THE PROMISED LAND
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NOTE

In reading all names
a has the sound of a in father.

e ” ’ a in pane.
z 5 » ee.

a” » ’ 00.

y » 3 u.

All final ¢'s accented, thus Hansine is pronounced
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Hanseené.

1 INL
 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

HANSINE AND HER CHILDREN . . . Frontispiece

HEAD-PIECE TO LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

HALF-TITLE TO Book I.

LADDIE

THE Boy RODE IN FRONT WITH THE HORSES .

NIELS . . . WAS SITTING ON THE EDGE OF THE BIG
WATERING-TROUGH . .

HANSINE SPINNING IN HER CORNER . .

HALF-TITLE TO Book 11.

SHE MANY A TIME SENT A SAD THOUGHT

LADDIE ON THE STAIRS . . .

LADDIE’S BEDSIDE . .

EMANUEL AND LADDIE

SPECTATORS

HALF-TITLE TO Book III

HEAD-PIECE TO CHAPTER 1V.

CHOPIN’S FUNERAL MARCH . . . .

PAGE
ix

1
9
13

15
33
59
63
65
97
103
108
115
130

173
Xx ILLUSTRATIONS

“I WILL BET ANYONE THERE'S NOT A PRETTIER PAR-
soN’s WIFE IN THE WHOLE KINGDOM OF DEN-
MARK ”

THE TWO RAN ABOUT IN THE SUN PLAYING TIGGY
ToucHwWOOD

HALF-TITLE TO Book IV. . .

HANSINE SAT SHELLING PEAS

Poor COTTAGES

HANSEN THE WEAVER

HE SAT DOWN HEAVILY ON THE DUSTY SOFA .

HALF-TITLE TO Book V.

WITH ONE HAND ON HIS BACK, HOLDING HIS CHIN IN
THE OTHER . . .

‘“ HAVE YOU NOTHING TO SAY TO ME?”

Dany

THE VIEW OVER THE CANAL . .

SHE LEFT THE PARSONAGE

PAGE

181

191
199
205
213
221
231

237

259
265
275
278
285
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THE PROMISED LAND
— MAN
CHAPTER 1

A MAN was following the plough up and down
the big fields north of Veilby. ‘He was a tall
man with a youthful figure, dressed in a patched
sackcloth smock, red muffatees, and clumsy Wel-
lington boots with the loops sticking up on both
sides of the baggy knees of his trousers. He
wore a faded beaver hat, under the wide brim of
which his long hair, bleached by sun and rain,
fell to the collar; a large light beard floated
over his chest, and from time to time was blown
over his shoulder. He had a thin face, a high
arched forehead, and large, light, gentle eyes.
A flock of Royston crows were wheeling about,
a few yards above his head ; every now and then,
first one, then another would swoop down on
to the newly turned furrows behind him, only
hopping aside when he twitched the reins to
make his slow, lumbering horses go faster.
This man was the parish priest of Veilby
and Skibberup—Emanuel as he allowed himself
3
4 THE PROMISED LAND

to be called by his parishioners; “The Modern
Apostle,” as his less friendly disposed colleagues
in the neighbourhood maliciously dubbed him.

In spite of his dress and unkempt hair and
beard, it was easy to see that he was no mere
peasant. His figure was too supple, and the
shoulders too sloping for that. His hands were
certainly purple and swollen, but they were not
so out of proportion as those of persons who
have laboured from the cradle. Nor was his
face of a uniform dark leathery tint like a
peasant’s skin; it was patchy and freckled.

It was a cold raw morning in the beginning of
March. Sheets of mist were every now and then
driven over the land by gusts of west wind. At
one moment the plain was enveloped in so thick
a grey fog that one field could not be seen from
the other; in the next, the wind would drive it
away, only leaving thin wreaths of mist creeping
over the furrows. Occasionally a pale sunbeam
would slowly pierce the dark clouds and flicker
over the fields.

At those moments, from the high-lying Parson-
age fields, one could see the whole parish mapped
out and stretching away to the distant church by
the Fiord, which looked like a pale ghost in the
mist. Somewhat nearer, between two hills, there
was a peep of the foam-flecked Fiord itself. In
the west were the three hills of Skibberup, and a
bright spot of red marked the tiled gables of the
new Meeting House on the ridge of the hill.
THE PROMISED LAND 5

Emanuel was too much absorbed in his thoughts
to notice the shifting changes in the landscape.
Even when he stopped a moment to breathe his
horses, his glance wandered over the fields with-
out seeing them. He had trodden these undulat-
ing hills for seven years; his eye was so much at
home that sunshine gave way to shower without
his observing the change. Towards mid-day
he was roused by the voices of a little party
approaching by the field path.

First came a sturdy little girl, four or five years
old, who by the help of a rope over her shoulder,
was dragging an old basket-carriage with a baby
in it. With the effort of dragging the carriage
through the deep mud, her hood had slipped off her
wind-blown yellow hair, and she had to let go the
rope every moment to pull up her red stockings
which kept falling down over her wooden shoes.
The carriage was pushed behind by another child,
a boy, who had a knitted cap with flaps tied tightly
down over his ears, and a bit of wadding which
was stuffed into one flap, half covered his cheek.

An erect young peasant woman brought up the
rear. She walked a little way behind the others on
the very edge of the road ; she had a little flowered
shawl on her head, the corners of which fluttered
in the wind. She walked along humming to her-
self, and sometimes singing aloud without lifting
her eyes from the knitting in her brown hands.

It was Hansine and her three children, Eman-
uel’s whole family.
6 THE PROMISED LAND

When the little caravan had almost reached
the end of the field where Emanuel was plough-
ing, the children let go the carriage and sat down
on a stone by the roadside, whence they could
see their father, who was working towards them
from the other end of the field. Their faces were
blue with cold and their noses were running. As
they sat there in their worn old wooden shoes and
patched clothes, they were just like any of the
other village ragamuffins. It would certainly
never have occurred to any one that they be-
longed to the palatial Parsonage, whose red roof
and high poplar avenues rose above the slate
roofs of the peasants’ farms.

Emanuel waved his hat gaily to them from a
considerable distance, and when he reached the
end of the ridge he stopped his steaming horses,
and called :

“ Anything new, Hansine ?”

Hansine had remained standing by the road-
side, moving the carriage backwards and forwards
with her foot,—the little one was impatient at
the stopping of the carriage.

She counted her stitches on one needle, and then
answered with her unsophisticated peasant accent:

“No, not that I know of. . .. Oh yes, the weaver
was round, he said he wanted to talk to you.”

“Indeed,” said Emanuel, absently looking back
at the field to measure what he had done. “What
had he got on his mind ?”

“Oh, he didn’t say much. I was to tell you
THE PROMISED LAND 7

to go to the Parish Council Meeting at three
o'clock.”

“1 suppose it's about the poor relief then,” he
threw in, “or perhaps the vestry. Didn’t he say
anything about it?”

“No, he said nothing, he just sat and stared
about him a bit, and then went away.”

“Oh, well, he’s a queer fellow. .. . I say,
Hansine!” he interrupted himself in a different
voice, “Do you remember my talking about
this new system of manuring that I read about in
the farming paper? The more I think about it
the better I like it. And it’s much more natural
isn’t it, to put the manure fresh on to the fields
and plough it in at once, rather than storing it up
in great heaps till the strength has evaporated,
besides poisoning the air all the time. Do you
remember according to the paper, the land used
to lose three millions a year by the old method ?
[ can’t imagine why nobody came to think of
such a simple thing before. I believe these dung-
heaps were a simple outcome of the system of
villenage. As the peasants always had to serve
their lords before they could attend to their own
affairs, they were obliged to put off their work
day after day, and heap up their stuff till they
could steal a few hours to look after their own
affairs. As the origin of the heaping up was
gradually forgotten, the peasants came to think
it a matter of great importance to store it up.
In short, these stinking heaps are relics of the
8 THE PROMISED LAND

days of serfdom, like so many other rotten things
we are trying to free ourselves from to-day. Oh
—it’s a glorious time to live in, Hansine! To be
a witness of enlightenment, and see by degrees
how the dawning ideas of truth and justice, in
great things and small, are breaking down the
yoke of slavery, and preparing mankind for
brighter and happier times!”

Hansine moved a needle, and answered by an
absent smile. She knew how easily Emanuel’s
enthusiasm was roused by the new ideas of the
day, and she was used to listening silently to the
explanation of the great results he expected.
“Well, it's time to unharness the horses,” he
said, after looking at a great silver watch, first
holding it to his ear in true peasant fashion.

“Now, Laddie, can you come and give father
a hand!”

The boy was still sitting on the stone by his
sister. He was dreamily watching the crows as
they flitted about the ploughed field a little way
off, and did not hear his father call. He sat
immoveable, resting the ear with the wadding
over it on his hand, with the solemn expression
children wear when they are recalling past
sufferings.

He was rather small for his age, and though a
year older, he was of a slighter build than his
sister, who had the robust limbs and brightly
coloured cheeks and eyes of a village child. He
was the image of Emanuel. He had the same
THE PROMISED LAND 9

high, intellectual forehead, and the same gentle
expression ; he had also inherited Emanuel’s soft
brown wavy hair, and large light eyes, which in
the sunlight were almost colourless.

“Don’t you hear, my boy? . . . Father is call-
ing you,” said Hansine, as he didn’t move.

At the sound of his mother’s voice he tore his
hand away from his ear, with a poor little attempt
at a smile which roused her attention.

“ Does your ear still hurt,
my boy?” she asked cau-
tiously.

“No, not a bit,” he said
eagerly. “I don't feel any-
thing now.”

“Are you coming, then,
Laddie?” Emanuel called
again from the plough.

The urchin rose at once,
and walked with measured
steps over the furrows to
the horses, and began to
undo the traces—as gravely
and conscientiously as a
little carter.

This boy was the apple
of Emanuel’s eye, and the
pride of the village ; partly
because of his unpeasant-like appearance, and
also because of his extreme good temper. He
was called after Hansine’s old father, Anders

 
10 THE PROMISED LAND

Jorgen, but both at home and in village he
was also called “Laddie,”—a name Emanuel
had given him at his birth, and which pleased
every one so much that his baptismal name
was forgotten.

At the sight of the wadding over his ear,
Emanuel exclaimed :

“What's that, my man? Has your ear been
bad again?”

“Yes, a little,” answered the boy softly, as if
ashamed.

“It’s very tiresome about that ear, but it’s
nothing much, is it?”

“No, it’s quite gone now. I don’t feel it at all.”

“That's right, my boy; you must be a brave
lad, and don’t fuss about a trifle. Weaklings, you
know, are no good in the world, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“ And then, you'll remember, we have to drive
to the mill this afternoon. We two haven't time
to be ill.”

Hansine’s knitting-needles moved faster than
ever, and when the others ceased speaking she
said :

“I do think it would be best for Laddie to stay
at home to-day, Emanuel. He hasn’t been a bit
well all the morning.”

“Well, but dear! . .. you hear it’s all over
now. And I'm sure the fresh air can only do him
good. The fresh air is the Almighty’s cure, as
the old proverb says. . . . Laddie has been
THE PROMISED LAND I1

moping in the house, and that’s made him rather
white-faced. That's all !”

“ All the same, I believe it would be better if
we dealt more carefully with him, Emanuel. And
I do wish you'd make up your mind to talk to
the doctor about him. He’s had this business
with his ear for nigh on two years, and it can
never be right to go on like that.”

Emanuel did not answer at once. It was a
subject they had often discussed before.

“Well, of course, Hansine . . . if you really
wish it, I should never think of opposing it. But
you know I've no particular faith in the doctoring
business, and you know my opinion of Doctor
Hassing. Besides, earache is such a common
affair with children, and will go away of itself, if
you only give nature time and rest to heal the
damage. Your mother says just the same, and
she has many years’ experience. Catch hold of
that rein my boy. I shall never believe that the
Almighty would have created men so imperfect
that they would always be wanting the doctor to
set them to rights again, as soon as they were a
little out of order. We've got some more of that
oil which Maren Nilen had from old Grete on
Stryn island. It did the boy good before; at
any rate, let’s wait till there’s something really
the matter, and not worry ourselves over a bit of
a cold, eh? . . . Come here, then, little man.”
At his last words he took the boy under his arms
and lifted him on to the back of the near horse.
12 THE PROMISED LAND

Hansine was silent. In these little skirmishes
about the children Emanuel always had the last
word. He was too rapid in argument for her, and
expressed himself so easily, besides having so
many reasons for his opinion, that even if she did
not agree with him, she was often reduced to
silence by his fluency.

The fog again swept over the fields in soft
woolly masses, as the little party wandered back
to the village.

The boy rode in front with the horses, and
Emanuel followed with the little carriage, which
he jogged along with one hand, while he carried
his daughter Sigrid on his shoulder. Her nick-
name was Dumpling. She took off his hat and
waved it about with little shouts of delight to
amuse the little one, who answered her back from
the carriage.

Hansine followed a little way behind with her
knitting.

She carried herself just as erect as in her
maiden days, and moved with the same decided
and measured gait. But the expression of her
dark-complexioned face had changed somewhat ;
it was even more introspective and a little de-
pressed. Naturally, her seven years of married life
and the birth of three children had not left her
former youthful bloom entirely untouched. Her
cheeks were thinner, and her serious eyes were
even more deep-set. But she was still an uncom-
 
THE PROMISED LAND 15

monly pretty woman ; and according to peasant
standards, she wore her twenty-five years with
unusual honour, and it was not surprising that in

 

SERCHSEN

Skibberup, her native place, they were very proud
of her. There were certainly some, who not able
to reconcile themselves to her reserve, which they
attributed to pride—secretly deplored Emanuel’s
16 THE PROMISED LAND

choice when he chose a bride from among the
congregation.

When Emanuel and his children passed through
the arched gateway of the Parsonage, Niels, the
farm labourer, was sitting on the edge of the big
watering-trough under the pump, busily studying
the People’s News,” which was spread out on his
knee. He was a dark-haired fellow of twenty
or so, of middle height, square-shouldered and
broad-backed, with a turn-up nose, red cheeks,
and an incipient beard.

The big courtyard where in Archdeacon Ton-
nesen’s time, order and tranquillity always reigned,
befitting its position as belonging to the church,
now looked like all the other peasants’ yards. Im-
plements of every kind and bundles of hay were
thrown all over the place hugger-mugger. Several
doors stood open, and a continual lowing of cattle
waiting for their mid-day hay, all bore witness to
the press of work. Here and there the brine from
pickled herrings was thrown on the uneven pave-
ment to kill the weeds, and the chickens were
scratching about outside the brew-house in a heap
of kitchen refuse.

“ What's that you're so deep in, Niels? Is there
anything new in the papers?” asked Emanuel,
when he had put down Sigrid and lifted Laddie
off the horse.

The man looked up from his paper and
answered by an uncommonly broad grin.

“Oh, ho, Mr Philosopher! Have you been on
THE PROMISED LAND 17

the war-path again? Who has your lance been
turned against to-day then Niels, come let me
see!” said he, when he had slipped the harness
off the horses.

The man moved a little and stretched out the
paper which Emanuel began to read while the
little boy led the horses to the trough to drink.

“Where is it? . . . Oh, here! ‘High schools
and moral responsibilities.” Yes, yes the begin-
ning isn't bad . . . really very good . . . yes,

indeed! there you're right. Well you're no
coward, Niels! . ..”

The man watched the changes in his master’s
face from his seat at the corner of the trough,
and every time Emanuel nodded assentingly or
made exclamations of approval, his little black
eyes, which were almost buried in his cheeks,
sparkled.

“That article does you honour,” said Emanuel
at last, as he smilingly gave him the paper back.
“You are regularly cultivating yourself to become
an author. Yes, yes, only beware of drowning
yourself in the ink-pot, my friend. Ink is a
dangerous poison at times to play with.”

He was interrupted by Hansine, who had taken
the path through the garden, and who now ap-
peared on the stone steps to call them to dinner.

“Then we must be quick and get the mares in,
my boy,” he said to Laddie.

“I say, Niels . . just go and call old Soren,
he’s hoeing turnips in the field.”

B
18 THE PROMISED LAND

CHAPTER 11

ABOUT three in the afternoon a quiet man was
sitting in the window of the well-known parlour of
Jensen, chairman of the Parish Council. He was
tall, thin and pale, dressed in a home-made suit
of the roughest kind of dark homespun, with a high
collar and tight sleeves. Outside his coat he had
one of those black quilted chest preservers, which
are hardly ever seen in these days. He wore
tight celluloid wristbands, which seemed to have
squeezed all the blood into his gigantic hands.

He was stooping forward resting his arms on
his legs with his hands tucked in between his knees.
His head was rather flat, and in proportion to the
length of his body, remarkably small. His hair
and beard were a grizzled red, his face was dis-
torted and besprinkled with light freckles.

There was something almost uncanny about
the absolute immobility of the man, and the dull
gaze with which he stared straight before him out
of his half-shut eyes, an effect which was intensi-
fied by the dim light creeping in through the
thickly bedewed windows, and the stillness in
which the house was wrapped. With his flat head,
distorted mouth, and swollen eyelids, he looked
like a lynx on the watch, looking out from his lair
in the primeval forest, over the limitless steppes.

It was Hansen the weaver.

This best parlour, which had formerly been the
THE PROMISED LAND 19

scene of so man gay carouses, had entirely changed
its character in the last few years. The polished
mahogany chairs still stood in a row against the
wall, and the gilt clock ticked in aristocratic
seclusion on the chiffonier between two lightly
draped plaster shepherdesses. But in the place
of the card table between the windows, where
many a jolly night had been spent with cards
and toddy in the company of Aggerbélle the vet.,
Villing the shopkeeper, the late octogenarian
schoolmaster, Mortensen, and their host ; a huge
writing table now stood laden with papers.
There were bookshelves against the other wall
crammed with account books, registers, and
bundles of newspapers, which gave to the room a
serious, office-like look.

It was in reality something of the kind, and a
corresponding change had also come over Jensen
himself.

The stormy political risings which were brought
about by the enlightenment of the peasant class,
and which in the last few years had spread all
over the country, had at last roused his slumber-
ing conscience and called him forth to do battle
for the independence of his class. As he was
undoubtedly the richest peasant in the parish,
and known for more liberality than was usual in
a peasant, he very soon came to take a prominent
part in the district; and as in addition, he pos-
sessed an innate talent for public life, and shewed
that he had “the gift of the gab,” he had gradu-
20 THE PROMISED LAND

ally forced himself up, to be the acknowledged
political leader in the neighbourhood, whose name
might be constantly seen in the papers, as that of
“the well-known peasant leader, Hans Jensen of
Veilby.”

He had not, however, reached this leading
position, without passing by the original insti-
gator of the revolt among the congregation,
namely, Hansen the weaver. Several people
when they first saw the sudden rise of Jensen,
had feared that the headstrong weaver would
not tamely submit to be set aside in so gross
a manner; but to the universal surprise on this
occasion, the weaver took it with quite unac-
customed calm. Still greater was the astonish-
ment when it was discovered that it was the
weaver himself who had helped Jensen to take
part in public life, as—with great solemnity—
he pointed out to him, that in his independent
position, he was actually bound to give his
services to the constituency, when the old
Bishop, the present member, retired—an event
which was to be expected before long.

It almost looked now, when the dangers were
over, and the “People’s Cause” was triumphing,
as if the weaver were voluntarily allowing the
others to reap the honours and rewards which
were the fruit of his years of labour. With an
amount of unselfishness which called forth the
wondering appreciation of the congregation, he
drew himself year by year further into his shell,
THE PROMISED LAND 21

and even declined the smallest of the honorary
posts which were liberally offered him in recogni-
tion of his services. He only took upon himself
the humblest duties of a veteran in the furtherance
of the cause. He voluntarily acted as general
messenger, and helped the various committees
with their accounts and correspondence; he also
continued faithful—with even increased vigilance
—to his detective duties among the congregation,
by constantly popping up with his distorted smile
where he was least expected.

It was almost half-past three before all the
members summoned were assembled. They were
the so-called “ Select Committee,” six in number,
chosen by the congregation, whose special duties
were, to watch over their political interests, to
arrange electoral meetings, bring down speakers,
control the lists of electors, and conduct business
with the other democratic centres.

After they had all arrived, Jensen came in from
an adjoining room—in white shirt sleeves, an apple-
green plush waistcoat, a gold chain, and a starched
front which had bulged out over his waistcoat
during his midday nap. He went round shaking
hands with each and saying, “Good-day, and
welcome”: they then, at his invitation, took their
seats round an oval table in the middle of the
room. They all seemed to be in an unusually
solemn frame of mind. The weaver had been
questioned before Jensen came in as to the
purpose of the meeting; and by his vague
22 THE PROMISED LAND

answers it had been gathered that it would
be unusually important.

As chairman of the committee the host took his
seat at the head of the table. His heavily-built
figure, curly hair, and clean shaven chin looked
quite stately in this position. Certainly his long,
drooping nose was as purple as ever and his face
as red—vexatious reminiscences of his past; but
to make up for it, his bearing, his movements, and
his manner of conducting business had gained that
easy suavity which comes with habit in public life.

Emanuel, who had exchanged his working
smock for a light grey coat, sat on his right—
and beyond him a fat little Veilby peasant with
bushy eyebrows and chubby red cheeks. On
his left were two young, fair-haired Skibberup
farmers, and Nielsen the tall carpenter, whose
dark Viking beard had grown several inches
longer in the course of years, and now almost
reached his waist. The weaver sat at the foot
of the table in his capacity of secretary.

“Then we're all assembled,” said the president
in his searching voice, glancing round the table.
“We have a very important communication to
make to you, friends. . . . Yes, please, Hansen
begin !”

The last words were addressed to the weaver,
who now drew a large sheet of paper from his
tail pocket and carefully unfolded it, after which,
in a slow, monotonous voice he read the following
manifesto :—
THE PROMISED LAND 23

“Confidential.

“We have received from the leading men of our
party, instructions to discuss, among the various
democratic committees, a number of reports of
disquieting political rumours which have lately
found their way into several of the newspapers.
In consideration of the gravity of the times,
and the importance of the matter, it has been
thought right to bring this information before
the notice of the local committees without delay.
The gist of the matter is, that it is within the
bounds of possibility that plots are being
hatched in both houses between the govern-
ment and the conservative party, which are
calculated to cause serious anger and anxiety
to every free man. Of course nothing is yet
certainly known, as all these negociations are
carried on with the utmost secrecy; but signs
are not wanting, in the sudden unwillingness
of ministers to yield in parliamentary debates,
even in trifles. If other significant traits are
taken into consideration, it seems not impos-
sible that the government are really concerting
with the conservative party to oppose the
“People,” and to combat the growing influence
of the masses on the government of the State,
by an arbitrary repeal of the universal Franchise.
Every man in the land who is true to the cause of
freedom will know how to judge of such a pro-
ceeding. We therefore call upon all committees
to assemble, and—as a support to our members
24 THE PROMISED LAND

in the House—to send out a powerful intimation
of the unalterable purpose of the People to
fight to the uttermost against the conduct of
those in power. As to the best way of dealing
with the matter, we leave that to the discretion
of each committee ; only, in accordance with the
opinion of our friends in parliament, we advise,
that opportunity should be given to members of
the party to pass a resolution to give our members
continued and powerful support in the battle for
the uncurtailed freedom and rights of the People.

A similar appeal is being sent to all committees,
and it is hoped that such a protest, such a
thousand voiced warning to our opponents,
coming from every quarter of the country, may
yet bring them to their senses, and induce them
to abandon their nefarious intentions.

Long live freedom and right! Long live the
memory of our never to be forgotten lamented
King, Frederick, giver of the constitution! Be-
loved of the people!

P. V. B.—Johansen, Advocate.

The contents of this paper roused the utmost
excitement among the committee. Even before
the conclusion Emanuel burst out quite pale with
emotion.

“ But that is sedition! . . . It is treason ta the
country!”
“Yes, there you're right . .. no honourable

man can call it any thing else,” chimed in Jensen.
And with a wave of the hand and voice that
THE PROMISED LAND 25

recalled the platform, he continued, “ But it shews
us friends that we acted perfectly rightly, in
showing a rigid front to such a party, whose only
aim is to clamour for power, even if they can
only get it by playing fast and loose with the
welfare and future of their country. Such people
are no longer our countrymen . . . they are
Denmark’s foes!”

“ Hear, hear,” came from the depths of the
carpenter’s beard like a hollow echo.

“Never . .. never will the Danish people
submit to such infamy!” continued Emanuel,
quite beside himself. “I propose that we call
together the party this very evening and inform
them what is at stake. There is no time to waste.
We will rise as one man and show that we will
defend our honour and our rights to the utter-
most.”

“Softly Emanuel—softly,” said the president,
laying his hand soothingly on his arm. “ Before
everything we must beware of going too far!
only be calm, that will lead you furthest in
politics! we must not forget that at present we
do not know anything definite, and you mustn’t
put your gun to the shoulder before you see the
bear, says an old proverb.

For my part, I have a suspicion that it may be
nothing but rumour which the friends of the
government have set afloat to frighten our men
in the house, and perhaps a bit of a trial balloon
sent up to test the feeling in the country! We
26 THE PROMISED LAND

must remember that that’s the way things are
done in politics!” continued he, grandiloquently
and waving his hand. What we have to do first
and foremost, is to scrutinise our opponents’
tactics. Don’t let's forget that, friends!”

“ But if they're not empty rumours . . . if they
act on their threats in earnest—send the parlia-
ment home, and put might in the place of right,

. what then? . . . what then?”

The president looked firmly at Emanuel for a
moment. Then he said slowly, with great self
confidence, letting his hand drop heavily on the
table :

“If that should happen—which God forbid—
then three hundred thousand countrymen will
rise and say, ‘ Now it is enough! now we must
fight to the death the question, who is to be
master, you or ourselves . . . am I not right?’”

At his last words he turned to the Skibberup
men, who all answered with a loud “hear, hear,”
while the fat little Veilby man nodded approv-
ingly.

“I now propose—that we call a meeting for
Sunday evening next: I will willingly take upon
myself the task of explaining the situation, after
which we will bring forward the proposed resolu-
tion. Moreover, I am of opinion that we shall
do well to keep this information private, so as not
to alarm the party too much—and perhaps even
unnecessarily. The honourable head committee
evidently thought so too, I do not doubt that
THE PROMISED LAND 27

our opponents will lose their taste for entering
on new engagements, when they hear the voice
of the people through our meetings. Don’t you
agree with me friends?”

Four of the members expressed their approval,
and Emanuel was at last infected with their
courage, and became calmer. He was not in the
habit of speaking on political subjects, and he had
in fact only been elected on the political council
on account of his great services in other ways. He
had great difficulty in taking any interest in the
parliamentary debates or the newspapers, to say
nothing of the “tactics” of which the president
and the other members thought so much.

He never could bring himself to doubt that
right—as in the psalm—in “God's good time
would conquer,” and he had no faith in the
efficacy of even the cleverest devices, either to
hasten or delay it.

On the proposal of one of the Skibberup
farmers, it was decided to give even more im-
portance to the meeting, by inviting two strangers
to speak. For a moment they even contemplated
asking no less a person than their own member,
the old Bishop. But though in the course of
recent stormy debates, he had shown that he still
wore the red garibaldi shirt of his youth under
his velvet robes and diplomatist’s coat, he had
hitherto never allowed himself to be persuaded
to leave what he called his “ Archimedian” stand-
point, outside both parties. So this idea was soon
28 THE PROMISED LLAND

abandoned as fruitless. They thought they might
induce a couple of other democratic members to
come, and sent a message to headquarters at once.
The president offered both to fetch the guests
from the station in his carriage, and to give them
a dinner, which offer won murmurs of approval.

When the hour for the meeting had been settled,
and Hansen had entered the minutes, the presi-
dent closed the meeting.

“Well, we've got that pig killed,” he said gaily,
as he rose. “ And I think we want a bite and a
sup after it, gentlemen.”

This was his way of alluding to the “little
refreshment ” which was inevitable in this house,
and had been prepared in the adjoining room.
The door was thrown open by a portly peasant
woman with a gold embroidered cap, a hooked
nose, and a treble chin, who was the president's
housekeeper.

The table was set out as usual, with rich and
heavy viands under the lamp, the yellow light of
which struggled with the last rays of a red sun-
set. The table looked doubly inviting in the
variegated light, and the company took their seats
with appetites sharpened by the long sitting.

Even Emanuel got into quite a lively frame of
mind at last. He looked round at these broad-
shouldered men who, in spite of all that threatened
their future—sat there quiet and composed—per-
fectly secure as to the right of their cause. He
was filled anew with admiration for the unfailing
THE PROMISED LAND 29

equanimity with which these people always met
their fate.

Never had he even for a moment seen them
lose their composure. Even under the hardest
blows of fate they maintained a salutary calm, a
manly self-control, such as he had great difficulty
in himself acquiring.

The dishes were emptied with great energy,
and new ones brought in by “big Sidse,” who
had managed Jensen's house since the death of
his wife. This corpulent female was stealthily
watched by the weaver all the time; he hardly
spoke a word during the meal, but left both food
and drink almost untouched. When his neigh-
bour wanted to pour him out a glass of brandy,
he put his hand over the glass with a feline smile
—he had lately become a total abstainer, and in
spite of Jensen's chaff, would not be induced to
deviate from his usual rule, even in honour of the
day.

Emanuel on the other hand, drank his “Snaps”
with the others, as he usually did on these oc-
casions . . . not because he cared for the brandy
but he was unwilling to do differently from his
company. As far as that went, he could follow,
with an easy conscience, the customs even of the
Veilby peasants, for they had become much more
moderate in the last few years. He had on the
whole taken up a good many peasant customs,
sometimes knowingly, and at others, unconsci-
ously. He had even got over his own dislike to
30 THE PROMISED LAND

tobacco ; and when the meal was over and coffee
on the table, and Jensen sent the cigars round,
he drew a wooden pipe from his pocket and filled
it from a packet of “smoking mixture” which he
always carried.

At this point the weaver rose. With the ex-
cuse that he had someone to see before night, he
shook hands all round and retired through the
kitchen.

Out there he remained standing in the middle
of the paved floor with his head on one side, and
fixed the housekeeper with a glance from his half-
shut eyes which made this mass of flesh tremble
in every limb.

“Good Lord, Hansen . . . why dye stare at a
a body like that?” she said, ready to cry, and in
alarm held a teacloth before her face.

The weaver quietly put his hat on and left
without a word.

It was dark outside. The wind had dropped,
and it was quite calm. A few large snowflakes
were falling which melted as soon as they reached
the ground. The snow came faster and then
changed to a drizzle, as the weaver walked home
with his hands behind him, along the solitary
path over the hills to Skibberup. Every now
and then a smile crossed his face, and his red
eyes had the expression they always wore when
he was ruminating over his plan of campaign in
private.
THE PROMISED LAND 31

CHAPTER III

IT was a dark night and pouring with rain when
Emanuel reached the Parsonage, and mounted
the steps to the front door with a stranger.

Inside the lordly entrance hall, where at one
time the mahogany pegs were adorned by Arch-
deacon Tonnesen’s big bearskin coat and Miss
Ragnhild’s garden hat, and where tidy matting
used to cover the black and white marble pave-
ment in front of the door, a simple stable lantern
was now burning. The mahogany pegs were now
filled with a miscellaneous collection of common
men’s caps and women’s many coloured head
squares, and on the tiles were a whole pile of
dirty wooden shoes of all kinds, from the big
clumsy labourer’s with iron bands and a wisp of
straw inside, to small women’s shoes with leather
toes lined with red flannel. The usual visitors
who assembled two or three times a week after
their work was done to be edified by conversation,
reading and singing, had already arrived, and
were sitting in rows along the walls of the large
drawing and dining rooms which were poorly
lighted by a single petroleum lamp.

Nothing remained in the large rooms, except
the smoke-blackened cornices and the frescoes
over the doors, to recall the “ Salon” where Miss
Ragnhild used to display her extravagant cos-
tumes among soft carpets, damask curtains, and
32 THE PROMISED LAND

inlaid furniture. Round the four naked walls a
simple wooden bench ran, above which the blue
distemper was worn off to the height of a man’s
shoulders. The four high windows, two on each
side of the garden door—which in winter was
blocked up—were covered at the top with a small
red cotton valance. Under one window stood a
white, scoured oaken table at the upper end of
which the bench had taken the form of a kind of
high seat. Besides this there were a few rush-
bottom chairs and—as in the home of Hansine's
childhood—one old-fashioned arm-chair by the
stove and a green-painted corner cupboard by the
kitchen door. A six-branched pewter chandelier
hung from the middle of the ceiling.

This room—the “ great room ” or “ hall,” as the
people called it, because in its stern simplicity it
was the outcome of Emanuel’s passion for anti-
quity—was, in fact, the living room of the family.
All the other rooms except the former morning
room, which was now the family bedroom, were
empty and uninhabited, or were used for storing
up seed, wool, or feeding stuffs. Emanuel had
indeed inherited for his own use the room which
in the Archdeacon’s time had been known and
feared as the “study,” but the whole of its furni-
ture consisted of a couple of dusty bookshelves,
and an American cloth sofa. He very rarely
occupied it except for the half hour after dinner
when he took a little nap. His sermons and
lectures were always thought out while following
THE PROMISED LAND 33

the plough or on his wanderings among the sick
and the poor ; for, as he said, he had turned his
back on bookshelves since he had discovered that
finer lessons of wisdom could be learnt of the birds
in the air, or the cows in the byre, than of all the
learned books in the world.

 

On this particular evening there were
about fifty people of both sexes and all ages as-
sembled. The young girls were all in a row, along
the short wall, looking like a garland of flowers,
the dark heads and the fair heads alike bent over
pieces of fine crochet work which they could

c
34 THE PROMISED LAND

hardly hold in their stiff red fingers. Notwith-
standing the bad light there was an air of great
cheerfulness and comfort.

The married women had their fixed seats on
the wall nearest the stove, where they laboured
steadily at huge pieces of knitting, talking mean-
while to their neighbours about housekeeping and
dairy work, in the usual lachrymose voices which
peasant women always adopt in company. Han-
sine had her accustomed seat in the arm-chair and
was spinning at her wheel. She was dressed just
like the others in a common linsey dress and a
checked cotton apron; on her head she had a
tight little black cap, and her dark brown hair was
smoothed down in two stiffly formed bands above
the temples, after the fashion of the district. She
did not take much part in the conversation of the
others, and there was often something absent in
the glance with which she looked up from her yarn,
when the door opened and some old labourer came
in, in shirt sleeves, or a couple of round-cheeked
girls stepped in with a nod and a broad grin.

The young men were gathered round the long
oak table in the window. They were in the full
light of the lamp which stood on the table next
to a large jar of water with a wooden lid. The
loudest gossip proceeded from this part of the
room and the blue smoke from their pipes curled
thickly round their heads of shaggy hair. In
a place apart in the darkest corner of the room,
two persons were sitting whose appearance and
THE PROMISED LAND 35

behaviour plainly shewed that it was not usual
for them to be there. They were greeted by
Emanuel on his entrance with special cordiality,
he shaking hands with them and saying how glad
he was to see them. They were two miserable-
looking creatures, whose dripping rags had formed
pools of water on the floor round their feet. One
was as tall and thin as a well pole; the other,
short, stout, and bald, with a lump as big as an
egg over his eye. Both of them sat with their
hands on their knees looking at the ground with
embarrassed faces ; but now and then, when they
thought themselves unobserved, they would steal
a sidelong glance at each other with a suppressed
smile.

They were both well-known persons in the
neighbourhood —* Beery Svend” and “ Brandy
Pér”—who belonged to the fixed number of
mauvais sujets in the parish. They belonged to
the party who waited outside Villing’s shop every
morning till it opened, with bottles hidden under
their garments. They lived, with others of their
kind, in a collection of mud hovels on the out-
skirts of the village. One was a wooden-shoe
maker, the other a thatcher; but their most
important source of income was stealing potatoes
from the peasants’ pits, and shearing the tethered
sheep on dark nights; and there were many who
suspected them of having darker crimes on their
consciences.

