At last he agreed to all; it was decided that one was to be a clergyman and the other a doctor, and they were to live together. The last thing they talked about was their fishing expeditions.

They heard sounds of tramping and talking; it was the men coming home from the herring-fishing. But they were very tired and soon fell asleep.

YOUTH

I.

FIRST COUPLE FORWARD

There was a party of young people collected together at a country house about five kilometres outside the town. The garden they were sitting in down by the cove was brightly coloured by their light summer clothes, especially those of the girls:

"Yellow, black, brown, white, Green, violet, blue,"

some self-coloured, others variegated, checks and stripes; felt hats, straw hats, tulle hats, caps, bare heads, parasols. A sound of singing rose harmoniously up out of this medley of colour; men's and women's voices in chorus floating in long undulating waves of sound. There was no conductor; a dark young girl in a brown checked dress lay in the midst of the group, leaning on one elbow, and led the singing with a soprano voice stronger and clearer than the others; and they followed her lead. They were in good practice. In the cove below them lay a freshly painted smack, with half rigged up new sails; the water calm as a mirror.

The singing and the smack seemed brightly to enter into league with each other down in that black-looking cove, overshadowed and shut in by the bleak mountains with still higher ones in the distance. The little cove was like a mountain lake, once caused by a flood but since forgotten. The mountains--oh, so heavy and stunted in outline as in colour, rugged and leaden-looking, the more distant ones blue-black, with dirty snow on their peaks, monsters all of them.

The smack lay on the black water, ready for a dance; it belonged to a more light-hearted community than these lofty accessories of nature and human life. The smack and the singing protested against all overweening despotism, all that was rude, rough, and coa.r.s.e--a free swaying protest, proudly delighting in their colours.

But the mountains took no notice of this protest, nor did the young people ever understand that it had been made. The "high-born" part of being born and bred in scenery like that of Norway's west country is just this, that nature forces one to make a stand, if one would not be utterly crushed and overwhelmed; either one must be beneath or above all! And they were above; for the west country folk are the brightest and cleverest of all Scandinavians. In so great a degree do they feel themselves masters of the situation as regards their scenery that not one of all these young people felt the mountains as heavy and cold in colour; all nature seemed to them fresh and strong, as nowhere else in the world.

But they who now sat there singing or listening only had not been born and nurtured by glad songs and the wide sea alone; no, they were children of the mountains too; children of them as well as of the songs and sea. Just before the song began they had been engaged in a discussion as sharp and cutting, as leaden-hued as any mountain. It was to do away with this stone-like sharpness among themselves that they had sent forth their melodious song, building long bridges of glorious harmony across the mountain-peaks and precipices. The summer day was slightly gray in itself; but occasionally (just as at that moment!) the sun shone forth over song and sail and landscape.

There sat two on whom both sun and song were wasted. Look at him down there, a little to the right, lying in the gra.s.s, leaning on his elbow; a tall young fellow in light summer clothes and without hat, a round closely-cropped head, short, broad forehead that looked like b.u.t.ting, a forehead that in his boyish days must have given many a hard bang!

Below the forehead was a nose like a beak, and sharp eyes that just then were slightly squinting; either the spectacles concealed it so as to make it hardly visible, or else it really was only very slight. The whole face had something severe about it, the mouth was pinched and hard and the chin sharp. But when one looked more closely into it the impression it gave one changed entirely; all that was so sharply cut became energetic rather than severe, and the spirit which had taken up its abode in this mountainous country could doubtless be both a friendly and a mischievous one. Even then, as he sat there in a towering rage, not caring a hang about either sunshine or song, he would rather have had a fight--even then gleams of merriment shot out from under the angry brows. It was clear that he was the conqueror.

If anyone doubted it they need only cast an eye over to the other side of the group on him who sat up against a tree to the left, a little higher up the bank. He was the picture of a wounded warrior, suffering, and with all the trembling uneasiness of battle still in his features.

It was a long fair face, not a west country face, but belonging rather to the mountain districts or highlands; either he was a foreigner, or else he came of a race of immigrants; he was strikingly like the popular pictures of Melanchthon, though perhaps the eyes were a little more dreamy and the eyebrows a little more arched; altogether the likeness, particularly the forehead, position of the eyes, and the mouth, was so striking that among his fellow-students he always went by the name of Melanchthon.

