The parson at Vejlby (year?, 1928 ed.) by Steen Steensen Blicher




STEEN STEENSEN BLICHER (1782-1848) was born in
Jutland as the son of a country parson.  He spent
ten years in Copenhagen studying, and prepared
himself for the Church, but it was some time before
he obtained a charge in the poorest heath district. 
Later he was removed to a better living, in a more
fertile part of Jutland, where he remained for the
rest of his life.  He was very unhappily married to
a woman who had attracted him by her beauty and
liveliness, but who turned out a household tyrant.

  Blicher sought relief from the miseries of his
home, partly in a most unclerical devotion to the
bottle, partly by long walks over the heath with
his gun and his dogs.  On these hunting trips he
discovered people and conditions yet unknown to
literary treatment.  In those days the interior of
Jutland seemed very remote from the capital.  The 
less fertile regions were sparsely peopled, but the
inhabitants were a vigorous and original race.
Country squires, clergymen, and peasants were
masters of the land, and lived very much as their
forefathers had done.  Gypsies and other vagrants
roamed the heath unrestrained.  The author himself
sometimes figures in his stories as the hunting
parson, talking with peasants and gypsies — envying
them their freedom from conventional restraints.

  "The Parson at Vejlby" is based on an actual
occurrence.  In 1625 a clergyman, Soren Jensen
Quist, was executed for a murder which, it was
afterwards found, he had never committed.  Blicher
has, however, made very free use of his material. 
The moral and spiritual conflict in the minds both
of victim and judge are entirely of his own
devising.


THE PARSON AT VEJLBY

by Steen Steensen Blicher (1782-1848)


                      I

           Judge Erik Sorensen's Diary

IN THE NAME of Our Lord, Jesus Christ!  Now at
last, by the will of God, and through the
generosity of my dear patron, I am elevated, all
unworthily, to the office of County Sheriff and
Judge over this people.  May He who judgeth all men
vouchsafe me wisdom and grace and uprightness so to
fulfill my duties that I may find favor in His
sight.

  "Every man's judgement cometh from the
Lord."  Proverbs, 29, 26.

                  ------

It is not good for man to be alone.  Inasmuch as I
can now keep a wife, ought I not to look about me
for a helpmeet?  The daughter of the pastor at
Vejlby is well spoken of by all who know her. 
Since the death of her mother she has managed the
household affairs of the parsonage with thrift and
good sense; and as there are no other children with
the exception of one brother, now a student at the
University, it is likely that she will come into a
tidy fortune when the old man passes away.

                  ------

  Morten Bruus from Ingvorstrup was here this
morning and wanted to give me a fatted calf; but I
remembered the warning of Moses, "Thou shalt take
no gift," and refused it.  This Bruus is much
given to lawsuits, I am told, and is moreover
contentious, and a great braggart; I will have
nothing to do with him outside of my office as
judge.

                  ------

  I have now taken counsel with my Heavenly Father
and with my own heart, and it is clear to me that
Mistress Meta Qvist is the one person with whom I
wish to pass my life unto death.  Yet will I
observe her quietly for some time.  Favor is
deceitful, and beauty is vain.  Nevertheless, she
is without a doubt the fairest woman I have seen in
all my days.

                  ------

This Morten-Bruus is to me a most odious person,
though I am scarce able to say why.  He somehow
reminds me of a bad dream, but so hazy and
indistinct is the memory that I cannot even say
whether I have ever really dreamed about him.  It
may well be that it is an evil omen.  He came here
again this morning to offer me a pair of blooded
horses — splendid animals, dappled gray, with black
manes and tails and black fetlocks.  I know that he
bought them separately at a cost of seventy dollars
for the two.  Perfectly matched as they are, the
pair are well worth a hundred, yet he offered them
to me for seventy.  It was this very cheapness that
gave me pause.  Is it not a bribery?  I am sure
that he must have some lawsuit in mind.  I do not
want his dappled grays.

                  ------

  To-day I visited the pastor at Vejlby.  He is a
God-fearing and upright man, but hot-tempered and
choleric, and intolerant of any opposition to his
will.  And he is close-fisted besides.  When I
arrived at the parsonage, there was a peasant there
who wanted his tithe reduced.  The fellow was a sly
one, for his tithe was not too high, and Pastor
Soren seemed well aware of it, for he talked to the
man so that a dog would not have taken a piece of
bread from his hand; and the more he scolded, the
angrier he himself became....  Well, Heaven knows,
every man has his faults.  Qvist means no harm by
his outbursts, for immediately afterwards he
directed his daughter to give the man a piece of
bread and butter and a good glass of beer....  She
is assuredly a comely and well-behaved maiden. 
When she saw me, she greeted me in a manner so
kindly and yet so modest that I was strangely
moved, and scarce able to say a word to her.

  My farm steward worked at the parsonage upward of
three years before he came to me.  I shall question
him skilfully and find out how she treats the
domestics and anything else he may know of her. 
One may often get the most trustworthy information
about people from their servants.

                  ------

  Zounds!  My man Rasmus tells me that this Morten
Bruus not so long ago went courting at Vejlby
parsonage, but was refused.  The parson was willing
enough at first — for Bruus is a well-to-do man — but
the daughter would have none of him.  I understand
that in the beginning her father took her sternly
to task, but when he saw that she was unalterably
opposed to the match, he let her have her own way. 
It was not pride on her part; for Rasmus says that
she is as humble as she is good, and does not
hesitate to admit that her own father is
peasant-born as well as Bruus.

                  ------

  Now I understand what the Ingvorstrup horses were
to do here in Rosmus; they were to draw me from the
straight path of justice.  It is a matter of Ole
Andersen's peat-bog and adjoining meadow.  That
prize was no doubt worth the value of the
horses....  Nay, nay, my good Morten, you do not
know Erik Sorensen.  "Thou shalt not wrest the
judgement of the poor."

                  ------

Pastor Soren of Vejlby was here for a short visit
this morning.  He has hired a new coachman, one
Niels Bruus, brother to the Ingvorstrup farmer. 
This Niels, the parson complains, is a lazy fellow
and impudent and quarrelsome besides.  Pastor Soren
wanted him punished in the stocks, but he lacks the
necessary witnesses and evidence.  I advised him
rather to dismiss the unruly fellow at once, or
else to try to get along with him somehow until his
time is out.  At first he answered my suggestions
very shortly, but when he had heard me to the end
and weighed my argument a little, he admitted the
strength of my reasoning, and thanked me warmly for
my advice.  He is a hot-headed, quick-tempered man,
but not difficult to reason with when he has had
time to cool a little and compose himself.  We
parted very good friends indeed.  Not a word was
spoken about Mistress Meta.

                  ------

  This day I passed most agreeably at the Vejlby
parsonage.  Pastor Soren was from home when I
arrived, but Mistress Meta greeted me warmly.  She
was spinning when I came in, and it seemed to me
that she blushed deeply....

  It is curious how long it took me to find some
subject of conversation.  When I sit on the bench
in my judicial robes, I seldom lack for words; and
when I cross-examine a prisoner, I can think of
questions enough to ask; but before this gentle
innocent child I stood as confused as a
chicken-thief caught red-handed.  At last it
occurred to me to speak of Ole Andersen and his
lawsuit, his peat-bog and meadow; and I do not know
how it came about, but the talk turned from meadows
to roses and violets and daisies, until finally she
conducted me out into her garden to see her
flowers.  Thus pleasantly we passed the time until
her father returned home, and then she retired into
the kitchen and did not appear again until she came
to bid us to supper.