These circumstances were not unknown to
36 THE PROMISED LAND

Emanuel. In fact he had not been long in the
country before his eyes were sufficiently opened
to see that even there, poverty breeds misery and
spiritual debasement. From the very first he had
made great efforts, supported by the congregation,
to win the confidence of the lost and strayed, and
by mildness and indulgence, to smooth the way
for them back to the paths of virtue. He had
spared no personal pains to attain this end, and
it was one of his greatest disappointments that in
all these years he had not succeeded in getting
over the hostility these people had shown towards
all efforts to help them.

So he was doubly delighted every time—as in
this case—he fancied he could see any signs of
reconciliation. He did not remember at the
moment that, as Chairman of the Poor Relief
Committee, he had recently renewed an allowance
to both these persons, and it never occurred to
him that their presence to-night might be looked
upon as a sort of receipt for assistance given.

There was another unaccustomed guest to-
night, and that was Aggerbélle the veterinary.
He sat smiling at one end of the bench next to
the shuttered garden door, with his arms crossed
over his broad chest, oblivious of the fact that in
this position he mercilessly displayed a great rent
in his coat under the arm. His hair and beard
were quite white, and stuck out unclipped on every
side, his eyes were like staring glass balls and
the hairless part of his face was covered with boils.
THE PROMISED LAND 37

It is difficult to say which of these people
made the most deplorable impression—the two
thieves, or this man so strangely tossed about by
fate. Certainly the vet. wore elastic-sided leather
shoes, cuffs and collar; he even had a pince-nes
stuck into the breast of his buttoned-up frock
coat. But the heartrending shabbiness of his
clothes and the whole of his stiffly-held figure
displayed such deep and hopeless degrada-
tion that it might rouse the pity of a pauper
even.

In spite of all his efforts to appear at his ease
in this company, he only succeeded indifferently
in hiding a suppressed bitterness. It was not by
his good will that he was there at all. His
presence among the “dunderheads,” as in his
hatred and contempt he had dubbed these modern
“intellectual ” peasants, was due to one of those
mischances by which, as it seemed, his implacable
fate pursued him through life. After being shut
up all the dull day in his tumble-down house
among the deserted fields in contemplation
of his miserable, hopelessly ruined home,
because for certain good reasons he dared
not meet the baker who was in the neigh-
bourhood with his cart that day, he had at last
ventured out about nightfall. With the excuse
of having to see a patient, and after tenderly
kissing his children, and taking the heart-rending
farewell of his wife, without which he never left
home even for an hour, he took the road to his
38 THE PROMISED LAND

old friend and sympathiser Villing, to seek a little
consolation there, and, if possible, to obtain what
he was fond of calling “a little oblivion.” But it
unfortunately happened that he met Emanuel just
outside the Parsonage gates, and he patted him on
the shoulder in delighted surprise, and exclaimed :
“It is really good of you, dear friend, to come
and see us at last. We have missed you for a
long time. You're heartily welcome.”

On the verge of despair after the long day,
Aggerbolle was screwing up his courage to say
that he was on the way to a patient, when
Emanuel mentioned that he had just come froma
meeting at Jensen's. The thought that the weaver
was probably also of the party cooled his ardour,
and, under the circumstances, he thought he
would have to give up all thought of escape. He
sat there now with a convulsive smile, trembling
with rage, which made all his boils stand out
blue. Of all the humiliations imposed upon him
by his poverty, none seemed so pitiless and
degrading as this. He asked himself if all
justice had disappeared from the world, since
he was forced to put up with sitting here like
a schoolboy on a bench, with cow-herds, milk-
maids, and stinking stable lads. Or was it
merely a delirious dream that he was the son
of a district judge, and a man who had taken
a degree; and that these self-same “ Dunder-
heads,” who now coerced him as well as the
whole country, once used to stand before him,
THE PROMISED LAND 39

hat in hand, and looked upon it as an honour if
he invited them into his room. . . . The conver-
sation round the walls had gradually dropped, and
finally there was a dead silence. They were all
waiting for Emanuel, or some one else, to tell a
story or read something.

Niels, the Parsonage man, seized this oppor-
tunity to try and attract Emanuel’s attention to
himself, by drawing the newspaper a little way
out of his breast pocket, just far enough to shew
a little corner. Sometimes, if there was a dearth
of entertainment, they would read a good article
out of one of the papers, which would give a
subject for discussion.

Emanuel did not, however, notice his efforts.
After having moved about for a time from bench
to bench among the guests, joining in their con-
versations here and there, he took his place on
the high seat with his pipe, and fell into a fit of
deep abstraction. The meeting at Jensen's was
still surging through his mind, and his thoughts
were fixed on the future in gloomy apprehension.

“Aren't we going to do anything at all to-
night?” came a pert voice from the girls’ bench
at last.

The impatient exclamation, and the laughter
which followed it, roused Emanuel from his
reverie. He looked and said, with a smile:

“You're right, Abelone! Let us start some-
thing! . . . Haven't you anything to tell us
to-night, Anton?” he said, turning to a brown-
40 THE PROMISED LAND

bearded clerical-looking little man in a white tie
and skullcap, who was sitting with his hands
folded over the bowl of his pipe, leaning back in
an old basket chair at the other end of the table.
This man was the new parish schoolmaster, the
well-known Anton Antonsen, formerly a private
teacher, who had been nominated by the Parish
Council as Mortensen’s successor. In answer to
Emanuel, he first pressed his thick lips together,
and sent out the tobacco smoke from the corners
of his mouth in little puffs like the smoke of
powder from the mouth of a cannon. Then he
laid his head on one side with a sly smile, and
said in broad dialect :

“Naa, naa, a won't trouble ye to-night.”

His droll little person in connection with a
certain dry humour made him an exhilarating
element, whose little jocular speeches, proverbs,
and humorous readings had become almost in-
dispensable at every festival in the countryside.

“Oh, I say, Anton,” said a man who had not
yet stopped laughing, “Ye might read us a bit
to-night. It’s ever so long since ye've given us
ought. Ye're forgetting that ye owe us that tale
about Stine, how she went to the High School.

“Ay, ay, let's have it! Out wi’ it, Anton!”
cried several voices at once.

The schoolmaster shut one eye and looked
round with a smile, which broadened as the
clamour increased.

“Weel, weel, then, bairns,” he said at last, when
THE PROMISED LAND 41

even the women by the stove joined in the request,
“if there’s naebody else wi’ ought to say, a’m sure
2’ll not hould back. A wunnot hae it on ma con-
science that Stineshouldn’t get to the High School!”

“But shan’t we hae a song first,” cried the same -
pert voice from the girls’ bench. It belonged to
pretty Abelone, the Parsonage servant, a strapping
girl of twenty, with black ribbons in her flaxen
hair and a large rose in her bosom, and the bright
leather belt indispensable to a pupil of the High
School.

“Yes, let's have a song,” agreed Emanuel.
“Let it be a national air! I'm sure we want
one in these times. What shall it be?”

“Thou Heroes grave by the ocean shore,”
proposed one.

“Yes, that'll do; we all know it by heart. You
lead off, Abelone.”

The room became quite silent as soon as the
song came to an end. The youths settled them-
selves with their arms on the table, and the girls
dropped their work, or else stuffed it into the
pockets under their aprons, and then folded their
hands in their laps, so as to give all their attention
to Anton while he was reading.

As a reader and reciter the schoolmaster stood
alone, and could only be compared to the old
High School director at Sandinge. But while
the latter, in telling his folklore tales and sagas,
almost took the roof off with his own breathless
excitement and his peculiar piping voice, which

oo.
42 THE PROMISED LAND

echoed through the lecture-hall like a war trum-
pet, and conjured up before them the giants, the
dwarfs, and the valkyrie maidens of the sagas
in so life-like a manner that the whole brilliant
Asgard race might have been passing before
them, the schoolmaster's strength lay in his
plain, moralising stories of everyday life which
had become so much the fashion. He imitated
the characters—especially the comic ones—in so
masterly a style, and used his comical little figure
to make his personifications life-like, in a way
quite new there.

He had contributed largely by these means to
the introduction of works by modern writers, and
had to a great extent driven out the old romantic
poetry from these evening assemblages. Emanuel
at first tried to wake the interest of the people,
but had never thoroughly succeeded in doing so.
He had not been able to understand his friends’
want of appreciation of those old poems, instinct
with life, to which he owed so many hours of
happiness in his childhood. But as he gradually
became more and more taken up with everyday
life and its struggles, he began to see that these
purposeless, fantastic tales of nightingales, fairies,
and moonshine, were in fact too far removed from
the feelings and ideas of the people of to-day.
Besides, his eyes had been opened to the heathen
spirit in which the passions of men and women
were portrayed and, as a rule, glorified by the old
poets. Time after time he had been struck by the
THE PROMISED LAND 43

immodesty with which the personal charm of the
women was enlarged upon . . . and it probably
was a similar feeling which caused the coldness of
the Friends towards them, and the bashfulness
with which they discussed them. . . . In the
works of the modern writers these sober, realistic
pictures, often written by men themselves of the
people . . . and especially in the social dramas of
the great Norwegian writers, they lived over again
their own daily struggles and moods. In them
he also found the moral earnestness, the popular
point of view, the craving for truth and justice,
which touched their deepest heartstrings.

CHAPTER 1V

THE same evening Villing and his wife were sit-
ting in their warm, cosy little parlour behind the
shop. A tall lamp with a red paper shade was
burning on the centre table and shedding a cheer-
ful glow on the mistress as she sat on the sofa,
knitting ; while Villing was in the arm-chair on
the other side of the table, reading the newspaper
aloud.

All was empty and silent in the shop. The lamp
was turned down, and smelling horribly as it hung
from the ceiling among currycombs, and hanks
of string. Behind a large cask of brandy in the
darkest corner sat the spectre-like shop boy, who
44 THE PROMISED LAND

was regularly renewed from the capital every
second or third year; but who nevertheless was
always the same thin, timid cadaverous creature
who for nearly twenty years had been seen wildly
dashing about Villing’s shop. At this moment he
had fallen asleep with his head against the wall,
his mouth wide open, and his hands stuck deep
down into his pockets, as if in the fervent hope
that he would never have to take them out again.

For the last couple of hours no one had dis-
turbed him either in his dreams. Villing’s shop
which formerly was always full of customers, now
stood empty the greater part of the day. By the
redistribution of the parish, the big Co-operative
Store at Skibberup had by degrees only left him
the farthing trade of the village poor, a small
coal business, and the sale of corn brandy and
Bavarian beer.

It did not however look as if these bad
years had weighed very heavily either on Villing
or his wife. His own little broad-headed figure
with the yellow whiskers, had rather gained in
rosy fleshiness ; certainly his wife had been ob-
liged to take to spectacles when she worked, but
her face retained its soft resigned expression, as
if she too had found rest in the belief in what
her husband usually called “The superiority of
professional training,” and “ultimate conquest.”

The paper which Villing was reading was a
Copenhagen conservative journal, whose minute
details of events in the capital had long been the
THE PROMISED LAND 45

favourite, and indeed the only reading of the
couple. For many years they had, from measures
of precaution, not subscribed to the paper, but had
it secretly sent by a business friend in the form of
packing paper. To-night they were having a
special treat, the account of a brilliant court ball,
at which all the grandeur and magnificence of
the capital had been assembled. Villing, who
at these readings never omitted the solemn and
vibrating voice with which illiterate people shew
their reverence for print, had seized the oppor-
tunity to employ all his declamatory talent.
Holding one whisker tightly, he rolled out the
sentences descriptive of uniforms, stars, medals,
brilliant gowns, and jewelry, with the greatest
gusto.

“Her gracious majesty the Queen, who was
unusually animated, and looked younger than
ever, wore a white lace petticoat and a train of
richest mauve brocade, five yards long, opal orna-
ments and a pale mauve aigret in her hair,” he
read. “Think of that, Sine, a mauve brocade train,
five yards long, if we only reckon twelve yards
of the usual width—at—Ilet us say 45 kr. a yard,
that makes 540 kr. for the stuff alone!”

Mrs Villing, who was resting her cheek on one
knitting needle, and in this position looked over
the rim of her spectacles, fixing her eyes on the
ceiling, added :

“And fifteen yards of lace at 25 kr. a yard,
makes 375 kr.”
46 THE PROMISED LAND

“915 kr. altogether then.”

“ At least.”

“For the stuff alone! you may call that
splendour indeed. But let’s have some more.
‘Her royal highness the Crown Princess wore
blue satin, the train brocaded with silver lilies.—
Silver lilies, do you hear ?—On her head she
had a diadem of brilliants, and the same precious
stones on neck and arms. A great sensation was
made by her earrings, which consisted of one
diamond each, as big as a sparrow’s egg — —
Did you ever hear anything like it, Sine! Dia-
monds as big as sparrow’s eggs! It’s as much
as to say that you have a country house, nay, a
whole village hanging at each ear. That must
be a wonderful feeling, don’t you think so?”

Here he stopped and raised his head to listen.
Merry voices were heard on the other side of the
pond, as a party of girls went singing through the
village.

“I suppose the Ranters’ meeting is over for
to-night,” he said, and looked at the clock. It's
high time too, past nine o'clock. Now let's get
on, I hope we shan’t be disturbed again.”—

At this moment the cracked bell over the shop
door began to ring. Villing hurriedly shut up
his paper, ready to pop it into the drawer in an
instant.

Mumbling voices were heard in the shop, and
the jingling of bottles; then the bell rang again,
and the door was shut.
THE PROMISED LAND 47

“ Elias!” shouted Villing with his stentorian
voice, holding the paper behind his back.

The shopboy’s ghostlike face appeared at the
half open door, with his hair hanging about his
sleepy eyes.

“Who was that?”

“It was Beery Svend and Brandy Pér .
they came for a pint.”

“All right, you can shut up for to-night and
go to bed, but don’t forget to put the candle out
boy !—goodnight!”

As soon as the door was shut, Villing took up
the paper again, but no sooner had he begun to
read than the shop bell began to jangle again.
This time the door was torn open noisily, the
counter flap thrown up, and a man admitted.
Villing turned pale and had hardly time to throw
his paper into a drawer before the door was
opened.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said with a sigh of relief
when he saw Aggerbdlle’s broad figure dripping
with rain. “We hadn’t expected you. . . . How
in the world do you come to be out at this time
of night?”

“I? . . . oh, I've been seeing a patient,”
mumbled Aggerbolle, looking about for a place
to put his hat and stick down.

“It's villanous weather! Downright hellish
weather! Not fit to drive a creature out in.
And the mud! One’s not fit to go into a decent
person’s house. But I thought I'd just look in.”
48 THE PROMISED LAND

“It was very kind of you to come and see us,
Aggerbolle,” said Mrs Villing, with a warning
glance at her husband, who didn’t take the least
pains to hide his ill-temper at the visit—* You
know we are so much alone now, and we are
always glad to see you. We were just talking
about you when you came in. Sit down and tell
us how you all are in this bad weather.”

Aggerbolle appeared not to hear this, but took
a chair by the table, and with a gloomy and
absent air continued to mutter curses at the
weather, nervously groping about in his right
hand trouser pocket as if his thoughts were busy
with something there.

At last he pulled out his hand and threw down
a 2 kr. piece on the table.

“If you'll give the hot water and a cigar, Villing,
I'll give the brandy. We want something strong
on a night like this T think.”

The shopkeeper and his wife exchanged ques-
tioning glances, and there was a moment’s pause.
Then Mrs Villing rose and went into the kitchen,
while Villing with a dexterous twist took up the
coin with one hand and whipped it into the other
and thence into his purse.

Aggerbolle’s eyes followed the piece of money
with a reluctant glance till Villing’s leather purse
closed upon it. Then he looked silently at the floor.

“Well, how are you getting on, old fellow?”
said Villing, leaning forward and slapping him
on the knees in a friendly way.
THE PROMISED LAND 49

“ How am I getting on?” asked the vet. as he
straightened himself up with a start as if he
wanted to get out of the way of the other’s touch.
“ Confoundedly, of course! . How should it be
otherwise ?

“ Ah well, we business people have our troubles
too. Prices go down everywhere . . . what is it
to come to? I was just saying to my wife the
other day, how tiresome it is that one has to pay
ready money for everything. One would be glad
to help a friend in difficulties, or tide a good
customer over temporary embarrassment—help
in deed as well as in word. But what is one to
do when a fellow can hardly scrape through
himself. I don’t at the moment know how I
shall pull through at quarter day. And it’s very
hard at my age with twenty years of honourable
work to look back on. I'm cleaned out, absolutely
cleaned out!”

Aggerbolle, to whom this speech was not new,
mumbled some unintelligible words in his beard,
and cast impatient glances at the kitchen
door.

At last Mrs Villing appeared with a tray;
Aggerbolle seized a glass, just covered the bottom
with water, filled it up with brandy, and without
waiting for any clinking of glasses, or drinking
of healths carried it to his lips with a shaking
hand and half emptied it. Then he bit the end
off a cigar which Villing in the meantime had
given him, lighted it at the lamp, and puffing at

D
50 THE PROMISED LAND

it, threw himself back in his chair with his arms
crossed, in his favourite position.

“Well,” he burst out, rendered talkative at
once by the spirit. “Is there anything new?’

“ Anything new? Let me see!” said Villing,
stirring his mixture. “Oh, the latest is that there
has been a meeting of the Parish Council to-day.”

“Do you call that new ? Devil a bit! Itseems
to me they have a meeting every day, . . . when
they don’t have two! The beasts of peasants
have nothing else to do in these days. They
send their milk to the co-operative dairies, and
the pigs to the common slaughter-houses. . .
So they've plenty of time to do the consequential.
By God, it was a different matter in the old times,
old fellow, eh?”

“It was the Select Committee, I believe.”

“Select Committee!” burst out Aggerbolle.
“Are we to be dragged to another political
farce? It’s not more than a week since we

had a meeting here! . .. Isn't it just what I
was saying?” he continued, grinding his teeth
and clenching his fist. “It’s enough to worry

the liver out of one’s body to think of all the
‘Dunderheads’ have done in the country. It’s
not enough that they've murdered—yes, 1 say
murdered the last traces of good old Danish
joviality, . . . but you have to sit and listen to
all their damned braying into the bargain. What
would old Didrik Jacobsen have said to it? D’ye
remember old Didrik, Villing ? Ah, he was a fine
THE PROMISED LAND 51

old blade. And his big Christmas feasts with the
good old-fashioned roast legs of pork weighing
three stone a-piece, with red cabbage, snaps, old
Christmas ale, followed by first-rate coffee punch
to console one for all the disappointments and
troubles in life. And then Shrovetide, when one
didn’t close an eye for five nights running! Those
were the times to live in, I say!”

Villing and his wife exchanged mournful glances.
These words of Aggerbdlle’s roused tender mem-
ories in their minds too. It was in their shop
that most of the good things had been bought,
and it had been one of their greatest joys in
life to sit down in the evening on their little
sofa side by side, after one of these monster
feasts, where sometimes over a hundred persons
had eaten and drunk prodigally, and with their
account book before them make out their long-
winded accounts, and add up the columns of
figures as long as their arms.

“ And then Soren, Heaven’s hound as we used
to call him,” continued Aggerbdlle, carried away
by his reminiscences. “ Do you remember, Villing,
when he killed a fat ox for his brandy carouse.
... And what do you get now? A drop of
lukewarm coffee and a sweet biscuit, . . . and
for the rest pious comic songs, jocular speeches,
friendly words, and sweaty hands to shake!
That's an example to set the rising generation.
Instead of working as the old people used to
do, and amusing oneself like them, they sit
52 THE PROMISED LAND

there singing themselves fat, and turning up
their eyes enough to make you sick. And
these are the new ‘Progressives!’ This is the
marrow of the land! Down with the rabble!
Down with the rascals, I say!”

The recollection of the two hours slow torture
he had been forced to endure at the Parsonage
embittered him beyond measure. Villing ‘hushed’
him in alarm, and he became somewhat doubtful
about his last brave words. He suddenly pulled
himself up, and for a few minutes there was
silence, as if the shadow of the weaver were
passing through the room.

“How are they all at home, Aggerbolle ? ” asked
Mrs Villing again, after a pause, so as to lead the
conversation into a new channel.

The vet. made a deprecating movement with his
hand, and turned away his head with the painful
contortion which his face always wore at mention
of his wife.

“Don't let’s talk about it, Mrs Villing! it dis-
tracts me, . . . my only consolation is, that all I
suffer—on account of bad times—and let me add,
my own weaknesses—I suffer for the sake of my
poor wife and my innocent little children. If it
hadn’t been for them, I should have risen and spit
my contempt in the faces of the scoundrels, you
may depend upon that, Mrs Villing. But I have
promised myself once for all that, for the sake of
my poor wife and children, I will drain the bitter
cup to the dregs. No, indeed! You make a mis-
THE PROMISED LAND 53

take, my good Mrs Villing! I'm not such a brutal
tormentor, that for the sake of my pride I would
let my little Sophie suffer more than she already
does!”

“But, my dear Mr Aggerbolle, I never said—"
objected Mrs Villing, gently.

“No, no, my good lady! you don’t know my
Sophie, . . . that’s the fact! You haven't loved
her as I have for twenty years of bitter sorrows
and anxieties. Then one learns to thank God for
a good and faithful wife, . . . and that my Sophie
has been! A pattern wife and mother . . . noble,
self-sacrificing, an angel of patience and so lovely
as she still is upon her bed of pain. . . .”

The brandy was having its usual effect upon
him. He put up his pince-nez to hide the tears
which were starting up. His voice was husky,
his words and gestures shewed the fiery passion
he still bore to his wife, though they had a some-
what uncomfortable effect upon those who knew
the little pining remnant of humanity which bore
the name of Mrs Aggerboélle.

“My poor wife is always ill now,” he continued,
abandoning all efforts to hide his emotion.
“You know she suffers from these fearful visions,
or hallucinations when she is alone. You may
fancy that it is fearful for me to think off, for she
is quite helpless. We live in such an out of the
way place . .. it’s dreadful! The other night
when I went home from you . . . it was rather
late I think . . . I saw a long way off that there
‘54 THE PROMISED LAND

was a light in the bedroom. I thought something
must be wrong, and when I got in—Ah, I shall
never forget the sight! I found my little wife
sitting up in bed, as white as a sheet, her teeth
chattering. I rushed up to her and clasped her
in my arms, but at first she couldn’t speak, she
was shaking all over. ‘My beloved Sophie, I
called—* what has happened?’ At last she got
strength to say that she had heard someone mov-
ing about the house, saw frightful faces at the
windows, and that someone had shouted to her
that they would murder her and her children.—
All delirious fancies of course, but so terrible—
so heartrending to witness!”

He no longer tried to control himself. The
tears rolled down his shaggy beard, and he leant
forward, burying his face in his hands.

“My good Mr Aggerbélle,” said Mrs Villing,
while her husband patted him on the knees en-
couragingly and said: “Don’t take on so my
dear fellow! You'll see that the summer will set
your wife up again. When the spring comes we
forget all the troubles of the winter.”

But he did not hear their words. He had fallen
into a kind of stupor which was one of the forms
of drunkenness in him. All at once he looked
up. His face which was blue when he came in,
had become fiery red, and reeked of the spirit.

“But do you know what I think?” he said in
a strange voice, looking from one to the other
and lifting up his hand. “There's some witch-
THE PROMISED LAND 55

craft in the air here . .. some devilry going
about.”

“But Mr Aggerbolle, I say!” whimpered Mrs
Villing. “You said that the other day too; you
make us feel quite uncanny.”

“Forgive me, my dear Mrs Villing, you do not
understand me, I neither believe in ghosts nor
spirits with grinning heads under their arms . . .
that kind of folly I leave to the ‘ Dunderheads.
But I say there is some other sort of sorcery in
the air here which steals one’s life blood, Mrs
Villing. Something which draws heart, and
blood, and marrow out of one’s body if one has
not been cradled under these skies. You may
depend upon my words! I have always felt it!
Why should my poor Sophie and I have got on
so badly otherwise ? ”

He again hid his face in his hands, while his
heavy sobs sounded like hollow groans of pain.

“But, dear Mr Aggerbolle!” exclaimed both
Villing and his wife with real sympathy, as they
tried to reason with him.

“For heaven’s sake don’t give way so, my dear
friend . . . mix yourself another glass and get
these ideas out of your head. We must have
one of our little games. We all want a little
amusement.”

As if waking from a dream, Aggerbélle lifted
his head and ran his fingers through his hair with
a gesture peculiar to him. With a gloomy look
he first glanced up at Villing and then at the clock.
56 THE PROMISED LAND

“I ought to be thinking of . .. I believe I
promised my wife— —” he murmured.

“Oh you can’t go home in your present state,
my dear fellow. You would be infecting your
wife with your melancholy. We can’t allow that.
Remember that I won 5300 kr. from you the
other day, you must have your revenge! . . .
Little Sine, get out the cards and mix another
half-glass for Mr Aggerbélle.”

The sight of the cards quickly overcame Agger-
bolle’s power of resistance.
~ These little card parties were not such a self-
sacrifice on the part of the Villings as they would
have had people to believe. Certainly they had
been obliged to give up playing for money, as
Aggerbolle’s total bankruptcy crushed every hope
of gain ; but their old interest in the game was
roused anew, after they hit on the happy device
of keeping a kind of account, and making the
stakes of dazzling value, and so tickling their
fancy and satisfying their craving for figures and
addition.

After Villing had made a trip into the shop to
assure himself that the boy was really asleep, they
took their seats round the table and dealt out the
‘cards for a game.

“I announce,” growled Aggerbolle imme-
diately.

“T ask leave too,” murmured Mrs Villing.

“Oh, I go above you,” chimed in Villing, and
was about to take the two cards on the table.
THE PROMISED LAND 57

But Aggerbolle laid his spongy hand over them
and said :

“You take yourself out of the mess. . .. I'll
play what I have.”

“Stop the ship, skipper, we're rolling,” laughed
Villing. “You seem to have got the lucky place
to-day.”

Aggerbolle put on his pince-nez again, which he
had started a couple of years before to add to his
importance in the eyes of the “Dunderheads.”
He laughed with all his flaming face, and never
heard the clock strike ten warning strokes.

When he had won his trick and made his
opponent “Jan,” he put both his big hands on his
sides, and looked gleefully from one to the other,
and said :

“I say, friends . . . we're very cosy here!”
 
CHAPTER 1

AFTER some days of mild spring weather, a strong
northerly gale sprang up at sunset. Hansine was
alone at home with the children, who had been
put to bed early. Emanuel and the servants, as
well as the usual evening guests, were gone to the
great “ Protest” meeting in the Skibberup meet-
ing-house. The people had been streaming into
it in the course of the day without intermission
from all the country round. Ever since the morn-
ing conveyances had been arriving, many of them
dropping people at the Parsonage, who wished
to call upon Emanuel, or take part in the service at
Veilby Church. Besides which the two members
of Parliament, who had been sent to speak—
peasants from the west coast—had been there on
a long visit, and in the afternoon a party of pupils
had come over from the Sandinge High School
with greetings and messages from the old invalided
director. All these people either had to have
coffee or something to eat, so there had been a
great deal to do all day—as much as at an inn on
a market day.

Hansine had been looking forward to a quiet

evening after the long and busy day. It was not
61
62 THE PROMISED LAND

often that she could secure quiet, nor did she by
any means share Emanuel’s delight in always
having the house full of people. She often
wished he would open the doors less wide for
the many friends who by degrees had accustomed
themselves to go in and out of the Parsonage as
if it were their own home. . . . But now, when
she was alone and the children in bed, and she
had lighted the lamp and seated herself at the
long table with some darning, she felt rather
low-spirited and lonely in the big empty house,
where she had never felt thoroughly at home.
Although it had been her home for seven years
she never could rid herself of a feeling that
she was an unbidden guest in these lofty halls,
which had been destined to house grand people,
and to ring with music and conversation. It
appeared to her sometimes that all the former
inhabitants—but especially Provst Tonnesen and
his proud daughter — still haunted the house
and watched her with threatening glances from
the dark corners. She often wondered how
Emanuel could be so contented here, notwith-
standing that everything was so different from
the quiet secluded peasant life which at first
they had both pictured to themselves. - She
many a time sent a sad thought—especially after
a troubled day—to the little house overgrown
with wild roses by the stream among the green
hills, which they thought of buying when they
were first engaged ; and when her fancy painted
THE PROMISED LAND 63

how happily and peacefully they might have
lived in the small cosy rooms, away from these
crowds of people, with the open shore for neigh-
bours, she felt more than
ever imprisoned in the
empty Parsonage.

Added to this, to-night
there was the noise of the
rising storm, which howled
round the house and brought
in its train all kinds of
sounds from the out-houses.
A shutter was banging about
in the barn, and from the _ _
shaking of the front door /
she perceived that Niels had |
again forgotten to shut the JF il

|

   

outer gates. A cow was
lowing in the byre — and
all these trifles roused the
housewifely anxiety, which the feeling of responsi-
bility for the management of this great house so
often caused her. She wondered if Abelone had
remembered to milk the broken-winded cow before
she went away, and if she had looked after the ashes
properly which were thrown out in the afternoon.
Abelone had become so abstracted lately, and
was always busy looking out of the window as
soon as Niels appeared in the yard. . . . If only
Niels was not being spoilt by all the fuss which
was made of him since he began to write in the
64 THE PROMISED LAND

papers. He had already become very neglectful
over his work she thought. . . . She was inter-
rupted in her thoughts by a moaning sound from
the bedroom, to which the door was ajar. It was
Laddie wailing in his sleep. He had been to
Skibberup in the morning with his father, so that
he might run about on the shore with the fisher-
men’s children during the service. But on their
return he had disappeared, and had not been to
be found all the afternoon. Only at dusk, after
Emanuel had left, did she find him sitting at the
top of the attic stairs, with his hands over his bad
ear and his face swelled with crying. She had
put him to bed at once, and dropped a little of
old Stryno-grethe’s flax-seed oil into his ear, after
which he soon fell asleep. But he kept on moan-
ing in his sleep, and this new outbreak of the
boy’s old suffering contributed to her depression
this evening.

She had never reconciled herself to Emanuel’s
fancy for taking the children about with him
wherever he went in all weathers—and still less
did she understand his allowing them to romp
about with the poor children, and exposing them
to so much that was unpleasant. She remem-
bered from her own childhood the many ugly
things which were prevalent among the poor;
and when she saw Laddie and Sigrid running
about with them just as she herself had done in
patched clothes and stockings in holes, she could
not keep back a certain feeling of dissatisfaction
THE PROMISED LAND 65

with the difference between her, and Emanuel’s
actual life, and the pictures she had formed for
herself on the benches of the High School, of
the higher intellectual life,
which by her marriage, she
had expected to realise.

Time after time she had
made up her mind to speak
to Emanuel about the chil-
dren’s bringing-up, but her
heart had always failed her.
As soon as he entered the
room with his cheerful, happy
manner, quite absorbed in
his great work she lost con-
fidence in herself. In the
face of the unshaken confi-
dence and cheerful self-sac-
rifice with which he threw himself into PPE
his lofty vocation, she could never find TE
words for her every day troubles.

. . . She raised her head. A series of little
shrieks were making themselves heard in the
bedroom, she quickly laid her work aside and
rose. But when she reached Laddie’s bed she
was surprised to find him apparently sleeping
quietly. She did not understand it, but she
calmed herself by thinking that she could not
have heard aright, and was just turning away
when the boy threw himself on his back, ground
his teeth, and again gave three frightened shrieks.

E

 
66 THE PROMISED LAND

“But child! . . . whatever is the matter?” she
cried, and raised him up to wake him.

The boy rubbed his eyes and looked about in
surprise, and said at last :

“I'm quite well.”

“What did you call out for then? .. . Did
you have a bad dream? Have you any pain?”

He did not seem to hear her. His eyes had
suddenly grown very big, and he stared straight
before him with a mingled expression of fear and
lively interest.

“Mother!” he whispered.

“Yes, what is it, my boy ? ”

“A fly has got into my head.”

“ Nonsense, child. It’s something you're dream-
ing. Lie down again and go to sleep, you'll forget
all about it then.”

“No, it’s really true. . . . I can feel it all the
time. I expect it can’t get out, mother.”

His face worked, the mouth widened, and after
a short struggle with his pride, he threw himself
into her arms and began to cry. She stroked his
hair and tried to comfort and soothe him, and
with his usual good temper he soon dried his eyes
and laid himself down under the clothes. With a
little sigh he folded his hands under his cheek
and in a few minutes fell asleep.

Hansine remained standing by the bed. The
boy’s words and strange behaviour had inspired
her with new fears. She did not know what to
think of him. . . . And standing there looking at
THE PROMISED LAND 67

him with the light from the sitting-room shining
on to his pillow, she made a new resolution that
she would no longer put off having certainty
as to his condition. This very evening she would
talk to Emanuel about her fears, and she would
not desist until the doctor was fetched to her
child.

CHAPTER II

IT was nearly ten o'clock, and Hansine was again
sitting by the lamp darning the children’s stock-
ings, when Emanuel came home.

“God’s peace be here!” he said on entering ;
an old greeting of the peasants’ which he had
adopted. He remained standing a moment in the
darkness near the door, with an extinguished
lantern in one hand, and an oak stick in the
other. His light beard streamed wind-tossed
over his dark, monkish cloak, the hood of which
covered his head like a cowl.

“ Has Niels come home ?”

“No, I have not heard anyone.”

“ Nor Abelone?”

“No.”

“Poor child! she will find it difficult to
struggle against the wind. It’s blowing half a
hurricane, and so dark you can’t see your hand
before you. My lantern blew out down under
68 THE PROMISED LAND

the ridge, I could hardly find my way.—Well,
¢ All is rest, home is best.” ”

He put the lantern down on a bench near the
door and laid aside his cloak and stick.

“I've got plenty to tell you!” he continued
excitedly, as he came nearer blowing on his
frozen fingers. It was not before he came quite
close to her and was about to lay his hands on
her head and give her his usual kiss of greeting,
that he noticed her perturbed and absent ex-
pression.

“What is the matter, dear? Has anything
happened since I have been away ? ”

“Oh, it’s Laddie again, Emanuel.”

“Laddie! what is the matter with him? He
can’t be lost? I didn’t see him all the afternoon.

“No, I discovered how that was. . . . I found
him on the attic stairs after you left. His ear was
bad again, and I had to put him to bed. I don’t
know what's the matter with him; I've never
seen him so strange as he is this evening.”

“What do you say? Let me see him!”

He was taking the lamp off the table, but she
held his hand back.

“You won't want that. It might wake him, I
have lighted the night lamp in there.”

She rose and followed him into the bedroom,
where the boy lay, asleep with both hands under
his cheek and his knees drawn up—in the dim
light of a little flame swimming on a layer of oil
in a glass of water, which stood behind his pillow.
THE PROMISED LAND 69

Not a line in his face shewed a trace at this
moment of anything but sound and healthy sleep.

“Why, he’s sleeping like a god!” whispered
Emanuel, stooping over the little iron bed to
listen to his breathing. “There can’t possibly be
anything the matter with him. You've alarmed
yourself for nothing, Hansine ! ”-

“I can’t make it out, he was talking quite
wildly before and shrieking fearfully. It comes
over him by fits and starts.”

“Then it’s the spring air you may be sure! It
generally makes children’s sleep uneasy. You'll
see in the morning by God’s help he'll be quite
brisk again.”

“1 seriously think all the same that the doctor
ought to see him.”

“How pretty he looks!” continued Emanuel,
who, like most great talkers, seldom heard other
people’s remarks. He had put his arm round
Hansine’s waist and was looking with a happy
smile at the three little golden heads lying there
buried in the white pillows. “Just like a little
angel in our Father's bosom. Isn't it a beautiful
sight! Can you understand Hansine how anyone
with children can deny God? To my mind there
is always a reflection of the light from beyond.—
such a beautiful revelation of the heavenly peace
on a sleeping child’s face. . . . It reminds me of
an answer our dear old High School director
once made to a man who asked him what eternal
happiness would be like. ‘Like this,’ he said,
70 THE PROMISED LAND

pointing to a child which had fallen asleep at its
mother’s breast. I thought it was so beautifully
expressed——Well ! ” he interrupted himself,
letting Hansine go, “ How are the other two
little fairies? I suppose they're all right. You
can hear Fattie snoring well enough. I've quite
longed for the dear little creatures. I've hardly
seen them to-day.”

