimed; "you were in trouble
about a love affair then; you wanted to have the musician; did you get
him?" No one replied. Although it was beginning to darken, he could see
that Else turned very red, and the men looked either away or down--with
the exception of the young man, who looked fixedly at Else. Odegaard
saw that he had put an unfortunate question, the dean came to his
assistance, "No, Hans the musician is unmarried; Else married Lars'
son, but now she is free again, she is a widow."--Again she blushed
scarlet, the young man saw it, and smiled haughtily.
Then Randi said: "Well, I suppose you have travelled far? you have
learnt a good deal I can hear."--"Yes, hitherto I have been either
reading or travelling; but now I mean to settle down to work."--"Well,
well; that is the way:--some go out and get light and wisdom; others
remain at home." And Lars added: "It is often hard to make a living at
home; if we help one forward, whom we hope may be of service to us, he
goes and leaves us."--"There are different callings; each must follow
his own," said the dean.--"And the Lord sums up our work," said
Odegaard; "my father's labours will yet tend hither again, if God
will."--"Well, I suppose they will;" said Randi sadly; "but it is often
hard to wait."
They departed; the dean placed himself in one window, and Odegaard in
the other to look after them, as they went over the mountain; the young
man went last. Odegaard learnt that he was from the town, where he had
begun with several things, but had always some misunderstanding with
the people. He thought himself called to be something great, an apostle
in sooth; but strangely enough he remained up at the hamlet of
Odegaard,--some thought from love to Else. He was a passionate soul,
who had passed through many disappointments, and had many more to come.
They were now to be seen on the mountain; the roof of the barn hid them
no longer. They laboured on, the trees hid them, they came forth again,
ever higher and higher. There was no track in the deep snow, the trees
were the way-marks in the waste, and far away to the side the snow
mountains indicated the direction of their home.
In from the dining room sounded a lively prelude, and then:
"My song I give to the spring,
Though she scarce is on the wing,
My song I give to the spring,
As longing on longing laid.
So the two unite their aid
To lure and tice the sun,
That old winter overcome,
May slip a choir of brooks;--
Then with their merry looks
They'll chase him out of the air
With the perfume of flowers rare,--
My song I give to the spring."