  Just as she stepped into the doorway, her father
was saying to me, "I presume it is high time for
you also to enter into the state of matrimony." 
We had just been talking about a magnificent wed-
ding which had been celebrated at Hojholm manor. 
Hearing this last remark, Mistress Meta blushed as
red as a rose.  Her father smiled slyly, and said,
"One can see that you have been bending over the
fire, my daughter."

  I have taken the good pastor's advice to heart,
and, God willing, it shall not be long now before I
shall go courting at the parsonage, for I consider
her father's words a subtle hint that he would not
be averse to having me for a son-in-law.  And the
daughter?  Why did she blush, I wonder.  Dare I
take that as a favorable sign?

                  ------

  And so the poor man is to keep his peat-bog and
his meadow after all....  But assuredly the
decision made the rich man my mortal enemy.  Before
the judgement of the Court was read, Morten Bruus
stood and stared scornfully at Ole Andersen.  At
the words, "It is the verdict of the Court," he
looked around the court-room and grinned slyly, as
if certain of a favorable decision.  And that he
was, indeed, for I was told that he had remarked,
"It's foolish for that beggar to think he can win
against me."

  Yet that is just what happened.

  When Bruus heard the verdict, he shut his eyes
and pursed his lips together, and his face was
white as chalk.  But he managed to control his
rage, and said to his opponent, as he went out of
the court-room, "I wish you joy, Ole Andersen. 
Losing that peat-bog won't beggar me, and the
Ingvorstrup oxen will doubtless get what hay they
need elsewhere."

  But outside we heard him swearing to himself and
cracking his whip over the horses' backs, so that
it echoed and re-echoed in the woods.

  The office of a judge is indeed a heavy burden. 
He makes a new enemy with every verdict he
pronounces.  But if we can only keep on good terms
with our own conscience ...  "Endure all things
for conscience's sake."

                  ------

  Yesterday was the happiest day in my whole life;
my betrothal to Meta Qvist was celebrated at Vejlby
parsonage.  My future father-in-law spoke from the
text, "I have given my maid into thy bosom,"
Genesis, 16, 5.  He spoke very movingly of how he
was giving to me his most precious treasure in this
world, and of how he hoped I would be kind to her. 
(And that I will, so help me God!)

  I had scarce believed that the grave, even stern
old man could be so gentle and tender.  When he
concluded, his eyes were filled with tears, and his
lips trembled.  My beloved wept like a child,
especially when he referred to her sainted mother;
and when he said, "Thy father and mother shall
foresake thee, but the Lord shall take thee up," I
too felt my eyes filling with tears, for I thought
of how God had watched over me and guided me and
showered me with His blessings after I had lost my
own dear parents.

  When we had plighted our troth, my sweet bride
gave me her first kiss.  May God bless her!  She
loves me fondly.

  At the table the merriment was unrestrained. 
Many of her mother's kinsfolk were present, but
none of her father's, for they are but few and live
far up by the Skaw.  There was food and wine in
abundance, and after the tables were cleared there
was dancing until well-nigh dawn.  The neighboring
parsons from Aalso, Lyngby, and Hyllested were all
present; the last became so tipsy that he had to be
put to bed.  My father-in-law also drank mightily,
but did not seem the worse for it; he is as strong
as a giant, and could doubtless drink all the
parsons in the county under the table.  I noticed,
too, that he thought it would be good sport to see
me a little fuddled, but I took good care that he
should not.  I am no lover of strong drink.

  Our nuptials will be celebrated in six weeks. 
May God give His blessing thereto!

                  ------

  It is a pity that my father-in-law should have
got this Niels Bruus in his service.  He is a rough
fellow, a worthy brother to him of Ingvorstrup.
He ought to be given his wages and shown the
door; that would be far better than to soil one's
fingers in a fray with such a brute.  But the good
parson is hot-tempered and stubborn, and two
hard stones don't grind well together.  He is
determined that Niels shall serve his time out,
even though it means daily vexation for himself.

  The other day he gave Niels a box on the ear,
whereupon the rascal threatened that "he would see
to it that the parson was paid back."  But to all
this there were no witnesses.  I had Niels up
before me, and both admonished and threatened him,
but I could do nothing with him.  There is evil in
the man.

  My betrothed, too, has entreated her father to
rid himself of the fellow, but he will no more
listen to her than to me.  I scarce know how things
will go when she moves from her father's roof to
mine, for she shields the old man from a great deal
of trouble and knows how to smooth over everything.

  She will be to me a tender wife, "as a fruitful
vine by the side of thy house."

                  ------

  It was an unlucky business — and yet lucky too,
for Niels has run away.  My father-in-law is angry
as a German, but I rejoice silently that he has
thus got rid of this dangerous person.  No doubt
Bruus will try to avenge his brother at the first
likely opportunity, but thank Heaven we have law
and order in this land, and the law will protect
us.

  It seems that Pastor Soren had set Niels to
digging in the garden.  When he came out a little
later to see what progress had been made, he saw,
the fellow stand resting on his spade and cracking
nuts which he had picked off the bushes.  He had
done no work at all.  The parson upbraided him. 
Niels answered impudently that he was not to be
ordered about by any one, whereupon he got a blow
on the mouth.  At this he flung away his spade, and
berated his master foully.  Then the old man's
fiery temper burst out, he seized the spade, and
clouted him with it over the head.  He should not
have done so, for a spade is a dangerous weapon,
especially when lifted in anger and in the hands of
a strong man.  The rascal let himself fall as if he
were dead, but when the parson became frightened
and attempted to lift him, he jumped up, ran across
the garden, leaped the hedge, and disappeared into
the woods just back of the parsonage....  So my
father-in-law himself described the unhappy affair.

  My betrothed is much distressed about it.  She
fears that Niels will avenge himself in some way or
other — that he will work some harm on the cattle,
or even set fire to the house.  God helping, I
think there is small danger.

  Only three weeks more now, and then I can lead my
bride into my home.  She has already been here and
taken stock of everything, both within and without. 
She seemed well pleased and complimented us on the
orderliness and neatness everywhere.  The only
thing she seems to regret is that she will have to
leave her father; and he will surely miss her.  Yet
I will do whatever I can to compensate him for his
loss.  I will exchange for his daughter my own good
Aunt Gertrude, a very capable woman, alert and
active for her age.

  My betrothed is indeed an angel!  Every one
speaks well of her — I am sure I shall be a most
happy man.  God be praised!

                  ------

  What can have happened to that fellow!  I wonder
if he has fled the country.  In any event it is a
sorry tale, and people around in the parish are
beginning to gossip about it.  I am sure that these
calumnies must have their source back in
Ingvorstrup.  It would be a pity for my father-
in-law to hear of them....  Had he only followed my
advice and rid himself of the surly fellow!  For
the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of
God.  Yet I am but a layman, and should not presume
to rebuke one of God's servants, especially one so
full of years and dignity....  We can only hope
that all this talk will die away of itself.

  To-morrow morning I will go to Vejlby, and I
shall soon learn whether he has heard aught of the
slanders.

  The goldsmith has just been here with the pair of
bracelets that I ordered; they are very handsome,
and will, I am sure, give pleasure to my dear Meta. 
If only they fit her ...  I took the measurement of
her wrist hastily and in secret with a blade of
grass.

                  ------

  I found my father-in-law quite depressed; indeed
I have never seen him in such low spirits before. 
Busy tongues had already brought him some of the
stupid rumors which, more is the pity, are common
talk in the neighborhood.  Morten Bruus is reported
to have said, "The parson will have to bring back
my brother Niels, even if he has to dig him up out
of the ground."