He moved about on tiptoe round the beds
while he spoke, bending over the three little
beings whom he often called his “three golden
treasures.” He took a caraway cake out of his
pocket by each bedside, and put it half under the
pillow, so that the children might see them as
soon as they woke.

“I just looked in at the baker's a moment, I
didn’t want to come home empty handed. Now
we'd better leave them. I have such a lot to tell
you about to-night. Come along.”

They went back into the sitting-room, and he
began walking up and down the big room, the
better to give her a detailed account of the events
in the meeting-house. Hansine only listened
with half an ear. She had not given up her
intention, and was determined to lead the con-
versation back to Laddie at the first opportunity.

“But do you know what was the greatest
success of the whole meeting?” exclaimed
Emanuel, stopping in the middle of the room
with his hands on his sides and bending forward.
“Try to guess, Hansine.”
THE PROMISED LAND 71

“Oh, that’s no use . . . youd better tell me.”

“Your Father!”

She looked up from her darning.

“Father?”

“Yes—no other than your dear, old, blind
Father!”

“ Father spoke?”

“Yes, indeed! . . . I wish I could give you
any idea of the enthusiasm, nay downright jubila-
tion, his appearance called forth. It was really
most affecting.”

“But can Father speak?” asked Hansine in
growing astonishment.

“It was not so much the words. It was his
whole appearance and his extreme agitation. You
see the chairman had just spoken rather lengthily,
and the resolution was about to be read, when
your father who was sitting just under the plat-
form, stood up because he couldn’t hear. His
movement was misunderstood in the hall, people
thought he was going to speak, and they began
shouting on all sides—‘Up on to the platform! Up
on to the platform !’—1In short, before your father
had time to object, he was led up into the Tribune
by two men. He didn’t make any great opposi-
tion . . . and you know his bashfulness, so you
can imagine his attitude and the feeling of the
meeting. [I shall never forget that moment.”

“ But—but, what did he say?”

“Well, as I said before it was not so much the
words—as the sight of that old blind man with
72 THE PROMISED LAND

his snow-white hair, appearing there as a living
witness of the days of slavery which he almost
himself experienced. It was like a voice from
the grave, when he lifted his shaking hand and
shouted with his old man’s voice: ‘Are we to
have the ‘wooden horse’* again. Is that the
idea? Are we peasants to be cattle again for
the nobles? ”—He didn’t say much more, but you
should have heard the thundering.

“No, no, that we never will!” rang through the
Hall. I only wished that the enemies of Freedom
might have been present, to hear the iron wills
in that cry ;—they would have seen then, how
hopeless their opposition is. . . .

“Oh, what a fortunate man I am!” he burst
out going along to Hansine and laying his hand
on her head. “Never can I thank the Lord
enough that he led me out of that Sodom, where
life is a daily struggle with death and annihila-
tion. How different it is here where everything
is in its origin—all is spring, breaking day, and
song of larks! And how beautiful to be permitted
according to one’s poor abilities, to help to build up
the promised kingdoms of truth and justice! . . .
When I think of myself in former days, I seem
to be a new creature, and to have thrown off
an old, vile slough. And next to God, I owe
you thanks for all this happiness my dearest

* Wooden horse. A favourite instrument of torture in the
days of serfdom. Equivalent to ‘‘ Riding the Rail ” in England.
THE PROMISED LAND 73

one! ... Now you look down and blush, but it’s
true all the same, you are the Princess without
whom I could never have won my half kingdom !”

CHAPTER III

IT was only next morning that Hansine took
courage to urge with sufficient persistency her de-
sire that the doctor should be sent for. Emanuel
was almost angry at first. He reproached her
for her never ending solicitude, the weakness of
her faith in the mercy of Providence, and her
inclination to believe in the devices of man rather
laying everything trustfully in God’s gracious
hands.

He spoke so convincingly with such faith and
in so sorrowful a tone that Hansine felt quite
guilty, and began to cry.

But he was softened at once at the sight of
her tears and kissed her. By this he made
matters worse, and she turned away with despair-
ing sobs.

He was quite surprised. He was not used to
see her give way to her feelings. He had hardly
ever seen her cry since that moment on the
evening of their engagement, when she had in-
voluntarily betrayed her love by her passionate
and irrepressible weeping— The recollection of
that happy hour now made his heart tender, and
he bent over her, stroking her hair and cheek,
74 THE PROMISED LAND

“ But, my dear, my dear, had I known that my
words would hurt you so, I would never have
said what I did. I did not mean to hurt you.
And you know—don’t you, that if it really will
give you any satisfaction to hear Doctor Hassing’s
opinion, that it would never occur to me to
oppose you. I will tell Niels to put the horses
to at once. Then the doctor will be here this
morning.”

When Hansine heard the carriage roll through
the archway a quarter of an hour later, she set to
work with Abelone to tidy the rooms for the
doctor’s reception. It was the first time that she
expected a visit from a stranger, who might look
upon her home with unfriendly eyes; and she
knew that exception might be taken to various
things. The floor of the big room was sprinkled
with water and swept, and the benches dusted—
there was no more to be done to it. But in the
bedroom clean linen was put on all the beds, and
Sigrid and little Dagny were brought in from the
yard to be smartened a little. She would have
preferred to put their Sunday clothes on, but
she thought Emanuel would not like it, so she
contented herself with scrubbing their faces and
putting on clean pinafores. Laddie, she was
obliged to leave as he was. He had been fairly
quiet in the latter part of the night, and now
slept so soundly that she was loath to wake him.

She thought of Emanuel too, but she had seen
him cross the yard in his usual working smock
THE PROMISED LAND 75

and big field boots. She knew it would be use-
less to try and get him to make any alteration in
his dress out of regard for the doctor, so she had
to console herself with the reflection that as it
was Monday, both smock and boots were fairly
clean.

There was a threefold reason for Emanuel’s
pronounced objection to seeing the doctor of the
neighbourhood in his house. In the first place he
had a great aversion to the whole profession, be-
cause it appeared to him that modern Society
made it of too much importance, and that it was
the cause of much of the effeminacy and dissolute
living which undermined the cultivated classes in
the present day. He was convinced that the
almost idolatrous confidence with which they
threw themselves into the arms of doctors and
chemists was a serious danger to their sound
moral development. So many people were under
the impression that they could patch up their
mental and bodily excesses by the help of pills, po-
tions, and electricity, and that therefore they could
afford to disdain the only true permanent heal-
ing measures—self-control, frugality, and bodily
exercise. Besides this, he had a special reason
for shunning Dr Hassing. He was the only
person outside the circle of “friends” with whom
he came in contact, by meeting him occasionally
among the sick and dying ;—and the doctor’s
bearing and carefully tended person, his measured
gait, and conventional phrases forced him unplea-
76 THE PROMISED LAND

santly into renewed contact with the social forms
which he despised and had fled. He was reminded
of persons he had known formerly—and he did
not wish to disturb the calm of that sepulchral
chamber in which he had long since laid all
bitter memories of the past to rest.

Finally, it was the general opinion of the neigh-
bourhood that Dr Hassing was a very mediocre
practitioner, whose real interests lay in collecting
and surrounding himself with works of art, re-
building his villa, giving dinner-parties, and taking
an annual trip in foreign countries—in short, in
spending as pleasant a life as possible with the
help of a considerable private fortune.

It was therefore no small sacrifice Emanuel
made to Hansine in consenting to send for this
man to see his dear Laddie, as to whose sound
constitution he was so convinced that it almost
seemed ungrateful to the Almighty to doubt it.
So he did not go to the stables in his usual good
spirits to feed the cattle and get the straw down
from the loft. He also had the annoyance of
discovering various pieces of damage wrought by
the storm in the night.

It could not be denied that the formerly stately
Parsonage began to have a somewhat dilapidated
appearance. Emanuel had come here at a very
unfavourable time for farms, with falling prices
and an increased demand for improvements. Be-
sides, he had been pursued by a series of mis-
fortunes with his cattle, and had come to grief
THE PROMISED LAND 77

over experiments in feeding and new ways of
manuring, which he had tried to introduce for the
benefit of the community. Also his housekeeping
was more costly than he really was aware of, and
although he had his mother’s heritage to fall back
on, and though he never spared himself, and was
in the stable by five in the morning, yet he could
not manage the work with the assistance he had
hitherto been able to afford.

The fact was that, true to his purpose, he
obstinately declined to accept any stipend for his
ministerial work beyond the free use of the Par-
sonage and the land. So as to share the life and
means of the “friends,” he maintained himself
exclusively by the land, and immediately on his
institution had required the peasants to pay their
tithes and offerings into the Poor Relief Fund,
which defrayed the expenses of the congrega-
tional charities. Above all, he was anxious to
be looked upon, not as a priest, but as a peasant,
who, like the churchwardens and fire inspectors,
had had posts of honour and trust bestowed upon
them by the congregation. He generally called
himself their “ Templeserver,” and was highly
pleased with the word, because, as he said—it
put an end to “his reverence” so effectually.
78 THE PROMISED LAND

CHAPTER IV

IT was ten o'clock when Niels came back with the
doctor, who sat at the back of the wagon in his
own swing chair, wrapped in a big fur coat and
brown gloves. When the doctor had alighted the
two men shook hands in an equally stiff and
reserved manner, and then went up the steps
in silence. The doctor took off his fur coat
in the entrance hall, and revealed a tight-fitting
black coat and a large satin tie with a diamond
pin. He was a man of about forty, with a fine
figure, sharply cut features, and small whiskers.
From the first moment he evidently took great
pains not to betray any surprise at Emanuel’s
peculiar costume, and when he entered the
“Hall” he also appeared not to notice anything
unusual in it. In his care not to show the least
misplaced curiosity, he even dropped the gold
pince-nez from his prominent nose, and with an
effort to be unconstrained, said :

“Well,we’d better go and look at the little chap.”

“It is my wife who wishes to have your opinion
about my son,” answered Emanuel, hurt by the
doctor’s tone. “I don’t think there is much the
matter with him . . . probably an ordinary spring
cold.”

“Well, we shall see.”

“ Hansine rose from a chair by the boy’s bed
when the doctor appeared at the door. He re-
mained standing a moment on the threshold—
THE PROMISED LAND 79

and this time he did not succeed so well in
hiding a certain surprise. It was clear that
rumour or his own fancy had pictured some-
thing quite different as the much talked-of
clergyman’s wife of Veilby.

“Your son is ill,” he said with sudden sym-
pathy, after approaching and shaking hands with
her. “I hope it is nothing much . . . a common
cold your husband thinks.”

He took a chair and sat down by the bed,
where the boy was still asleep; nor did he wake
when the doctor, after taking off a huge pair of
cuffs, began to feel his head and his pulse with
his long white hands. When the wadding over
the bad ear was touched, he slowly opened his
eyes, and then lay for a long time without moving,
looking at the strange man. He only seemed to
become fully conscious when his eyes fell upon
his mother at the other side of the bed. He again
looked at the mysterious stranger, examined his
black coat, his diamond pin, and his large white
teeth, while a dawning fear rose in his pale blue
eyes.

Hansine raised him carefully into a sitting
posture, and said brightly,

“Don’t be frightened, my boy. It is the doctor
who wants to look at your ear. All that earache
is so tiresome, and the doctor is a nice man who
will make it better.”

Then the boy seemed to understand it all. His
mouth widened, and the tears came into his eyes,
8o THE PROMISED LAND

But when he discovered Emanuel at the foot of
the bed, he quickly swallowed his tears. It was
as if he understood that it would please his father
if he showed himself as a brave and fearless lad
to the stranger. The doctor in the meantime had
begun to examine the bad ear. When the wad-
ding was removed there was a flow of an evil-
smelling discharge.

His face took a critical expression.

“ How long has this been going on?” he asked.

“ We have noticed it on and off for two years,”
answered Hansine.

The doctor looked up as if he could not believe
his ears.

“For two years?”

“Yes.”

He glanced up at Emanuel, who misunderstood
it, and with a quiet nod confirmed his wife’s words.

Hansine began telling him about the beginning
of the illness, its periodic recurrence, and the
disturbance of the previous night. The doctor
listened attentively, but seemed to have his
thoughts elsewhere. When she stopped he asked
for a candle, and waved it backwards and for-
wards before the boy’s eyes, then held both his
hands for some time on the back of his head, and
finally examined the part at the back of the ear
with great care. The skin was slightly distended
here on account of an incipient swelling.

Up to this point Emanuel had stood quietly
with his hands behind him looking on. He had
THE PROMISED LAND 81

made up his mind that Hansine should have her
way this time; and though he was sorry for the
boy, who sat there with big tears in his eyes,
struggling to preserve his equanimity, he had not
disturbed the doctor in his examination.

But when the doctor took out his instrument
case and produced various sharp-pointed instru-
ments, he could no longer remain passive.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked in a
tolerably aggressive tone.

The doctor looked up in astonishment.

“Yes,” he answered shortly, and asked for
warm water, a towel, and several other things
which all pointed to an operation. Emanuel
stood irresolute. Was he really to allow this
person to do violence to his son? He hardly
dared look at the boy, who at sight of the instru-
ments had turned as white as a sheet, and begged
for protection with his eyes. But he was almost
more tortured by seeing the readiness with which
Hansine helped the doctor, the cold-bloodedness
with which she put her child into the hands of
this charlatan.

When the doctor approached with the first
instrument—a sharp silver needle—the last rem-
nant of Laddie’s courage forsook him, and he
threw himself into his mother’s arms. Emanuel
then left the room; he would not be a witness
to the ill-treatment for which Hansine must be
responsible. He went into the sitting-room, and
when he heard his son’s first heartrending scream

F
82 THE PROMISED LAND

there, he went on into his own room, and walked
up and down to deaden the sound from the
bedroom. He was most violently agitated. He
could not understand Hansine. He felt as if he
was put into the background in his own house,
and shamefully betrayed by those in whom he
trusted most implicitly.

In about a quarter of an hour he heard voices
in the sitting-room, and on going in found the
doctor with his hat in his hand giving final direc-
tions to Hansine. He took leave at once on his
appearance.

“I think you are too sanguine about your son’s
illness,” the doctor continued in the passage,
whither Emanuel had followed him in silence.
“I did not express myself so plainly in your
wife's presence . . . but I consider it is my duty
not to conceal from you that his condition is nof
without gravity. He is suffering from a long-
standing, hardened, and, I fear, somewhat malig-
nant inflammation, which unfortunately has been
allowed to spread all over the internal passages.
How the case will run it is of course impossible
for me to say at present; but after the turn the
illness has latterly taken, we must be prepared
for an imminent crisis. For the moment I have
done what I could by piercing the drum, to
secure a free passage for the discharge, and 1
have also ordered leaven to his feet and cold
bandages to relieve the pressure on the head. . . .
I cannot do more to-day. Everything now de-
THE PROMISED LAND 83

pends on keeping the child as quiet as possible,
until we see what course the inflammation will
take. Should there be the slightest sign of
rigidity during sleep—not to mention actual con-
vulsions—you must send for me at once. It is
this calamity and its attendant fever which we
must try to avert at any price.

CHAPTER V

THE doctor’s decided tone, and apparent absolute
certainty as to the boy’s condition, necessarily
had a certain effect upon Emanuel. As soon as
the doctor had driven off he went back to the
bedroom. He found Laddie lying on his back
with his head bound up, and apparently sunk in
wonder.

When the child saw his father he smiled, and
when Emanuel sat down cautiously by the bed
and asked him how he was, he sat up without
help and began to tell him quite brightly, and
with some importance, all that the doctor had
done to him.

“But what in the world is the meaning of all
this?” exclaimed Emanuel turning to Hansine,
who came in from the kitchen with Sigrid and
little Dagny, who had been sent to Abelone
during the doctor’s visit. “The child is quite
lively! What was all that rubbish about fever
and convulsions and I don’t know what.”
84 THE PROMISED LAND

“Did the doctor say anything about that?”
asked Hansine, stopping suddenly in the middle
of the room.

“Oh,” he rambled on, “but that’s a way doctors
have, if only they can get people to believe
them. Who's that coming now?” Heavy steps
and the sound of a stick were heard in the big
room. A moment later a stout elderly woman
appeared at the door. ,“ Grannie !” cried Emanuel
and the children, at the same time stretching out
their arms towards her.

“Ay, indeed it’s me!” she said in her childlike
voice, nodding and smiling to them all. “We
heard tell of your sending for the Kyndlose
doctor at the Stous, an’ I just had the chance of
a lift to the mill, so it didn’t take me long to get
on me things. Seemed like I wanted to know
what was the matter.”

“Oh, I hope to God all the fuss is about
nothing. Laddie has had a little of his old ear-
ache, and Hansine frightened herself about him
and would have the doctor.”

“Thank the Lord and praise him! Then it’s
nothing worse. Me and Daddy got a bit scared
as ye may think. We're not much used to
doctor's visits here.”

She undid the big silver clasp of her heavy
green linsey cloak, took the little shawl off her
head, and smoothed her iron-grey hair with her
fingers. It was as thick as ever in front under
her gold-embroidered cap with the wide red ribbon
THE PROMISED LAND 85

tied at one side. She had become more portly
than ever in the course of years, and both hands
and feet were swelled up with dropsy to such an
extent, that she could not move outside the house
without a stick.

“Oh, so he’s the one supposed to be bad, and
who must needs hae the doctor fetched,” she
said, dropping heavily on to a chair by the little
iron bed, when she looked at the boy for a time.
His pleasure in seeing his grandmother, to say
nothing of a little bundle tied up in a handker-
chief which she had on her knee, brought the
colour to his cheeks and made him quite lively.
“I'm sure /e doesn’t look very bad. Youre a
reg’lar little silly Hansine to let yourself be scared
like that. You're just like the Copenhagen folks
who tear away both to doctor and chemist as
soon as they've got a bit of an ache. If the boy
hadn’t got all those trappings on his head, he'd be
quite a Sunday bairn.”

Hansine was sitting by the big bed nursing the
baby.

“ All the same the Doctor said he wasn’t a bit
well, and we ought to have sent for him long since.”
She tried to defend herself, although the boy's
bright looks and the unconcern of the others had
begun to make her waver.

“Oh, the doctor,” laughed her mother, fondling
Sigrid, who was leaning against her in an ingra-
tiating way, staring at the little bundle with
hungry eyes.
86 THE PROMISED LAND

“If everything came about as folks preach we'd
all have been in our black graves long since.
Why, only the other days, Per Persen’s bit lassie
was thought to have swallowed a needle. The
doctor stuffed her wi’ potatos and doughy bread

till the bairn was like to choke . . . and then
they found the needle, as large as life, in grand-
mother’s pincushion. . . . I'm blest if they didn’t.”

“That wasn’t the doctor’s fault,” murmured
Hansine.

“Well, well, may be not. Then I mind about
Soren Seiler—it was in old Dr Vellov’s time, who
was thought to have more learnin’ than this here
Hassing. Vellov said Soren hadn’t three days to
live, and all the family were that busy dividing
the property and writing out the inventory, hearth-
stoning the big room for the funeral—aye, and I
believe the coffin was ordered too—and three days
later Soren was about again in his usual way with
his pipe in his mouth ; and he’s walking about to
this day, though he must be nigh on ninety.
What d'ye say to that story? No, it’s to be
wished these good doctor folks wouldn’t carry it
off so high, but let the Lord rule over life and
death, then perhaps there wouldn’t be so much
misery.”

“Yes; quite true; my very words,” said
Emanuel, who was walking up and down with his
hands behind him.

“It’s my mind that we'd far better stick to the
good old home-made things rather than all this
THE PROMISED LAND 87

new doctoring, with their medicines and poison
stuffs. For all me haste, I didn’t forget to bring
along some soothing syrup and some angel
balsam. I didn't know what might be the
matter. Then I just stepped in to Maren
Nilen and brought a bit of her worm’s-grease

. it’s a fine thing for festerings.” . . . While she
talked she undid her little bundle and took out
various packets which smelt strongly of herbs.
At last she produced three pink sugar pigs and
gave one to each of the children. Laddie took
his with the shy smile with which he always
expressed his thanks, while Sigrid snatched at her’s
and dashed away with it to the other room.

“Well, and how is all at home, Else?” asked
Emanuel, to change the subject. He had looked
at Hansine and felt quite sorry for her, because
she had evidently begun to repent of her obstinacy.
Dear old grandfather must be quite proud of the
success of his speech the other night. It was a
solemn moment for all of us.”

“Oh, ay, he was as pleased as any bairn. He'd
never expected to come out as a speaker. But
he’s thankful that the Lord was willing to use
him as his instrument, and put the right words
into his mouth at the moment. Such graciousness
is enough to please and comfort a man in his old
age.”

They were interrupted by Abelone, who came
to the door and said dinner was ready. The
grandmother got up to go. Emanuel tried to
88 THE PROMISED LAND

persuade her to stay and dine, but she had
promised Kristen Hansen to meet him again
by the mill when he came back, and it was high
time for her to start.

“I must get home an’ quiet Daddy, too. He's
thinking all the time that there’s something ever
so bad the matter.”

She clasped her cloak and put the little shawl
over her head again. At the door she turned and
nodded to Laddie, and said :

“Now mind you come an’ see us o’ Sunday,
Laddie, an’ you shall have a biesting’s cake, if the
red cow calves.”

Then she turned to Emanuel, and said:
“Daddy has sold the brindled cow, but they're
very bad prices this year.”

CHAPTER VI

THE upper end of the long table was covered
with brown oilcloth, upon which stood two earth-
enware dishes of steaming cabbage soup, half a
rye loaf, a saucer of coarse salt, and the usual jar
of water with a wooden lid. Emanuel took his
seat at the head of the table. Under the window
on his left sat Niels and old Séren the cowherd;
he was all joints and knuckles, with a head at the
top which was not much more than a couple of
huge jaws. The lower part of his face and the
THE PROMISED LAND 89

upper part of his neck down to the prominent
Adam's apple was black with a thick growth of
stubble. He had a red nose, and over his low
yellow forehead his hair tumbled, looking as if
ashes had been strewed over his head. But his
ears were the most curious part—Ilarge, flat,
wounded patches of skin, both in shape and colour
like bats’-wings.

Hansine and the two children were on the
other side of the table with Abelone; and besides
these there was a little old body with a green
shade over her eyes, and two children from the
street—who, according to the custom of the poor
—had come in of their own accord at the dinner
hour, and were evidently quite at home. Laddie
remained in bed. He had settled himself to rest
soon after his grandmother's departure, and had
fallen asleep embracing his sugar pig.

With bent heads, all at the table folded their
hands, while Emanuel in a loud voice said grace:

“We seat us here in Jesu’s name,
To eat and drink unto the same.
To honour God, ourselves to save.
We thank him for the food he gave.”

“Amen,” they all said in chorus, and the old
woman with the shade added to herself, “ God
grant we have our fill.”

At first they ate in silence. The only
sounds were the scraping of the horn spoons
against the plates, and the supping of many
90 THE PROMISED LAND

mouths. Soren was particularly audible. He
held a piece of warm pork in his left hand, and
between each spoonful or so of soup he dipped
it in the saucer of salt and gnawed a piece off it.
Even Emanuel helped himself of the dishes with
the ravenous appetite and the craving to fill the
stomach which comes of constant hard, bodily
labour and an innutritious diet. Niels, on the
other hand was too much taken up to-day with
his literary efforts, to have any thoughts for the
care of his body. He sat there with his back
rounded and his arms on the table, slowly moving
the spoon to and from his wide mouth, while his
little black eyes stole from Emanuel to Abelone,
and back again to Emanuel—as if expecting him
to turn the conversation to his new article.

But Emanuel had quite other thoughts. He
had decided to go to Skibberup in the afternoon
to hear if anything new was known there from
parliamentary circles. He had lately found it
very difficult to stay quietly at home ; every day
brought new and disquieting rumours. First it
was said that the King had already sent for the
leader of the people’s party ; then, that the exist-
ing government had decided to brave the wish of
the people by passing laws in the future by their
own authority. And the 31st of March was ap-
proaching, the end of the financial year—a day
which perhaps would mark a boundary between
two ages.

“Have none of you any news from Copen-
THE PROMISED LAND 91

hagen?” he asked when he had finished eating.
“You, Soren? you generally know all about
politics !”

“Eh, well a man picks up one thing an’ another,”
answered Soren with his immense mouth full of
food, lifting his eyebrows at the same time in an
attempt to give himself a diplomatic air. He was
uncle to a member of parliament, and this circum-
stance caused him to be looked upon as an oracle
in political matters among his friends. “A’ fancy
they’re makin’ ready for a birth in parliament,
an’ mayhap us electors might be called in to a
christenin’ afore long !”

“You mean parliament will be dissolved . . .
new elections, eh? Do you think the government
will try that measure again? What good would
that do?”

“Oh—no, but it wasn’t a bit too soon that the
workin’ man got his say in the country.”

“No, there you're right, Soren! They ought
to have had it long ago, and then there wouldn't
have been all the bitterness there has been.”—
Well shall we say “Tak for mad,” he broke
off, seeing they had all finished eating. Even
Soren had at last laid down his spoon, after
first licking it and then wiping it with his
thumb.

A short prayer was again said, and then every
one went his own way.

Emanuel as usual sought the oilcloth sofa in
his own room, so as, before he went to Skibberup,
92 THE PROMISED LAND

to take “a peep into dreamland,” in the High
School phraseology.

Soren sauntered across the yard with the heavy
steps of reflection, into the barn where summer
and winter he took his mid-day nap on a bundle
of straw, and where he regularly drove away the
cat with his snores.

Niels went to his own room, a little white-
washed space beside the stable, which he had
arranged as much like a study as possible; a
washhandstand by the window was made into a
writing-table, there was a shelf of nicely bound
books, and a long row of pipes carefully arranged
according to their length along the wall. Above
the bed was hung a framed photograph of Sandinge
High School. It shewed the ivy-covered gateway
with a group of teachers and pupils. The old
director was in the middle, with his round face,
and long curls, and huge hat. Under the picture,
in gold letters, were the words with which he
always took leave of his pupils:

“Be on your guard and keep up a good heart.”

When Niels had filled his longest pipe, and put
back the canister of tobacco into its place on the
window sill, he sat down before the little table
and stretched out his fat legs at ease. After
sitting so for some time and filling the room
with impenetrable clouds of smoke, he drew the
“People’s News” out of his breast pocket, spread
THE PROMISED LAND 93

it out with affectionate care on to the table, and
began to read.

“SUNDAY HOLIDAYS IN THE COUNTRY.
“A CALL TO THE YOUNG.

“To-day I am going to write about Sunday
holidays in the country. How sad it is to see,
as one often may in the country, the young men,
ay, and maidens too, who ought to have better
thoughts, wasting their hours of liberty on Sun-
day afternoons and week days too when the work
is done, on all kinds of worldly and useless vanity,
such as playing skittles in the public alleys for
money or spirits, so that it often happens that the
men get tipsy and go about shouting like animals,
and indulging in much other ribaldry of the worst
sort. Such sights must rouse the indignation of
every spiritually-minded person ; for one would
think they must have something higher to think of
and to strive after, especially in these times when
the torch of freedom is lighted all over the country
to gather every one to battle for the freedom and
rights of the people. Here in this district we do
not, thanks to our good teachers and leaders, see
anything of the sort, which is unworthy of a free
people. But in other parishes such things are
still prevalent, and therefore I send this appeal
to the young, that we may all join on this point
too, and fight for the victory of the spirit over the
94 THE PROMISED LAND

darkness of slavery, so that we may sing with the
poet,

“Oh may all the blessed be led
To the city of beauty and light !””

“Yours obediently
“N. NIELSEN DAMGAARD.

“Veilby Parsonage, 1st March 1885.”

CHAPTER VII

WHEN Emanuel came home at bedtime from
Skibberup, Laddie was asleep, not having been
awake all the afternoon.

“Do you see!” he said to Hansine. “He's
wise enough to sleep it off. You'll have him out
of bed again to-morrow!”

Hansine did not answer, but she by no means
shared his sanguine expectations. This whole
day of sleep seemed to her too unnatural, and it
woke in her mind the alarming recollection of a
child, the brother of her friend Ane, who died of a
brain disease in her girlhood, and whom she
had helped to nurse. She had tried to wake him
several times in the course of the afternoon to
take some food, but he had only half opened his
eyes, for a time, and looked at her with a strange,
dull glance, and utterly refused to eat, but he had
THE PROMISED LAND 95

once or twice drank greedily, and settled off to
sleep again directly.

Towards midnight she and Emanuel were
awakened by a strange noise which they could
not explain. It sounded like chopping in the
kitchen. Suddenly it dawned upon Hansine
that it was Laddie’s little bed which was in
unceasing motion.

“Light the night-lamp,” she said. “Itis Laddie.”

Emanuel struck a match, and by its light they
saw the child's arms fighting the air. She was
out of bed in an instant and by his side. She
quickly took away the pillow from his head, and
held his arms down to his body which trembled
from head to foot.

Emanuel, who in the meantime had succeeded
in lighting the lamp, could not imagine what was
going on. At first he thought the child was play-
ing, and when he saw Hansine take a hairpin from
her hair and force the round end into his mouth,
he cried—

“In Heaven's name, what are you doing,
Hansine? What is the matter with the child?”

The oil flame blazed up at this moment, and by
the brighter light he saw now that Laddie’s face
was quite dark, his teeth were clenched, and the
lips covered with foam. Then the doctor’s words
in the morning came into his mind.

“It’s surely not, . . . it's not convulsions,
Hansine ?”

She nodded.
96 THE PROMISED LAND

“You must fetch the doctor,” she added shortly,
as Emanuel did not move. “And you must be
quick. . . . Laddie is very ill.”

“Yes—yes,” he said, as if waking from his
trance, quickly threw on some clothes, and
groped through the dark of the big room to
wake the servants. Seeing a light in the man’s
room he began to call from the top of the steps:

“Niels! . . . Niels!”

It sounded like a cry for help in the quiet night,
and before he had crossed the yard the man ap-
peared at the door in alarm. He was in his shirt
sleeves with an open book in his hand, and smok-
ing a long pipe which almost reached the ground.

“You must put the horses to at once, Niels, and
fetch the doctor. Laddie is very ill.”

“Fetch the doctor?” said Niels, looking at
Emanuel’s disturbed countenance. “But you
can’t find your way to-night, it’s so dark. You
can’t—"

“It's got to be done. You must call Soren, and

he must go with you with a lantern. . . . The
horses know part of the way.”
“Yes, but—" he was renewing his objections,

but Emanuel cut him short at once.

“Do as I say, and don’t waste time in objec-
tions!” said he, in such sudden and violent anger
that the man was rendered speechless. “You
hear that Laddie is very ill, and the doctor must
be fetched without delay. Wake Soren at once
and tell him to get up directly.”
THE PROMISED LAND 97

‘When he got back to the bedroom Hansine was
still bending over the bed, holding Laddie’s arms.

“Don’t you think I should send for your mother,
too? Wouldn't it be a comfort to you?”

“No, what's the good. But you must call
Abelone, and tell her to light the fire and heat
some water in the large new pot.”

“Yes—yes.”

He met Abelone in the kitchen,
she had been wakened by :
the noise in the house. She i
was in a petticoat A
and had a candle
in one hand; with
the other she was
holding her short
bedgown together
over the bosom.

“Laddie is never
worse?” she asked,
pale with alarm.

    
  

“Yes, you must wy l
light up at once and '¢ * “4 \ Sw \ 7
heat some water in the ! SN
big kettle, but make haste.” LC AE,

a1 59 LADIES

“Is he very ill ? BEDSIDE

“Yes, don’t you hear. Be quick,”
said he, in an unusually peremptory tone. “It’s

wanted as quickly as possible.”
He went back to the bedroom where Laddie at
last was quiet, and seemed to be peacefully
G
98 THE PROMISED LAND

sleeping. Hansine, who had managed to throw
on some clothes, sat bending over him at the
head of the bed. With her chin resting in her
hand and her elbow on her knee, she was looking
at the child with the constrained, almost hard,
expression her face always wore in moments of
intense emotion.

Emanuel approached cautiously and sat down
on the other side of the bed.

“Can you understand it, Hansine? Can you
conceive how it has come about? When I left in
the middle of the day he was well and lively . . .
and now! Whatever do you think it can be?”

“I don’t know,” she said—and as if he had
touched a thought she had not courage to pursue,
she added directly, “ Did you wake Niels?”

“Yes, he must be ready to go soon.”

Just then the child’s arms and shoulders began
to work again, the little hands were clenched, the
eyelids were raised over the unnaturally dilated
pupils. . . . Signs that a new attack was coming
on.

Emanuel could no longer endure the sight. He
again groped through the outer room to the steps,
and when he saw Niels and Soren still rummaging
about in the coach-house with a lantern, he
shouted in desperate impatience, “ Good God,
what are you about? How long will it be before
you get off? . .. You must tell the doctor to
come at once, Niels, the child is in frightful
convulsions.”
THE PROMISED LAND 99

The boy got worse and worse in the succeeding
hours. Even after repeated hot baths the fits in-
creased in length and severity. His face was
almost black, and in spite of all their care he had
bitten his tongue in one of the fits, and a little
blood was oozing out of the corners of his
mouth.

Emanuel had to exert all his will power not to
collapse in his wild despair at the frightful
mystery which the child's fate was to him. He
had not yet given up the hope that all might pass
off as quickly as it had come on. He tried to
console himself and Hansine with the thought
that some children, with even slight indisposition,
were very liable to convulsions; and he remained
by her side to help in nursing. But as the hours
went by without a sign of improvement, his
courage gave way, and he now placed all his
hopes on the doctor’s aid. Long before there
was any chance of his coming, he started up at
every sound outside, thinking it was the carriage;
at the end of the fourth hour he took up his hat
and went out. He couldn’t rest for the thought
that an accident must have happened to Niels, or
that the doctor had not been at home. Otherwise
he couldn’t imagine why they had not arrived
long ago. He stood on the steps, holding his
breath and listening . . . but not the slightest
sound reached him. He went round the gable end
and felt his way through the overgrown garden
till he reached a little mound, from whence in
100 THE PROMISED LAND

the day the Kyndlose road was overlooked. He
stared out into the dark night with a beating
heart, in the hope of catching a glimpse of a
lantern. But heaven and earth were merged in
one without a glimmer of light.

All at once it seemed as if this impenetrable
darkness, this inexorable silence caused some-
thing within him to give way. Like a person
who suddenly sees a yawning abyss at his feet,
he pressed his hands to his forehead and groaned
almost unconsciously :

“Qh, it is too terrible?” . . .

It was almost morning when the doctor came.
The delay was caused by a mishap on the outward
journey, Niels having driven into such a deep
ditch that they had to wake up some people who
lived near to help them out again.

As soon as the doctor saw the boy he gave
him a dose of musk, which almost immediately
relieved him. The rigid limbs relaxed, the eyes
closed and he fell asleep.

For several minutes after they all sat silent
“round the little bed, watching how the usual
expression came slowly back to his drawn face.
It seemed as if none of them had courage to
break the deep silence; or as if they were all
under the influence of the curious light in the
room like a sepulchral chamber. The little oil
lamp on the green table was dying out and threw
a wan light on their faces; the day was dawning
outside, and the window frames were marked out
THE PROMISED LAND 101

against the blinds like two shadowy crosses in
the pale morning light.

Emanuel, who for the last hour had been beside
himself at the sight of the child’s sufferings, sat
holding Hansine’s hand in both his, pressing it
feverishly—as if in that way to gain strength to
ask the doctor the question which for the last
hour had been trembling on his lips. At last he
summoned up courage, and asked shortly what
the doctor thought of his son’s state.

Dr Hassing glanced furtivelyat him and Hansine
—as if to judge how far he dared tell them the truth.

“Well, it can’t be denied,”—he said, and it
sounded as if he had to force out the words.
“Your son is very severely attacked . . . and I
cannot conceal from you that——"

“But the boy has an excellent constitution,”
Emanuel interrupted him, as if to ward off an
unfavourable (hopeless) opinion: “ With the ex-
ception of this earache he has never had anything
the matter with him. Besides, both my wife and
I are perfectly strong and healthy—so there is
no possibility of hereditary taint.”

A gleam of pity which he could never succeed
in entirely hiding with regard to Emanuel came
into the doctor’s eyes behind his gold pince-nes.
“Well,” he said slowly, dropping his eyes before
the glance which tried to force him to believe in
the boy's strength. “Of course much may be
hoped for with a good constitution.”