This was Ole Tuft, student in theology, his studies nearly completed; and the other one, the conqueror with the eagle's beak (which just now had been hacking so sharply), was the friend of his childhood, Edward Kallem, medical student.

Several years ago their paths in life had begun to deviate, but so far there had never been any serious encounter between them; but now what had happened was to prove decisive.

Between these two, in the middle of the garden and surrounded by the singers, sat a tall girl in a plum-colored silk dress, round her neck some broad yellow lace which hung in long loose folds down to her waist. She herself was not singing; she was making a wreath out of a whole garden of field flowers and gra.s.s. One could easily see that she was sister to the conqueror, but with darker complexion and hair. The same shape of head, although her forehead was comparatively higher and the whole face larger, undoubtedly too large. The sharp family nose had a more gentle bend in her well-proportioned face; his thin lips became fuller, his chin more rounded, his uneven eyebrows more even, the eyes larger--and yet it was the same face. The expression of the two was different; hers, though not cold, was calm and silent; no one could quickly read those deep eyes; and yet the two expressions were much alike. Her head was well set on a strong-looking neck and well-shaped shoulders, the bust, too, was well developed. Her dark hair was twisted into a knot peculiar to herself. Her throat was bare, but the dress, with its yellow lace fastened closely round it--indeed, her whole attire gave one the idea of something shut in, b.u.t.toned up as it were; and so it was with her whole manner. As before said, she was making a wreath and looked neither at one or the other of the two who had been fighting.

The quarrel has been caused by a large black dog; it lay there now pretending to sleep, its thick wet coat glistening in the sun. Several of them had been throwing sticks into the water and sending the dog in after them; each time they threw a stick they shouted, "Samson!

Samson!"--that was the dog's name. Edward Kallem said to two or three who stood near him, "Samson means sun-G.o.d."

"What?" asked one young girl, "does Samson mean sun-G.o.d?"

"Certainly it does; but of course the clergymen take care not to tell that." He said it in youthful exuberance, not in the least intending to hurt anyone's feelings, or to say more at all. But by chance Ole Tuft overheard him and said, with rather a superior air:

"Why should the clergymen not dare to tell the children that Samson means sun-G.o.d?"

"Why, for then the whole legend about him could no longer serve them as a type of the Christ-myth."

This last word was like a sharp stab, and it was meant as such. With a superior smile Ole said:

"I suppose Samson may be used as a type, whether he be _called_ sun-G.o.d or not."

"Certainly, whether he be _called_ sun-G.o.d or not, but suppose him to _be_ sun-G.o.d?"

"Indeed, so he was sun-G.o.d?" shouted Ole, laughing.

"The name tells us so."

"The name? Are we bears or wolves because we are called after bears or wolves? Or G.o.ds because we are called after G.o.ds?"

Several of the party stood by listening; others joined them, Josephine among the number, and both turned at once to her.

"The misfortune is," said Edward, "that it is only the fact of his being a sun-G.o.d that gives any sense to the stories told about Samson."

"Oh, nowadays all old records of everybody's forefathers are turned into sun legends. And Ole related a few amusing parodies of this scientific craze now so much in vogue. They all laughed, Josephine too; Edward became excited at once and began to explain that our G.o.ds, who were Indian sun-G.o.ds, had in reality been turned into our forefathers when a new religion was started; the altars which then had been used for sacrifices were turned into graves or burying-places. In the same way all the old sun-G.o.ds of the Jews had been changed to forefathers when the worship of Jehovah did away with them as G.o.ds."

"Who can know that?"

"Know it? Why, take Samson! How utterly meaningless to believe that anyone's strength should be in his hair! But as soon as we take it for granted that it is the sun's rays, lengthy in summer-time, but cut short in the lap of winter, then there is some sense in it. And when the rays grew longer and longer, and spring drew near, then all can understand that the sun-G.o.d could again encircle with his arms the pillars of the world. Never have bees been known to deposit their honey in a beast's carcase; but when we hear that each time the sun pa.s.ses over one of the signs of the stars--for instance, the lion's--then it is said that the sun slaughtered the lion; then we can understand that the bees made their honey in the dead lion's carcase, that is to say, in the hottest part of the summer."