  It may be that the fellow is in hiding at
Ingvorstrup.  At any rate, he is gone, and no one
has seen hide or hair of him since he ran away.  My
poor betrothed is allowing it to prey too much on
her mind; she is disturbed by portents and bad
dreams.

                  ------

  Lord have mercy upon us all!  I am so overwhelmed
with sorrow and terror that I can scarce guide my
pen; a hundred times already it has slipped from my
hand.  My heart is full of fear and my mind so
distracted that I scarce know how to begin.  The
whole thing has burst upon me like a thunderbolt. 
Time has ceased to have any meaning for me, morning
and evening are as one, and the whole terrible day
is like one jagged stroke of lightning which has
burned down in a moment my proud temple of hope and
ambition.  A venerable man of God accused of
murder, in jail and in chains!  Of course there is
always the hope that he may be innocent, but, alas!
that hope is but as a straw to the drowning, for
the circumstantial evidence against him seems very
heavy indeed.  And to think that I, miserable
wretch, should be his judge!  And his daughter my
promised bride!

  It was early yesterday morning, about half an
hour before sunrise, that Morten Bruus came here to
the house, bringing with him one Jens Larsen, a
crofter from Vejlby, together with the widow and
daughter of his former shepherd.  Bruus declared to
me at once his suspicion that Pastor Qvist had
killed his brother Niels.  I answered him that I,
too, had heard gossip to that effect, but that I
regarded it all as a silly and vicious slander,
unworthy the attention of honest men, inasmuch as
the pastor had told me that Niels had risen and run
away.

  "Had Niels actually run away, as Parson Qvist
says," Bruus retorted, "I am sure that he would
have come to me at once, and told me all about the
affair.  But that the real cause of his continued
absence is quite another, these good people" — he
indicated his three companions — "can bear witness,
and I therefore ask you, as judge, to examine
them."

  "Bethink yourself well, Bruus," I warned him,
"and you, good folk, bethink yourselves well be-
fore you bring accusations against your venerable
and honorable spiritual guide.  If, as I strongly
suspect, you are unable to prove your charges, then
it will go hard with you."

  "Parson or no parson," Bruus cried wrathfully,
"it is written, 'Thou shalt not kill,' and it is
also written that the Government beareth not the
sword in vain.  We have law and justice in this
land, and a murderer cannot escape his just
punishment — even if he had the governor for a son-
in-law."

  I ignored the sneer, and replied with dignity,
"Very well, be it as you will.  What do you,
Kirsten Madsdaughter, know of this crime of which
Morten Bruus accuses your pastor?  Tell me the
truth, as you would tell it before the great
judgement seat, and as you may be required to tell
it to the Court later on."

  Thus admonished she told the following story:
  Shortly after noon of the day when Niels Bruus
was said to have run away, she and her daughter,
Elsa, had passed along the path outside the
parsonage garden.  Just as they came about midway
by the stone fence which encloses the east side of
the garden, they heard a voice call "Elsa!"  It
was Niels Bruus.  He was standing just inside the
hazel hedge that borders the stone fence, and had
bent the bushes aside to ask Elsa if she wanted
some nuts.  Elsa took a handful of them, and asked
him what he was doing there.  He answered that the
parson had told him to spade the garden, but that
he would rather pick nuts; the garden could take
care of itself for a while.  At the same moment
they heard a door slam, and Niels said, "Listen,
now we're going to have a sermon."  Being curious,
they waited for a moment, and they soon heard the
pastor and Niels brawling.  One word led to
another, and at last they heard the pastor cry out,
"You dog, I will teach you to be impudent!  You
shall lie dead at my feet!"  Whereupon they heard
a couple of smart blows, as when one receives a
slap on the mouth.  At this they heard Niels Bruus
revile the pastor, calling him a hangman and a
coward and much besides, from which they concluded
that the pastor had struck him.  To all this stream
of abuse the pastor answered not a word, but
Kirsten and her daughter heard two dull blows, and
saw the blade and part of the handle of a spade fly
up in the air a couple of times; but whose hand it
was that wielded the spade they were unable to see,
for the hedge was thick and high.  After that all
was quiet within the garden, but the shepherd's
widow and her daughter had become so thoroughly
frightened that they hastened away to their cattle
out in the pasture,

  The girl Elsa confirmed her mother's story in
every circumstance.  I asked them if they had not
seen Niels Bruus come out of the garden, but they
both denied this, though they assured me that they
had looked back a number of times.

  All of this agreed completely with what the
pastor had already told me.  That the witnesses had
not seen Niels coming out was to be explained by
the fact that the woods were just as near the south
side of the garden, and, according to the pastor,
it was in this direction that he had fled.  So,
after weighing the testimony of Kirsten and her
daughter, I declared to Morten Bruus that their
tale threw no new light on the case, inasmuch as
the pastor had already told me the whole story
himself.

  At this Bruus smiled bitterly, and asked me to
examine his third witness, which I proceeded to do.

  Jens Larsen, after I had admonished him as I had
the first two witnesses, told the following story:
  Late one evening — not the evening of the
disappearance of Niels Bruus but, as far as he
could remember, the following night, he was
returning home from the neighboring hamlet of
Tolstrup, and walking along the path which ran by
the east side of the parsonage garden, when he
heard from within the sound of some one digging. 
There was a bright moon that night, and, though
somewhat frightened, he decided to see who it was
that was digging, and what he could be doing at so
unusual an hour.  So he took off his wooden shoes,
scrambled up the stone wall, and made a little
peep-hole through the thick hedge with his hands. 
There in the garden, flooded in moonlight, stood
the figure of the pastor in his long green robe and
his white cotton nightcap.  He was smoothing the
surface of the ground with the back of a spade. 
Suddenly the pastor turned, as if conscious of
being watched, and Jens Larsen, being frightened,
slid hastily down the wall and ran home.            

  Although I thought it strange that the pastor
should be out in his garden at that time of night,
I was still unable to find any valid grounds for
suspicion of the imputed murder.  This conclusion I
communicated to Morten Bruus with a solemn warning,
not only to retract his baseless charges, but to
put an end to the rumors by a public declaration of
his retraction.  To this admonition Bruus merely
replied, "Not until I know what the parson was
doing in his garden at that hour of night."

  "By that time," I warned him, "it may be too
late; you are gambling your honor and welfare on a
very dangerous chance."

  "I owe that much to my brother," he rejoined. 

  "I hope that our rightful rulers will not refuse
me the aid and support of the law."

  Such a demand I could not ignore, and so I was
forced to investigate Bruus's charges.  I hastily
made what preparations were necessary and,
accompanied by Bruus and the three witnesses, drove
over to Vejlby.  Heavy of heart I was, and sore
depressed, not from fear that I should find the
fugitive Niels in the garden of the parsonage, but
at the thought of subjecting the pastor and my
betrothed to such vexation and indignity.  All
during the trip my thoughts dwelt on how I might
make the defamer of innocence feel the full weight
of the law.  Ah, Thou merciful Heaven, what a shock
was in store for me!

  I planned, as soon as I arrived, to take the
pastor aside and forewarn him, thus giving him time
to compose himself.  But Morten anticipated me,
for, as I drove up to the parsonage, he rode past
me on his horse, dashed up to the door, and, as the
pastor opened it, cried out:
  "Folks say that you killed my brother and buried
him in your garden.  Here's the judge come with me
to search for him."

  This rude announcement so disconcerted the pastor
that he was unable to say a word before I jumped
out of my carriage, and, hurrying to him, seized
his hand, and said:
  "Now you have heard the charge, and without
palliation.  I am sorry that I, as judge, am bound
to do this man's bidding.  But your own honor now
requires that the truth be brought to light, and
the mouths of the slanderers stopped."