As the doctor had foreseen, no particular change
102 THE PROMISED LAND

took place for the next few days in the boy’s
condition. He mostly lay in a heavy torpor
produced by the musk, with half open eyes, with-
out taking nourishment or being conscious of his
surroundings. When the dressings on his ear
were touched, a faint shadow of the little forced
smile, with which he always used to assert that
he “did not feel any pain now” would flit across
his face, but otherwise it was entirely expression-
less, and the light of life in his half closed eyes
seemed already quenched.

Hansine nursed him day and night with her
usual patience and self control. To look at her,
no one could have said that she was cognisant of
her child’s fate; and yet, from the first convul-
sions, she had been aware that he had only a few
more days to live.

Emanuel on the other hand hoped almost to
the last. Even when the doctor, on his next visit
informed him in cautious terms that he must be
prepared for his son’s death very shortly, he did
not give up his faith in the boy’s power of resist-
ance, and the strength of his prayers. At every
glimpse of returning life in the child's face, he
saw a sign that heaven had heard his prayers.
It seemed as if he could not believe that the
Almighty would bereave him of this child, which
ever since its birth—because it was the eldest—
had been to him a special pledge of the blessing
and grace of God.

It was not until the unmistakable signs of death
 

    

EMANUEL
AND
LADBIE
THE PROMISED LAND 105

appeared, that he gave way utterly to despair.
He sat by the bed for hours, sobbing aloud, so
that at last Hansine began to have fears for his
reason. . . . All work in the yard and stables
was stopped as far as possible, because every sound
from the outer world increased his pain. He
wanted all the doors and gates shut, and not even
the closest friends of the house were admitted
when they came to ask after the boy, because he
couldn't bear the sight of a strange face. At last
in the evening of the following day, while the
sun was sinking behind the hills in the west, and
tinging the scudding clouds with red, the boy
sank peacefully to rest. When Emanuel saw
death approaching, and felt the cold of the grave
creeping over the child’s limbs, the dread of
its annihilation roused him to a last desperate
struggle to save it. He took it up in his arms
wrapped in a blanket, and pressed it to him as if
to shelter it from the embrace of death. Hansine
implored him to be calm and to lay the child
down again, but he did not hear her. With the
tears streaming unceasingly down his face, he
walked up and down the floor, with the child in
his bosom, now lulling it, then praying and
singing, as if by his pain and despair, he would
extort God’s mercy . . . until all at once he felt
the little body relax in his arms, and the head
sink on the breast with a long sigh, which an-
nounced that the last hope was over, and the boy
was dead.
106 THE PROMISED LAND

Then his spirit bowed humbly before the will
of the Almighty. His tears stopped; quietly he
laid the little body on the bed, closed the eyes,
and laying his hand on the thoughtful forehead,
said :

“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken
away ; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

CHAPTER VIII

THE funeral was to take place that day week,
from the home, with the usual tolling of bells for
an hour, and a big lunch to all the followers pre-
ceding it. In his deep depression, Emanuel
would much have preferred that it should take
place as quietly as possible. But he had always
spoken too eagerly in favour of keeping up the
old peasant customs, to be able to break them
now; and some dissatisfaction had already been
aroused, by his unwillingness to see any of his
friends who came to offer their sympathy during
the last few days of Laddie’s life.

A great bustle therefore prevailed at the Parson-
age for a few days, in cleaning the whole house
and cooking as for a wedding or christening.
Emanuel was in a way grateful to Hansine be-
cause during these days she ordered everything
so calmly; and so self-sacrificingly took every-
thing upon her shoulders. But at the same time he
THE PROMISED LAND 107

could not help wondering how in her sorrow, she
could turn her thoughts to all these everyday
matters, and he was almost wounded, because
she did not shed a tear, when Laddie was laid
out and wrapped in the winding sheet.

In his overwrought condition he could not free
himself from the painful thought that he was
alone in his great sorrow ; and although he saw
the injustice of it, and fought against it, he spent
most of his time on the sofa in his own room, or
in the garden, so as to give way to his grief in
solitude.

He liked to be in the garden best . . . and the
big, secluded, almost overgrown park which sur-
rounded the Parsonage, like a small primeval
forest. He wandered up and down for hours, in
the most remote alleys, where the smell of cook-
ing from the kitchen, and the gossip of the
cleaners could not reach him.

The hand of spring had already touched the
earth, the grass was shewing signs of green, and
the little blackthorn bushes were shooting out a
yellowish fringe of leaves, and the air was scented
with violets and half-wild primulas. Larks were
singing in the blue sky, and starlings and tomtits
were twittering in the tree tops, and a warm
breeze brought a message of new life from the
earth. But Emanuel felt nothing of all this; for
- him the garden paths only rang with Laddie’s
voice, it was the child’s face he saw among the
trees, and every day his sobs broke out anew at
108 THE PROMISED LAND

the sight of a little upturned heap under a
thorn bush, where shortly before Laddie’s illness
he had buried a crow. He could still plainly see
the traces of his little
wooden shoes, and the
marks of his fingers where
he had carefully patted
down the earth and planted
a cross made of a split
withy. The cross still stood
there, untouched since he
had left it; a little way off
was a whip of his own
i.) _—, manufacture, which
ar he had forgotten,
J with five rusty nails
# in a heap.

... On the day
of the funeral all
the flags waved
half-mast high in
the village, and by
mid-day the roads

and paths were

black with vehi-
SPECTATORS cles and pedes-

trians. The

streets of Veilby were strewn with fir branches,
and even the little children had come in their
best clothes, and were running about excitedly
with various sweetmeats in their hands. In-

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
THE PROMISED LAND 109

side the Parsonage, the doors between the
rooms were thrown open, and even then there
was hardly room for the crowd. The yard and
the meadow were full of conveyances and neigh-
ing horses.

Laddie’s coffin, which was placed on two black
stools in Emanuel’s room, was soon entirely covered
with wreaths of artificial flowers, and crosses of
beads on gold and silver pasteboard; some had
printed inscriptions, and a few, poetry. There was
a constant crowd round it, chiefly of women, who
with folded hands, admired the unusual display
and read the inscriptions in whispers: “sleep
sweetly,” “an angel thou wast like,” and so on.

The lunch was set out on long tables in the great
room, and Emanuel and Hansine stood at the
entrance to receive the sympathising greeting of
their friends. Grandmother Else, Abelone, and a
few labourers’ wives attended to the waiting, and
Else’s voice was heard saying aloud through the
subdued buzz of conversation :

“Take your seats if you please, friends! make
yourselves at home!”

There was an unusual sense of oppression over
the company. Rarely at any funeral were so
many perturbed faces seen, or so much anxious
whispering heard. It was not only grief for the
death of the boy which caused this dejection, it
was due to constant disturbing rumours from
Copenhagen parliamentary circles. It was known
that yesterday must have decided the struggle, but
I10 THE PROMISED LAND

no communication had yet reached them. There
was, however, reason to fear the worst. The in-
creasingly threatening language in the House, of
the friends of the government, and the rebuffs
administered by the ministry in the face of every
attempt at reconciliation, forboded a real inten-
tion to thwart the people and to substitute Might
for Right.

The chairman of the Parish Council was stand-
ing with his hands behind him on the verandah,
to which the door had been opened for the oc-
casion ; he was surrounded by people who wanted
to hear his opinion on the situation. His nose
was remarkably pale, and his otherwise boister-
ous voice was unusually subdued. He regularly
answered the anxious enquiries with an attempt
to preserve a re-assuring calmness.

“Let us wait a little, friends! And whatever
happens . . . let us be calm! Don’t let us be
excited or carried away to excesses, that’s the
chief thing! If we only hold firmly to our de-
mands, our enemies will be obliged to give in
some time—be sure of that.”

The weaver was asked for on every side. It was
known that he had gone to the country town in
the morning, and it had been calculated that he
might be back before dinner-time. But nobody
had seen him yet, and the bells had begun to toll,
and the people had to mount their vehicles with-
out seeing him.

It was a clear, sunny day, with a blue sky, the
THE PROMISED LAND II1

fields were turning green, and the larks were
singing loudly. Amidst all this rejoicing, the
long dark funeral train, which moved slowly at a
foot’s pace southwards along the winding road,
had a doubly sad effect. It was Emanuel’s wish
that the boy should be laid to rest in old Anders
Jorgen, his grandfather's burial-place at Skib-
berup, in the churchyard on the Ness. He had
long had a particular affection for this solitary
spot with its wide view over the Fiord, and its
deep, solemn silence, broken only by the wild
screams of the gulls on the beach.

After an hour’s drive the train reached the
churchyard. A band of young girls led the way
strewing sprigs of fir and moss, and the procession
followed singing a hymn. At this moment a
rumour ran like wildfire through the people that
Hansen, the weaver, had arrived. Whispered
questions and answers went from mouth to mouth,
and even before the coffin was lowered into the
ground they all knew that “the impossible” had
happened, a violation of the constitution was ac-
complished, the parliament sent home, and the
government was making laws by its arbitrary
power and calling in the taxes.

Very scant attention was paid to the little
speech, in which Emanuel—struggling with his
tears—took leave of his son, and thanked him for
the six years they had passed together “in happy
fellowship ”; and hardly were the three shovels of
earth thrown on to the coffin and the silent prayer
I12 THE PROMISED LAND

ended before the party dispersed with loud ex-
clamations of indignation.

One of the few who happily did not notice the
disturbance was Emanuel, who remained standing
by the grave with Hansine, Else, and the blind
grandfather, while some men of their most intimate
acquaintance according to custom proceeded to
fill it in with shovel and spade. He did not
move until the men had accomplished their task,
and finally laid all the shovels crosswise over the
mound during a moment’s silent prayer.

In the meantime people had crowded outside
the gates. In the general confusion they all
sought the Chairman of the Parish Council, who
was nowhere to be found. It was discovered at last
that, immediately after the end of the ceremony,
he had mounted his conveyance and driven home.
The weaver had disappeared too—according to
some—accompanied by Maren Smeds. Of all
the “Select Committee ” only the fat little Veilby
peasant, with the childish red cheeks, was to be
found. This man had been elected to the political
committee chiefly as an acknowledgment of his
services in the milk trade, and he was so be-
wildered on suddenly finding himself surrounded
by a group of young men clamouring for infor-
mation that he almost began to cry.

It was quite correct that the weaver had left
with’ Maren Smeds — the little, ugly, poorly-
dressed woman, who at one time used regularly
to address the meeting, and who always met the
THE PROMISED LAND 113

strongest opposition on account of her attacks,
full of hatred, on the speakers. This woman,
whose life had been an incessant swaying from
one extreme standpoint to another, had at length
found a haven as a “Saint.” She and three or
four other persons held daily prayer meetings in
her hovel among the desolate fields, where, in
loud, piercing voices, which could be heard a long
way off, they read portions of the Bible, sang
hymns, and poured out curses upon the rest of
the ungodly congregation. It therefore caused
some astonishment that the weaver should latterly
have taken her under his protection. Some even
asserted that he sometimes took part in the
prayer meetings; in any case, they were often
seen walking together along the high field path
leading to her cottage.

They were walking there now—Maren in front
continually gesticulating with her claw-like hand
and talking incessantly. The weaver followed
her silently. He had, as a matter of fact, gone
with her to avoid other company, and when they
had reached a point where they could not be seen
from the church, he took leave of her in Jesu’s
name, and went over the fields towards Skibberup.
He stopped a moment on the top of a hill where
there was a view of the long dale with the church
road. He watched the groups of dejected looking
men and women in their black clothes, with a
triumphant smile, as they slowly wended their

way homewards.
H
 
         

  

 

~=(TTI}

iL

  
  
CHAPTER 1

ONE afternoon in the middle of July Emanuel
and Hansine were walking along the road from
Skibberup church where they had been to lay fresh
wreaths on Laddie’s grave. They were walking
silently on different sides of the steep road—
Emanuel in his long light grey coat, Hansine in
a church hood and a black shawl, which she held
together in front with her brown, somewhat bony
hands. There was a burning sun and not a cloud
in the sky ; a thick layer of white dust was raised
by their footsteps like clouds of flour.

When they reached the top of the hill Emanuel
stopped under a solitary mountain ash which
threw a slight shade over the road. He remained
standing for a long time with his hat and stick
resting on his back, without stirring ; buried in
contemplation of the fruitful landscape. On all
sides he saw ripe or ripening fields. The whole
district was changed to an endless sea of corn,
which rocked the sunshine on its yellow waves.

“Isn't it a beautiful sight?” he said at last in
a subdued voice. “It seems as though one could
feel the richness of the soil in the air? . .. and
listen to the larks over Niels Jensen's rye there!

117
118 THE PROMISED LAND

. .. Isn't it curious I always feel in a solemn
mood when I see the harvest approaching. It is
so strange to see the fruit of a whole long year
of labour and struggle ripening, so to speak, all
at once before our eyes. And it is stranger still
to think of the wonderful and indomitable power
of nature which is here revealed to us. Whether
the winter has been bitter or mild, . . . the
summer wet or dry . .. year by year the corn
ripens at the same time, nay, even on the, same
date. And each kind of grain has its own ripen-
ing day! Isn’t it almost a miracle?” . .. He
was silent a moment and then continued : “ There
is really a deep lesson contained in it for us!”
And after another silence he went on—

“I think I will take this subject for my sermon
on Sunday. Much can be said on it—and per-
haps especially at this time—which will be good
for all of us.”

He continued his walk, stopping now and then
before the different fields with bursts of admira-
tion. He put on his white straw hat again, and
turned the wide brim down to shade his eyes,
which had been rather weak lately. His some-
what tired look shewed that he had not got over
the heavy trials of the last few months.

Hansine followed him patiently on the other
side of the road, notwithstanding his frequent
stoppages; she listened to him attentively, with
an enquiring expression when he spoke. She was
silent herself . . . until Emanuel suddenly fell
THE PROMISED LAND 119

into rather melancholy reflections on comparing
his own meagre crops with the fruitfulness he saw
around him.

“Oh, but it’s not so bad as all that,” she said
in a cheering tone, which sounded quite strange
in her mouth ; nor did it produce quite a natural
effect. “The rye is pretty good; it’s only the
six rayed which is a little stunted.”

“But look at the clover! We only had five
loads this year, against twelve last, and fourteen
the year before. It’s a sad falling off.”

“But then you've had so many other things in
hand these years, Emanuel . . . politics, and that
sort of thing. I suppose that will be changed
now, and you'll see, when you have more time to
look after the land you'll get as good crops as
any one. It seems to me we're settling down
here now, . . . and no harm either. I daresay
you think so too, Emanuel ! ”

As so often happened, he did not hear the end
of what she said, and continued his own train of
thought.

“I must try a different succession of crops next
year. Do you remember a new system of manur-
ing I spoke to you about once. I wonder if I
should try it seriously. . . . We can’t go on as
we have been,” he said with sudden impatience.
“We must pull ourselves together. I have been
very lazy myself lately; but I feel that’s over.
I'm longing to begin afresh.” They had been
walking for some time between two walls of rye
120 THE PROMISED LAND

above a man’s height, over which yellow and
many-coloured butterflies were gambolling in the
sunshine like flying pansies. Then the view
again opened out over the dale northwards, where
Skibberup, with its many little white-washed
houses and orchards, and its new, imposing
Meeting-house, was reflected on the bosom of the
widely-stretching pond.

At the foot of the hill, where the road branched,
one way leading to the village and the other to
the western boundaries, Emanuel stopped again.

“By-the-bye . . . didn’t you say you were
going to see your parents?”

“Yes, aren't you coming? I think they're
expecting us.”

“No, I haven't time to-day. I have so much
to think about. I want to make my sermon as
powerful as possible, so that it may be rightly
understood, . . . and I'm still quite unprepared.
But remember me to them, and say that I'll
look in on them in the course of the week.—-I
say !” he shouted after her when she had gone
a little way, “if you can remember it tell your
father that I've not forgotten the rye seed I had
of him in the spring. He shall have it back as
soon as I get the first load in.”
THE PROMISED LAND 121

CHAPTER II

HANSINE continued her walk towards Skibberup
without turning at his words.

To avoid going through the village she took
a grass path which ran behind the meadows and
thickly-planted gardens. She knew of old that
at this hour all the women of the place would be
sitting in their doorways with their infants or
their knitting, gossiping to each other across the
street—and she had an ever-growing distaste to
meeting her former companions.

She only found her father at home.

The old man was sitting in the half dark room
in an arm-chair by the bed half-asleep ; he was in
his shirt-sleeves and knitted drawers, and had a
fur cap pressed down on his rough mane, and he
was surrounded by a swarm of flies, which flew
buzzing about the room at her entrance.
~ “Is that you, Hansine?” he said, raising his
white eyebrows over the blind eyes. “What?
Are you alone? Where's Emanuel ?”

“He hadn’t time to-day. I was to remember
him to you. He'll look in in the course of the
week, he said.”

“Oh, it's that way. Well, well, mother'll be
comin’ direcly. She's just slipped in to Soren’s
to fetch the paper. I believe there’s a speech of
Barré’s in it. Has Emanuel said ought about
it?”
122 THE PROMISED LAND

“No, I don’t think he’s seen the paper to-
day.”

“ He gives it them hot does Barré—by what I've
heard tell. But that’s as it should be. It’s not
too much for them—the scoundrels. For what
else are they ? Thieves and rascals! But what
was it I said . . . do you mind, Hansine? . . .
Are we to have the wooden horse again, said I?
Are we peasants to be beasts of burden for the
nobles?”

He got up with some difficulty and trudged
about with his stick in a great pair of slippers.
His little, bent, and shrunken figure trembled
with anger, and he stammered over the words
he couldn’t get out of his toothless mouth. With
one hand on his back he moved up and down at
the darkest end of the room, talking incessantly,
repeating long portions of speeches by different
members which he had learnt by heart and kept
in his retentive memory. Hansine took off her
things and sat by the window.

The sight of her father had lately made her
more and more uncomfortable; she thought him
quite changed since he had been unable to go
about the farm on account of his blindness, and
especially since he had come out as a speaker at
the great “ Protest” meeting.

Without listening to him, she sat looking out
of the window into the shady little garden, where
the egg-shaped spots of sunshine crawled over the
grass and the paths, and where the hens scratched
THE PROMISED LAND 123

about under the gooseberry bushes—just as they
used to do when she sat at the same window in
her girlhood mapping out her future in golden
dreams. She sat now thinking of that time, and
of the first year of her marriage, when Emanuel
and she lived alone, with and for each other, and
life was every day a revelation of rich and un-
known happiness. She lived over again in
memory the peaceful evenings of the first winter
when they sat together round the lamp while
Emanuel read his books aloud, or told her about
his childhood. She thought of the quiet sunset
hours of the first summer on the Parsonage hill,
of the Sunday visits to her parents, of all this life
—so like a fairy tale now—which she had never
given up hoping might yet return. Sometimes,
especially since Laddie’s death, she had also
fancied she saw in Emanuel a longing for the
peace and happiness of the old days. But she
saw every day now more plainly that his thoughts
went their own way. She did not know whither
they were leading ; but in the sense of her power-
lessness with regard to the impatient depression
which grew upon him, she had no rest for the
thought that he was hiding something from her
. . . brooding over an incipient want, which he
had not the courage to confess to her, a dawning
longing for the life and the people whom, mainly
for her sake, he had left.

The kitchen door was opened, and Else put her
big head in.
124 THE PROMISED LAND

“Oh, is it you, Hansine? Well, we'd been
expecting you. . . . But where’s Emanuel ?”

“He hadn’t time to-day. He will come in one
day this week. He asked to be remembered.”

Else’s face quickly took a severe expression,
and disappeared from the doorway. After a few
minutes she said from the kitchen, where she was
rummaging about with the dishes :

“It’s strange how busy Emanuel’s got lately.
He ne’er seems to hae time to come an’ see us
old folks. It looks queer, I'm thinkin’.”

Hansine did not answer. She knew there had
been a little misunderstanding latterly between
Emanuel and her mother, because Emanuel did
not like her taking Laddie’s death as a matter of
course, in the same way as she had always insisted
on the harmlessness of his illness. Certainly he
himself looked upon what had happened as an
inevitable stroke of the unfathomable will of God;
but at the same time he thought that she ought
to have been surprised, as it was she who specially
supported him in his hopeful view of the boy's
state.

“ But the paper, mother. . . the paper!” called
out Anders Jorgen, who had groped his way back
to the arm-chair, and was waiting for the coming
treat.

“ Ay, I'm coming, daddy. I’ve on’y got to set
up the milk for the calves. . .. Hae ye heard
anything of Ole?”

“No, deed hae I not. I expect he’s gone to
THE PROMISED LAND 125

the mill. Hae ye remembered to feed the
pigs?”

“Ay, sure enough,” said Else, coming to the
door tying her apron round her extensive waist.

“Now, let's hear!” exclaimed the old man
gaily, when he heard the paper rustling under
Else’s arm. “ He gives it them hot, I warrant.
Ay, Barré’s a good un’! He says like me—do
you mind ?—Is it the wooden horse ?—"

“That's well enough, Daddy, but be quiet now,”
Else interrupted him, sinking heavily into a chair
by the stove, with her usual exclamation, “ Aa
Herre Zésses ja.”

With the show of dignity which had come over
her since Hansine had been a clergyman’s wife,
which was again increased when Anders Jorgen
had come forward as a speaker, and had had his
name in the papers, she carefully spread out the
paper on her lap, put Anders Jorgen’s old brass
spectacles on her nose, and in a drawling voice
began to read an article of six columns, “ Our
Leader's speech at Vemmelov.”
126 THE PROMISED LAND

CHAPTER III

EMANUEL had left the high road and taken a
solitary field path, so as to be undisturbed in
working out his sermon for Sunday. He had
lately often gone to church somewhat unprepared,
and had himself suffered from the want of power
and inspiration in his discourses.

He did not succeed to-day either in concentrat-
ing himself on his work. His thoughts wandered
constantly, without his being aware of it. Every
moment he caught himself deep in contempla-
tion quite remote from the Sunday’s gospel.
First it was some trifling thing, such as a gay
butterfly, which enticed him to stop and follow
its airy flutterings, or revel in its colour . . . now
against the blue sky . . . now against the golden
corn. Then the self-conscious way in which the
red roof of the new Meeting-house stuck up among
the trees caught his eye, and plunged him into his
usual brooding over the curious, almost indifferent
calmness with which his friends, and those of his
party all over the country, were submitting to
their political humiliation, and looking on at
their most sacred laws being trampled under
foot.

He could not understand them on this point.
Although he had been bowed to the ground by
the loss of his dear boy just at the time of the
coup d’état, he had immediately felt it to be his
THE PROMISED LAND 127

duty to urge them by every Christian and legal
means in their power to oppose the law-breakers.
But then the “Select Committee” had come to
him one day and begged him not to get up an
agitation. They had—so they said—* by written
communications with other circles,” come to the
conclusion that for the present it would be right
to bend to those in power, as they had no means
of raising active resistance. Even Nielsen the
carpenter, from whom he had rather expected a
too unbridled outburst of wounded pride, con-
sented—although with gloomy looks—to the in-
junctions of the others, and explained that, as
matters now stood, it would be better to let their
opponents have a little more rope.

He also had a visit from Hansen the weaver,
late one evening, in which, with his usual myste-
rious manner and much beating about the bush,
he announced a “change of tactics.” On the
same occasion he dropped some hints about the
Chairman of the Parish Council having hardly
shewn himself worthy of his position. And,
finally, brought out some enigmatical allusions as
to his private life, which he said would not bear
looking into, and was unfortunate for a man who
was the political leader of a large circle of the
spiritually awakened—allusions which Emanuel
did not understand, nor did he care to enter into
them more closely. He made up his mind to
have nothing more to do with the politics of the
people, in which he had never been particularly
128 THE PROMISED LAND

interested, and of the worthlessness of which
he now had abundant proof. The cause to whose
furtherance he had consecrated his life would
grow and ripen independently of all law-giving
and law - breaking — just like the seed of the
earth, which offered to mankind its swelling
grains, in spite of the winter's cold or the
drought of summer.

One thing these months had taught him. He
knew now there was still much dormant power to
be roused in the people, much self-confidence and
self-esteem before there could be serious hope of
the dawn of the new times he had thought so near.
Possibly he might one day see it. But he would
not be disheartened nor weary. There was joy
even in the conviction that he was preparing the
way for. the victorious march of truth and justice
on earth. There was joy and recompense in the
announcement even of the coming of the kingdom
of peace.

He had reached the broad bay which shot in
between the bare hills of Skibberup and the flat,
idyllic wooded hills of the neighbouring parish of
Kyndlose. He remained standing on the sand,
which glittered in the sun, lost in indefinite
dreams of the future. His eye followed his old
friends the silvery gulls, as they wheeled silently
round some point in the air as if they were guard-
ing some important secret. He gazed out over
the wide shining surface of the water towards the
distant blue mountainous clouds, which now and
THE PROMISED LAND 129

then rose above the horizon, and then slowly sank
again. It was like an aerial kingdom of beauty
rising enticingly from the deep and again fading
away. Like magic forms beckoning and dis-
appearing, . . . or, as in a dream, hearing distant
voices call and softly die away. *“ Why sorrow ?”
they seemed to say. “ Why weary oneself with
the burdens of others? Cast away your heavy
pilgrim’s staff and come out here, where happiness
dwells high above the clouds, and where sorrow
hides itself in dark valleys where none may see
it. Come out here where life is a festive rest
round sparkling wells, and dancing in green
meadows.” . . . He woke from his dreams with
a start, and left the beach. The day was begin-
ning to decline, and it was time to go home.

He quickened his pace, and hurried to the high
road. He would try to reach the Parsonage
before sunset, so as to help Soren with feeding
the cattle.
130 THE PROMISED LAND

  
 

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CHAPTER IV

HE had not gone far when he was surprised by
the sight of a lively party of five or six persons of
both sexes seated round a cloth spread in a
meadow a little way off the road.

A lady, or rather a very young girl in a white
dress and blue waistband, had just got up and
THE PROMISED LAND 131

was making a speech. She held a wine-glass in
her uplifted hand, and in the other a man’s grey
hat, which she lifted on and off her head with a
solemn bow, amid the laughter and applause of
the rest of the company—two ladies and a couple
of men. On the grass behind the ladies was an
upturned red silk parasol, and by the side of it a
spiral walking-stick was stuck into the ground with
a lady’s pale blue hat on it. At a little distance,
a smart shooting carriage and twa little roan
Russian ponies were standing under the shade of
a pollard willow, guarded by a coachman in plush
breeches and drab gaiters.

A sort of shyness came over Emanuel on
suddenly coming upon these town-dressed people
in his own domains. He turned his head away,
and appeared not to notice them.

“ Allow me, therefore, most noble friends,”—he
heard the young girl say — “to empty . . . to
drink a health to our beloved and amiable host.”

She stopped suddenly ; the laughter glso ceased,
and a dead silence fell upon them.

Emanuel, who perceived that he was seen,
crossed his hands behind his back and went by
without either slackening or quickening his pace
in the slightest degree.

All at once he seemed to hear some one call
out his name.

He did not look back. He was certain he had
made a mistake. He had nothing to do with
those people.
132 THE PROMISED LAND

But shortly afterwards he heard the voice again,
and this time quite plainly. At the same time it
sounded curiously familiar.

“Mr Hansted ! . . . Pastor Hansted !”

He turned sharply, half defiantly, and saw
a man coming towards him, waving his hand
gaily. He had the sun in his eyes, and could not
at once see who it was. A tall, somewhat stout
man with whiskers, measured gait and stately
carriage. It was not till the stranger was quite
close to him and offering his hand with slightly
embarrassed cordiality that he recognised Dr
Hassing.

“How do you do, Pastor Hansted? How are
you? It's a long time since I have had the
pleasure of seeing you.”

Emanuel was at first so astonished at the
meeting, and particularly by the doctor's extra-
ordinary cordiality, that he quite forgot to
answer.

“I come to you as a messenger,” said Has-
sing, showing his large white teeth when he
smiled. “We have a little family party there,
and the ladies would like to have the pleasure
of speaking to you. . . . Will you not do us the
honour of drinking a glass of wine with us?
You will find an old acquaintance.”

Emanuel’s inclination was to give a short
refusal. He was not at all tempted by the
prospect of meeting an old friend in this com-
pany. But as he had no reasonable excuse to
THE PROMISED LAND 133

offer, and did not wish to hurt the Doctor who
had shown so much attention to Hansine and
himself during Laddie’s illness, there was nothing
for it but to accept the invitation.

The meeting of the two men was carefully
watched by the party round the cloth, and when
they saw them both approaching, the ladies took
up their parasols, while the remaining man—a
youth in a melon coloured summer suit—rose,
and pulling down his long cuffs retired behind
the young lady, leaning on his spiral stick as if
in readiness to come to the rescue if required.

“If you make me laugh, Alfred, I shall beat
you,” she whispered to him when the doctor and
Emanuel were within a few steps.

“Yes, but, good heavens! . .. he’s a regular
antediluvian animal,” he whispered behind the
hand, with which he was twirling his small fair
moustache.

“Just ‘look . .. a Voice from a theological
College!”

“ Be quiet, I say.”

“Hush!”

At this moment the two men reached the circle.
One of the ladies—a little brunette, dressed in
brown silk, with soft outlines, and sweet, gentle,
womanly features—came forward and shook hands
with Emanuel.

“My wife,” said the doctor.

“I am very glad to make your acquaintance,”
she said, in such a gentle voice that it was almost
134 THE PROMISED LAND

like a strange accent. “We have been neigh-
bours for some years now, and I have always
been astonished that we have never met. One
generally comes across people in the country I
think.”

Emanuel lifted his hat an inch from his head
without a change in the grave, somewhat amazed
expression, beneath which he sought to hide a
feeling of uncertainty into which he was thrown
by the unaccustomed ceremoniousness and the
polite phrases.

Dr Hassing continued his introductions in a
lively voice.

“ Allow me to introduce you, Pastor Hansted,
—first to the youngest member of our little party,
my wife's amiable cousin, Miss Gerda Zoff, whom
you interrupted a few minutes ago in a remark-
ably successful speech. It is a pity you did not
come a few minutes sooner, you missed a master-
piece of oratory. — And this same cousin's
cousin, my own hopeful nephew, Mr Alfred
Hassing. If you subscribe to any sporting paper
you must certainly often have met his world
renowned name in the cycling columns.”

Emanuel looked at the young pair somewhat
disdainfully, their greetings certainly betrayed
more curiosity than deference. “ Good heavens,”
he thought, when he saw the baggy melon
coloured clothes, the pointed shoes, and monster
studs—“so these are fashions for the Heroes of
the day!”
THE PROMISED LAND 135

“And here at last,” continued the doctor, as
he turned towards a tall, slim, very fashionably
dressed lady, who had kept behind Emanuel
during the other introductions, as if purposely
keeping out of sight till the last.—“ Well, here
you need no introduction.”

Emanuel faced her, and was turned to stone.
The doctor was right, any introduction was here
superfluous. As the slender lady stood there
smiling in the red light thrown by her parasol—
dressed in white with large mauve stars, a wide
brimmed white lace hat perched upon her chest-
nut hair—dignified, and mistress of herself from
the firm glance of her beautiful blue-gray eyes, to
the frill at the border of her gown, which was so
subdued, and at the same time so daring in its
cut and the arrangement of its colouring, as
to enhance the slimness of her figure, and
the creamy pallor of her complexion
she was so exactly like herself in former days,
that Emanuel at once recognised Miss Ragnhild
Tonnesen.

“Of course you can’t imagine how I have
suddenly appeared here,” she said, giving him
her slender, smoothly gloved hand, with her old
air of comradeship. “ You might almost be ready
to look upon me as a spy, otherwise. . . . I must
tell you at once how it comes about. I had the
pleasure of making Dr and Mrs Hassing’s ac-
quaintance in the spring, and as they were kind
enough to invite me here, I could not resist the
136 THE PROMISED LAND

temptation. I have only been here two days. I
can assure you there has not been the least
indiscretion on my part so far. . .. Are you
satisfied now?”

Her easy, joking tone, and the perfect convic-
tion of making an impression on him which was
apparent in her whole bearing, at once offended
Emanuel, and strengthened him in that feeling of
self-esteem which the young people’s inspection
had called forth.

He kept his astonishment under, and answered
with fairly successful dissimulation :

“I do not understand how I could suspect you
of any kind of espionage, Miss Tonnesen. It is
so natural that you should wish to revisit your
former home, that it hardly seems to require any
explanation.”

His speech was harder and colder than he had
either meant or calculated ; and when he noticed
the constraint which it produced on the whole
company, he was preparing to add a few softer
words.

But he just happened to see the young cyclist
nudge his cousin, and whisper a remark to her
which made her convulsively bite her pocket-
handkerchief.

The blood rushed to his cheeks. Irrepressible
anger such as he had not felt since his youth
burst out within him, making his heart beat fast.

“Shan’t we sit down again?” said the doctor,
in his untiring efforts to bring about a more easy
THE PROMISED LAND 137

tone. “You will drink a glass of wine with us,
Mr Hansted? . . . Oh, Johan!” he called to the
coachman ; “bring another glass and——"

“Thank you, I do not drink wine,” interrupted
Emanuel curtly.

“Indeed!”

This was followed by a moment's painful
silence, and no one knew where to look. The
doctor stood with a blank countenance, pulling
his whiskers, while he furtively looked at Miss
Tonnesen with a comically puzzled glance, as
much as to say, “We have made fools of our-
selves. But what did I say?”

Emanuel stood motionless, looking straight
before him, without noticing the perplexity of
the others. His anger had quickly turned against
himself. What business had he here? he thought.
What did he want among these people with
whom he had not a single thought or feeling in
common, nay, whose very language had become
so strange to him that it almost sounded like a
foreign tongue.

It was Miss Ragnhild with her old readiness
who got them out of their difficulty.

Stepping forward she said: “I think Pastor
Hansted spoke a word in season, . . . we have
all had enough wine. I propose that we make
use of this lovely evening to take a little walk.
We can send the carriage on, and persuade
Pastor Hansted to walk part of the way back
with us. You will come, won't you? Our roads
138 THE PROMISED LAND

are the same, at first in any case—if I am not
mistaken.”

The proposal was instantly accepted by the
Hassings ; the doctor again sent Miss Ragnhild
a furtive glance—this time a grateful one.

Miss Tonnesen’s words also came as a relief to
Emanuel. He saw that in this way he could
most quickly and easily get away from the party.
If he accompanied them to the place where the
Kyndlése road crossed his boundaries the de-
mands of politeness would be satisfied, and he
could still get home early enough to feed the
cattle and partake of the evening porridge.

The coachman was called up and had his
orders, and then they started.

The cyclist immediately drew his aunt’s arm
within his, and strode off with her in front of the
others, so as to ease his mind.

“Who on earth is this sheep? . . . Is it he you
called ‘an original and interesting man’? Why,
he’s a complete idiot!”

“You always use such strong expressions, my
dear Alfred,” answered Mrs Hassing, gently re-
proaching him. “ He is perhaps not very talented,
and may be rather peculiar . . . I don’t know
anything about that. But in any case, I must
acknowledge the way he has sacrificed himself to
his opinions. . . . You must admit that, Alfred.”

“I believe, upon my honour, that you already
have a Zendresse for him, Aunt. Isn't it so? You
might even invite him to supper.”
THE PROMISED LAND 139

“ We shall be obliged to ask him if he goes far
with us. But it is not to say that he will accept
the invitation. I shan’t object to his coming.
There are many subjects on which I should like
Pastor Hansted’s opinion.”

“ Ah, you are thoroughly bitten then! Yes,
Aunt, you have a soft and indulgent heart! But
you quite forget Uncle Joachim !”

“Uncle Joachim !” and her face became some-
what doubtful. “You are right—I really didn’t
think of him.”

CHAPTER V

IT was not long before Miss Ragnhild and
Emanuel found themselves walking alone a good
way behind the others. The doctor, who at first
walked with them, talking to Emanuel about the
harvest and the fine weather, had been called
away by the lively young girl to admire her
discoveries of flowers.