The whole party was all ears, and Josephine was highly astonished. She did not look up at her brother because she felt he was looking at her, but the impression made was unmistakable. What Edward had at first started, without other thought than that of showing off a little, was now a decided thing aimed at, and it was because Josephine stood between them.

"With the Egyptians," explained he, "the spring began when the sun slaughtered the lamb, that is to say, pa.s.sed across the sign of the lamb--in their delight at the renewal of all things, every Egyptian slaughtered a lamb that day. The Jews have it from them. It is utterly false if the Jews later on have changed this to something that separates them from the Egyptians. Just as with the circ.u.mcision, they have that, too, from Egypt. But clergymen take care never to speak of that kind of thing."

Ole Tuft had little or no knowledge of all these things. His plodding studies had been severely theological, he had not time for more, and his faith was an inheritance from an old peasant race, and was far too secure in itself to be capable of scientific doubts. Had he announced this fact straight out, there would probably have been an end of the matter. But he too felt that Josephine stood between them and was allowing herself to be led away. So he began with great scorn to call everything vague inventions, empty devices, shining one day, melted away on the morrow.

The other's vanity would not stand this. "Theologians," cried he, "are wanting in the very simplest honesty. They conceal the fact that the most important items of their faith are not revealed to the Jews, but simply taken up and accepted from elsewhere! Like the creed of immortality, that is from Egypt. The same with the Commandments. No one climbs up on to a high mountain to have revealed to him in a thunderstorm what others have known for thousands of years. Where is the devil from? And the punishments of h.e.l.l? Whence the last day and judgment? And the angels? The Jews knew nothing of all this. Clergymen are a set--in short, a set who do not honestly investigate matters, telling people such things."

Josephine subsided completely; all the young people, particularly the men, were evidently on Kallem's side; free-thinking was the fashion, and it was amusing to have a laugh at the old faith handed down from days of yore.

One young man began mocking at the history of the creation; Kallem possessed both geological and palaeontological learning, and he made good use of it. Still less on this subject could Ole Tuft argue with them; he alluded again to a trial that had been made to reconcile the doctrines of the Bible with more recent discoveries, but it fared badly with him. And on they went in rapid succession from dogma to dogma--now they lay basking in the doctrine of the atonement of sins, it descended from so ancient and uncultured a time that such a thing as individual responsibility was not then known, merely that of the whole tribe or family. Tuft was in despair; to him it really was an important question, and much moved, in a loud voice, he began to confess his faith. As if that were of any use! Excuses! Inventions!--show us your proofs! Too late, Ole Tuft perceived that he had defended the cause too eagerly and had therefore lost all. He was overcome with grief, fought without hope, but fought on all the same and shouted out that, if a single one of all those truths seemed doubtful, the fault was his; he lacked the power to defend it. But the Word of G.o.d would stand unharmed to the last hour of the world! What is the Word of G.o.d? It is the spirit and entirety of the Bible, the creation (No!); the deluge (No!

No!); the expiation by death (No, No, No!); he shouted, they shouted; the tears rushed to Tuft's eyes, his voice shook; he looked pale and handsome.

Young people are not quite so cruel as children; but still it is the same kind of spirit. Some were sorry for him, others just wanted to drive him into a corner, Edward Kallem first and foremost.

But Josephine stepped quickly away to the dark girl with the soprano voice. She began one of their songs directly, the others joined in, the gentlemen rather after the ladies. With very few exceptions, the party consisted of a chorus of ladies and gentlemen who had practised together the last three winters with all the perseverance and industry only to be met with in a small town.

Josephine went and sat down in the middle of the bank, the others round about her. She did not sing; she had her flowers.

The party had come out there in the little schooner which now lay so fresh and bright-looking in the sun. On board, Josephine, Edward, and Ole had sat together, close together, for there was not much room. No one could guess, hearing their merry, oft-whispered conversation, that there was aught between them save friendship and goodwill. And now, only three hours after, Ole Tuft sat there like an outcast! How he suffered! An attack on his calling, on his faith, and before them all!

And by Edward, too! So cruel, so persistingly scornful! And Josephine?