  "It is indeed hard," Pastor Qvist replied,
"that a man in my office should be required to
refute so abominable an accusation....  But enter
if you will, my garden and my house are open to
you."

  We passed through the house and into the garden
at the back.  There my betrothed met us, but when
she saw Bruus behind me she trembled with fear, and
her eyes looked to me appealingly.

  "Be not alarmed, dear heart," I whispered to
her hurriedly.  "Go into the house, and fear
nothing, your enemy is rushing headlong to his
ruin."

  Morten Bruus led the way to the hedge over toward
the east.  I and the witnesses followed him, then
came the pastor with his servants whom he had
himself ordered to bring spades.  The accuser stood
still for a moment, looking around until we came up
to him; then he pointed to a place on the ground,
and said:
  "That looks as if it was dug up not so long ago. 
Let us begin here."

  "Dig, then," the pastor ordered angrily.

  His men set to work with their spades, but after
a few moments Bruus, who was watching their
progress with obvious impatience, tore the spade
from the hands of one of the men and joined in the
work with tremendous energy.  When they had spaded
about a foot beneath the surface, they came to
ground so hard that it was clear it had not been
disturbed recently — probably not for years.

  All of us — with one exception — were vastly
pleased, the pastor most of all.  He began already
to triumph over his accuser, and taunted him with
the sneer — "Well, you slanderer, did you find
anything?"

  Bruus did not vouchsafe him an answer, but stood
thoughtfully for a moment, and then, turning to
Jens Larsen, asked, "Jens, where was it you saw
the parson spading that night?"

  Jens, who had stood all this time with folded 
hands watching while the others worked, looked up
with a start at this question.  He let his gaze
wander slowly around the garden, and finally
pointed to a corner two or three fathoms from where
we were standing.

  "I think it was over there," he said.

  "What is that, Jens?" the pastor exclaimed with
some asperity.  "When did you ever see me spade?"

  Without heeding this interruption, Morten Bruus
beckoned us all over to the designated corner.  He
brushed away some withered cabbage stalks,
branches, and other rubbish, and ordered the
digging to begin at once.

  I stood quietly by, well satisfied with the
course of events so far, discussing with my
father-in-law the misdemeanor for which the accuser
had made himself liable and the punishment which
could be meted out to him, when one of the spaders
screamed — "Jesus Christ!"

  We glanced quickly over at them.  The crown of a
hat had been uncovered, and they were all staring
at it in terror.

  "I think we'll find what we're looking for right
here," Bruus said.  "I know that hat well, it
belonged to Niels."

  My blood froze in my veins, and I saw the whole
structure of my life crumble to earth.

  "Dig, dig!" the terrible blood-avenger bawled,
redoubling his own efforts.

  I looked over at my father-in-law; he was pale as
death and trembling, but his eyes were wide open
and fixed in a sort of fascination on the
dreadful spot.

  Another scream!  They had uncovered a hand
stretching up at them through the earth.

  "Look," cried Bruus, "he is reaching up at us. 
Wait, brother Niels, you'll soon have your
revenge."

  Presently the whole body was uncovered, and it
proved to be that of the missing Niels, beyond any
doubt.  The face was scarcely recognizable — the
flesh had already begun to decay, and the nose was
broken and smashed fiat; but the clothes,
especially the shirt with Niels's name sewed on it,
were immediately identified by his fellow-servants. 
And in the left ear they even found the leaden ring
which Niels had worn constantly for several years.

  "Now, you man of God," Morten cried — "come and
lay your hand on the dead and deny your guilt if
you dare."

  The pastor sighed deeply, and raised his eyes in
a mute appeal to Heaven.  "Almighty God," he
said, "Thou art my witness that I am innocent of
this crime.  Strike him, that I did indeed, and
bitterly do I repent it now.  Strike him I did, but
who buried him here, that Thou alone knowest."

  "Jens Larsen knows it too," Bruus interrupted
with a sneer, "and perhaps we shall find others
besides.  Sir Judge" — he turned to me — "doubtless
you will wish to examine the servants, but I demand
that you first place this wolf in sheep's clothing
under lock and key."

  Alas, Thou merciful God! no longer dared I doubt;
the evidence was too plain.  But I was ready to
sink into the ground with horror and loathing.  I
was just about to tell the pastor that he would
have to submit to arrest, when he himself spoke to
me.  He was ghostly pale, and shaking like an aspen
leaf.  "Appearances are against me," he admitted,
"but surely this is the work of the devil himself,
and I know that there is One above who will bear
witness to my innocence.  Come, Sir Judge, in
chains and in prison will I await His disposition
of me, poor sinner that I am.  Comfort my daughter! 
Remember she is your promised wife."

  Scarce had he finished speaking, when we heard a
moan and then a body fall behind us.  We turned
quickly, and I saw that it was my betrothed who had
swooned and lay prone on the ground.  Would to God
I might have lain down beside her and neither of us
ever awakened again!  I lifted her up and held her
in my arms, thinking she was dead; but her father
tore her from my grasp, and carried her into the
house.  At the same moment I was called away to
inspect a wound in the head of the slain man,
which, though not deep, had cracked the skull, and
had clearly been caused by a spade or some such
blunt weapon.

  After this we all went into the parsonage.  My
betrothed had already regained consciousness, and
when she saw me she rushed to me, flung her arms
around my neck, and implored me by all that was
sacred to save her father from the great danger
which threatened him.  Afterwards she begged me,
for the sake of our great love, to allow her to go
with him to prison, which request I granted her.  I
myself accompanied them to the jail at Grennaa, in
what a state of mind God alone knows.  During the
whole of that melancholy ride none of us spoke a
word, and I parted from them with a bursting heart.

  The body of Niels Bruus has been placed in a
coffin which Jens Larsen had ready for himself, and
to-morrow it will be honorably buried in Vejlby
churchyard.

  To-morrow, too, the first witnesses will be
heard....  May God strengthen my weakness!

                  ------

Fool that I was to strive so eagerly for this
office of county judge!  Would that I had never
obtained it!  It is a dreary business to be a
judge.  I would fain change places with one of the
talesmen!

  When this servant of God was led into Court this
morning, his hands bound and his feet in chains, I
was reminded of our Lord before the judgement seat
of Pontius Pilate, and methought I heard distinctly
the voice of my sweetheart — alas, she is lying ill
at Grennaa — whisper to me: "Have thou nothing to
do with that just man." 

  Would to God that her father was such a one, but
at present I cannot perceive the slightest
possibility of his innocence....  Jens Larsen, the
widow, and her daughter Elsa were the first
witnesses.  They reaffirmed on oath the entire
story which they had previously told me, and that
almost word for word.  Nothing was retracted,
nothing added.  Besides these, three new witnesses
appeared, Soren Qvist's two men servants and his
milkmaid.  The two men said that had been sitting
in the servants' hall the a noon of the day of the
murder, and that through the open window they had
distinctly heard voices of the pastor and Niels
raised in angry altercation and that they had heard
the former cry out, "You dog, you shall lie dead
at my feet."  Their testimony, therefore,
coincided with that of the widow and her daughter. 
They affirmed further, that they had twice before
heard pastor abuse and threaten Niels, that when
pastor was angry, he did not hesitate to use
whatever weapon came to hand, and that he had once
struck a servant with a wooden maul.

  The maid deposed that, on the same night when
Jens Larsen had seen the pastor in the garden, she
had been unable to sleep, and as she lay there wide
awake she heard the door from the hall to the
garden creak on its hinges.  She sprang from her
bed and went over to the window to see what it
could be, and saw the pastor in his long robe and
nightcap in the garden.  She was unable to see what
he was doing out there but about an hour later she
heard the garden door creek again.