As long as the doctor was near, Miss Ragnhild
was silent and looked pensively at the ground.
Even after he had gone she remained silent a
while, a smile now and then flitting over her
face.

Suddenly she lifted her head, and said with a
little laugh:

“You certainly are a curious person, Mr
140 THE PROMISED LAND

Hansted! For seven years I have been looking
forward to the day when I should take you by
surprise out here, and then you receive me as if
we had only parted three days ago. I may tell
you that you put me in an awkward position just
now ; I had of course prepared the others for a

grand scene of recognition! ... Well, I admit
it was my own stupidity,” she continued, as
Emanuel remained silent. “I ought to have re-

membered, that in many ways you were unlike
other people. And with regard to unreliability,
you have not changed in the least.”

Emanuel did not notice the little effort she had
to make, to speak in the same easy tone which
they formerly used to each other. He was too
much taken up with the awkwardness he was
feeling at walking alone with her here after all
these years, and listening again to the defiant,
and yet ingratiating voice with its peculiar
metallic ring. Without allowing himself to be
affected in the slightest degree by her words, he
said :

“It seems that we have had somewhat the
same impression of each other, Miss Tonnesen.
Both before, when I first saw you, and now on
hearing you speak, I see that you are exactly
the same as you were seven or eight years
ago.”

“I daresay,” she answered with a shrug of the
shoulders : *“ What, after all, should have changed
me? Iam Miss Tonnesen now, as I was then;
THE PROMISED LAND 141

and the intervening romance of my life might be
written on the back of a visiting card. Such is
life to us, unmarried women. . . . But with you
it is another matter. I am not such a stranger
to your experiences as you might think. A year
ago I had the pleasure of making the acquaint-
ance of your sister, General-consulinde Torm, and
your brother, the Kammerjunker. Your sister
and I have since then become good friends. She
is charming, is she not? I am quite in love with
her refined womanly nature. As you may
imagine, we have talked of you from time to
time. . . . She often regrets that she so seldom
hears from you.”

Emanuel became attentive. It suddenly oc-
curred to him, that perhaps—in spite of her
ridicule—the young lady might have come as a
spy. And—was it possible that his family had
a finger in it?

“So before I came here, I knew what a big
—an influential man you had become; what a
revolution you have brought about in the district
since father left, and how all your parishioners
worship you . . . in short, that you and they,
have in every respect realized your wishes, nay,
even with good ‘measure running over,” as one
says. They have even given you the name of
¢ Apostle,” I have been told.”

A little start went through Emanuel. After a
moment’s silence, he said :

“But I thought you had your wishes satisfied
142 THE PROMISED LAND

too, Miss Ragnhild. You were so pleased to get
away from this neighbourhood which you hated,
to go to town, to the centre of Danish culture,
to society, fashion and the theatres; you have our
world-famed Tivoli next door, so I don’t under-
stand——"

“Well, yes,” she interrupted him, with a little
impatient toss of the head. “As I said, it is a
different matter for me. Besides, I have not
complained, so I do not know to what you are
alluding. As things go, I have a very good time.
I can tell you that I have become a philosopher
in my old age. . . . A stoic, I think it is called.
That is to say, I have gradually accustomed
myself to be that rock of offence which I and
my kind have once for all become to our dear
contemporaries . . . yes, I almost feel a little
proud of belonging to those who foretell the
imminent downfall of the great Babylon.”

Emanuel wanted to say something. But his
thoughts had lost the habit of moving nimbly,
and before he had put a sentence together, Miss
Ragnhild spoke again.

“Don’t let us discuss me. It is a frightfully
uninteresting subject, I assure you. But tell me
something about yourself. I hardly knew you
just now, you have altered so much. You are as
brown as an Indian. And that great beard, like
a wild man of the woods! . . . So it’s really true
that for eight long years you have been happy in
this desert, where I was ready to pine away with
THE PROMISED LAND 143

—well, with many things. So different can human
nature be! And you have never felt the least
craving for any of the now much abused goods
of civilization . . . such as sociability, . . . art,
or good music? Not even my little Lark Etude
of Schubert’s? you used to be very fond of it at
one time, I remember, and I have often played
it to you!”

She looked at him over the ivory handle of her
parasol while speaking, and again in glance and
smile shewed all her charm.

Emanuel preserved his gravity immovably,
and answered in his former measured tone:

“I don’t see how I can miss the very thing
which IT am in possession of ; if you will take
the trouble to open your ears, Miss Tonnesen,
you will hear the larks singing over your head
at this very moment—far more beautifully than
any virtuoso in the world can imitate them in
any Etude; I have a perfect orchestra all the
summer, playing outside my windows. Starlings
in the treetops, blackbirds in the bushes, the little
tits——"

“Yes, and the crows! Pray don’t forget them !
—and the cocks! Good heavens, the cocks!”
she exclaimed, putting her fingers to her ears in
comical despair. “Just now there is such a
wretch that comes every morning while I am in
my sweetest sleep and stands outside my window,
skrieking, and screaming, and crowing. . . . Oh,
it’s like lying on a red-hot gridiron!”
144 THE PROMISED LAND

This time Emanuel could not prevent his
risible muscles relaxing a little.

He stopped a moment, and said, shaking his
head, and looking at her for the first time :

“Truly! you have not changed, Miss To6nnesen.
You have kept up your hatred for our splendid
heralds of day.”

“Yes, I admit, in these ways, I am as great a
heretic as ever. As far as I am concerned, you
are welcome to keep the singing birds, the green
woods, and the so-called fresh sea-breeze with its
disgusting smell of sea-weed—the flower-strewn
fields—and whatever you like, if only I am allowed
to remain within four walls, where I can gather
round me cosily, all the things which suit my
taste and my temperament. . . . You think I am
past hope, now, don’t you?”

Emanuel was about to answer, but again she
was first.

“I could annoy you still more if I would. And
why shouldnt I? . . . In my opinion, a great deal
of all this about the beauties of nature, which artists
have got us to believe in, is frightful hypocrisy on
the part of most people. For my part, I never
go beyond the streets of Copenhagen and see the
bare fields, the sameness of the roads, and the
absurd extent of desolate sky, without thinking of
the cold mangling-room where I used to have
my bath as a child. However much the sun
shines, however green the fields, it all seems so
barren, so desolate, and so sad that it makes me
THE PROMISED LAND 145

shiver. I quite admit that towns may be horrid
too, dusty and dirty and smoke-blackened. But
there you are not an absolute slave to sun or
moon. There you have some idea of what a
human being is . . . and the meaning of being
lord and master of creation, which, after all, it is
one’s intention of becoming some day—at any
rate that is my ideal of freedom!”

She worked herself up at last into such
genuine passion that it, as well as her words, .
produced a most unpleasant impression upon
Emanuel. By her words she had roused anew
the memory of moments of weakness in his own
life, when the sight of his corn laid by the hail,
flooded fields, or trees overturned by a storm had
led him into a similar misjudgment of the stern
order of nature. He thought especially of that
dark night in Laddie’s illness when he stood
listening and watching for the doctor on the
mound in his garden. In his despair and per-
plexity much the same thoughts had surged
through his own brain, and he therefore now felt
it a double duty to meet her now with the full
strength of his conviction.

They had reached the top of a hill whence
there was one of those extended views in which
the district was so rich. They had long passed
the parish boundaries, and from the place where
they stood they could see the whole of Veilby and
the semi-island parish of Skibberup with its softly
rounded but bare hills, its two church towers and

K
146 THE PROMISED LAND

three wind-mills, and the swampy bog land which
connected it with the outer world. On the other
side in the west, was to be seen the flatter but
more varied and smiling landscape of Kyndlose,
Vesterby, with one or two small woods, a brim-
ming stream among green meadows, and a
number of little, scattered, white cottages, besides
the large village of Kyndlose with its fiery red
mission house, and a curious round church, the
gilt weathercock of which glittered in the setting
sun like a newly lighted star. Far away to the
north and north-west, finally appeared, like a
bank of dark clouds, a hazy belt of forest behind
which the sun had just gone down, lighting up the
horizon with flaming colours.

“ And you have the courage to speak like that
here!” said Emanuel, as with a wide sweep of the
hand he pointed to the landscape in its gorgeous
sunset colouring. The mists of evening had
already begun to rise over the water meadows,
and to spread themselves like gigantic spiders’
webs over the blood-red, many branched stream.
“You really can’t find anything to satisfy you in
such a scene as this. It can’t rouse any thoughts
or feelings in you other than an uncomfortable
recollection of your childhood ? ”

Miss Ragnhild looked at the landscape for a
moment with twitching eyes. Then she said with
a bright'little smile, which she generally put on
when she was about to say something specially
audacious :
THE PROMISED LAND 147

“I certainly can’t understand why that should
be so wondrously beautiful that one should be
forced, from the cradle to the grave, to fall into a
state of delight every time one sees it. It doesn’t
appeal to me in the least. The combination of
colours even offends my eye. This blue sky,
that shrieking red horizon, all this orange-
coloured corn, and the meadows down there like
spinach . . . blue, red, green, and yellow!
Those are just the colours which are used for the
so-called Hottentot pocket-handkerchiefs. . . .
You know, those flaring stuffs which the English
send out to the wilds of Africa and which put our
black fellow creatures into such a blessed state of
mind. Don’t you think, Pastor Hansted—it is
my real opinion—that a phenomenon of nature
like this sunset has no other meaning than that
of being a higher form of diversion for semi-
human beings, both black and white, and perhaps
also for the animals? Such a fiery heaven, I
have no doubt, answers to that sort of creature's
ideas of splendour ; it probably also rouses their
softer feelings. . . . The nightingales begin to
sing and the frogs to croak. . . .”

“I have no doubt you are right, Miss Tonnesen,”
Emanuel interrupted her with an ironical bow, and
continued his walk; he saw it was no use trying to
take her seriously. “It’s only a pity that the Al-
mighty did not have an opportunity of consulting
you, when He created this bungle of a world which
is only suitable for Kabyles and Hottentots. But
148 THE PROMISED LAND

it just occurs to me—when I met you just now, you
had condescended to sit down in quite a common
grass field—nay, as far as I remember, both you
and the others were in quite lively spirits. It
appears therefore that a sojourn in the midst of
nature can all the same have an enlivening effect
on you.”

“Well, what can I say? There will always
remain so much of the animal in us, I suppose,
that at times we may wish for a meadow to sun
ourselves in, or a wood to run about in. But
what does that shew? I also know that lovers
delight in wandering about by moonlight. Now
I, who am not in love, think a moonlight night
one of the most disagreeable things I know ; it
always reminds me of a death chamber.”

She stopped suddenly, burst into a little laugh,
and said, “ It is really too stupid. Here we are
carrying on the same sort of nonsensical dispute
as we used to eight or nine years ago . .. and
with exactly the same result. Do you remember
how we used to talk ourselves red in the face, and
then turn our backs on each other in anger, and
wouldn’t look at each other for days. Shall we
make peace now? Now we've each got what we
wanted—you your country, I my town—so we
have nothing more to quarrel about.”

‘“ Exactly my opinion,” said Emanuel dryly.

“Then, at last, we are agreed on one point!
But I have talked too much. . . . You know it’s
a way old maids have. Now, it’s your turn to be
THE PROMISED LAND 149

entertaining, Pastor Hansted. Now tell me
kindly about yourself. I know—from your sister,
and, for that matter, I have heard the same here—
what a happy family life you lead, that you have
a couple of sweet little children, and that your
wife continues to be famed for her good looks

. in short, that you are a regular child of
fortune.”

Emanuel did not intend to enter into any dis-
cussion with her on this subject. But the love
of argument had been awakened in him, and he
could not help saying :

“1 can hear by your voice that you are sur-
prised.”

“ As you say it yourself, I will not deny it.”

“I can quite understand it. With your con-
ception of family happiness, and your view that
marriage is a kind of erotic game or amusement

. views which I also at one time held, but
of which I happily discovered the fallacy in
time 7

“ Excuse me, Pastor Hansted—but where did
you acquire the habit of attributing a meaning to
people which suits you, but which they have never
expressed. You did it before, and again now.
For what, in fact, do you know of my opinions on
matrimony ?”

“I should be very much interested in hearing
them. They are no doubt highly original.”

She went on for a minute smiling to herself.

“Would it really interest you? Well, then, I

 
150 THE PROMISED LAND

won't make myself precious. But I will begin by
saying that you won't hear anything new. . . .
You know that I am conservative in all my views,
and perhaps on this point more so than on any
other. My opinion as to what is requisite for
matrimonial happiness is simply the same as that
to which our grandparents gave the somewhat
inflated expression in the words, “ The harmony
of souls.” In our day I suppose we should call
it something like “nerve sympathy.”

“ Nerve sympathy! Truly a delightful modern
expression! If only one knew what it meant.
Can’t you give a little explanation ?”

“Oh, yes,” she laughed. “But I told you I
had become a philosopher, so if I should not be
very clear, you must excuse me, it is because of
the depth of my thoughts. Well, then——"

She stopped, rested her cheek on her ivory-
handled parasol, and looked straight before her
with a thoughtful smile.

“In this way, then,” she said, and continued
her walk. “By nerve sympathy between two
persons, I mean that everything these two per-
sons see, hear, experience, read, etc., has a similar
effect upon them both. The sight of such a land-
scape, for example, or the enjoyment of a piece
of music, must put them into the same frame of
mind ; it must not enliven one and depress the
other—Am I expressing myself plainly ?— All
the manifold affairs of life, from the most trifling
—such as the breaking of a plate—up to the most
THE PROMISED LAND 151

fateful—sad or happy—must affect the feelings
of both, must move their nerves with the same
degree of emotion. To continue—the require-
ment for bringing about between two persons the
state which used to be called ¢ The harmony of
souls’ is, therefore, that their nerves have the same
kind of receptivity, and are just as easily moved
by some impressions and just as little by others—
Don’t you admire my logic >—But the kind and
the degree of the receptivity,” she continued, as
Emanuel did not speak, “is the result of our
education, of our intercourse, of our occupations,
reading, etc.,, . . . and not alone of our own, but
of our parents, our grandparents, down to our
most remote forefathers, is it not? You can
now see ”

“Splendid ! ” Emanuel interrupted her, sud-
denly raising his head with a broad smile. “I
understand now, that what is required for one
person to be thoroughly happy with another, is
that this other person must resemble him in every
way. That is to say, must have the same educa-
tion, the same friends; and to complete every-
thing, the same father, mother, and ancestors—in
other words, it must be himself! Yes, there you
are right, Miss Tonnesen. Self-love—egoism—is
without doubt, according to modern conservative
views, the only lasting and trustworthy love.
There I agree with you!”

Miss Ragnhild’s brows contracted somewhat
moodily, and she made no answer.

 
152 THE PROMISED LAND

“ Now, allow me to moralize a little,” continued
Emanuel, with increasing liveliness. “I daresay,
even from your point of view, you will admit that
the highest object of man—and at the same time
his joy and happiness—consists in developing
himself, and in feeling the growth of his powers
and the widening of his views . . . in short, in
making the most of his possibilities. Am I not
right ?”

“Well, yes!”

“ But from whose friendship—not to use such
a bygone inflated word as love—from whose inti-
macy may one expect to reap the richest harvest
for the development of one’s spiritual “ Ego,” and
therefore expect the greatest joy and happiness?
Would it be from that person who sees, feels,
thinks, and acts exactly as one does oneself?
Would it not rather be from the person who
would open up new views one never before had
dreamt of, who would give one new thoughts and
feelings, who, from a different education, would
be able to enrich one’s knowledge, widen one's
limitations on every side,and, as it were, make one’s
world twice as large? I believe so—nay, I know
it. I speak from dearly bought experience.”

“ But you are turning the matter upside down,”
said Miss Ragnhild, who had not listened to what
he was saying.

At this moment they were interrupted by the
doctor and his wife, who had been standing on
the road waiting for them to come up.
THE PROMISED LAND 153

“Now, we really can’t allow you to run away
from us, Pastor Hansted,” said the doctor with
the vague smile, which showed his large white
teeth. “It is only a few steps to our door, and
you couldn’t get home now in time for supper.”

Emanuel looked about him in astonishment.
Without being aware of it, he had come nearly
the whole way to Kyndlose; its gilded weather-
cock was shining just in front of him almost like
a full moon.

“You must not refuse us,” chimed in Mrs
Hassing, with all the cordiality she could put
into her gentle voice. “If you think your wife
will be anxious about you, we will send a mes-
senger on horseback to her.”

Emanuel hesitated a moment before accepting
their invitation. He would much have preferred
to decline. For seven years now he had shut
himself up within his own circle of the “ Friends”
where he alone felt quite at home; and he did
not wish to have any lasting acquaintance with
the Hassing family. But on the other hand he
was afraid they would look upon a refusal as the
result of fright or shyness. He was sure Miss
Ragnhild would look upon it in that light, and
report it to his sister and the rest of the family.
Besides which, he could not hide from himself
that he was partly actuated by curiosity and a
slight craving for diversion. He rather wanted
to see Dr Hassing’s so much talked of house with
all its artistic decorations. Moreover, the conver-
154 THE PROMISED LAND

sation with Miss Ragnhild was just beginning to
interest him when it was interrupted, and he was
not averse to have an opportunity of continuing
the discussion.

CHAPTER VI

AN hour later, Emanuel sat at a delicately set-
out supper table in Dr Hassing’s well-lighted
dining-room.

He had not entirely got over the feeling of
constraint and discomfort which had involuntarily
come over him on entering this house with its
distinguished style of decoration, which in so
many ways reminded him of his father’s home—
on again stepping on carpeted floors, among carved
furniture and large mirrors, which reflected the
whole figure in every direction—on being sur-
rounded by paintings and statues of nude men
and women—and on again sinking among the
cushions of a velvet arm-chair. At first he was so
disturbed by the sight of all the luxury that he
regretted having allowed himself to be persuaded.
But he was specially upset on being received in
the hall by a smart parlour-maid, with short
puffed sleeves, and a stiffly starched frilled cap,
who came forward at once with many curtseys
and conventional smiles to take away his hat and
stick. She next proceeded to brush his coat,
THE PROMISED LAND 155

constantly addressing him as “your Reverence.”
He had the strongest inclination all the time to
take the brush from her and to say plainly :

“1 say, my child, don’t let us make fools of
ourselves, I am in the habit of cleaning my own
shoes—so surely I can brush the dust off my own
breeches.”

To one of his habits a similar spirit of opposi-
tion rose within him at the sight of the luxurious
supper table, with its many tempting delicacies,
its Venetian decanters, and costly china. He felt
the responsibility he had taken upon himself in
the eyes of the Cause and the Friends in accept-
ing hospitality here in the enemies’ camp. He
answered all Mrs Hassing’s interesting questions
about his parishioners politely and even fully,
but he kept on his guard all the time, and never
for a moment relaxed the serious almost gloomy
expression, which was his silent protest against
all that he saw around him.

Dr Hassing’s dining-room was decorated in a
somewhat peculiar style, half Pompeian, half
modern. Slender, long necked vases and jars
were placed on small consol tables against the
two long terra cotta coloured walls, while the
walls at the ends of the room were covered with
dark green cloth, and on this was hung a costly
collection of old Faiénce and Majolica dishes, and
antique hand weapons. At the upper end of the
table, Miss Ragnhild and the doctor were carry-
ing on a lively dispute about modern music; the
156 THE PROMISED LAND

two young people at the lower end were mostly
putting their heads together and talking in an
undertone. Judging from their glances to each
other, first tender and then reproachful, it seemed
not unlikely that they were on the high-road to a
closer relationship than that of cousins. Immedi-
ately opposite to Emanuel and Mrs Hassing sat
a silent little lady in black, and by her side an
elderly man of most peculiar appearance. He
was about seventy years of age, tall, and stoutly
built with an absolutely bald head which was so
shiny that all the lights in the room were reflected
in it. His purple face was divided in the middle
by a broad mouth, which every moment opened
up a view of a large thick tongue which pre-
vented him from talking plainly. His eyes were
small, with a slight squint, and his nose was a
perfect parrot’s beak; the skin of his neck hung
loosely from his chin, in a purple pouch, like that
of a pelican. To complete this face he had a
tiny white imperial, and two little half-moon
shaped whiskers, which according to an old court
fashion stretched from below the ear to the middle
of the cheek. A stiff black satin stock was in
keeping with these aristocratic whiskers, an oval
diamond pin stuck in it, with a little chain and a
brooch fastened into the middle of his shirt front,
and a large variegated silk handkerchief, with
which he constantly, though without apparent
reason, wiped the back of his neck. He was
otherwise dressed in a plain grey coat, and neither
THE PROMISED LAND 157

his linen nor his hands betrayed any strong sense

of cleanliness.

This man was the “Uncle Joachim” so
anxiously spoken of by Mrs Hassing and her
nephew, a former landed proprietor with the
title of Jegermester, who had recently, owing to
a too gentlemanly weakness for blood-horses,
expensive carriages, many servants, fine wines,
illicit affairs of the heart, been obliged to sell
his property, and now lived chiefly on the bounty
of his family. Together with his sister—the
little lady in black—he was for the present “on a
visit” to the Hassings, which had already ex-
tended over several months.

In accordance with his other qualities, Uncle
Joachim had always prided himself on belonging
to “the few” who still swore allegiance to the
most extreme reactionary views on every subject.
He always called himself—at the same time
striking his broad chest— a representative of the
ideas previous to the year of misfortune, 48 ;”
and his feelings were not softened towards the
ever-encroaching democracy by finding that it
was a rich peasant who bought his property at
the sale. Dr Hassing’s home, which otherwise
was hushed to all politics, had latterly resounded
from morning till night with ragings against the
peasants, the parliament, the high schools, and
even the government. Although he was loyal to
the King and government, he considered that
they paid too much attention to the “agitators”;
158 THE PROMISED LAND

his plan would have been to transport them all in
warships to Christianso, there to break stones till
they had amended their ways. He held that
nothing short of this would be of the slightest avail.

This being so, there was really some cause for
anxiety in the meeting of this man with Emanuel,
and it was not long before their expectations
were realized. As soon as the Jaegermester
heard Emanuel’s name, his whole head became
purple, and without shaking hands or answering
the somewhat cool greetings of the latter, he
rushed into the dining-room where Mrs Hassing
was superintending the arrangements.

“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted
with his indistinct speech, the loudness of which
he never could estimate on account of his deaf-
ness. “Isn’t this that mad rhapsodist and agi-
tator from Veilby? Do you visit people of that
sort? You ask me to meet a fellow like that?
What is the meaning of it, Ludovica ?”

“ Now Uncle!” answered Mrs Hassing with
decision quite foreign to her, and which therefore
made a deep impression upon Uncle Joachim,
“you know that neither Hassing nor I meddle
with politics. But Pastor Hansted is an exceed-
ingly cultivated and interesting man, from whose
conversation one may gather both pleasure and
information, without being bound to admire his
views. I therefore beg, Uncle, that you will not
in any way offend him, but bear in mind that
to-night he is our guest.”
THE PROMISED LAND 159

The effect of this warning was apparent at the
beginning of the meal, when he sat as stiff as a
post, refusing all the dishes with a haughty and
offended air. But when he saw that his silent
protests were quite unnoticed—or perhaps in the
long run they demanded too much self-denial—he
suddenly changed his tactics, and helped himself
greedily to every dish, clattered his knife and
fork, and interrupted the others every moment
with loud requests for bread, butter, “a little
more foie gras, Ludovica,” to shew thereby that
he cared nothing for the rhapsodist.

The conversation after a time became quite
lively ; Emanuel’s slow, thoughtful remarks were
oftener heard among the lighter conversation of
the others.

His conversation with Mrs Hassing had little
by little drifted into the burning question of the
day—the higher education of the people, especi-
ally of the peasant class. Emanuel freely ex-
pressed his views, and intentionally brought for-
ward the importance he attached to the High
Schools in this direction. Mrs Hassing was all
attention. She belonged to that impressionable
class who are at once roused to enthusiasm when
they see others enthusiastic. When others spoke
an expression of deep thoughtfulness always
came into her regular, pretty, but not specially in-
telligent face, with its softly rounded cheeks and
Madonna smile—as if by their words they were
making plain to her something on which she had
160 THE PROMISED LAND

long been pondering in vain. She sat like this
now—one elbow resting lightly on the edge of the
table, her cheek on her hand—and when now and
then in her singing voice she raised “objections,”
it was in reality less to oppose him than to give
him a further opportunity of explaining his views.

But the others began to listen too. Emanuel’s
unshaken earnestness and strong self-confi-
dence, combined with his rough clothes and big
beard to give an impression of manliness and
power . . . nay, even his somewhat didactic
manner of speaking, which he had acquired by
constantly appearing as a teacher to the peasants,
made him more and more interesting in their
eyes. Besides, the subjects of his conversation
were so new to them, his expressions were so
fresh and surprising, that he involuntarily com-
pelled their respect.

Even the young people stopped their whisper-
ing to listen to him, and the cyclist glanced at
his aunt once or twice as much as to say:

“You were right, Aunt! . . . There's stuff in
the man!”

Miss Ragnhild, on the other hand, was visibly
out of spirits. She leant against the back of her
chair, nervously crumbling her bread with her
long taper finger as more and more attention
was directed towards Emanuel.

Emanuel was himself somewhat excited by the
attention his conversation roused. Besides—for-
getting his previous refusal out of doors—he had
THE PROMISED LAND 161

drunk two or three glasses of wine in the course
of the meal. His tone became easier, and after a
time he put his sentences together with a clear-
ness and emphasis which surprised himself.

But at the same time, a spirit of opposition
rose in him, a feeling that it was his duty to tell
these people the truth, which had been smoulder-
ing within him ever since he came. Why not
point bravely to the burning spot? he asked him-
self. Had he the right to sit here in the midst of
all this frivolity and refinement, without raising his
voice against it? Was it not his duty to do what
he could to wake these people from the security
of their self-complacency, from their haughty
ignorance of all which made the hearts of the
people beat with joy and expectation.

A little uneasiness now arose round the table.
Passing suddenly from his tolerably defiant praise
of the High Schools and the spirit which had
spread from them among the country people, he
entered upon the great strife of the moment,
between the government and the people.

They all looked nervously at Uncle Joachim.
His head had again become purple and swollen
like a balloon filling; and no sooner did Emanuel
pause, than he leant over the table towards him.

“Excuse me, sir!” he burst out in his thick,
lisping voice, putting his hand behind his ear—
in the manner of deaf people—a highly unaristo-
cratic fist, with tufts of long hair on every joint,—
“I hear that you are an ardent admirer of this

L
162 THE PROMISED LAND

so-called Emancipation of the People and this . . .
this, universal suffrage.”

“Undoubtedly,” answered Emanuel, a little
impatient at being interrupted in this quarter.

“You will perhaps allow me to bring to your
notice, sir, an example which will cause you to
alter your views. I need only give you one ex-
ample to shew you clearly how disastrous, nay,
how destructive . . . this universal suffrage is,
to the future, and the well-being of a country.”

Mrs Hassing looked at her husband, to get him
to stop Uncle Joachim. But the doctor, who
behind his correct and dignified exterior hid a
fair amount of youthful waggishness, appeared
not to see it. He thought that it might be rather
amusing to see a battle between these two men,
both burning for the fray.

“I take the liberty therefore—quite shortly—
to put before you the following fact,” continued
the Jegermester. “I once had . .. some time
ago,hm! . .. a cowherd . . . a cowherd, do you
understand? Perhaps a very sober and worthy
person, but quite ignorant . . . with hardly the
most elementary knowledge. With regard to
legal matters, he knew just about as much of our
constitutional laws, as about the Turkish or the
Chinese! Now, I ask you,” he continued with
rising self-complacency, as from the general
silence he discovered that he was making a
point. “Is it really your opinion, that such a
person ought to have as much influence on the
THE PROMISED LAND 163

guidance of the State, as a man like . . . well,
like our honoured host, Dr Hassing ? I ask you.”

He threw himself back in his chair, crossed his
arms, and in this position sure of victory, awaited
Emanuel’s reply.

Emanuel would have preferred to answer the
Jegermester’s question with the indulgence which
he deemed this person required. But he perceived
the expectancy with which the others awaited his
answer ; and after a moment’s consideration, dur-
ing which he took a draught from his glass, he
said :

“I consider that the cowherd, notwithstanding
his ignorance, not only ought to have had equal
rights with Dr Hassing—but if justice had been
done—perhaps rather the double.”

The answer came with such conviction, and
sounded so paradoxical, that they all burst out
into protests.

“You surely do not mean that,” said even Mrs
Hassing, while Uncle Joachim, with his hand
behind his ear—leant over towards his sister and
said, in a voice which he probably took to be a
whisper: “What does he say? What is it he
says?”

“It seems to me quite simple and obvious,”
continued Emanuel, again made more talkative
by the opposition. “I do not understand why
a man’s birth should have any influence on his
relation to the State. That a man is born in
poverty, may be a misfortune to him, so there
164 THE PROMISED LAND

would be the more reason to raise him than the
reverse. As far as his ignorance goes, or rather,
want of book knowledge—well, that only means
that the State was not willing to spend more on
his education. . . . But that is no reason for
treating him like a step-child; on the contrary
. .. It is always the poor and weak who suffer
most in bad times, therefore it is no more than
fair to give them by preference the casting vote.
If justice is to play any part, it is neither those
who know most or those who spend most, who
ought to have the greatest influence on the
government of the country . . . but those who
risk most. Such is in any case my political
science!”

“But then you are almost . . . you are really
a socialist,” said Mrs Hassing, who was sitting
with her hand under her chin, looking up thought-
fully at the corner of the ceiling.

“Whether I am a socialist or not, I can’t pre-
cisely say. If the views I have expressed are
socialistic . . . well, then I am a socialist. I am
not alarmed by the designation!”

“What does he say? . . . Does he say Social-
ist ?” stammered the Jegermester again leaning
towards his sister, whose sole occupation seemed
to be that of a living ear-trumpet.

“ But you must really admit, Pastor Hansted,”
—the Doctor now took up the conversation—
“that the People, in general,—in most cases at
any rate,—are not in a condition to form a judg-
THE PROMISED LAND 165

ment as to what is best for them. For that pre-
supposes knowledge, experience, etc.,—in which,
for instance, a country labourer must be entirely
wanting. Of course there are always exceptions
to be found; that I shall never deny; but, speak-
ing generally, I am sure that our peasant class
must be regarded as a great, inexperienced—and
perhaps for the time—unmanageable child, who
would inevitably precipitate itself into all kinds
of disasters were it left to its own judgment.
Don’t you think I am right ?”

“I do not know how the want of confidence
in the peasant has arisen,” answered Emanuel.
“We do not get it from history. On the con-
trary, it teaches us how unjust that estimate is.”

“You can’t point to a single event where by
meeting the wishes of the lower classes, and
following their advice, the slightest harm has
come to the country. But, on the other hand,
example after example may be quoted where
our country has been plunged into one disaster
after another in the face of the warnings of the
people. But this is not all! I dare to maintain
that all that our country possesses in the way of
talent, clear understanding, the spirit of enterprise,
industry, and endurance may be entirely traced to
the peasants. It can be historically proved, in
ancient times as well as now, that there is hardly a
single great personality, or a single great intellect
who has risen above his contemporaries, but you
may find the peasant blood in his lineage, by going
166 THE PROMISED LAND

back only a generation or two. But we shall
hardly find a single prominent person who has
had his root in the higher classes for several
generations. It is the industry of our peasants,
their frugality and tenacious endurance which all
our capable men have inherited ; . . . it was so
in former times, and it is so still. Year by
year, young, fresh, active life has been sent from
the country to the towns . . . and every year
these in return send out a collection of sickly
wretches crippled in body or mind, to be set
up again by country life and country air. It is
just the same with our good, patient, Danish
soil, which year by year sends its nutritious grain
“among the red roofs’ . . . and gets it back as
manure !”

He spoke with rising passion. Perhaps his
transports were a trifle calculated; but it was
very becoming, as he sat there with his brown
hair and light beard, flushed by his speech, the
wine, and the earnestness of his convictions.
Something of a real prophetic expression had
come into his face, and the strong light had con-
verted his eyes into blue shining stars.

A moment's silence arose after his speech. It
was broken by the Doctor, who turned to Miss
Ragnhild, and said :

“ Well, what do you say now, Miss Tonnesen ?
Let us hear your opinion on the subject.”

She raised herself slowly from her languid
position, and said :
THE PROMISED LAND 167

“TI hold with Pastor Hansted.”

“What? . . . you too!” they all burst out;
while Uncle Joachim, after having her words
repeated by his sister, put his hands above his
head and exclaimed: “ God bless my soul !”

“Yes, I acknowledge it,” she said quietly. “I
am also of opinion that in a country like ours,
with its endlessly long, dark winter and other
hard conditions of life . . . that in this dear land
of our birth, which perhaps, like the whole of the
North ought never to have been civilized, but
should have remained like a sort of big Greenland
to which one could go in summer time for hunting
and fishing, . . Now what was I going to say?”

She looked round with a constrained smile.

“Yes, now I remember ; it was only this .
that, in a country such as Mr Hansted indicated,
it is, as a matter of course, strong shoulders and
broad foreheads which are of the greatest import-
ance. And as Mr Hansted also pointed out, it is
just what history teaches us, that here in Denmark
everything soon perishes, is frozen to death or
blown away, which does not measure forty inches
round the chest, or twenty from ear to ear. I
entirely agree with Mr Hansted that it is only by
favour of the peasants that we poor wretches live.
I have always had a lively perception of that.”

There was again a moment's constrained silence
after her words. They were not sure how much
was to be taken seriously, or how much ironi-
cally.
168 THE PROMISED LAND

However, the Doctor, seeing that the air was
somewhat stormy, thought it well to break up
before it got beyond a joke.

“Shall we adjourn to the next room?” he
said.

They rose and bade each other “ Velbekomme.”
Miss Ragnhild and Emanuel also shook hands
with each other.

“My sincere compliments, Pastor Hansted !”
she said. “I must acknowledge that . . . you
have really become a ready controversialist !”

CHAPTER VII

THE large drawing-room was lighted by seven or
eight lamps standing about on tables, all with
dark shades over them. In this way there was a
pleasant subdued light in the room, thoroughly
conducive to peaceful rest in the velvet-covered
arm-chairs, with which the room was liberally
supplied.

There was a door between two windows, lead-
ing into a glass-covered verandah, which formed
a perfect little winter garden, full of palms and
tall-stemmed plants; a red lantern hanging from
the roof shed a soft light, like a rising moon,
among the flowering shrubs and shining leaves.
This again opened on to the garden, on a much
lower level. From the room there was a peep of
THE PROMISED LAND 169

lawns with a stone vase, rose bushes, a honey-
suckle arbour, and a couple of tall poplars, all
bathed in the pale, almost solemn, light of a
summer night.

“Now, I daresay you will be kind enough to
give us a little music, Miss Tonnesen,” said the
doctor. “I daresay we all feel that we shall be
the better for a little soothing.”

“With pleasure,” answered Miss Ragnhild . . .
“if I could only remember anything!” she added,
as she stood by the piano, bending her fingers
about after the manner of pianists to make them
supple.

Emanuel placed himself in an arm-chair near
the verandah. He was not very well pleased at
the idea of the music. He was still too much
taken up with the conversation at the table, and
would rather have continued the discussion. In
the meantime the others had settled themselves
comfortably in the easy chairs. Only Uncle
Joachim had remained behind in the dining-
room, where he could be heard easing his mind
to his sister . . . but when Miss Ragnhild
struck the first chords, Mrs Hassing went
along, opened the door, and with a “hush!”
silenced him.

Miss Ragnhild began by a few powerful runs up
and down the piano, as if to clear the air. Then
she sat a moment, with her hands on her lap, in
silence, and the music already seemed to echo
from afar.
170 THE PROMISED LAND

Little Miss Gerda had hidden herself in the
darkest corner of the room.

A striking change had come over the young
girl in the course of the evening ; she had become
wonderfully quiet and almost solemn. During the
meal she had taken less and less interest in her
cousin, and paid him but scant attention ; but, on
the other hand, she watched Emanuel closely, and
listened eagerly when he spoke.