  When all the witnesses had been heard, I asked
the defendant whether he had anything to say in his
own defense, or whether he was prepared to make a
confession.  He folded his hands over his heart,
and said solemnly, "I am speaking the truth, so
help me God, and I swear by His holy word that I
know no more of this matter than I have already
confessed.  I struck the deceased with a spade, he
fell, sprang to his feet again, and ran out of my
garden.  What happened to him afterwards, or how he
came to be buried in my garden, I do not know.  As
to the testimony of Jens Larsen and my maid at they
saw me out in the garden at night, I can only say
that, either they are lying, or else whole thing is
a phantom from hell....  But I can clearly see that
I have no one to defend here on earth, and if my
Heavenly Father chooses to remain silent, then
verily I know that lost, and I bow to His
inscrutable will."  When he had finished speaking,
the old man heaved a deep sigh, and bowed his head
upon his breast.

  Many of those who were in the court-room could
not restrain their tears, while others whispered
that maybe their parson was innocent after all; but
this was merely the natural result of the emotions
and sympathies which he had aroused.  My own heart,
too, argued for his innocence, but the reason of
the judge cannot be swayed by the counsels or
pleading of the heart; neither love nor hate,
reverence nor contempt, gain nor bereavement can
weigh by so much as a grain of sand in the even
scales of justice.  My own well-considered
judgement did not allow me to conclude other than
that the accused had killed Niels Bruus, though not
with deliberate intent or purpose.  That he had
threatened Niels several times before the murder
did not appear to me evidence of deliberate intent;
for he had been in the habit of making threats,
though he had never before been known to carry them
out.  The murder had no doubt been a crime of
passion; that the defendant now persisted in his
denial was doubtless due to the instinct of
self-preservation and the desire to vindicate his
honor.

  Morten Bruus (there is a churlish brute, ugly
enough before and worse now since his brother's
murder) began to talk about means to force
confession from an obdurate sinner, but I shut him
up quickly.  God forbid that I should put so
venerable a man on the rack!  What is it after all
but a trial of physical and mental strength; he who
withstands the torture and he who succumbs to it
may both be lying, and a forced confession can
never be trustworthy.  Nay, rather than resort to
that, I would give up my office and the duties that
have become so irksome to me.

  Alas, my poor Meta, my dearest, I have lost her
in this world and yet I loved her with all my
heart.

                  ------

  I have just gone through another heart-rending
scene.  As I sat reviewing this terrible case in my
mind, trying to find some solution, the door flew
open and the pastor's daughter — I scarce dare call
her betrothed who will never be my wife — rushed in,
threw herself at my feet, and embraced my knees.  I
lifted her into my arms, but it was some time
before either of us could speak for tears.  I
mastered my emotion first, and said to her, "I
know what you are come for, dear heart — you would
ask me to save your father.  Alas, God have mercy
on us poor mortals, I can do nothing....  Tell me,
dear child, do you yourself believe your father to
be innocent?"

  She put her hand on her heart, and said, "I do
not know," and with that she began to weep again
most bitterly.  "Surely, he did not bury Niels in
the garden," she went on, when she had recovered
somewhat, "but I suppose the man died out in the
woods from the blows that my father had given him — 
alas, it must be so."

  "My dear girl," I said, "both Jens Larsen and
your maid saw him out in the garden the following
night."

  She shook her head slowly.  "Perhaps the foul
fiend may have blinded them."

  "Lord Jesus forbid that he should have such
power over Christian folk," I replied.

  She began to weep again, but after a little she
said, "Tell me, my affianced husband, tell me
frankly, if God does not vouchsafe further light on
this matter, what verdict will you pronounce?" 
She looked at me full of fear, and her lips
trembled.

  "Were I not sure that any other judge would be
more severe than I," I answered her, "I would
resign my seat at once — yea, gladly lay down my
office forever.  But, since you demand an answer, I
dare not conceal from you that the mildest sentence
decreed by the laws of both God and the king is a
life for a life."

  At this Meta fell to her knees in despair, but in
a moment she was on her feet again.  She retreated
a few steps, and then advanced toward me, crying,
as if distracted, "Will you murder my father? 
Will you murder your betrothed?"  She held her
hand up to my eyes, "Do you see this ring?" she
asked me.  "Do you remember what my unhappy father
said when you placed it on my finger? — 'I give my
maid into thy bosom' —  But you — you pierce my
bosom."

  Merciful God, every word she said pierced my own
bosom.  "Dearest child," I sighed, "say not so! 
You tear my heart with red-hot pincers.  What is it
you want me to do?  Do you ask me to set free one
whom the laws of God and man condemn?"

  She was silent for a moment, lost in thought, and
I continued, "One thing I will do, and if it is
wrong, then I pray God not to lay this sin to my
charge.  Listen, dear child.  If this trial is
concluded, then we both know that your father's
life is forfeited.  There is no escape but in
flight.  If you can evolve any plan of escape, I
promise to shut my eyes and keep silence....  Nay
more, I will give you every assistance.  Look you,
as soon as your father was imprisoned, I wrote to
your brother in Copenhagen, and we can expect him
almost any day now.  When he comes, let him help
you, and meanwhile try to win the jailer for your
plan; if you need money, all that I have is
yours."

  When I had spoken thus, her face flushed with
hope, and she threw her arms around my neck, and
cried, "God reward you for this advice!  If only
my brother were here now, then I know we should
succeed."  She stopped, and was silent a moment. 
"But where could we go?" she asked, "and if we
were able to find refuge in some strange land, then
I should never see you again."

  She said this so plaintively that I thought my
heart would burst.  "Dearest child," I consoled
her, "I will find you and come to you, no matter
how far you may travel.  And if our resources are
not sufficient for our support, then these hands of
mine shall work for us all.  They have wielded the
axe and the plane before, and they can do it
again."

  At this she was exceeding happy, and kissed me
many times.  Then we prayed together that God might
see fit to further our plan, and when she left me
she was buoyed up with hope.

  I too began to hope that we might find some way. 
But no sooner had Meta gone, than my spirits were
assailed by a thousand doubts, and all the
difficulties which seemed at the moment so easy to
overcome now appeared like mountains which my weak
hands could never remove.  Nay, out of this
darkness and terror only He to whom the night
shineth as the day can lead us!

                  ------

  Morten Bruus was here this morning and announced
two new witnesses with an air that boded little
good for us.  He has a heart as hard as flint and
full of poison and gall.  The new witnesses are to
appear in court to-morrow, and I am as despondent
as if it were myself that they were to testify
against.  May God give me strength!

                  ------

  All is over!  He has confessed everything!

  The Court was convened, and the prisoner was led
forth to hear the testimony of the new witnesses. 
They deposed: That, on the now famous night of the
day after the crime, they were walking along the
road that runs between the woods and the garden of
the parsonage, when they saw a man emerge from the
woods with a large sack on his back, walk quickly
over to the garden, and disappear behind the fence. 
The man's face was completely concealed by the
sack, but the moon shone full on his back, and they
saw distinctly that he was clad in a long green
robe, and that he wore a white nightcap.

  No sooner had the first witness completed his
testimony than the pastor's face went ashen gray,
and it was with the greatest difficulty that he
stammered in a weak voice, "I am ill."  He was
given a chair and sat down heavily.  Bruus turned
to the spectators, and said, "That helped the
parson's memory, didn't it?"  The pastor either
did not hear the sneer or ignored it.  Instead he
beckoned to me, and when I came over to him, he
said, "Let me be taken back to prison.  I want to
talk to you."  It was done as he requested.

  We drove off to Grennaa, the pastor riding with
the jailor and the clerk, and I alone.  As we
opened the door to the prison, there stood my
betrothed making her father's bed.  On a chair at
the head of the bed hung the tell-tale green robe.
When she saw us entering together, she gave a cry
of joy, for she concluded that her father had been
freed, and that I was coming to release him from
jail.  She dropped the bed-covering, rushed over to
her father, and flung her arms around his neck. 
The old man wept so that his eyes were blinded with
tears.  He did not have the heart to tell her what
had just happened in the court-room, and instead
sent her on some errands in town.

  Before she left us, she ran over to me, took my
hand and pressed it to her heart, and whispered,
"Have you good tidings?"  To conceal my own
confusion I kissed her on the forehead, and said
merely, "Dearest, you shall know everything later
on.  I cannot tell yet whether what has happened is
of great importance one way or the other.  Go now,
and fetch us what your father asked for."

  Alas! what a change from the time when this
innocent child lived, carefree and happy, in the
pleasant parsonage, to the dreary present here in
this dismal prison.

  "Be seated, my friend," the pastor said to me
as he himself sat down on the edge of the bed,
folded his hands in his lap, and stared down on the
floor as if lost in thought.  At last he roused
himself, sat up, and fastened his eyes upon me.  I
waited in breathless silence as if it were my own
doom I was about to hear — as indeed in a sense it
was

  "I am a great sinner," he began at last, "how
great I do not myself know.  God alone knows, and I
am firmly convinced that he wishes to punish me
here in this world so that I may receive grace and
eternal blessedness hereafter.  Praise and glory be
unto Him!"  With this he seemed to gain more
quietness and strength, and he proceeded as
follows:
  "From my earliest childhood, as far back as I
can remember, I have been of a quarrelsome nature,
proud and hasty, impatient of opposition, and
always ready to resort to blows.  Yet have I seldom
let the sun go down on my anger, neither have I
borne malice toward any man.  When I was but a
half-grown boy my ungovernable temper led me to
commit a deed which I have often since bitterly
repented and which, even now, I cannot recall
without pain.  Our watch-dog, a gentle beast who
had never harmed any living creature, ate up my
lunch which I had for the moment laid on a chair. 
I flew into a rage and kicked him so hard with my
wooden shoes that he died the next morning in
terrible agony.  That time it was only a dumb
animal who was the victim of my passion, but it
should have been a warning to me not to lay violent
hands on any creature.  Again, some years later,
when I was a student at Leipzig University, I
picked a quarrel with a Bursch, called out on the
field of honor, and gave him a wound in the chest
that came within a hair's breadth of killing him. 
So you see I have these many years deserved what I
am now to suffer, but now my punishment falls with
tenfold weight on my sinful head: An old man, a
pastor and messenger of peace, and — a father, O
merciful God, that is the deepest wound of all!" 
He sprang to his feet and wrung his hands so that I
could hear the joints creaking.  I would have said
something to console him, but could find no words.

  When he had regained control of himself, he sat
down again, and continued, "To you, formerly my
friend and now my judge, I am about to confess a
crime which I can no longer doubt having committed,
but which I still do not fully understand."

  I started in surprise and wondered what he meant,
for I had prepared myself for a full and open
confession.

  "I want you to pay the closest attention to what
I am about to relate," he continued, "and try to
understand me.  I have already confessed all that I
know: that I struck Niels with a spade — whether
with the edge or the flat side I cannot remember — 
and that he fell down, jumped up, and ran away into
the woods.  The rest, alas! has been told by four
witnesses: that the boy died in the woods, and that
I fetched the body and buried it in my garden the
following night.  And though of all this I know
nothing myself, I am forced to accept it as the
truth, and you shall hear my reasons.

  "On three or four occasions earlier in my life I
have walked in my sleep.  The last time I know of
having done this was some nine or ten years ago; it
was the night before I was to hold funeral services
for a man who had met a very sudden and painful
death.  I remember it all distinctly....  remember
that I was at a loss for a suitable text, when the
words of one of the Greek philosophers occurred to
me: 'Call no man happy before he is dead.'  But to
use a heathen text for a Christian service would
never do, and I was sure at I should be able to
find the same idea somewhere in the Bible.  I
hunted diligently, but without success, and since I
was already tired from other work, I undressed and
went to bed, and soon fell asleep.  The next
morning when I went my study to find a proper text
and outline my talk, I was dumbfounded to see,
lying on my desk, a piece of paper with the words:
'Call no man happy until his days are told,'
written in large clear letters.  But this was not
all; beside it lay a funeral sermon, brief but
well-constructed  — and in my own handwriting.  No
one had been in room.  The door was bolted on the
inside because the lock was worn and easily sprang
open.  No one had come through the window, for it
was frozen fast to the casement.  I had composed
and written the whole thing in my sleep.

  "Nor is this the only instance of its kind.  It
was indeed but a few months previous to this that I
had, while sound asleep, gone into the church to
fetch a handkerchief which I distinctly remember
having left on my chair behind the altar.

  "And now, my friend, it must all be plain to
you.  When the first witness was giving his testi-
mony this morning in court, I suddenly remembered
these earlier occasions of walking in my sleep, and
I remembered, too, another incident which, until
that moment, had completely slipped, my mind: when
I awoke on the second day after the flight of Niels
I found my green robe, which I always hang over the
back of a chair beside my bed, lying on the
floor....  The poor victim of my ungovernable
temper must have fallen dead in the woods, and I
must have found him there, brought him to my
garden, and buried him — all in my sleep.  Yes, God
have mercy upon me, it must be so."

  He ceased speaking, and buried his face in his
hands.  As for me, I was utterly astounded and full
of misgivings.  I had from the beginning believed
that the murdered man had died on the spot where he
was attacked, and that the pastor had hastily
covered him over with some dirt — though how he was
able to do this in broad daylight without being
seen was a mystery to me — and later had buried the
body deeper in the ground.  Now the last witnesses
had just testified that they saw the pastor
carrying a sack from the woods.  This struck me as
most extraordinary, and it had occurred to me at
once that their testimony might conflict with our
earlier version of the case, and the man's
innocence thus be demonstrated.  But now, alas, all
the facts fitted together only too well, and his
guilt was established beyond the shadow of a doubt. 
Only the curious aspect which his sleep-walking had
given the case continued to perplex me.  That he
had committed the murder was certain, but whether
the last and the less important half of the crime
was carried out in a waking or a sleeping condition
remained a puzzle to me.  The pastor's whole
conduct, his testimony in court, all bore the
hallmark of truth; yea, for truth's sake he
sacrificed his last hope of life.  Yet perhaps he
still hoped to preserve a certain remnant of honor;
or, on the other hand, perhaps he was really
telling the truth.  Such spells of sleep-walking
are not unknown, nor is it beyond the realm of
possibility that a man who was mortally wounded
could have run as far as Niels must....

  The pastor paced quickly to and fro, then stopped
in front of me.  "You have now heard my full
confession," he said, "and I know that your lips
will be forced to pronounce sentence on me and to
condemn me, but tell me, what says your heart?"

  "My heart," I replied, though I could scarce
speak for pity, "my heart bleeds for you, and it
would gladly cease beating at this moment could it
thus save you from a shameful and terrible death."
Our last resort — flight — I dared not even mention.