Now she sat gazing at him with her big wonder-
ing eyes. She bent forward, resting her elbow on
her knees. Her face was lighted up by a red glow
from the lamp which stood near, the rest of her
figure was in shadow. There was a family like-
ness to Mrs Hassing in every feature; she had
the same oval, madonna face, the soft lines of the
mouth and chin betrayed the same tendency to
sentimentality, but the nose was more powerful,
the curves of the cheek firmer, the fire of dormant
passion smouldered in her large velvety brown
eyes, above which the dark eyebrows were pen-
cilled like a pair of wings preparing for flight.

At the end of the first piece, while Miss
Ragnhild and the doctor were exchanging a few
remarks about the composer, she stole along to
Mrs Hassing, who was sitting at the other end of
the room.

“ Auntie,” she whispered, as she bent right over
her, “is it really true that he is married to a
peasant girl?”

“Yes, my child!”
THE PROMISED LAND 171

“To a real peasant girl ?”

“Yes, my child,” repeated Mrs Hassing, patting
her cheek.

She remained standing a moment with her
hand on the back of her aunt’s chair, looking
at the ground. When Miss Ragnhild began
another piece, she stole back to her seat to gaze
at Emanuel again.

Her cousin, who was sitting a little way off,
tried to attract her attention, but she appeared
not to notice him. When he tried to reach her
with a long feather brush, which he found in his
neighbourhood, she darted such a lightning glance
at him that he nearly fell off his chair, he was so
taken aback.

At first Emanuel did not pay much attention
to the music. The first piece was a modern com-
position, difficult to take in, which sounded to
him like a cats’ concert. He leant back in his
chair and gave himself up to his thoughts. His
glance wandered over the room, with its pictures
and white statuettes on pedestals in the corners

. and at the same time a heavy drowsiness
crept over him. It was long past his usual bed-
time, and the dimness of the room, the many new
impressions of the day, the reaction after his
extreme exertion, and perhaps also the effect of
the wine at supper, soon made him so heavy
and weary that he had to make a strong effort
to keep awake.

But after a time he began to listen. Well-
172 THE PROMISED LAND

known tones reached his ears . . . solemn, rush-
ing harmonies which seemed to come from another
world. At first he could not give a name to them,
nor did he understand the state of emotion into
which he was thrown by them—a mingling of
sadness and rejoicing, which made his heart beat.
Then he recognised Chopin’s funeral march, a
favourite of his sister’s, which in his youth he had
often heard her play in the mornings at home,

. and then it seemed as if a change came over
his surroundings. It was no longer Dr Hassing’s
drawing-room in which he was sitting, but his
own old home ; it was his own sister Betty sitting
on the stool at the piano between the candles.
. . . Yes, even the scent of heliotrope wafted in
from the verandah seemed to belong to his child-
hood and his father’s house. The impression at
last became so vivid that he could not rid himself
of it; it was just as if the music stole away his
thoughts and his will. He felt himself enchained
by a fascination over which he could not get the
mastery.

As soon as the music came to an end he rose.
He must go home.

He took leave of the company in rather a
headlong fashion, thanked his host and hostess,
and a few minutes later was out on the road.

Even here he could not at once free himself
from the enchantment, although as he walked he
drove his oaken stick so hard against the ground,
that its iron ferrule struck sparks against the
 

 

 
Wa!
THE PROMISED LAND 175

stones. The quiet landscape in the pale solemn
light of the summer night, the softly-dappled sky,
and the dark cypress-like poplars by the roadside,
at first heightened the effect of Miss Ragnhild’s
music, as it were bringing it to life. Its tones
continued to pursue him along the winding road,
and he was not quite himself till he had passed
the parish boundaries and saw the homelike hills
darkly massed against the horizon.

In the meantime he was the subject of a lively
discussion in the doctor's drawing-room. Uncle
Joachim had come on the scene, and had been
allowed to give vent to his feelings—of which he
took advantage to the fullest extent. To make
up, Mrs Hassing sang Emanuel's praises, and
even the doctor was obliged to admit “that he
really was a very remarkable man, by no means
without intelligence.”

Directly after Emanuel left, Miss Gerda said
good-night and went to bed.

Miss Ragnhild was rather silent; but then she
had no cause to be particularly satisfied with her
evening. What she had said to Emanuel was
quite true—that for seven years she had been
longing for the day when she could surprise him
out here . . . and the prospect of so doing had
contributed considerably in inducing her to over-
come her dread of country life, and to accept
Mrs Hassing’s invitation.

Nor was it merely curiosity which had brought
her. Since she took leave of the then curate,
176 THE PROMISED LAND

seven years ago, she had carried about with her
a certain feeling of shame, from which she was
anxious to free herself. Soon after their parting
it had become clear to her that the interest she
had felt in him had not been based on such mere
friendship as she had imagined, but that by the
daily intercourse with him, a cool, northern breath
of love had passed over her spirit, and she had
often since felt degraded by the remembrance of
it. There was something intolerably humiliating
to her in the thought that she could have given
even the smallest particle of her heart to a man
who had married a peasant girl; she could not
get rest for her soul before she had again raised
herself by feeling her superiority to him . . . and
alas! in this respect her meeting with Emanuel
had by no means given her the hoped-for
gratification.

CHAPTER VIII

THERE was no surprise at the Parsonage when
Emanuel did not come back; and on his return
Hansine did not even ask him where he had
been. She was used to his being persuaded by
the Friends to stay, wherever he dropped in, and
by his entirely forgetting time and place. Next
morning he told her where he had been and
whom he had met . . . and after that he would
THE PROMISED LAND 177

have liked to bury the whole story in oblivion.
He woke up feeling that he had a bad conscience,
and the more he recalled the occurrences of the
evening, so much the more annoyed he was
with himself for what he called his stupid pre-
sumptuousness.

“One can see how poisoned the air must be
among such people,” he thought. “Even after
eight years one can’t put one’s nose among them
without losing the mastery over oneself and fall-
ing into evil ways.”

He took warning by what had happened to keep
a better watch over himself for the future; and
in many ways his visit to Dr Hassing’s was not
without its effect upon him. It roused him from
the apathy from which he had so long suffered,
. .-. gave him fresh spiritual vigour to rise out of
the state of inertia into which he had fallen since
Laddie’s death. He once again felt thoroughly
happy and contented in his home, and every
morning went out singing to the stables, and was
never tired of giving Hansine comical descrip-
tions of the doctor’s house and family, especially
of Uncle Joachim. He told her about the decora-
tion of the rooms, and gave an accurate descrip-
tion of the supper-table and the various dishes.
Though Hansine never asked questions about his
visit, and observed him closely while he was talk-
ing, as if she did not quite believe in his mirth, he
always came back to the conversation at the supper-
table, and the remarks of the different persons.

M
178 THE PROMISED LAND

On Sunday he preached—almost without pre-
paration—with all his old power and fervour.
The day’s text was from the gospel of St Mark:
the feeding of the multitude in the wilderness
with five loaves and a few small fishes. Accord-
ing to his custom, he first brought the whole
picture before his hearers, poetically painting the
solemn silence of the desert, its illimitable blue
sky, and its jagged rocks, on which the burning
rays of the sun glowed from morning till night.

Then he went on in a changed voice—

“Then this about the five loaves, and the small
fishes, which so many doubters can’t swallow.
‘No, they say, ‘to satisfy four thousand people
with so little food, and to have five basketsful
over, is the talk of a madman. You may get the
peasants to believe it, but try it on with us! . .
Yes, that’s what those poor people say who don’t
know or won't acknowledge any other kind of
hunger than that which they feel gnawing at their
stomachs. But we who know the meaning of
spiritual hunger and thirst—oh! we understand
it all so well. We have all experienced those
moments of weak despondency, we fancy that all
around us is a stony desert, and we can’t catch a
glimpse of a cooling spring and think that not
all the treasures of heaven and earth could satisfy
the hunger of our souls. . . . Then one fine day
some little thing happens, or we hear some
refreshing words containing the blessing of our
Lord, and lo! everything springs out into bud
THE PROMISED LAND 179

before our eyes, and our heart . . . oh, it fills
almost to bursting with hope and joy, enough for
us to take of them in both hands and give to
others! Yes, my friends, we all know such
moments of weakness, do we not? But the only
thing is to endure, and to hold fast by one’s faith
and hope. In my opinion we are going through
just such a period of apathy in Denmark at present.
We hear despondent voices everywhere saying,
‘What is the use of it all? We are struggling
for truth and justice here on earth, but we only
see lies and arbitrariness flourishing around us.
We have let ourselves be enticed into a pathless
desert, which we can never pass through nor make
fruitful. Let us give up the task, let us return to
the yoke of the Egyptians and their fleshpots.’
And the tempter, who is always at the heels of
doubt, like a shadow, answers in his soft, coaxing,
serpent’s whisper: ‘ Yea, only bow down to me,
and I will give you all the treasure of earth! . .
No, no,” he exclaimed in a louder voice, his
cheeks suddenly flaming. “We won't give in!
We trust in that God who sent manna to the
Israelites, and satisfied the five thousand in the
wilderness with his blessing. Besides, we are
God’s chosen people, whom He has favoured,
and called to be His instruments, and we will
thank and praise His name for ever. No, away
with all weakness, away with all doubt.”

After the service the people assembled as usual,
outside the church door, to shake hands with him,
180 THE PROMISED LAND

and thank him for his words. But some went
away in anger, because they thought that his last
words were aimed at the weaver and the other
leaders of the change of political tactics . . .
and lately, more and more of them felt their
honour wounded by the least opposition on this
point.

Emanuel himself had not noticed anything of
their discontent, and for a long time had not felt
so happy and light-hearted as now.

In the afternoon, he proposed at home in the
Parsonage, that they should all—including Abe-
lone, Niels, and Soren—go for a drive in the
lovely weather, and take their afternoon meal
out of doors. The big spring waggon was got
out and washed, a basket was filled with food,
and Hansine and the children dressed in their
best clothes. This last was by Emanuel’s special
desire, “so that for once in a way we may shew
that we have nice clothes”; and when he saw Han-
sine in a black silk apron, and the little beaded
cap which had been part of her wedding costume,
he put his hands round her waist and said: “I will
bet anyone there’s not a prettier parson’s wife in
the whole kingdom of Denmark.” At four o'clock
he crossed the yard himself to harness the horses.
But he had hardly taken the halters off when
Sigrid rushed in, in all her finery—with her eyes
starting out of her head, and so breathless in her
excitement, that she could hardly speak.

“Father!” she cried. “Two fine, fine ladies
NEY ERICHSEN: .

 
THE PROMISED LAND 183

have come. . . . Oh, you should see them!
They have just gone into the sitting-room !”

Emanuel very nearly swore. He knew at once
that it must be Miss Ragnhild, and one of the
other ladies from the doctor’s house.

“Is mother in the sitting - room ?” he
asked.

“Yes, she is. Oh, father, you should see . . .
you should see!”

“Don’t stand there making a fool of yourself,”
he interrupted her angrily, and the child, who
had been clapping her hands and jumping about
in delight became crimson, and stole away
ashamed.

Emanuel gave himself plenty of time to finish
what he was doing with the horses . . . but his
heart beat uneasily. His thoughts, however, were
not so much on the two ladies as on Hansine.
What would she think of this visit? And how
would she receive the visitors ?

Now Abelone came pelting over the yard in
her wooden shoes, and stuck her head and
shoulders in over the half door of the
stable.

“Is Emanuel here? ... You must come in
directly ; two ladies have come ?

“Good gracious! how often am I to hear
that?” he stopped her impatiently. “I know
very well, Sigrid told me.”

She looked at him in astonishment; she was
not used to his speaking to her like that.

 
184 THE PROMISED LAND

“How should I know that? Besides Hansine
told me to come over and tell you.”

She turned away offended, and clattered quickly
back over the yard.

CHAPTER IX

IN the meantime Miss Ragnhild was sitting in
the great room on one of the rush chairs by the
table, doing her best to keep up a conversation
with Hansine who had taken her usual place in
the arm-chair near the stove. With her usual
want of amiability towards strangers, she was
taking very little pains to hide her astonishment
at the visit. Old Soren was crouching on the
bench under the window behind the table, in his
not very becoming holiday clothes—an old, blue
frieze coat with white seams, and a bright yellow
neckerchief—staring at Miss Ragnhild and her
young companion, Miss Gerda, as hard as he could.

Miss Ragnhild wore a kind of bead cape over a
walking dress of green checked silk, and a black
toque with tall up-standing bows. Miss Gerda
had on the same white dress and pale blue hat
which she had worn on the day of Emanuel’s
visit to Dr Hassing.

She sat on the edge of her chair, and her posi-
tion, her burning cheeks, and the glance with
which she looked round the large empty room, or
THE PROMISED LAND 185

scrutinized Hansine and her peasant costume, all
betrayed strong excitement. But when the door
opened and Emanuel came in, her face fell. She
had heard from Dr Hassing of the fantastic
smock in which he dressed at home, and on his
now appearing in the long grey cloth coat and
closely buttoned waistcoat which she had seen
him in before, she was deeply disappointed.

“Well, here you see me again, Pastor Hansted,”
exclaimed Miss Ragnhild rising. “We have
certainly dropped in very unceremoniously, but
your wife was kind enough to say that you are
used to that here, so I hope we are not disturbing
you. . . . You remember my little friend, Mr
Hansted,” she added, turning towards Miss Gerda,
who had also risen at his entrance.

Emanuel greeted them in silence, and with a
wave of the hand invited them to be seated again,
taking his place on the bench at the upper end of
the table.

“You have had a long way to walk,” he said
after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, not so far as you think,” laughed Miss
Ragnhild. “It would have been beyond my
powers to walk all the way from Kyndlose, but
we haven't done that. Dr Hassing had to visit
a patient near here, and we could not resist the
temptation of paying you ”—she bowed slightly
towards Hansine and Emanuel—“and my old
home a little visit. We drove with the doctor to
the “ Ridge "—as far as I remember—and we are
186 THE PROMISED LAND

to meet him there again. It is at least half an
hour from here, and I am quite proud of having
walked so far in the heat of the sun.”

“Yes, it really is warm to-day.”

She began talking about the neighbourhood
and the novelties she had seen on the way. It
seemed to her that everything was so changed
since she used to live here; the village had
especially astonished her. “It looks so much
more comfortable,” she said ; and Emanuel ex-
plained that the gardens which had been burnt
had grown up again, and the trees had gained in
size.

Hansine took no part in the conversation, and
Emanuel made no effort to draw her into it. On
the contrary he avoided looking at her and mostly
sat with his face turned towards the windows and
the garden. He did not himself understand what
it was in this visit which depressed him so much ;
or why he felt Hansine’s glance wander back-
wards and forwards all the time from him to the
two ladies. He hadn’t concealed anything from
her ; he had told her every day what had passed
on that evening. And what indeed had there
been to make a secret of ?

“There are a good many changes, too, here in
the Parsonage,” said he, noticing that Miss Ragn-
hild was looking about her with interest. “I
don’t suppose the changes will be to your taste
. . . but every one has his own.”

“There you are doing me an injustice, Mr
THE PROMISED LAND 187

Hansted! 1 like this room, for instance, very
much. It is uncommon, but it appeals to me.
There is an air of restful individuality about it.
. . . I was just admiring it. You certainly
understand the art of making much out of little.”

Although Emanuel well understood that her
words were only the phrases of polite speech, he
was yet grateful for them on Hansine’s account.
But, all the same, he at once turned the conversa-
tion to other subjects.

In the meantime Miss Gerda’s illusions were
being rapidly dispelled. There was none of the
prophetic glamour about Emanuel to-day which
had taken such a hold upon her at the Hassing’s
supper-table. The big unfurnished room made
her almost uncomfortable, it reminded her of an
empty barn ; then the presence of Soren the cow-
herd made her feel quite creepy, and she also
felt ill at ease under Hansine’s glance, which was
peculiarly searching.

After a time she was enlivened by watching
little Sigrid, who was standing by Hansine in a
pink cotton frock, with a black ribbon round her
golden brown and well-oiled hair, hiding her face in
her mother’s lap. Every time she discovered that
Miss Gerda was looking at her, she hid her face
again ; but the next moment a large dark blue
eye peeped out from behind her sunburnt arm,
and as soon as she thought she was unobserved
she stood on tiptoe and whispered something to
her mother.
188 THE PROMISED LAND

Hansine nodded absently, and stroked her hair
caressingly—with a motherly tenderness which she
seldom displayed towards her children.

The conversation by the table threatened every
moment to come to a standstill, although Miss
Ragnhild exerted herself to the utmost. Emanuel
found it impossible to collect his thoughts. Han-
sine’s silence made him more nervous every mo-
ment. He felt that she was reproaching him for
something, what, he did not know. Besides which
he felt the awkwardness of Soren’s presence.
Soren had always had bad habits, which they
generally overlooked on account of his many
good qualities ; but it seemed to Emanuel that
he had never displayed them so unpleasantly as
he did to-day.

“ Shall we go into the garden ? ” he said, rising.
And with a slightly constrained smile, he added,
“We can’t show you such a model park as your
father’s used to be, Miss Tonnesen, . . . but at
any rate it will be a little cooler out there.”

“Oh, that will be delightful!”

They all rose, Hansine first, as Emanuel asked
her if she would not go with them. Only Soren
remained behind, his eyes fixed first on one lady,
then on the other, till the last fold of their dresses
had disappeared.

At the same moment Abelone stuck her head
in at the kitchen door, where she had been on the
look-out.

“ Are they gone?”
THE PROMISED LAND 189

Soren nodded silently, and winked meaningly
towards the garden, after which Abelone came
right in and went to the window.

“Well, there they go! ... A can’t see what
Emanuel wants wi’ two such baggages. They
don’t look no better than a pair o’ hussies.”

Her indignation did not sound very sincere.
But Abelone had been altogether “rather queer
in her head ” lately, and Soren looked at her with
a deeply sympathetic glance. It was, in fact, an
open secret that she was suffering from an un-
requited attachment to Niels the stableman, who,
for some unknown cause, had lately become in-
sensible to her mature charms.

CHAPTER X

THE first impression of Veilby Parsonage garden
would not have pleased every one. Emanuel was
right in saying that not much remained of the
lordly Park which Archdeacon Tonnesen had left
behind him. The hedges, which in his time were
so carefully clipped, now sent straggling branches
out on every side, grass had spread over the paths,
dandelion and sandwort flourished on the lawns;
the shrubberies had become impenetrable thickets,
in which various song-birds had their nests; the
ground under the big trees was strewn with
branches and mouldering building boxes for the
190 THE PROMISED LAND

starlings. The Chinese wooden bridge, which
had been the pride of the “millionaire priest,”
was now little more than a collection of rotten
planks. The only things which had braved the
effects of time, and withstood its destructive hand,
were three or four large stone vases like church-
yard urns.

Miss Ragnhild and Emanuel, who happened to
be walking a little in advance of the others, turned
down the thickly overgrown hazel alley leading to
the wide, open chestnut avenue which formed the
boundary between the garden and the fields.

It was the same place where they used once to
take their daily walks and hold their lively de-
bates. Emanuel experienced a sudden irresistible
emotion as he found himself walking alone with
her again in these desolate empty paths, and by
again hearing the mysterious murmur of a lady’s
rustling garments, and also by the faint odour of
violets which used always to be perceptible in her
presence in the old days. He walked—just as he
used to then—with a slight stoop, and his arms
behind him, looking at the ground ; whereas Miss
Ragnhild looked about freely, while holding up
her dress with her left hand, just so much, that
from behind, the frills of a starched skirt and the
heels of her patent leather shoes were revealed.

She was all smiles and natural amiability, and
not in the least as she had been the other day.
The insight which her short visit had given her
into the family life at the Parsonage had entirely
 

 

   

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THE PROMISED LAND 193

reinstated her in her own self-esteem,and she began
to feel something of her former sisterly sympathy
and her old desire to win his confidence, so as to
be able to distract and cheer him a little.

Meanwhile the others had stopped by the sunny
lawn in the nearest part of the garden. Hansine
tried to begin a conversation with Miss Gerda,
but after they had exchanged a few words with-
out being in the least intelligible to each other,
the young girl, at her wit’s end, began to play
with little Sigrid.

The two ran about in the sun playing Tiggy
Touchwood, while Hansine sat on a bench in the
shade, from whence she closely watched the young
girl, scrutinized her costume, her happy smile, her
airy movements, and her pretty white teeth.

After a time she was roused from her medita-
tions by the sound of voices approaching. Miss
Ragnhild and Emanuel were coming back through
the closed hazel alley which ran just behind her.

« We generally see each other once a fort-
night,” she heard Miss Ragnhild say. “As a rule
we play duets together. But of course we gossip
too . . . sometimes about you, as I daresay I
have told you. I have always seen that your
sister is tenderly attached to you. She often
tells me how much she misses you, and longs to
see you again.”

“Indeed! does Betty talk about me?”

“Yes, it’s natural enough; she hasn’t seen you

for years now. You really ought to go to town
N

 
194 THE PROMISED LAND

sometime to see her. She needs cheering, poor
thing. She is so desolate since—as I daresay
you know—she had the sorrow of losing her only
child. It was a heavy blow to her, she is still
young, and needs somebody or something to fill
up her life. . . . It can’t be denied, you know,
that the Consul -general has his weaknesses;
besides, he is almost an old man and rather
decrepit——"

The voices here became inaudible to Hansine.
She again betook herself to looking at the two
young creatures, who were sitting in the long grass.
A moment later Sigrid rushed towards her, eyes
and cheeks blazing with excitement.

“ Mother,” she shouted. “Do you know what
she says? She says she has a big doll that can
go to sleep like a real person, and a doll’s house
with real tables and chairs and a kitchen. And
do you know what she says? It’s got a pond to
it with ducks and a boat. Do you believe it’s
true, mother?”

“ Are you coming, Sigrid ?” called Miss Gerda
from the lawn.

Without waiting for her mother’s answer, the
child ran back to the girl, and in her wildness,
threw herself right on to her knee.

Now the voices again approached in the hazel
alley. It was Emanuel’s words this time which
Hansine first caught.

“ ——Granted that in itself there’s not much
harm in that way of living, you will admit that
THE PROMISED LAND 195

alone with regard to one’s less fortunate fellow-
men, one ought to withhold people from giving
themselves up to such a display of luxury, as for
example — my brother-in-law’s. The sight of
such lavishness makes the yoke of poverty doubly
heavy to those who have to struggle and strive
all the year round to get dry bread; it breeds
bitterness, envy, and bad feeling——"

“No, no, I don’t believe a word of what you
say. A scene which I once saw just occurs to
me; it was in a great labour yard where a number
of by no means well-to-do people were working
in the heat of the sun, loading carts with gravel,
heavy blocks of stone, and so on. Just as I
passed, two charmingly dressed young girls, pro-
bably the owner’s daughters, came through the
yard, laughing and talking . . . undoubtedly a
pair of ‘useless’ creatures, like little Miss Gerda
here. I saw how all the work-begrimed labourers
raised their heads and gazed at them ; but I can
assure you, I didn’t see the least trace of envy in
a single face. On the contrary, it was evident
that the sight of the two pretty, happy creatures,
gay as birds, cheered them in the midst of their
toil; they looked after them with the kindly
glance with which we all greet a swallow as it
skims gaily past us on the road. People like
that know quite well that they are made of very
different stuff from the young daughters of their
master ; and if they are not absolutely worked
up to it, they would no more think of complain-
196 THE PROMISED LAND

ing of it, than any sensible people would entertain
bitter thoughts of the swallows, because the
Almighty has made them with a pair of nimble
wings, and has given us two heavy legs as a
means of progression. Am I not right?”

Emanuel began an eager answer, but they had
got too far off for Hansine to hear his words.

Shortly afterwards they appeared at the upper
end of the lawn, and when they saw her they
came towards her over the grass.

“ Ah, there you are, Mrs Hansted,” said Miss
Ragnhild. “Your husband and I have been
quarrelling fearfully. Pastor Hansted and I never
agree on any point.”

She sat down by Hansine on the bench, and
without giving her time to answer, began hurriedly
talking about the garden, its shade and its primi-
tive character. She soon rose, saying :

“Well, it’s time for us to get off, Dr Hassing
won’t wait for us.—Gerda,” she called, “ we must
say good-bye.”

She began to take leave. When she gave her
hand to Emanuel, he said :

“No, I will go a little way with you. I will
shew you a path which will save you half the
distance.”

“Oh, that will be capital!”

A minute later they were gone, and Hansine
turned to go in.

She stopped by the garden fence, and looked
over the fields, where the strangers were dis-
THE PROMISED LAND 197

appearing along the path through the high
corn.

“ Mother!” said Sigrid, who was holding her
hand. . . . “Mother!” repeated the child, pulling
her skirt. “Do you know what she said? She
said that I should come and see her in Cop’nhagen,
and she would give me the big doll, she said.”

Hansine did not hear her. She followed
Emanuel with her eyes, he was walking between
the two ladies, talking with youthful eagerness
and lively gestures, stopping every moment to’
point out something in the landscape.
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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CHAPTER I

THE rye harvest began in rain, and it looked as
if it would end in rain. Every morning the sun
rose in a clear sky, falsely heralding a fine day.
But no sooner had the peasants driven out their
waggons into the fields and bound up their first
load, than up came heavy lowering clouds above
the horizon, and throughout the day fierce showers
of hail fell, while the thunder rolled unceasingly
in the distance, first in one quarter, then in the
other.

One of these days in the afternoon, Niels the
Parsonage stableman was lying on his back on
his bed, with his clothes unbuttoned, and one
hand under his head. He had passed a couple of
hours in this position, and, as usual, had filled his
little chamber with impenetrable clouds of tobacco
smoke ; and although it was long past the mid-
day hour of rest, he did not think of rising. He
was quite lost in his favourite occupation—build-
ing castles in the air. He saw before him a large
room, the walls lined from ceiling to floor with
well bound books . . . a room with two high
windows and a thick carpet covering the floor, just
like the study of the learned priest at Kyndlose,

201
202 THE PROMISED LAND

whither he had once gone to get his certificate of
baptism. There was a large square table in the
middle of the room with a green cloth, loaded
with folios ; in one corner of the room there was
a large globe, the size of a cartwheel. The
curtains were drawn, a lamp was burning on the
table, at one end of which he saw himself in a
dressing gown and embroidered slippers sitting in
a large arm-chair, reading a very old Greek book.
It was the middle of the night, and all was silent
around him ; only an owl now and then hooted
as it flew over the house. On the shelves he saw
his own works handsomely bound. Some were
religious books bound in black with gold
lettering, some were learned works, and
others were great social dramas and novels
chastising the community, such as the Nor-
wegians write——

He was torn from his dreams by hearing the
clattering of wooden shoes in the yard and then
a lengthy creaking and groaning sound. It was
Abelone at the pump.

He lay still, smiling to himself . . . he reposed
calmly, feeling with satisfaction that he had
happily got out of the temptation which Abelone
at one time was to him. He had not found it
easy to give her up, though she was poor. But
he saw plainly that if he gave in to his weakness,
he would probably never rise above his ignomini-
ous position of “ Niels the stableman.” He must
be free and independent, or, at any rate, make
THE PROMISED LAND 203

quite a different match if he was to reach the
goal he had set himself to win—to make the
name of Niels Damgaard famous throughout the
land. He had difficulties enough to contend with
as it was. If, for instance, his name had been
Frithiof, or Arne, or Bjornstjerne, it would have
been much easier to impress it on people’s
memories.

He sometimes grew quite cold when he reflected
how nearly he had thrown himself away on
Abelone. But now at last he had gained a
complete victory over himself. He had become
blind to her ingratiating glances, and contented
himself with lying here in the hours of rest listen-
ing to her clattering steps in the yard. He
pictured vividly to himself her powerful figure, red
cheeks, and heaving bosom ; and shutting his
eyes, he almost felt her kisses and the delight of
her embraces.

He started up hastily, buttoning his clothes.
He again heard steps in the yard, but this time a
strong heavy tread . . . Emanuel’s.

He stole along to the window to peep out
behind the white curtain, and saw his master
coming hurriedly round the gable end with rapid
steps. His ears began to burn; in the very
middle of the yard lay the harness, betraying that
he had not gone out to the fields yet . . . and
lately Emanuel had become so unreasonable, and
had such singular ideas, there was no knowing
him. Happily he neither looked to the right nor
204 THE PROMISED LAND

to the left, but went straight up the steps into
the house.

Niels smiled a smile of relief, then stretched
himself with a tremendous yawn and went into
the stable.

CHAPTER 1I

WHEN Emanuel, in his stocking feet, went into
the living room and saw Hansine sitting in her
arm-chair with a bowl on her lap shelling peas,
the excited expression immediately left his face.

“Oh, there you are, my dear!” he said, and
nodded to her with a smile, and then went into
the bedroom.

He soon came out again in his grey coat and
leather boots, engaged in tying on the red necker-
chief, which he invariably wore instead of a
collar.

“ Are you going out ?” asked Hansine.

“Yes, I am obliged to go. I have to go to the
Fen cottages. There's some botheration with the
people again ; they won't take work. And now
just at harvest time, it really won’t do.”

He was just going out of the door when Han-
sine said :

“ Oh, by-the-bye, don’t let me forget to tell
you that young Rasmus Jorgen was in here this
morning while you were in the fields. I was to
an

   

HANS INE
SAT ow
SHELLING
PEAS =
THE PROMISED LAND 207

tell you that he must have back that load of
barley straw he lent you sometime last winter.
He could not do without it any longer he said.”

Emanuel stood with his hand on the lock,
getting redder and redder.

“ A load of barley straw, do you say?”

“Yes; you seem to have promised it to him in
the spring,” continued Hansine. “But he must
have it now, or he will be obliged to buy.”

“But barley straw at this time of year . ..
Where in the world should I get it from? 1
suppose you said that to him too ?”

“No; I only said I would give you the
message.”

But I don’t understand it at all,” burst out
Emanuel, letting go the door and walking back-
wards and forwards. “It’s not like young Rasmus
Jorgen a bit. You must have offended him
somehow, Hansine, and made him say it in anger.
. . . Itis very curious that you never can learn to
be pleasant to people. It has become quite a
morbid eccentricity. You offend one after another
of our friends, and it always falls to me to make
it up again. I'm really getting tired of it. God
knows, how ”

He stopped suddenly on discovering Sigrid,
who was sitting on a stool by one of the windows,
busily sewing coloured stitches on to a bit of rag.

“Well, it’s no use talking about it,” he con-
cluded in a low voice, and left the room—bang-
ing the door behind him.

 
208 THE PROMISED LAND

In a few minutes he came back, went up to
Hansine, and put his hand on her head.

“Forgive me!” he said. “I did not mean
what I said, I spoke hastily. Don’t be angry
with me. Will you promise me that? . . . I have

had so many worries to-day,” he continued, again
beginning to pace up and down the long room.
“Just fancy, when I got down to the low lots
just after dinner, there was the barley still not
set up in shocks, though I particularly told Niels
this morning, it was to be done immediately.
Now, of course, it’s soaking wet at the top after
the rain this morning—everything is swimming
in water down there; it really is too bad, isn’t it?
We can’t go on like this with Niels and his idle-
ness; I must speak to him seriously some time
when I have an opportunity! I believe it’s all
this newspaper scribbling which has turned his
head. And I hear he has begun to attend Maren
Smed’s prayer-meetings. Maren seems to have
got a great following lately ; I am always hearing
of first one and then of another who has been
there. The weaver’s at the bottom of it all, I
believe. I don’t know what kind of a conspiracy
he is hatching, but I am sure he is the originator
of the malicious reports against the chairman of
the Parish Council, which I told you about the
other day. I remember now that once in the
spring he hinted at something of a dishonourable
character between him and big Sidse. A stop
must soon be put to these disorders in the con-
THE PROMISED LAND 209

gregation. Otherwise we shall be swamped in
squabbles! . . . Well, I must be off.”

He nodded again both to Hansine and Sigrid,
and left the room.

Not a muscle had moved in Hansine’s gloomy
face, in which the lines had perceptibly deepened
during the last few weeks. She was getting
accustomed both to Emanuel’s sudden outbursts
of anger, and to his rapid repentance for the
same . . . she also thought she perfectly under-
stood the cause of his irritable frame of
mind.

For a long time after Emanuel left there was
dead silence in the room. Little Dagny was
sleeping in her flower-painted wooden cradle by
Hansine’s side, and Sigrid sat by the window
absorbed in her work. She was in fact under
punishment for having again come in from
her play by the village pond, with her clothes
soiled ; when Hansine scolded her, she answered
with a naughty word, which she declared she had
learnt from the wheelwright’'s boys. It was
Emanuel himself who had ordered that she was
to be kept in all the afternoon ; and he also said,
that no doubt it would be better in future to keep
a more watchful eye on her playfellows.

Suddenly the child dropped her work on her
lap, put her head on one side, and began gazing
fixedly at the ceiling. After a time she rose and
went along to her mother.

“ Mother,” she said softly. “ Do you remember
0
210 THE PROMISED LAND

her, the fine lady who came that day, . . . the
one that played with me in the garden?”

“Yes, child, I do. You have talked about her
so often.”

“Yes, but do you remember, mother, that she
said I was to go in to Copenhagen, and I should
have the big doll, she said. I might stay with
heralways . . . and I could have the doll’s house
too, she said.”

“I don’t think she did. There you're saying
something that isn’t quite true, Sigrid,” said
Hansine, looking at her reprovingly.

The child reddened and looked down.

“For that matter . . . it might do you good
to go away for a bit,” continued Hansine.
“Then you would not learn so many bad
things, and you would have to take care of
your clothes.”

These words of her mother’s again brought
her imprisonment to her mind; Sigrid blushed
redder than ever, and crept back to her stool
shamefacedly.

Again there was complete silence in the room.
Only the buzzing flies were heard against the
window panes, and the sound of Abelone’s scrub-
bing-brush in the kitchen.

“ Mother,” said Sigrid, again in a low voice.
“If I never make my frock in a mess again, or
say any more naughty words, may I go to Copen-
hagen?”

Hansine could not help smiling a little.
THE PROMISED LAND 211

“Are you so anxious to go to the lady in
Copenhagen, Sigrid?”

“Yes, indeed, I am ; she was so pretty. Wasn't
she, mother?”

“Yes. But how do you think you can go to
such places. You saw how fine the ladies were,
and theyre all like that in Copenhagen . . .
the children too, I can tell you. You would have
to be as nice as they are first, or they wouldn't
have anything to do with you.”

“Can’t I grow into a fine lady too, mother?”
asked Sigrid, with wide open eyes.

Hansine did not answer at once.

“Qh, yes, I daresay you could,” said she, be-
coming thoughtful again.

CHAPTER III

MEANWHILE, Emanuel was well on his way to
the Fen cottages.

In the need for solitude which had been grow-
ing upon him latterly, he left the highroad and
walked along the narrow paths which formed the
boundaries between the fields; he was even care-
ful to keep out of the way of the little scattered
groups of harvesters. Nor was it cheering at
present to meet the people. The old enmity
between the villagers of Skibberup and those of
212 THE PROMISED LAND

Veilby, which the common bond of politics had
for a time kept under, now burst forth with
renewed force after the collapse of the league;
and on several occasions Emanuel had tried in
vain to mediate between them. The quarrelsome
Skibberup people had begun the wrangle by
insisting that the Veilby people had taken upon
themselves to exercise too much influence in all
the affairs of the congregation; and it was also
mainly from them that the offensive attacks on
the chairman of the Parish Council proceeded,
and the attempts to drive him from his position.

Moreover, there was another reason why
Emanuel avoided the highways. He did not
wish to run the risk of meeting Miss Ragnhild
again. He felt that he had perhaps already in-
volved himself somewhat deeply with her, and the
society to which she belonged; and he fancied that
she was still in the neighbourhood. At any rate it
was not many days since he had heard that she
had been seen driving about with the doctor on
his rounds.

After a good half hour’s walk he reached the
so-called Foxhills, a collection of wart-like mounds
where the ground fell away towards the Fen dis-
trict. He stopped here a moment and looked to-
wards the idyllic little copse and the scattered cot-
tages of the Kyndlose-Vesterby parishes, whose
walls looked doubly clean and white to-day
against the dark rainy sky. He could also just
catch a glimpse of the large village of Kyndlose
THE PROMISED LAND 213

with its old round church and many high poplars,
notwithstanding the mist . . . also the serpentine
road along which he had wandered on that evening
with Miss Ragnhild—the steep hill on the top of
which he had stopped to point out the landscape
in its glowing sunset colours . . . nay, at last he
even fancied he could plainly see Dr Hassing’s villa
close to the church, in the distinguished seclusion
of its extensive garden. He suddenly withdrew
his eyes and began walking down towards the
swamp.

Just beneath him, on both sides of a little half
dried up stream lay the Fen cottages—a col-
lection of miserable
earthen hovels, which,
in their dilapidation,
leant one against the
other, as if pondering
on their fate. The
ground round about
the cottages was a
hopeless rubbish heap
of old straw, potsherds,
and withered potatoe
haulm, among which
some ragged, bare-
headed children were
running about playing.

Emanuel always fell
into melancholy re-
flections at the sight of

 
214 THE PROMISED LAND

all this misery. In spite of all that he and the con-
gregation had done to help the distress here, there
was still not a house without rags instead of window
panes, or without great holes in the roof. And,
what was worse, after seven years of self-sacrifice
and exertions, not a single one of the unhappy in-
habitants of the mud cabins had shewn the slightest
trace of appreciation of him as a man. . . . On the
contrary, there were constant and increasing com-
plaints of their nightly depredations among the
potato mounds and bleaching grounds, and very
often neither high pay nor soft words would in-
duce them to take work with the peasants. He
rushed down towards one of the nearest houses—
a hut, the walls of which bulged out like a baker’s
oven, with tiny little windows and a moss-covered
roof. A tall, bent, old man was standing at the
gable end with an axe, chopping up faggots.

As he approached, a little fat cur—a fat spotted
dumpling on four short legs—darted out between
his feet, and, as if beside itself with rage, it danced
round him shewing its teeth and barking in a
hoarse, almost inaudible voice, so that Emanuel
who never could find it in his heart to strike an
animal, could not advance.

Although the old man saw him very well and
could not fail to notice the dog, he neither called
it in nor allowed himself to be disturbed at his
work. '

“Is this your dog, Ole Soren?” Emanuel at
last called out, in rather an angry voice.
THE PROMISED LAND 215

“No,” growled the old man without looking up.
“I am a dog myself!”

At this moment a woman far advanced in preg-
nancy appeared at the door of the hut. But no
sooner did her eye fall on Emanuel than she
darted in again. Then a great bustle began
inside ; eager whispers mingled with the clatter
of crockery. Startled faces also appeared at the
other doors, and unkempt heads peeped round
the gables.

Emanuel at last got rid of the raging dog and
followed the woman into the house.

He detected a strong smell of spirits together
with the odour of coffee and humanity as soon as
he entered the little outer room, where he had to
walk doubled up so as not to knock his head
against the roof and its cobwebs. He knocked
at a half-open door and walked into a very nearly
dark cellar-like room with two broad straw beds,
a flap table, a locker, and two bright red chairs.

It was the home of Beery Svend and Brandy
Pér.

Although the first was married and had several
children, and the other was a bachelor, these two
inseparable friends had lived here together for
many years in the same room and at the same
table . . . nay, it was commonly believed that
the good fellowship between them went much
further, and had set its mark plainly upon more
than one of the offspring of the married couple.

Beery Svend’s little ill-favoured person with
216 THE PROMISED LAND

the fat limbs and the huge lump over one eye
rose with difficulty from the locker when Emanuel
entered. He smilingly greeted the visitor with
his head on one side and the upper part of his
right arm stiffly pressed to his breast. The
woman slunk out behind Emanuel’s back as if
ashamed of her condition.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, as he
stretched out his dirty hand. “We never expected
that the Pastor—Emanuel, I should say—would
be givin’ us a visitation to-day. But it comes just
right ; we all need a word of comfort in these
times when the Lord has visited us with weak-
nesses of every kind——"

He was cut short here by Emanuel who had
taken his seat on one of the red chairs and
crossed his legs.

“1 say, just let us have a serious talk, Svend!
What is this I hear about you and Pér? You
don’t want to take work, they say! .. . what is
the meaning of these tricks? Can't you soon
shew us that you are decent fellows, so that we
shan’t always need to be having rows with you.
I'm sure we've only done good to you . . . it
wouldn’t be too much if for once you shewed us
some return. Don’t you think so yourself?”

Beery Svend, who had again taken his seat on
the locker, put on a sorrowful face and looked
at the ground.

“As sure as I sit here a sinner before God . . .
there’s no one what would sooner toil and slave
THE PROMISED LAND 217%

than me,” said he, while with his left hand he
carefully rubbed his right arm, which he con-
tinued to hold stiffly against his body, as if he
had it in an invisible sling. “But what's a poor
cripple to do when the rheumatiz gets hold on
him. You may believe it’s a pitiful thing for
a poor chap with a wife and children to look
after ”

“Oh, come, it's not as bad as that, Svend,”
Emanuel broke in, looking at him sternly.
“You were well enough to be at the fight the
other day at Veilby public-house. . . . Yes, I've
heard all about it. Pér was there too. Where is
he now?”

Beery Svend, who was visibly upset by
Emanuel’s unusually severe tone, let his eyes
fall on one of the two wide straw beds which
stood side by side against the wall.

There lay Brandy Pér asleep on his back under
a dirty coverlet. Nothing was to be seen of him
but his thick matted hair and a pale flat face, on
which a little shining purple nose was stuck like
an over-ripe plum.

“ What is the meaning of that?” asked
Emanuel, who was feeling a little uncomfort-

 

able in the gloom and bad air of the room. “Is
Pér ill too?”
“Yes, he’s very bad with headache . .. and

the ague too. It comes on him all of a sudden.
He may be sittin’ there as well as can be when
his teeth begin to chatter, an’ he shivers an’
218 THE PROMISED LAND

)

shakes all over his body . . . it’s a sight to see.’
—But Emanuel was no longer to be taken in.
He had lately become watchful, even suspicious,
and he soon saw that it was no fever patient
before him, but a man lying there dead drunk
under the covering, trying in vain to get the
mastery over sleep and to raise his eyelids.

Suddenly he became so enraged at all this
degradation, all these lies and deceptions, all the
dirt and the smells, that he couldn’t help easing
his mind.

He got up and banged his chair against the
floor.

“Now, look here, I'll just tell you two some-
thing! . . . You had better take care. Even our
patience has its limits, and if you go on mis-
using our kindness and forbearance as you have
been doing lately, everything must be at an end
between us. Then the Poorhouse will have to
look after you ... we will have nothing more
to do with you. Do you hear that?”

The fawning look disappeared suddenly from
Svend’s face; it was the first time that Emanuel
had spoken to him in such an authoritative way.
The great red lump on his forehead drooped lower
over his eye, and his thick lips spread out into a
malicious smile.

“ Oh, it won’t be as bad as that,” he said, while
—as if from habit—he went on rubbing his arm.
“You know well enough what you can use us
pore folks for.”
THE PROMISED LAND 219

“What's that you say?” asked Emanuel, with
a start. °

“What do I mean? Oh, I'm not such a fool
either but I know what happens to folks in the
Poorhouse. They lose their vote, I've heerd tell,

. and I daresay it’s true enough.”

“That is so . .. but what do you mean by
it?”

“I on’y mean that I daresay ye all like to get
hold on our votes, . . . or else ye wouldn’t be

trying to please us in the way ye do, I fancy. Ye
know well enough that at the elections a poor
man’s vote is worth as much as my lord's! . . .
Oh, yes, ye know that well enough.”

Emanuel stood speechless.

So this was the idea these people had of the
charity of the congregation. On such miserable
objects had they wasted their works of mercy, for
such wretches had he given up his means, so that
many a time he was almost in want himself’!

He was pale with anger. He was quite unable
to speak—the words were choked in his throat.

Then he suddenly took up his hat and rushed
out of the room. Away, away! something
shrieked within him. He could no longer en-
dure these miserable human creatures; he must
escape from all this swinishness, from all this
filth which was suffocating him.
220 THE PROMISED LAND

CHAPTER 1V

HE had not gone far, however, before he began
to slacken his pace; and when he came to the
end of the path leading out of the Fens on to the
higher ground, he stopped, took his hat off, and
pressed his hand to his burning and beating
forehead.

“Judge not, that ye be not judged,” he mur-
mured to himself. “Why beholdest thou the
mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest
not the beam that is in thine own eye?”

He ought not to have forgotten these words of
his Lord, he said to himself;—he continued his
walk slowly, carrying his hat in his hand. Should
he not go back? He had not acted as it became
one who would humbly follow in his Master's
footsteps. Was it not time to take in hand that
demon, pride, which latterly had been pursuing
him and throwing dust in his eyes, so that he
could only see darkness and despair around him ?

He had become so nervous in the last few weeks
that he absolutely started when a man suddenly
appeared on the path a little way in front, and
his uneasiness was not allayed when in the short-
necked and unnaturally long-limbed figure he
recognised Hansen the weaver.

Emanuel put his hat on again and hastened
his steps a little. He had always felt some little
distrust of the weaver, whose peculiar and reserved
 
THE PROMISED LAND 223

demeanour was so different from his own open
and straightforward nature. He had a feeling
that this man was spying out his doings, and he
could not make out what his hidden object was.

They greeted each other with a.silent shake of
the hand, and each kept his own side of the path.

“ Well, how is all with you? Nothing new has
happened, I suppose?” asked Emanuel, absently.

“ Oh, something or other is always happening,”
answered the weaver; he stood there with his
large red hands on his chest, the tips of his
fingers stuck between his waistcoat and his
black American cloth cuffs, and gazed at the
fields. “ But unfortunately that something is not
always good.”

Emanuel knew by his voice that he had evil
tidings to impart.

“Indeed,” he said.

“I can go part of the way back with you, if
you like,” continued the weaver. “I am not busy
to-day.

“Very well—let us get on then!”

They walked for a time in silence.

“I hadn’t expected to meet you so far from
home, Emanuel. I've just seen the Kyndlose
doctor’s carriage on the way to Veilby . . . and,
as far as I know, there’s no illness there.”

Emanuel did not answer. It was by no means
the first time he had had to endure much spiteful
wit from his friends on account of his visit to Dr
‘Hassing. Moreover, the weavers words filled
224 THE PROMISED LAND

him with new disquiet. Was it possible that the
doctor and his party were paying him a return
visit.

The weaver began to talk about the bad har-
vest prospects, about the rye, which was already
getting black at the top on the low-lying ground,
and about the heavy losses the peasants would
suffer all over the country if the Almighty were
not merciful enough to send the east wind.

Emanuel did not listen ; he knew the weaver’s
roundabout ways, and knew that he must arm
himself with patience.

His thoughts in the meantime went their own
way. He was reminded of what he had been
thinking about, an hour before, when he had been
despondently looking down on the squalid Fen
cottages from the Foxhills, . . . now here, by his
side, was a person who actually had raised him-
self up from the swamp of debasement. The
weaver was born in the Fen cottages ; his father
had been a swineherd on the Tryggerlose estate
in Vesterby parish, and as a child he had herded
the sheep on the desolate heaths. He had always
been very chary of words when any reference was
made to his childhood, but there was a general
idea that he had once as a boy been present when
his father was flogged by his master, and it was
thought that this experience had tinged his later
development. Emanuel felt a pang at this moment
when he reflected that it had been a deed of
violence, and not one of love to which this poor
THE PROMISED LAND 225

child owed his spiritual elevation. His thoughts
were arrested when the weaver suddenly stopped,
and said :

“I suppose you know, Emanuel, that he has
confessed his heavy sin? May God look upon
him in his loving-kindness!”

“What do you say ? Who has confessed ?

“The chairman of the Parish Council of course.
Who else were you thinking of ? ”

“ What has he confessed? . . . I don’t under-
stand a word?”

“He has at last humbled himself before the
Lord, and brought himself to confess that he has
been living in sin. People have long suspected
it; but one could hardly think it possible that a
man standing as the political leader of a christian
congregation could so forget the Holy Scripture
about fornicators and the unclean. . . . So yester-
day there seem to have been one or two who went
to him, and in all christian brotherliness warned
him that it couldn't go on any longer . . . he
must clear himself from the frightful imputations
which were brought against him. He couldn’t
deny that by degrees several things had come up
which were not in his favour, and when at last he
perceived that big Sidse had not kept so quiet a
tongue as he had given her credit for, he was
obliged to own up.”

“It can’t be true!” exclaimed Emanuel in a
low voice, resting on his stick as if the earth were
giving away under him.

P
226 THE PROMISED LAND

“You may well say that,” answered the weaver,
again looking at the fields. “It’s an occurrence
which may well give us all something to think
about.”

They walked on for a time in silence.

Then the weaver began saying that the best
way would be to call a meeting of the church-
wardens, so as to have the matter thoroughly
sifted. Everybody must agree, he said, that a
man who had sinned so deeply could not con-
tinue to occupy the highest posts of confidence
in the circle of the Friends, and now there must
be no delay in wiping out the stain on the con-
gregation. ro

Emanuel, who thought he could detect a mali-
cious satisfaction in the weaver’s tone at the
thought of the chairman’s downfall, could not
help saying :

“It is curious to hear you so eager in this case,
Jens Hansen, when all the time you are the cause
of Hans Jensen having been pushed into the fore-
most places in the congregation. I remember, at
the time, many of us had our doubts about it
. . . his previous life had not been blameless;
but you always insisted that we were not to
bother ourselves about that. He was just the
very man, you said; and we allowed ourselves
to be quieted. If any mistake has been made,
you are the one to bear the blame for it.”

The weaver’s crooked mouth drew itself up
towards his ear.
THE PROMISED LAND 227

“Nay, I don’t deny that I backed up Hans
Jensen . . . and I still maintain, that for the kind
of politics he had to take the lead in, he was just
the right man. Any driver is good enough to
drive into the ditch, as they say! . .. But now
it's another matter. What we have to do is to
get out of the ditch, in my opinion.”

At this moment Emanuel started violently.
During the conversation they had reached the
high road, and there, hardly a gunshot length
away, was a carriage advancing towards them
with a pair of roans and a coachman in livery.

He immediately recognised Dr Hassing’s turn-
out. He even thought he could see Miss Ragn-
hild’s fair head behind the coachman.

“He struggled with all his might to hide his
agitation from the weaver, and talked at random
about “this meeting which we must have . . .
there you're quite in the right, a meeting of the
church council under these circumstances is, of
course, necessary.”

When the carriage came nearer it was apparent
that he had made a mistake. There was no one
beside the doctor on the wide seat; he was
wrapped in a mackintosh, smoking a cigar.

When the doctor saw Emanuel, he called to
the coachman and stopped the carriage.

“ How d’ye do, how d’ye do, Pastor Hansted !”
said he, putting out his gloved hand. “How are
you? It’s a long time since I've had the pleasure
of seeing you . . . you are head over ears in your
228 THE PROMISED LAND

rye harvest, I suppose. For your sake I hope you
can swim . . . for it’s somewhat moist under foot
just now.”

“Yes, it is . . . rather a trying harvest,”
answered Emanuel without looking up. “You
are on your rounds, I suppose, doctor!”

“Yes, you've got a broken leg in your neigh-
bourhood. A farm hand got a cow tether round
his foot . . . well, it was only a couple of ankle
bones, as they say out here, no very serious
business! But now don’t let me forget the most
important thing. I have no end of messages to
you from Miss Tonnesen who left us about a
week ago. She asked me particularly to re-
member her very kindly to you when I saw
you.”

“Is Miss Tonnesen gone ? ” exclaimed Emanuel,
involuntarily looking up.

“Yes, she had promised us to make a longer
stay, but I believe she was pining for the town air.
You know she is no lover of being ‘out at grass,
as she said. She stayed long enough to receive
the formal announcement of an engagement in
our house, between my nephew and my wife's
little niece . . . I daresay you remember seeing
them the other day. They are rather young,
both of them. But, good heavens! we get old
soon enough, don’t we?”

“Yes, indeed—that’s just—just the point,” said
Emanuel, without knowing himself exactly what
he meant.
THE PROMISED LAND 229

The doctor nodded to the coachman and the
carriage rolled on.

The weaver had been keeping a close watch
upon the two men with his red eyes, from the
the side of the road ; and when the doctor had
driven off he walked for a time by Emanuel’s side
in silence, clearing his throat and smiling.

“ He's a smartish man that Hassing—to judge
from appearance anyhow,” he said at last.

“Oh, yes!”

“That makes it all the harder to understand
how he can hold such fearful political opinions.
It’s very queer.”

“I don’t think Dr Hassing troubles himself
about politics.”

“ No, that’s just what I meant. Folks say, you
know, that he only lives for the pleasures of this
world. I've heard tell of his goings on at home,
his good living, and his diversions . . . of the
most spicy kind. And the talk that goes on is
said to be of the most godless sort ”

He stopped when his ever watchful eye per-
ceived that Emanuel was no longer listening to
him. After a moments silence he stopped and
said good-bye in Jesus’ name.

He went back the way he had come and
gradually quickened his steps. The afternoon
was already far advanced, and he still had a good
deal to get through. His business now was to
work up the feeling of the people before the
church council was held.

 
230 THE PROMISED LAND

Beyond this he had no anxieties. After having
in this meeting with Emanuel arrived at a cer-
tainty on what he had long suspected, he did not
doubt that the long abasement of the People’s
cause, here in this congregation, was at last
drawing to a close.

CHAPTER V

EMANUEL went slowly homewards.

The sky had become overcast. Without his
noticing it, a fine rain had begun to fall. When
he reached home, and from the entrance heard
Hansine’s and the children’s voices in the sitting
room, he stopped and stood a moment irresolute.
Then he turned softly and went into his half
empty room on the other side of the passage.
Here he sat down heavily on the dusty sofa and
buried his face in his hands—astonished and
terrified at himself!

He had been so certain that the struggle he had
been having with himself for the last few weeks
would be fought out on the day he heard that
Miss Ragnhild had left the neighbourhood, . . .
not that he thought she personally had any power
over him, but the knowledge of her presence had
kept him in a constant state of painful disquietude.
He never knew when or where she would appear
and draw him into the narcotic-laden atmosphere
THE PROMISED LAND 231

by which he had already once or twice been
stupified.
And now when at last he knew that she was

 

 

NERY ERICHGEN

gone, he was seized by a feeling of emptiness,
overwhelmed by a sensation of desolation which
he could not master.
232 THE PROMISED LAND

He remained sitting in the same position with
his face in his hands while the dusk crept in
closer and closer around him. He was so ab-
sorbed in himself and in the heavy restless-
beating of his heart that he never heard the door
open and Hansine come in.

“Are you there?” she said, after standing a
moment motionless, looking at his bent figure.

He started up with almost a cry of dismay.

“What isit? . .. Isit you?”

She stood for a moment without answering.

“Soren said you had come home,” she then
said. “We have been looking for you every-
where. Why don’t you come in to the evening
porridge?”

Emanuel’s eyes sought to pierce the gloom of
the room, so as to scrutinize her face. For the
first time he heard her usually firm voice falter a
moment.

“I am coming directly,” he said, in a muffled
voice.

She remained standing a while with her hand
on the lock, as if expecting him to say some-
thing more to her. Then she opened the door
lingeringly and went slowly out.

Half-way out she said, without turning towards
him:

“Have you seen the doctor? He seems to
have been in the village this afternoon.”

“The doctor? . . . Yes, I have. How did you
know ?”
THE PROMISED LAND 233

“ Oh, it was only an idea,” she said, and closed
the door quietly after her.

Emanuel did not move ; he had turned pale.

- After a time he rose, and walked up and down
the room uneasily, and then stopped by the
window, gazing out into the dark garden.

He saw that Hansine guessed all, and his
heart bled when he thought what she must have
been suffering in silence latterly. But now all
must . . . should be over! He felt that it would
be the final decisive struggle with the unhappy
heritage of his blood ; the last proof of his eman-
cipation. And he would surely conquer.

CHAPTER VI

NEXT morning one of the Skibberup people came
back from a visit to Sandinge, with the alarming
intelligence that the old High School director,
who had long been ailing, had suddenly become
very ill and could not live. A few hours later an
express came announcing his death. With this
man disappeared one of the earliest champions
of the enlightenment of the peasants; he was in
fact the actual founder of the “People’s” move-
ment in this part of the country. For a period of
thirty years the “ Awakened” had looked up to
him with veneration, and though latterly he had
not altogether approved of the way in which the
234 THE PROMISED LAND

younger members gave themselves up to politics,
instead of turning all their thoughts to what in
his eyes was the only necessity of life, namely
“spiritual advancement,” yet there had never
been the slightest break in the good under-
standing between himself and the Friends. On
the contrary, the older he grew, and the more
his large beard and long curls were touched
with silver, so much the more inviolable was
the reverence they all felt for him. To the
young it. was like hearing an old Saga when
he used to tell them about the dark days at
the beginning of the movement, when its
champions were looked upon as corrupters of
youth who deserved the stake. It sounded to
them like a saintly martyrdom when he talked
to them in his half-joking way of those early
times when, after the manner of the Apostles,
he wandered on foot from town to town, and
had to give his lectures in outhouses and
servants’ rooms, pursued like a felon by the
clergy and schoolmasters, despised and annoyed
by the peasants themselves, who many a time
had set their dogs on him to drive him out
of the town.

So it was not merely the ordinary pain of
losing a friend, which the news of his death
called forth in every part of the district; it
was that deep solemn grief which seizes people
under a common misfortune. They all felt
they had lost their chieftain; and to do honour
THE PROMISED LAND 235

to his memory—partly also under the influence
of certain anxieties, because of internal dissen-
sions, which now, when the central and con-
ciliating bond was wanting, would be certain
to break out with renewed strength—a sudden
truce was proclaimed between the opposition
camps within the congregation. The weaver
resigned his secret agitation, the meeting of the
church-wardens was postponed, and a veil of
oblivion was, for the time, even thrown over the
‘misdeeds of the chairman of the Parish Council.
The old director was the only topic of conversa-
tion ; his photographs were taken down from the
walls over the drawers, the more closely to ex-
amine the beloved features and the two black
spots which purported to represent his youthful,
dancing brown eyes. His old stories were
repeated, his old letters re-read — little hasty
scraps full of exclamations of delight, and warm
assurances of friendship; and in the evening
people sat outside their doors singing the songs
he loved.

The message of death made a deep impression
in Veilby Parsonage too. Although Hansine had
long had a presentiment that her acquaintance
with Sandinge High School would be dearly
bought, and although just lately she had plainly
seen the vanity of the expectations which the
enthusiastic faith and conversation of the deceased
had raised in her mind in her girlhood, yet she
had never nourished any feeling of bitterness
236 THE PROMISED LAND

towards him. In those moments when her future
looked darkest, she had on the contrary always
thought of her old teacher, as of one with whom
in her hour of need she could find refuge and
comfort. Now when he was gone, she remem-
bered with gratitude all the good she had learnt
of him; and she particularly fixed her mind on
the exhortations to live in truth and self-sacrifice,
on which he so constantly dwelt in his speeches
to the young. Under the impression caused by
his death, and in Emanuel’s continued silence,
which was full evidence to her whither his yearn-
ing was leading him, a resolution was ripening
within her, which had occupied her thoughts day
and night, since the visit of Miss Ragnhild and
Miss Gerda. She told herself it was fruitless any
longer to give herself up to a hope which had
already often enough disappointed her, and that
therefore it would be better both for her and for
Emanuel, but especially for the sake of the
children’s future, that a decisive change should
take place in their whole life. One day she
would talk plainly to him about their relations
to each other; and quietly and cautiously tell
him what had been more and more borne in upon
her, as the only expedient towards a new and
happier life for all of them.
   
 

    
 

     

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CHAPTER 1

ONE day between the death and the burial of the
High School director, when Emanuel went into the
stable later than usual, he found Niels still in
bed ; he gave vent to his long repressed im-
patience and admonished him severely.

An angry altercation ensued, in the midst of
which Emanuel ordered him to take his things
and leave the Parsonage. Niels took him at his
word immediately, and Emanuel noticed the next
day when he wished to engage a new man, that
the occurrence had roused a strong feeling against
him among a certain section of the people. Niels
had always been a pet of the congregation, and
many said plainly that Emanuel had sent him
away from jealousy, because of the sensation
caused by his newspaper articles. Niels was the
hero of the day, especially in Maren Smed’s ever-
growing “ Brotherhood-Community.”

Although, otherwise, everything was apparently
going on as usual at the Parsonage, all the ad-
versity Emanuel had been experiencing, and the
increasing severity of his mental struggles had
made him almost unrecognisable. His eyes

twitched and blinked, he could no longer bear
239
240 THE PROMISED LAND

the sunlight, his face was ashen-grey and so thin
that there were hollows in his cheeks above his
beard. He had not yet exchanged any words
with Hansine except on every-day matters. Some-
thing had latterly come over her which he could
not understand. He saw that she was both seek-
ing his confidence and drawing back from his
advances; and he had found no opportunity of
bringing out the explanatory and soothing words
which he had made up his mind to say to her.

On the day of the funeral he was in a state of
restless agitation from the earliest morning. The
prospect of having to pass the whole day in the
company of several hundred strangers, and of
affronted, badly-disposed friends, but, above all,
the thought that he would probably be expected
to speak—to speak a word of comfort in the hour
of depression—had all made him so nervous that
he had not closed an eye all night.

It therefore came upon him as a relief that, just
as he and Hansine were about to start for San-
dinge, a messenger came in hot haste to say that
Mrs Aggerbolle was dying, and he must go at
once to administer the sacrament.

“ Then you must cross by yourself,” he said to
Hansine. “I will come over later. You will find
plenty of people to go with. Tell Jorgen at the
ferry to leave me a boat, and I'll row myself
over.”

It was a dull gloomy day which involuntarily
made one melancholy. The sun as usual had
THE PROMISED LAND 241

risen in a clear blue sky; but already heavy rain
clouds were lowering over the half-mown fields,
with their long rows of wet sheaves. Flags were
flying half-mast high all over the village, and on
the outlying farms and solitary houses; and out
on the grey fiord there was a whole fleet of fishing
boats, which were being rowed with two or four
oars towards the opposite shore, all of them filled
with black-clad people bearing wreaths.

In the course of a quarter of an hour Emanuel
—in his robes—reached Aggerbolle’s dilapidated
little house in the desolate and solitary outlying
plantation ; he walked over the broken-down
garden fence, over a row of decaying cabbages
and potato stems, and went into the passage.
Here he was met by a little humpbacked woman
who came crying towards him and called out,
“she is just dead !”

He took off his hat and went softly through a
half-empty room, with a patched carpet, into the
bedroom. Aggerbolle was on his knees by the
bed, with his arms round his wife's withered little
corpse, sobbing and calling her name aloud. By
the window sat or stood four fair-haired, uncom-
monly pretty, but very pale children.

They stared silently and immovably with their
large melancholy eyes, as if they all, down to the
smallest, a boy of six, who sat on a footstool with
his hands under his cheek, were well aware of
their fate.

Emanuel stopped a moment first at the foot of

Q
242 THE PROMISED LAND

the bed and bowed his head in a silent prayer.
Then he went along and gently put his hand on
Aggerbolle’s shoulder.

“ Bernhard !” he said.

But Aggerbolle took no notice. He continued
to call his dead wife, and to kiss her hands and
press them to his breast amidst his sobs.

Emanuel sat down to wait till he had become
calmer and more able to listen to his consolations.

He rested his elbow on the handle of his um-
brella, put his hand under his chin, and glanced
round the room. He looked towards the beds,
the children, and the adjoining room, the door of
which stood open—and his heart contracted with
pain at the deep, hopeless want which was every-
where displayed.

He knew that Aggerbolle and his wife had
moved out there from the noise and temptations
of the capital to live their lives in rural peace
and happiness. He had often been told how, as
young, happy, rosy-cheeked people, they had
wandered down by the sea on moonlight nights,
arm in arm, cheek against cheek, full of courage
and faith in life, and with a determined and
honest intention of building up their future on
the rocky ground of perseverance. And year by
year the ground seemed to slip away from beneath
them ; hope after hope had sunk in ruins, and of
the abode of their happiness nothing now remained
but this skeleton of a home, into which death, the
final annihilator, had made his solemn entry.
THE PROMISED LAND 243

He started. Aggerbolle had at last raised his
head, and sat up on the edge of his wife’s bed.
With his hands on his lap, he was a picture of the
most complete helplessness.

“Yes, now it has come, Emanuel !” he said, in
a broken voice, while the tears coursed down his
swollen cheeks. “The Lord has taken my Sophie
from me. Now I am quite alone in the world
‘with our innocent little children! . . . God give
thee joy in heaven, my little Sophie! You have
been a good and faithful wife. And how happy
we once were . . . but in the day of trouble you
stood by me, and I thank you for it—I thank
you ”

He was again overwhelmed by his tears, and
buried his face in his hands.

Emanuel rose, and again went to him and
touched his shoulder.

“ Bernhard !” he began.

But Aggerbolle would not let him speak.

With his face hidden in his hands, he con-
tinued to praise his wife, telling him about the
happiness of their early married life, her beauty,
and her enjoyment of life, her self-sacrifice and
patience.

All at once he raised his head and said wildly :

“But I have always said so, . . . there is some
sorcery in this country air, Emanuel . . . some-
thing which steals away the strength from those
(whose) cradles have been rocked among the
chimney pots. I have felt it myself, . . . and

 
244 THE PROMISED LAND

my little Sophie felt it . . . it drains away soul,
blood, and marrow from us, Emanuel. And we
can make no stand against it . . . we are damned,
damned!”

Emanuel turned pale. Aggerbélle had almost
shrieked out the last words ; and now he threw
himself upon the corpse again, taking up in his
hands the small head, in a nightcap many sizes too
large, and kissing the forehead and the sunken
eyes passionately. He was so swallowed up in
his sorrow that Emanuel saw it was useless to
talk to him, and decided to go.

He only said, “ Good-bye, Bernhard, you will
soon see me again.”

Then he shook hands with each of the children,
stroked their pretty fair hair, and took the smallest
one up in his arms and kissed him. “God bless
you!” he said, and softly left the room.

In the next room he was met by the little
deformed woman, who began eagerly to tell him
about Mrs Aggerbdlle’s last hours of suffering.

“Yes, now her struggles are over . . . and it’s
a good thing ; for it was a sorry sight to see her
at the last. It’s been a weary night, Emanuel. I
was there myself when the Lord set her free. She
was lying quite stiff, as if she was gone ; then she
gave a great sigh, and was dead.

Emanuel did not listen to her story, and tried
to get rid of her. But the woman pursued him,
first into the passage, then into the garden, full of
her news. She did not leave him till he was in
THE PROMISED LAND 245

the road, then visibly relieved, she went back to
the house.

Emanuel walked slowly towards the shore. He
held his big blue cotton umbrella behind his back
with both hands, and looked at the ground, while
his eyes were filled with tears.

Why make oneself blind when one had been
made to see ? he thought. What was the use of
going on lying to oneself . .. and to others?
The scales had fallen from his eyes and he was
terrified by what he saw! Yes, Bernhard was
right. There must be magic in the air here; and
he had been under the enchantment himself. He
began to understand everything. He felt like
one waking from a long heavy sleep, . . . like a
captive mountaineer, who, after eight long years
in the earthmounds of the gnomes, is suddenly
brought to himself by hearing the bells of his
native town.

CHAPTER II

WHEN he reached Sandinge a few hours after
mid-day, the actual funeral ceremonies were just
over. The old High School director had been
laid to rest in the village churchyard, in the
presence of a couple of thousand persons, among
whom were at least fifty priests, all in vestments.
Speeches—eleven in all—had been made both in
the large hall of the school, which was decorated
246 THE PROMISED LAND

with fir branches and pennons, and where the
body had lain, and in the church and by the grave.
Now the people were all partaking of the food
they had brought with them in baskets. As the
school buildings could not nearly hold all the
people, they had, in spite of a continuous fine
rain, scattered themselves about the garden and
the adjoining fields, where they sought shelter
under the trees and their umbrellas.

Many had been soaked on the way to the
churchyard, and their boots were covered with
mud from the clayey roads. The women had
fastened their black skirts up round their waists,
or drawn them right up over their heads. But
neither the weather, nor the state of the roads had
succeeded in robbing the mournful ceremony of
its solemn character, or in depressing the spirits
of the participators. In various directions was
heard the singing of those who had finished their
meal, or of the young girls who were wandering
about the garden in long rows, too much over-
come to eat.

In this multitude there were representatives of
the great People’s party of the most varied shades.
Here were to be seen all kinds of figures, from a
couple of Copenhagen liberal leaders—a lawyer
with gold-rimmed spectacles, and a sugar mer-
- chant with pince-nez, who, together with their
wives and a couple of young daughters, had driven
from the station in a landau—down to soaking
wet labourers, who had walked miles and given
THE PROMISED LAND 247

up a day’s harvest wages to follow their faithful
friend to his last resting-place. There were
schoolmasters, theological students, and High
School directors, both of the old type with large
beards and quiet beatified smiles, and of the
newly-arisen modern type, with the manners and
dress of men of the world. Here and there was
a young priest, walking arm in arm with his
fiancée, under one umbrella, humming the hymns
which were being sung around them, looking
tenderly at each other now and then—he in a
wide-brimmed soft plush hat and with his trousers
turned up, she with her skirt pinned up and long
flat goloshes. There were peasant Members, who
even here couldn't help putting their heads to-
gether and whispering to each other as they did
in the “House.” There were delegates from
other parts of the country who had brought
wreaths and greetings from distant friends; nay,
there was even a great Norwegian writer, who at
the moment was on a lecturing tour in Denmark
—a giant with a huge bushy head of hair, an
eagle’s face, with spectacles and a white tie—
who to the universal joy had appeared, and was
attracting great attention by his appearance and
loud voice. Wherever he showed himself, a
solemn attentive crowd gathered round him, and
he was particularly followed about by Niels and
some other young men in rather an obtrusive
manner ; each strove to be the chosen one, upon
whose shoulder he laid his hand when he spoke.
248 THE PROMISED LAND

“ Ah, this is brave!” he was heard to say in his
broad sing-song dialect. “You're very fruitful
here—I see that to-day. You are the old soil for
the spiritual life of the north, mind that! We
are young colonists up in our parts. And we
have so much rock—such rocky ground ?”

In such a large gathering, with so many well-
known men, Emanuel’s arrival of course attracted
no attention; nor was his absence from the
funeral ceremony noticed by any, save the mem-
bers of his own congregation, among whom it had
given rise to some cavilling.

He had not, however, stood long among the
crowd under the long wooden verandah — or
“gallery,” as it was called—looking for Hansine,
before a loosely-jointed person with dark blue
pince-nez in addition to a pair of spectacles,
.- darted towards him and clapped both his hands
on to his shoulders—

“At last I meet you, Hansted! How are you!
how are you! You know me again, don’t you?
We have been looking for you everywhere . . .
you must come with me to see Lena Gylling.
She has been asking after you all the time; she
is so anxious to make your acquaintance.”

Emanuel had hardly time to recognise one of
his old university comrades before his arm was
taken and he was hurried 'off up the steps into
the crowded lecture hall, which was scented with
the fir branches, and filled with the buzz of voices.
He was introduced to an elderly, refined, and
THE PROMISED LAND 249

handsome lady, wearing a peculiar velvet cap
trimmed with lace, who was sitting in a corner
of the room, surrounded by a number of very
talkative persons who were all strangers to
Emanuel. It was the well-known Mrs Gylling,
a wealthy widow, who held a kind of popular
court in the capital, and whose house was the
centre of the democratic party. She greeted
him with a mixture of youthful bashfulness and
motherly warmth, and keeping his hand in hers,
said :

“So at last I see you! I have been most
impatient to make your acquaintance, as you
may imagine. Why do you shut yourself up in
your Eden and never let us get some pleasure out
of you? You really ought to come and see us in
town. We want young blood there too, I can
assure you. I had the pleasure of speaking to
your wife a little while ago, and I got a half-
promise from her that she would prevail on you
to come and speak to our community. Now I
hope she has power enough over you to make you
come; . . . and remember me to her. She was
so charming, both to look at and to talk to.”

Emanuel hardly listened to her; he was only
anxious to get away. But first one and then
another of the bystanders came up to shake
hands with him, or pat him on the shoulder with
exclamations of delight.