  "You cannot save me," he said hurriedly.  "My
life is forfeited, my death just, and I shall serve
as a terrible warning to succeeding generations.... 
But promise that you will not abandon my poor
daughter....  I had hoped, once, to give her to you
in marriage."  At this the tears welled up in his
eyes, but he mastered his emotion, and continued,
"That hope I have myself destroyed, for you cannot
wed the daughter of a malefactor!  But promise me
that you will take care of her as a second
father."

  Mournfully I gave him my hand.

  "I presume you have not heard from my son of
late?" the pastor continued when we had both
recovered our composure.  "I hope that he may
remain in ignorance of this misery until it is all
over, for I do not think I could bear to see him." 
He buried his face in his hands, turned and rested
his forehead against the wall, and sobbed like a
child.  It was some time before he was able to
speak.

  "Now, my friend, leave me — and let us not see
each other again until we meet in the house of
stern justice.  And then — give me one last token of
your friendship — let my sentence be pronounced
soon, to-morrow if possible, for verily I long for
death.  I hope that through the grace and the
infinite mercy of Christ it will mean but the
beginning of a happier life than this, which is now
one long night of anguish and terror.  Farewell, my
kind and sympathetic judge, let me be brought
before you to-morrow.  And send at once for my
friend Pastor Jens in Aalso, for I want him to
minister the last sacrament to me.  Farewell, God
bless you and preserve you."  He averted his face,
but stretched forth his hand to me.  I stumbled out
of the prison, scarce knowing what I did.

  I should perhaps have ridden home without
speaking to the daughter, had she not been awaiting
me outside the prison wall.  She must have read the
death sentence in my face, for she paled and seized
my arm.  She looked at me imploringly, as if
begging for her own life, but could not ask — or
dared not.

  "Fly, fly — save your father!" was all that I
could say.  I threw myself on my horse, and was
home before I knew it.  To-morrow, then...

                  ------

  The sentence has been pronounced, and the guilty
man heard it with greater fortitude and composure
than his judge possessed.  Every one in court, with
the exception of his obdurate enemy, showed the
most profound sympathy for the condemned, and there
were those who whispered that it was a cruel
sentence.  Yea, cruel it is indeed, for it deprives
one man of his life and three others of their
happiness and peace of mind forever.  May the
merciful God judge me more leniently than I, poor
sinner, dare judge my fellow-man.

                  ------

  This morning she was here and found me sick in
bed.  There is no longer any hope.  He refuses to
escape.

  Everything was arranged.  The jailor had been won
over.  A fisherman, a nephew of her mother, had
promised to transport them all to Sweden, and had
his fishing smack in readiness; but the repentant
sinner was not to be persuaded.  He will not flee
from the sword of righteousness, for he is firmly
convinced that through his own death and his
Savior's, he will find salvation here after...  She
left me as unhappy as she came, but without a
single unkind word.  God help her, poor child, how
will she ever live through the terrible day!  And
here I lie, sick in body and in soul, unable to
give comfort or aid....  Her brother has not yet
arrived.

  Farewell, bride of my heart!  Farewell, in this
dreary world until we meet again in a better
one....  May it not be long, for I am wearied of
this life and ready for death.  Would that I might
pass over the border ahead of him whom stern duty
forces me to send thither.

  "Farewell, my beloved," she said to me.  "I
leave you without bitterness, for I know that you
did only what was your stern duty; but farewell,
now, for we two can never meet again."  She made
the sign of peace over me, and left me.

  Merciful God, where will she go?  What are her
plans?  Her brother is not yet here — and tomorrow — 
at Ravens' Hill...'

                        *************************
                        * * The knoll on Aalso
                        * meadow just outside of
                        * Grennaa, where Pastor
                        * Soren Qvist was beheaded,
                        * is still called Ravnhoj
                        * (Raven's Hill).
                        *     - note from 1928 ed.
                        **************************

  (At this point the Diary of Judge Erik Sorensen
comes to abrupt end.  For the elucidation and
exposition of this terrible tragedy we can refer to
the written account of the parish pastor at Aalso,
neighbor and friend of the lamented Soren Qvist,
which follows below.)

                   II

       The Narrative of the Aalso Pastor

  In the seventeenth year of my pastorate there
occurred in this neighborhood an event which filled
all men with terror and consternation and reflected
shame and disgrace upon the cloth.  The pastor at
Vejlby, the Reverend Soren Qvist, in a moment of
anger killed his coachman and buried him at night
in his garden.  He was duly tried in the regular
court, and, after hearing the damning testimony of
several witnesses, confessed the dreadful crime,
and was sentenced to be beheaded.  This sentence
was carried out here in Aalso meadow in the
presence of thousands of spectators.

  The condemned man, whose spiritual adviser I had
formerly been, requested that I be allowed to visit
him in prison and bring him the solace of religion,
and I can truthfully say that I never administered
the last sacrament to a more repentant and
believing Christian.  He confessed with deepest
contrition that he had hardened his heart and been
as a child of wrath, for which God had humbled him
deeply and covered him with shame and bowed him
with sorrow, that he might again be raised up
through Christ.  He maintained his composure to the
very end, and, standing on the scaffold, spoke to
the assembled throng a few words full of power and
grace, which he had composed during his
imprisonment.  His homily dealt with anger and its
terrible consequences, and was replete with moving
reference to himself and the great sin into which
his anger had led him.  His text he took from the
Lamentations of Jeremiah, chapter two, sixth verse,
"The Lord hath despised in the indignation of his
anger the king and the priest."  Upon the
conclusion of his moving discourse, he disrobed,
tied the cloth before his eyes, and knelt down with
folded hands, and as I said the words — "Verily I
say unto thee, to-day shalt thou be with me in
paradise," the sword fell, and his head was
severed from his body.

  That which made death most bitter to him was the
thought of leaving his two children.  The elder, a
son, was away at the time of the execution and only
arrived in the evening of the day on which his
father paid the supreme penalty.

  The daughter — who, to the still more heartrending
woe of herself and her lover, had been affianced to
the judge who sentenced him — I took home with me,
more dead than alive, after she had said a last
farewell to her father.  When I returned home from
what was the most painful duty of my whole life, I
found her fairly composed, and busied with
preparing her father's shroud — for it was permitted
him to be buried in consecrated ground if the
interment were conducted in quiet and privacy.  She
no longer wept, but neither did she speak.  I too
was silent, for what indeed was I to say to her, I
who was myself bowed down with sorrow and
foreboding?

  About an hour after my return home, my carriage
arrived with the body, and shortly afterwards a
young man on horseback dashed into the yard.  It
was the son, whom we had thought in Copenhagen, but
who had been all this time in Lund.  He threw
himself upon his father's body, and thereafter into
his sister's arms; brother and sister clasped each
other in a long embrace, but neither of them was
able to say a word.

  That afternoon a grave was dug hard by the side
door of Aalso church, and there, at midnight, were
laid the last mortal remains of the former Vejlby
pastor.  A stone with a simple cross, which I had
earlier prepared for myself, marks the grave, and
reminds every church-goer of the sinfulness of man
and his ultimate salvation through the Cross of
Christ.'


                        ************************
                        * * This marker is still
                        * standing in the Aalso
                        * churchyard.
                        *     - note from 1928 ed.
                        ************************

  The next morning both the children had
disappeared, and no one has since been able to
discover any trace of them.  God alone knows in
what secluded corner they have hidden themselves
from the world.

  The county judge continues to ail and is not
expected to live.  I myself am sore afflicted by
sorrow and anguish, and I feel that death would be
the greatest boon to all of us together.  We are in
the hands of God.  May he suffer us to be governed
by His wisdom and His mercy.

                  ------

  Lord, how inscrutable are Thy ways!