“Is this Emanuel Hansted! How delightful!
You're just like what we thought you'd be!”
250 THE PROMISED LAND

He did not know what to answer, and was
quite uncomfortable at the advances of all these
strangers. By good luck the Norwegian author
came back at this moment from making the round
of the garden, and at once drew all the attention
to himself.

Emanuel seized the opportunity to slip away
again to look for Hansine.

CHAPTER III

HE found her at last sitting in the shelter of a
briar rose on the outer side of the garden wall,
with a strange peasant woman of a large and
powerful build, and wearing a head-covering
which was different from the stiff hood-shaped
ones generally worn in this neighbourhood ; her’s
was tied at the back in a large loose knot.

Even from a distance Emanuel was surprised
to see the stranger holding Hansine’s hand in her
lap; and when he got nearer, to see that they
were both extremely agitated, and that the
unknown had red eyes, as if she had been
crying.

When he reached them she. rose and stretched
out her hand with a broad “ How are you,”—her
face at the same time turning fiery red, and all
the freckles on her nose and under her pale eyes
looking quite white.
THE PROMISED LAND 251

Only now did Emanuel recognise the friend of
Hansine’s youth, the red-haired Ane, who had
undergone the remarkable fate of being married
to a “Skalling.”

The Skallings were fisher-folk who inhabited a
tongue of land right out by the open sea, from
whence—just as in the time of the old inhabitants
of Skibberup—they paddled about in near and
distant fiords and sold the produce of their fishing
round the shore. They were absolutely untouched
by the new intellectual movements among the
people, and were shunned by the rest of the coast
population on account of their lawlessness and
wild ways.

Seven or eight years ago—shortly after Han-
sine’s marriage— Ane had met a handsome, young
black-haired Skalling in the town, and to her
great horror had fallen violently in love with him.
She struggled for a long time against her inclina-
tions, which from shame she had not even imparted
to Hansine. But at last she could no longer
withstand the young fisherman’s daring advances,
and one fine day, in a wild easterly storm, he
sailed down in his boat and carried her back with
him the same evening, soon after fetching away
her old adoptive parents to a home in his seaweed
thatched hut. The event had caused a painful
sensation at the time in Skibberup and Veilby;
no one had thought that Ane would let herself be
hoodwinked like that by a pair of bright eyes,
and she was sincerely pitied for the life she would
252 THE PROMISED LAND

have to lead among these wild people. For some
time after the parting she and Hansine exchanged
letters, which on Ane’s side grew shorter and
shorter, until they at last ceased. Hansine
understood very well that it was because she was
ashamed to acknowledge that she was happy ;
and the thought of the doings of the friend of
her childhood out there by the fresh open sea, had
often, in the course of these years, made her feel
her own lot doubly heavy, and the restless life in
Veilby Parsonage doubly depressing.

Emanuel was a little disturbed by again seeing
Ane in close companionship with his wife. He
had become quite unused to the slightest display
of intimacy on Hansine’s part towards any one
except himself ; and he saw at once that the two
had taken up the threads of their old friendship,
and had opened their hearts to one another.

He had just unrobed, and now sat down on the
stump of a tree beside them. He asked Ane,
with a certain amount of compassion in his voice,
how she was getting on in Skallingland. She
answered, very well, and told him that she had five
fine children and three sheep, and that she and
her Matthias had built themselves a new house
last summer ; and that it was Matthias’ own idea
to bring her over to the old director’s funeral, as
he had some herring nets near, which he could
examine at the same time.

She spoke quietly, with some shyness and with-
out ever looking up at Emanuel ; but she kept tight
THE PROMISED LAND 253

hold of Hansine’s hand all the time. Although
she tried to conceal it, her tone plainly showed
how the meeting with her old High School
friends had disappointed her anticipations; and
that she was only anxious to get back to her
life on the shore,—her sheep, her children, and
her Matthias.

Emanuel only listened carelessly ; he soon fell
back into his own thoughts. He sat with his
cheek resting on his hand—a habit he had lately -
acquired—looking down at the ground.

“ By the way, Hansine,” he said, suddenly look-
ing up. “Mrs Gylling, from Copenhagen, tells
me you have been talking to her. How do you
like her ?”

“Oh, pretty well !”

After a moment’s silence, he continued :

“What did you find to say to each other?”

“Well, that’s not easy to say, so many people
spoke to me; but it seemed to be all about
nothing.”

“No one can accuse you of being enthusiastic,
at any rate!” he said, with a forced smile.

“No; I don't suppose I am.

Again Emanuel was silent for a time.

The somewhat cool interest which Hansine
took in the People’s cause and its champions was
nothing new to him ; it had often surprised and
grieved him. Nor did he yet understand her in
the least on this point. He could not imagine
what it was that had disappointed her; and at
254 THE PROMISED LAND

this moment he felt keenly how far they had
latterly drifted apart, and what a long time it was
since they had had any confidential conversation
with each other.

He promised himself that from that day he
would leave nothing undiscussed between them.
Now when all other ties were breaking, now when
they found themselves standing alone, they must
come together again in full mutual understanding;
and in his life with her and the children his soul
should find satisfaction and peace. .

In the meantime the weather had cleared up.
The clouds had dispersed, the blue sky was ap-
pearing here and there; and Emanuel saw crowds
of people flocking from the garden towards a
tumulus in an adjoining field, from which the old
director used to speak in the summer on national
festivals.

“I suppose we must go and see what is going
on!” he said.

“I thought it was time to be getting home,”
said Hansine.

“Yes, I think it is.”

Just then three soldierly Skibberup youths
passed them at quick march, with swinging arms
and resounding steps.

“ Are you going to sit there?” they shouted in
passing. ‘I suppose you don’t want to hear!”

Then they got up and followed them.
THE PROMISED LAND 255

CHAPTER IV

THE crowd of people who gradually assembled
round the stone on the barrow consisted mainly
of Veilby and Skibberup people. The visitors
from Copenhagen and the Norwegian author had
left an hour ago to catch their train, and others
whose homes were distant had driven off one after
another.

Still there were some strange faces among
them, and notably one which attracted much at-
tention ; young, stout, and pale, with a suspicious
look and thick powerful lips. It belonged to the
much talked of Ole Madsen, a labourer’s son, a
curate in West Jutland, who had lately become
the great hope of the People’s Cause. He was
standing with his hands behind his back, talking
to Hansen the weaver ; his long black coat and
flat black hat gave him a certain resemblance to
a Roman Catholic priest.

Emanuel’s arrival was observed by most of
those present, and he couldn’t avoid feeling that
he was expected to speak. He had himself, at
the sight of so many of his congregation, felt a
necessity to address them . . . openly to lay his
doubts before them and to free his position from
all misconstruction. Was it not his plain duty,
he asked himself ? Would it not be cowardice to
delay for a single day expressing his new views
on the People’s Cause and its future ?
256 THE PROMISED LAND

He forced a way through the crowds and
mounted to the speaker’s place amidst a deep
silence.

He began by a tribute to the friend round whose
bier they had met to-day. He said they must all
be deeply grateful to the Almighty for this man
whose life had been one of pure love, utter un-
selfishness, and faithful affection.—But had the
deceased never been disappointed in his hopes, he
then asked; had his faith never suffered ship-
wreck? He had got the impression, he added,
that the old High School director, in his later
years, had been a little depressed and no longer
looked to the future with those bright hopes
which before had helped him lightly over all the
"adversities of life. Nor was it any use to deny
that the People’s Cause was at the moment
passing through an hour of tribulation. Its
friends had a great defeat behind them—great
expectations dashed to the ground—and, like
every defeat, this one had also sown suspicions
and dissensions among the vanquished. But
instead of attempting to hide the truth, and to
get out of its gravity by lies, and hurling com-
plaints at one another, for each one’s share in
the common misfortune ; they should all examine
themselves closely, and try to find out where they
had trespassed, where they had made a mistake,
and what in the future was to be done to remedy
the defect.

There began to be some disturbance among the
THE PROMISED LAND 257

crowd. He had already been interrupted once or
twice by somewhat uproarious shouts.

He continued, however, without noticing them.

“I won’t mention the mistake in ‘ tactics” which
we have made by undervaluing our opponents’
strength, by not sufficiently remembering that the
community we wish to overthrow is built up upon
timbers and piles having their foundations in old
time. Nor will I allude to the fact that we have
perhaps been too ready to stamp with selfishness
those who did not in all points share our views.
There are no doubt among these, not a few who
acted with the most upright desire to work out
good and to seek out God's ways, and from whose
toleration we might perhaps take example.”

“Dr Hassing!” a voice in the crowd called
out, an allusion which was understood and im-
mediately raised a laugh.

Emanuel turned pale. He recognised his
former man Niels’ harsh voice, and was obliged
to stop a moment to calm and control himself.

Then he continued :

“ But what I specially wish to allude to, is the
great internal rupture which the People’s party—
and here I mean the peasant class in particular—
in my opinion is suffering under, and which has
been fatal to it. We have been far too pleased
with ourselves. We have been far too certain
that we were in the right . . . and therefore we
could not understand that the Lord did not give

us what we asked for at once. Nay, let me use
R
-

258 THE PROMISED LAND

the right word . . . we have thought too much of
ourselves, we have been too presumptuous; we
have latterly been too busy sweeping at our
neighbour’s door, dusting his house and searching
his heart, and in so doing we have forgotten our
own.” .

He went on talking for a little time—quietly
and with self-command—although the interrup-
tions became more frequent and noisy. But
when at last he was hardly allowed to speak, he
concluded abruptly by hoping that all friends of
truth and justice among the vanquished, might
learn that not selfrighteousness but self-esteem,
not arrogance but toleration, were the means
to raise them and lead to eventual conquest.

When he stepped down he read in the glances
he met on every side, and in the way in which
the crowd fell back before him, that by his words
he had broken every bond, between himself and
the congregation. . . .

Loud shouts of approval suddenly burst out.
Hansen the weaver was mounting to the speaker’s
place in his deliberate manner. The sight of the
old champion, who for so many years had not
spoken at any meeting, acted at this moment like
an electric shock, and the people crowded round
him in expectant excitement, so as not to lose a
word or an expression of his face.

He stood; just as in former days, for a long
time silent, with one hand on his back, holding
his chin in the other, while his glance roamed
THE PROMISED LAND 259

over the crowd with a smile. At last he said
slowly in his innocent voice :

“Well, that was a very queer speech we've
just heard from Emanuel. I stood there pinch-
ing my ears and think-
ing I couldn’t be hearing
right; and at last I said
to myself: ‘You're asleep,
Jens! you're dreaming
that you're listening to
our old friend Archdeacon
Tonnesen.”

“Hear, hear! Bravo!”
the  Skibberup people
thundered.

“This is just how it
is, ye see; I can’t help
thinkin’ of another speech
Emanuel made, ever so
many years ago, . . . it
was the very first time he
spoke to us in our old
Meeting House. He sang
a different song then . . .
then peasants were the very
best sort o’ folks Emanuel
knew. . . . Ah, we were that nice and that
honest, it was a’'most too much of a good thing.
Why, I daresay a good many of you can mind
that speech ; folks thought a good deal of it then.
I don’t mind sayin’ that for my part I wasn’t near

 
260 THE PROMISED LAND

so taken with it ; and so Emanuel’s words to-day
aren’t so much of a surprise. It’s always like that
with folks that fill their mouths too full; they
have to spit some of it out again ——Well, then
there was what Emanuel said about our being so
taken with ourselves, and everything had gone
wrong because of it. We ought to learn of the
good people in the towns, he said, and then the
Almighty would be sure to give us what we asked
for.—Oh, no, I've not got much faith in that. My
idea is, on the contrary, that we've been far too
ready to let ourselves be led by the nose by
these Copenhagen people who've turned up here
in the last few years, calling themselves friends of
the People’s cause, and without more ado made
themselves leaders, . . . and in my opinion that’s
why everything’s gone wrong. It’s been a sort of
a fashion among the town folks to make them-
selves friends of the people, and I daresay we
country folks were a bit flattered that so many
fine clever people busied themselves about us;
we were ready to go out of our five senses just to
please them. We thought it a mighty fine proud
thing when a lawyer in. gold spectacles or his fine
wife came and patted us on the back and called us
“little friend.” Then when into the bargain they
came and settled here like one of ourselves, and
even married one of our girls, . . . why, then
we were so mightily honoured we didn’t know
which leg to stand on.—But it was a kind of
disease, and I always thought if we only gave it
THE PROMISED LAND 261

time it would wear itself out again. And I fancy
I've seen signs lately that we were comin’ to the
end of the farce we’d been such innocents as to
let ourselves be fooled by. And I think that we
can begin, little by little, our old honest work
of fighting against the tyranny of the educated,
and spiritual pride . . . don’t ye think so too,
friends?”

“Yes, yes!—hear, hear!” again resounded
from the audience, who for a time had been
silent.

Emanuel’s face was deeply flushed. The
weaver’s insults, and the approving shouts of his
former friends, hit him like the lashes of a whip,
and he had the greatest difficulty in preserving
his self-command.

At the same time a voice within him said,
What are you enraged by? Isn't it your own
work of which you see the consummation here?
You are only reaping what you sowed. Don’t
complain, go away quietly . . . go away and be
ashamed of yourself!

“Let us get away from here,” said Hansine, by
his side.

“Then there’s all that about toleration that
Emanuel talked so much about,” continued the
weaver. “Well, toleration is all very well. But
as the saying has it, ‘you mustn't let any one
sit so close to you that he sits your thighs off.’
It's not so long ago when the peasants in one
place, denying the faith of their childhood, elected
262 THE PROMISED LAND

a freethinker, a regular bad atheist; and then,
when some people thought it was going rather
too far, what happened ?

“Didn't our dear pastors and the learned
gentlemen at the university say, ‘Blow it all—
don’t let us ask people about their faith ; it would
be impertinent and rude. What will our op-
ponents think of us?’ ... Now that’s the sort
of new-fangled learning we've had so much of
from Copenhagen, right down materialistic prin-
ciples, one may say . . . but they don’t agree
with my reading of the catechism. And T'll just
repeat here what our guest, Pastor Ole Madsen,
whispered to me a moment ago during Emanuel’s
speech. ‘Beware of false prophets,’ he said. And
for my part I'll add, beware of all that talking too
much about toleration . . . for they've generally
got something or other on their conscience. Mark
that!”

Although the smile had hardly left his face a
moment, one could tell both by his voice and the
way he pointed to the sky every time he named
the Almighty, with what suppressed passion he
spoke—and the crowd stood round open mouthed,
as if rooted to the spot.

Emanuel and Hansine had left, and gone back
towards the school. On the way they met Ane,
who had left the field before them to fetch her
things, and who now came back to say good-bye.
Emanuel bid her good-bye absently, and im-
mediately went on—he was impatient to get
THE PROMISED LAND 263

home. But Hansine held Ane’s hand a long
time, and said in her quiet calm manner:

“Then it's a bargain—when you hear from
me?”

“But are you really in earnest?” exclaimed
Ane, both pleased and uneasy. “I didn’t quite
believe it before.”

“Yes, I mean it—if you will have me ?”

“Won't I, my chickie? You may be sure I
will. . . . But what do you think Emanuel will
say?”

“I don’t know, but I will write to you. Good-
bye! So long!”

Emanuel meanwhile had stopped a little way
off, and turned round to wait for Hansine. He
saw the dark mass of people crowded round the
barrow, and the weaver’s swaying figure sharply
outlined against the horizon, and he was filled
with deep sadness. He remembered the time
when he came out here in the belief that here, at
any rate, he would find the human heart in all its
pristine purity and simplicity ; and now, up there,
stood a master in intrigue and scandal triumphing
over him! He thought how he had come out to
preach the gospel of love ; and up there stood the
apostle of hatred, stretching out his blood-red
hands towards heaven, urging on strife and
oppression.

Emanuel and Hansine did not speak to each
other on the long road from the school to the
shore. Only, after they got into their boat, and
264 THE PROMISED LAND

when Emanuel had rowed a little way out into
the fiord in the quiet evening air, Hansine, who
was sitting in the stern, smoothing the fringe of
her shawl], said :

“ Have you nothing to say to me, Emanuel ? ”

He stopped rowing and rested his arms on his
oars while he looked out to sea.

“Yes; there is no other way now.... We
must go away,” he answered, out of his own
thoughts.

“ What have you thought of doing ?” she asked,
in a little while.

“Indeed, I don’t know. I suppose I must try
and get another living . . . a small place, some-
where or other in Jutland, on the heath or among
the sand dunes; I suppose they won't deny me
that?”

“You shouldn’t do that, Emanuel.”

“What do youmean? . . . Why should I not?”

“No; for it will soon be just the same as it is
here. It won't be long before you will be dis-
satisfied and only want to get away.”

He looked at her with a searching glance ; she
had put in words his own gnawing thoughts,
which he had not had courage to divulge. The
prospect of beginning a fresh life in a new solitude
—in a new, wide, silent desert,—made him
shudder.

“What do you want me to do then?”

“I think you should go where your longings
draw you, Emanuel; . . . it's no use trying to
 
 

 
THE PROMISED LAND 267

hide it from each other any longer; we may as
well talk about it plainly. . . . You are longing
to get back to your family and the other ways
in which you feel at home, and it’s only natural.
So I think you shouldn’t struggle with yourself
any longer, Emanuel ; it will be no good. I think
you will be able to get some work either in Copen-
hagen or some other large town, so that you can
be together again with your old circle of friends.
I can quite understand that you need it.”

Emanuel lifted his head and looked at her in
astonishment.

“But do you want to do that, Hansine ?”

“I?” she said, bending still deeper over the
fringe of her shawl, which she had been smoothing
all the time :

“I want to do whatever will be best for all of
us.” :

CHAPTER V

THE very next day Emanuel drove over to the
diocesan town to see the Bishop, and to ask
him to accept his resignation. Hansine
walked restlessly up and down the long alleys
nearly all the afternoon—wrapped in a little
woollen shawl, as if she were cold,—waiting for
his return. Every moment she went up the little
mound from whence the road was visible to see
whether the carriage was in sight.
268 THE PROMISED LAND

At last, just before sunset, he came ; and half-
an-hour later they were both walking in the
chestnut avenue at the bottom of the garden,
where they had gone to be undisturbed.

Hansine sat down on the rustic seat, which had
been here ever since former days, while Emanuel,
excited by his journey and full of experiences
and news, walked up and down before her, telling
her everything.

At first the old Bishop addressed him rather
sharply. He said he was ungrateful, nay treacher-
ous, and declared with great decision that his
request could not possibly be granted. But he
softened by degrees, and in the end sorrowfully
agreed to everything.

“So now we are free, Hansine!” he concluded,
stopping in front of her. “We can leave as soon
as we get the permission.”

She was leaning forward, with her arms resting
on her knees, looking at the toe of her shoe, with
which she was scraping up the damp earth.

“Well . . . that’s just what I want to tell you,
Emanuel,” she began—and it was evident that she
had difficulty in getting the words out; “I can’t
go to Copenhagen with you.”

“ What's that? I don’t understand you at all!
What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . not at once,” she corrected her-
self, when she saw that Emanuel had not the
slightest idea of her purpose. “ Everything there
is far too strange; I should only be a burden to
THE PROMISED LAND 269

you until you have arranged your affairs, and
made a position and a home. . . . I should not
be able to help you in anything. And, besides, I
need a little quiet time to myself. Everything
has been so disturbed lately.”

“ Well, there's perhaps something in that,” said
Emanuel, beginning to walk up and down again
with his arms behind him.

“But I must tell you that this will hardly be a
pleasant place of abode for you. I saw that in
just driving through Skibberup; we no longer
live among friends, but among bitter enemies.”

“Oh, yes; I've thought of all that. I think I
could go and stay with Ane for a while. We
talked about it the other day; she said there
were two rooms in their new house which they
did not use ; and I was welcome to have them she
said.”

“With Ane? Out in Skallingland! Among
those dreadful people! Whatever are you think-
ing about, Hansine ?”

“Oh, I don’t suppose they are as bad as they
are made, out, . . . theyre not—Ane said so—
and she doesn’t seem to have come to any
harm.”

“ But it won't do, all the same, Hansine ; . . .
it won’t do, for the children’s sake. Isn't it both
your wish and mine that they should get away
from the influences by which they have been
hitherto surrounded . . . and, in Sigrid’s case,
it's high time they did. She’s a dear, sweet
270 THE PROMISED LAND

child, but she easily picks up bad habits, I've
noticed.”

“I've been telling you that for a long time,
Emanuel.”

“Yes, but then, I don’t understand why you
want to 7

“ Well, what I thought was, that you'd better
take them with you to Copenhagen. You will
have to set up a home there . . . and I think it
would be good for the children’s sakes if I were
to keep away from them for a while. For, you
know, I can’t set them in the right way about
anything ; I should rather hinder them in taking
to their new friends, and in the education and
cultivation which we both think right for them.
So I thought that your sister . . . she would help
you with their education; you know she lost her
own child a little while ago, and I daresay she
would make a good foster mother to them.” -

She maintained the same quiet, controlled
voice the whole time, but she had grown very
pale, and kept her eyes on the ground.

Emanuel was silent. She had again expressed
the same thoughts which had occupied him, but
which he had not had the heart to mention to
her, for fear of hurting her feelings. He saw well
that it would be very difficult for Hansine to
manage a house under such strange circum-
stances, and that she would not be that support to
the children which they would require, especially
at first. He saw, too, that with her peculiar,

 
THE PROMISED LAND 271

incomprehensible, and often repellent ways to
strangers, she would prepare for herself—and
perhaps also for him—many difficulties ; more-
over, he had been thinking all day with much
anxiety how his friends would receive her, and
on the whole, how they would take his return.
He glanced at her, and when he saw her emotion,
he went up to her and clasped her head tenderly.

“Put all these thoughts away, my dear. Don’t
let us give way to all these worries. This is just
the time for us to cling closer to one another.
We must share both good and evil in the fight for
our home and happiness. . . . Perhaps it won’t
always be easy ; but if we only hold together we
shall pull through somehow, you will see!”

She had no longer the strength to gainsay him
—was not even capable of preventing his bending
over her and kissing her.

. . . They did not allude to the matter for the
next few days, but they both prepared for de-
parture. Hansine could see that it continued to
occupy him, and as he became more unsettled
and anxious every day about the step he was
going to take, she held more firmly than ever to
her decision.

It was not long before he led the conver-
sation back to the same subject of his own
accord. He said that perhaps, after all, it would
be wiser not to set up housekeeping as long as
their future was so unsettled, especially as long
as he was without prospects or income. It had
272 THE PROMISED LAND

occurred to him that till he had found work,
either clerical or teaching in Copenhagen or some
other town, he and the children might stay with
his father, who lived alone in a large house, and
would probably be glad to have them. He con-
soled her by saying that the separation would be
short; as soon as he got to the capital he would
"try to get a post which would again enable them
to live together in comfort and contentment.

Urged on by Hansine, he wrote a long letter
the same day to his father, in which he fully—
and so as to parry the sympathy of his family—
somewhat self-consciously explained why he was
returning with his children to Copenhagen, while
his wife remained in the country. In conclusion,
he asked if he and his children might enjoy the
hospitality of his old home till he could make a
new one for himself.

CHAPTER VI

BoTH he and Hansine waited impatiently for the
answer. It was very unpleasant for them now in
Veilby Parsonage. They quickly perceived that
the people, especially those of Skibberup, had
taken up his words as a challenge.

The postponed church council had been held
without any notification having been sent to him ;
and altogether he was made to feel that they
THE PROMISED LAND 273

wished to be rid of him. They even talked of
calling in an independent priest to the ministry,
and a deputation was being prepared to go to Ole
Madsen, who, it was expected, would return a
favourable answer.

At the service on Sunday the Ness Church
was, just as in Provst Tonnesen’s time, quite
empty; orders had actually been sent out that
no one was to attend, and Hansen the weaver
had so completely regained his old supremacy
that no one dared to oppose his commands.

From time to time, however, Emanuel received
proofs both of grateful affection and of anger at
the behaviour which was being shewn to him.
When it became known that he had sent in his
resignation, some of the Veilby people even took
courage and began to collect money for the pur-
chase of a silver coffee-pot and an arm-chair,
which — just as in the case of Provst Tonne-
sen—they proposed to present to him on his
departure.

The old feud between the Veilby and Skibberup
people had broken out again more fiercely than
ever, and the formerly harmonious congregation
now found itself in a complete state of disruption.
The chairman of the Parish Council, after his
downfall, had gone back to his old life of drinking
and card-playing, and he was drawing more and
more of his friends after him to his orgies. Niels,
on the other hand, who was always looked upon
as a martyr to the good and holy Cause, had

s
274 THE PROMISED LAND

taken the first upward step towards the goal of
his dreams.

At the ever increasingly popular prayer-meet-
ings of Maren Smeds he was beginning to educate
himself as a wandering preacher, and to this end
he had procured a wide-brimmed hat and dark-
blue spectacles.

At the Parsonage the preparations for departure
were in full swing. Emanuel, who had suddenly
lost all interest in his work and only wished to be
rid of the trouble of the fields and stables as soon
as possible, sold all his standing crops to a neigh-
bour, who, for part of the purchase money was to
look after the land until his successor was ap-
pointed. He also turned cows, horses, and agri-
cultural implements into money, and with it paid
the rather numerous petty debts which, in the
course of years, he had been foolish enough to
contract indiscriminately among many of his
former friends; and which more than anything
had contributed to weaken his influence in the
congregation.

Wild with delight at the prospect of Copen-
hagen, Sigrid rushed in and out, shaking her
golden locks, and infecting with her mirth little
Dagny, who had grown in the summer and now
trotted about alone. As soon as Emanuel ap-
peared, Sigrid sprang caressingly to him to get
him to tell her about the delights which awaited
her. Every day in the dusk after dinner he had
to sit with her on his knee, telling her about the
THE PROMISED LAND 275

Copenhagen streets, and all the people, the lighted
shops, the tinkling tram-cars, the women shouting
their wares, and the black dust men by the round
tower, the harbour with the ships, the king’s red
liveried coachman, and the illuminations at Tivoli

. and he was always so taken up with his

 

stories, which woke so many slumbering memo-
ries in him, that it grew quite dark before he
noticed it.

Meanwhile Hansine sat quietly in her arm-
chair, stitching at the children’s Sunday clothes
and knitting them new stockings, “so that their
276 THE PROMISED LAND

grand relations in the capital should not be
ashamed of them,” as she once said. Emanuel
could not understand how it was she remained so
pale now, when they had every hope for a brighter
future. He had even once or twice discovered
her in tears; and when he asked what was the
matter, she would not answer. He also wondered
at the shyness, nay, almost repulsion with which
she met all his advances. No sooner did he sit
down by her and try to take her hand than she
discovered an errand in the kitchen or elsewhere.

He came to the conclusion that it was nervous-
ness at the break-up of their home and the ap-
proaching separation which she wanted to hide
from him, and he tried in every way to soothe
and cheer her. But it almost seemed as if his
sympathy wounded her, and at last he found it
best to leave her in peace. ‘

The anxiously expected answer from Copen-
hagen came almost as soon as it could.

It was one of his father’s usual missives on a
large, square sheet of paper, inside of which there
was a scented and much crossed note from his
sister Betty. Emanuel, who sat down at once to
read it aloud to Hansine, was so much moved by
all the love and longing for him which they both
breathed, that his eyes filled with tears in reading
them.

His father’s letter was in his usual rather stilted
style. He wrote that he was now an old man
with not many steps to the grave, and that a
THE PROMISED LAND 277

greater pleasure could not have been given him
than the prospect of again seeing his eldest son,
whom he for so long had missed. Without in
the least reproaching him for his self-conceit, he
offered him a hearty welcome to his house.

“Your two old rooms shall be ready to receive
you at the shortest notice,” he wrote, “ and I need
hardly add that your children will be beloved
guests ; rooms shall be prepared for them in your
immediate proximity, and we shall do all in our
power to make them happy among us. As you
perhaps know I rented a not inconsiderable piece
of garden ground a few years ago which belongs
to the property, it was at one time rented by the
late Konferentsraad Tagemann (whom I daresay
you remember); so there is a sufficient play-
ground for your children, and I shall see that the
carpenter is sent for to put up a swing and any-
thing else necessary for their amusement. Nor
will they be in want of playmates, the Lébners on
the third floor, and the Winthers on the ground
floor have nice, well-behaved children, so I hope
they won’t miss the free country life too much. I
quite understand your wife’s decision to remain
in the country for the present, and quite agree
with it; she would hardly be satisfied with the
strange life of a large town at once.

“This is all for to-day. Your brother Carl
sends his love ; he wishes to point out that all
‘Kammer-yunkers’ are not ‘so wicked '—he par-
ticularly wishes me to use this word—as you
278 THE PROMISED LAND

perhaps think, and he is looking forward to the
day when he can invite you to the guard-room of
the Amalienborg Palace to convince you of it.
“My love to all of you.—Your affectionate
Father.”
“Only think,” burst out Emanuel at the end,

 

with a beaming glance at Hansine, who was
sitting in her arm-chair bent over her work. “I
am to have my old rooms with the view over the
canal, the Exchange, and Kristiansborg Palace!
What fun it'll be! . . . and isn’t that grand about
the garden? Just think how the children can
THE PROMISED LAND 279

play about there! Don’t you think it sounds
delightful ? ”

Hansine only nodded. Her bosom swelled,
and she closed her eyes like a person going
through a mental struggle.

The letter from Betty was stamped with the
depression caused by the loss of her child.

She wrote :—“ You don’t know how empty and
sad our home has become since the Lord took my
little Kai from me. I am longing for your little
girls, so that I may again hear children’s voices
and laughter around me. Tell your wife not to
be anxious about them—I know a mother’s fears.
We will guard them as well as we can while she
is away from them. But I long most of all for
you, dear brother, whom I have not seen for so
many years. Miss Tonnesen, who saw you lately
and who visits me a good deal, tells me you are
so brown and have a big beard. How delighted
I shall be to see you! And youll be kind to
me, won't you, Emanuel? I do so need your
comfort. I am longing to lean my head against
your shoulder and have a talk with you. Yes,
Emanuel,—our Lord visits us. May we have
the strength to bear our burdens !

“I don’t think you need be anxious about your
future ; neither father nor my husband think so
either. Yesterday, after father had received your
letter and sent it up for me to read, we were
dining out with Mr Justice Munck; the Dean,
who is a friend of ours, sat next to me, and I was
280 THE PROMISED LAND

so pleased with your letter that I couldn’t help
telling him that you were moving in to town.
Curiously enough he seemed to have heard some-
thing about it beforehand, and seemed quite
pleased about it. I asked him at last outright
whether he thought you could get one of the
smaller livings here in town, and he didn’t think
it at all unlikely. ‘Your brother has such a good
degree,” he said, ‘and we want young and tried
men here’ He laid special stress on ‘#ried.
Altogether he talked so nicely about you (he
remembers you when you lived at home) that I
don’t think the old views, which you have now
changed, will go against you.”

CHAPTER VII

THE day of departure came at last, in the begin-
ning of September.

It was a very busy day, and full of emotion.
Early in the morning Emanuel went to the Skib-
berup churchyard to take leave of Laddie’s grave,
and from there to see his father- and mother-in-
law, and Hansine’s brother Ole, who now man-
aged his parent’s property. These farewells were
somewhat cool ; Else especially was much affected
by the general feeling in Skibberup, and although
by Hansine’s desire the visit to Skallingland was
spoken of as only of short duration, a distrustful
THE PROMISED LAND 281

expression came into her light eyes every time
the stay with Ane was mentioned.

The deputation before referred to arrived at the
Parsonage in the morning, with a plated coffee-
pot and an arm-chair ; and at last, well on in the
afternoon, the carriage came which Emanuel, to
avoid being under any obligation to his neigh-
bours, had ordered from a livery stable in the
town, . . . it was a landau with silver mountings,
and a coachman in livery.

Emanuel rushed about with all a traveller's
feverish excitement among boxes and trunks.
He wore a new black cloth coat, and his hair and
beard were newly trimmed. He was followed
everywhere by Sigrid, who would not let him out
of her sight, just as if she was afraid he would
leave her behind. She had hardly closed her
eyes all night, but had asked what time it was
every half hour; and ever since early morning
she had faithfully carried about her own private
treasures—a little tin pail, a broken doll's head,
and two match boxes filled with coloured pebbles
—nor could she be persuaded to lay them down
a moment.

Abelone, whom Hansine had persuaded to go
with the children and stay with them for a time,
went about crying nervously ; and in the empty
stable, Soren the cowherd was sitting on the edge of
a manger pondering on the manifold changesof life.

Hansine was perfectly calm all day, and made
herself useful everywhere. Nobody could read in
282 THE PROMISED LAND

her face that she was absolutely convinced she
was to-day seeing her husband and children for
the last time... . She knew that the children
would soon forget her among all the strange
people and new things which would occupy their
minds; and when they grew older and accus-
tomed to their surroundings, they would feel it
a hindrance and a shame to have a mother who
wore a peasant’s cap and who spoke in peasant’s
dialect. But she had promised herself that they
should never suffer for the faults of others. They
should fully and entirely share in the bright joys
of life, in which she had once dreamt she might
herself share. And Emanuel? To him also she
would soon be as a heavy burden which he would
long to shake off. She had seen latterly, in a
hundred ways, how in his thoughts he was already
living in a world very far removed from hers, and
which she would never be in a condition to share
with him. She knew that he could not be long
in his old circle without feeling the deep gulf
which separated them; and it would therefore
come to him as a relief when she one day wrote
to him that she would never go back to him, that
he was free, and that it would be fruitless on his
part to attempt to make her alter her decision.
She reproached him with nothing. She only
blamed herself for her arrogance in thinking that
she could fill a place on the upper benches. Nay,
she was not even surprised at what had just
come to pass. Her wonder was that it had not
THE PROMISED LAND 283

happened long before. The experiences of the
last seven years had so often appeared curiously
unreal to her. She would sometimes be over-
come by the impression of still being the young
girl in her father’s house, and that her marriage,
and all her life in Veilby Parsonage was only a
long uneasy dream, from which she would be
awakened by the crowing of some cock. When
the moment of departure came, she kissed the
children, and said good-bye to Emanuel, in so
quiet a manner that it might really have been
thought that the parting was only to be a short
one. She followed them to the carriage, wrapped
up the children well, and told Abelone to be
sure to put on their clean pinafores before they
reached Copenhagen.

When at parting, Emanuel was overcome by
emotion, and continued to clasp her to him, and
to kiss her on the forehead, she said to cheer him,
that he was not to worry about her, she would get
on very well.

“ Look after the children, Emanuel,” she said,
at the last moment,—and then, as if in these
words she had poured out all her remaining
strength, she turned and went up the steps before
the carriage started.

“Go up on to the mound in the garden—
so that we may wave to you—till the last!”
Emanuel called after her.

But she did not turn, and went quickly into
the house.
284 THE PROMISED LAND

The coachman cracked his whip, and the horses
started off. When the carriage rolled under the
arched gateway, Sigrid shouted hurrah!

On the way through the village the people
mostly called out “Lykkelig Reise” as they
passed; many even took off their hats in
involuntary awe of the landau and the liveried
coachman.

When the carriage reached the high-road,
Emanuel said, “Out with the pocket handker-
chiefs, children!”

As soon as they saw Hansine on the little
mound, in the corner of the garden, they all
began to wave. Why doesn’t she wave back,
thought Emanuel. “ Wave children . . . wave!”
he said, with his eyes full of tears.

But the figure on the mound did not move;

They had no answer to their “ Paa Gensyn”
(au revoir).

Hansine stood like a statue till the last glimpse
of the carriage had disappeared in the distance;
-——then she went quietly down. Suddenly a
dizziness came over her, and she sank heavily on
to one of the little wooden steps which led from
the path to the mound. Hour after hour, she
remained sitting with her face buried in her
hands, while the autumn wind moaned sadly
through the trees above her. At sunset she rose
and went towards the house. She was to spend
the night at her parents’ house, in the old room
where she used to sleep as a girl. Ane’s husband
THE PROMISED LAND 285

would come the next day to fetch her in his boat
and take her to her future home.
She fetched a little bundle of clothes from the

 

: THE
Ho ihe PARSONACE

empty bedroom, then went to the stable, and said
good-bye to Soren, who was now sole master of
the place, and left the Parsonage.
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