  In the thirty-eighth year of my pastorate, and
just twenty-one years after my brother pastor, the
Reverend Soren Qvist of Vejlby, was sentenced to
death and beheaded for the murder of one of his
servants, it happened that a beggar came to my
door.  He was an elderly man with grizzled hair,
and walked with the aid of a crutch.  None of the
maids were present at the time, so I went out into
the kitchen myself to give him a bite to eat, and,
while he was munching his bread, I asked him whence
he came.  He sighed, and replied, "From nowhere."

  I then asked him his name.  He looked timidly
around, and said, "They used to call me Niels
Bruus."

  I felt a cold shiver run down my spine, and said
to him, "That is an ugly name; a fellow of that
name was murdered here about a score of years
ago."

  He sighed even more deeply, as he muttered, "I
ought to have died then; it has gone badly with me
ever since I left this country."

  I could feel my hair stand on end, and I shook
with terror; for now it seemed to me that I
recognized him, and further, it was as if I saw
standing before me the living image of Morten Bruus
whom I had buried three years earlier.  I started
back and made the sign of the cross, for I thought
that this must be a ghost.

  My visitor seated himself heavily on the edge of
the fire-place, and said, "Alack-a-day, parson, I
hear my brother Morten is dead.  I went to the farm
at Ingvorstrup, but the new owner didn't know me
and drove me away....  Is my old master, the Vejlby
parson, still alive?"

  Then suddenly the scales fell from my eyes, and I
understood the meaning of this whole miserable
affair; but I was so profoundly shocked that I
quite lost the power of speech for several minutes.

  "Heigh-ho," he was saying, as he greedily ate
his bread, "it was all Morten's fault.  But did
any harm befall the old parson?"

  "Niels, Niels," I cried, full of horror and
loathing, "you have a bloody crime on your
conscience.  On your account an innocent man lost
his life at the hands of the executioner."

  The beggar started back so that he almost fell
into the fire; the bread dropped from his hands,
and his crutch rattled to the floor.  "God forgive
you, Morten," he groaned, "God forgive you and
me, but it was none of my doing....  But tell me,"
he looked at me appealingly, "it's not true? 
You're only trying to scare me.  I have come here
from far on thee other side of Hamburg, and not a
word of this have I heard on the way.  No one has
known me, except you, parson, but when I passed
through Vejlby I asked if the pastor was still
alive, and they said Yes."

  "That is the new pastor," I told him, "not he
whom you and your wicked brother did to death."

  At this the poor fellow began to wring his hands
and moan and whimper with such evident sincerity
that I could clearly see that he had been but a
blind tool in the hands of the devil.  He even
aroused my pity, and I invited him into my study,
where I spoke to him a few words of comfort until
he was somewhat quieted, and was able to tell me,
brokenly, the whole story of their hellish
machinations.

  The brother Morten — a man of Belial — had
conceived a deadly hatred of Pastor Soren Qvist at
Vejlby from the day that the pastor had refused him
his daughter in marriage.  When therefore the
pastor rid himself of his coachman, Morten told his
brother Niels to seek the position.  "And have a
care now," he told Niels, "when the chance comes
we'll play a trick on the black man, and you shan't
be the loser by it."  Niels, who was rough and
stubborn by nature and was egged on by Morten, was
soon quarrelling with his master, and the first
time the pastor struck him he hurried over to tell
his brother at Ingvorstrup.

  "Just let him strike you once more," Morten
said, "and he shall pay dear for it.  If he does,
you come to me and tell me at once."

  It was shortly after this conversation that Niels
picked a quarrel with the pastor out in the garden,
and when the pastor had felled him with a blow from
the spade, he ran without delay to Ingvorstrup. 
The brothers met outside the farmhouse, and Niels
told Morten what had just happened in the parsonage
garden.  "Did any one see you on your way over
here?" Morten asked him.  Niels thought not. 
"Then," said Morten, "we will give the parson a
fright that he won't recover from for a
fortnight."

  Morten then led Niels by a secluded way to the
farmhouse and concealed him there until night.  As
soon as every one was in bed, the brothers stole
forth to a corner in the meadow where, two days
earlier, they had buried the body of a youth about
the age, size, and general appearance of Niels. 
(He had worked at Ingvorstrup, and hanged himself
in his room, some said in desperation over Bruus's
tyranny; others, in grief over an unhappy love
affair.)  This body the brothers now dug up,
despite the protest of Niels, and carried back to
the farmhouse which was nearby.  Then Niels was
compelled to take off all his clothes, and the dead
body was dressed in them, piece for piece, even to
Niels's earring.  When this work was completed,
Morten gave the corpse a blow on the face with a
heavy spade, and one over the temple, and then
threw the body into a sack until the following
evening, when they carried it into the woods just
outside the parsonage at Vejlby.

  Time and again, Niels assured me, he asked his
brother what all this ado was about, but the latter
always replied, "That is none of your affair; you
leave all that to me."  Now when they were come to
the woods, Morten said to him:
  "Run over and fetch me one of the parson's gowns
 — try to find the long green robe I have seen him
go around with in the morning."

  "I dare not," Niels replied, "his clothes are
all hanging in his bedroom."

  "Then I dare," said Morten, "and I will do
without you.  Now you go away at once, and never
show your face here again."  He drew a bag from
his pocket.  "Here is a purse with a hundred
dollars; that ought to last you until you to the
South — but remember — far away — where no one will
know you or recognize you.  Take another name, and
never set foot on Danish soil again.  Travel by
night, and hide in the forests by day.  Here is a
bag with food enough for you until you get out of
the Kingdom....  Now don't come back if you value
your life."

  Niels, who was accustomed to obeying his brother,
did as he was told, and there the brothers parted,
nor did they ever see each other again.  Niels had
suffered much in foreign lands.  In Germany he was
conscripted for the army and served in many
campaigns in which he lost his health.  Poor, weak,
and miserable, he resolved to revisit his
birthplace before he died, and after encountering
much hardship and suffering he had managed to make
his way back to this neighborhood.

  Such, in brief, was the story which this unhappy
wretch told me, and I was forced to accept its
veracity.  Thus it was revealed to me that my
unfortunate brother pastor had fallen as a
sacrifice to the infamous villainy of his mortal
enemy, to the delusion of his judge and the
witnesses, and to his own too ready self-deception. 
What, indeed, is man that he dare set himself up to
judge his fellow-men!  Who dares say to his
brother, "Thou art deserving of death!"  Judge
not, that ye be not judged.  Vengeance is mine, I
will repay, saith the Lord.  Only He who gives life
can take it away.  And may He compensate you for
the bitter martyrdom which you suffered here with
the gift of everlasting life!

  I did not feel disposed to surrender this broken
and repentant sinner to the law, all the less as
the judge, Erik Sorensen, was still living, and it
would have been cruel to let him know of his
terrible mistake, before he left this world for one
where all things are to be revealed.  Instead, I
strove to give the returned prodigal the solace of
religion, and exhorted him by all that was sacred
to conceal his real name and the real story of the
Vejlby crime from every one.  On this condition I
promised him a refuge and care at the home of my
brother, who lives far away from here.

  The next day was a Sunday.  When I returned home
late that evening from my parish of ease, I found
that my beggar had gone, and before the evening of
the following day his story was known all over the
neighborhood.  Driven by his uneasy conscience, he
had hurried over to Rosmus and there revealed
himself as the real Niels Bruus before the judge
and all his household.  The judge was so deeply
affected that he suffered a stroke and died before
the week was out.  And on Tuesday morning they
found Niels Bruus lying dead outside the door of
Aalso church, across grave of the sainted Soren
Qvist.
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