Chapter II

On that very evening, a young stranger sat in the study of the dean. He had arrived the day before as the snowfall reached the peak of its fury.

He was tall, with a slender build, dressed in black clothes with a white tie around his neck. A pair of light blue eyes looked out with an open gaze from a pale childlike face. Above the forehead, which was high and dome-shaped, beautiful blond hair with frizzy ends undulated; on the tip of the chin and along the edge of the cheeks grew a delicate, fair downy beard.

Across from him, Dean Toennesen sat in a large, old-fashioned armchair with earflaps and a cushion for the back of the head. He was a handsome prelate of giant build, with a mighty head and snow-white cropped hair under which glimpses of the rosy scalp were visible from every angle. Behind a pair of low-hanging brows, which were still quite black, shone two dark grey eyes that, along with the plump curves of the nose and lips, gave the beardless face an almost Mediterranean look. His attire, from his gleaming white cambric scarf to his brocaded silk vest and his polished boots, revealed a sense of external deportment unusual among the rural clergy. His posture too, and the way in which he now and then as he spoke nibbled a long-stemmed black pipe with an amber mouthpiece, gave him away as a self-assured man of the world.

Next to him the double door to the living room stood open. The living room was a large, well-appointed room wherein the daughter of the house, a strawberry-blonde lady, sat and sewed by a standard lamp with a sea-green silk shade.

All was quiet. It was as if all sound had drowned in the sea of snow outside. Only the crackling of the fire in the fireplace and the monotonous parrotry of a parrot sitting in a cage in the living room with the young lady could be heard apart from the dulcet bass of the dean's voice.

The young stranger was the dean's new curate whose arrival had been greatly anticipated not only in the parsonage but in the whole of the parish. Dean Toennesen especially had been unusually pensive as he prepared to receive his young apprentice and assistant; as soon as they had gotten up from the midday meal the two clergymen had withdrawn to the greenish gloaming of the study where they had sat for nearly four hours discussing all things related to their shared, burdensome vocation.

It was almost exclusively the dean who spoke. The curate was still quite a young man at twenty-six years old, and it had only been a few days since he had received solemn ordination as a shepherd of souls from the bishop. It was evident that he was still made uneasy by the dignity of his new position. He cheeks turned red and he looked shyly at the toe of his boot each time the dean addressed him using "Mr. Vicar" as his form of address.

Dean Toennesen had begun his lecture in a calm, didactic tone. He lingered unduly as he spoke, as if he secretly enjoyed the unusual melodiousness of his voice and the elegance of his sentences. It was not often that it fell to his lot to have such an intelligent audience, and he therefore succumbed to the temptation of giving his eloquence free rein. As he neared the topic of the position of the modern church, and in particular when he touched upon the different quarreling currents of thought within the church, his tone grew less calm and his diction less controlled. Finally, he bent down to look the curate sternly in the eyes and with a forceful emphasis said,

"What I thusly, Mr. Vicar Hansted, in this setting, keenly and gravely wish to impart to you, is, in a few words, this: It is not only the right of the clergyman but his holy and inviolable duty to the Lord, whom he serves, and whose kingdom here on earth he stewards … I am saying that it is the clergyman's non-repudiable duty to, on every occasion, assert the absolute authority of the church. The wonderful patriarchal relationship of old between the shepherd and the congregation is -- sadly -- soon to be a thing of the past. And whose fault is this? Who are they who for years systematically have undermined the authority of the church and broken down the people's natural respect for its divinely appointed teachers? Is it the so-called freethinkers? These plainly impudent atheists? This is likely what is said. But do not believe it! No, it is within the confines of the church itself that the rot has found nourishment. It is the calamitous currents of thought which, in the guise of a democratic push for freedom and equality, have arisen from the depths of the people, and which have now found their way even to the hallowed halls of the church … and this has happened not only by way of juvenile hotheads but lately even - sadly! - by way of the church's highest representatives. I do not think I need to explain further. You will likely know to whom I am referring. … But how will this end? Is this not to adopt the antichrist, the world's old spirit of rebellion? What truly are these so-called Grundtvigians with their meetings and their folk schools which as of late even the state has taken to supporting? And what is this nuisance of colporteurs, preaching cobblers and tailors, entirely ignorant people, who - and note this - are sent out into the countryside with the authority to bear witness in the name of the holy church by clergymen? I cannot fathom that certain of our brothers of the cloth have been struck with such blindness that they do not realize how subversive such conduct is to the dignity, the authority, which we - it is no use for us two to pretend otherwise - verily cannot do without, faced with the common man who is no position to assess true superiority and to rightly judge spiritual qualities. Such debauchery is a sad testimony to the fatal lack of discipline which presently prevails among the Danish clergy. And what will the consequence be? Are we not already seeing the effects? These cobbler and tailor witnesses - are they not in the eyes of the common man marvels of eloquence, semi-prophets, whom people everywhere rally around, and whose empty phrases and platitudes demoralize the congregation until it no longer has an ear for properly thought-out sermons nor a sense of the solemnness of church services. … Indeed it is not more than a few days ago that one of these vagrant individuals introduced himself to me as a "colleague" and then had the audacity to ask for my permission to use the church for one of his presentations. That is how far we have gotten! Tramps on the pulpit, criminals in front of the altar! Journeymen cobblers and apprentices as the spiritual stewards of the people! Thus has the glory of the church faded! To such a low place has its standing slipped! … Where will it end? I ask of you, Mr. Vicar Hansted: Where will it end?"

Dean Toennesen had wound himself into an ever-greater passion. His face had turned ash grey. The whole of his body trembled. As he spoke the last words he stood up and straightened his giant body as if he wanted to take on the fight in that very moment.

The curate watched from his chair in silent astonishment, and in the living room the young lady turned her head, alarmed, while the parrot began to screech and flap its wings.

Rather beside himself from the agitation, the dean began to pace back and forth with footsteps that echoed in the room. When he returned, after a few minutes had passed, he placed himself in front of the curate and looked at him with a penetrating stare that burned behind the dark tufts of eyebrow hair as lightning behind a storm cloud.

"I hope," he said, his voice still quivering greatly, "I hope, Mr. Vicar Hansted, that you fully understand my concerns regarding this matter I have mentioned. I hope that you share the misgivings any conscientious man of the clergy must harbor towards these movements. … I do not want to hide from you that also here in this parish I have begun to feel something fermenting, a debauched tendency, which must be throttled without mercy in its infancy. A certain weaver named Hansen, a person as ignorant as he is brazen, who is the pitiful product of this so-called folk-school movement, has during the last years attempted to create a type of revolutionary party in the congregation, a band of braggarts and ignoramuses, who dares to openly challenge me and to disturb the concord of the congregation by means of all kinds of disturbances. But I do not tolerate such things! I feel it is my duty to cow this spirit of rebellion with unrelenting severity, and I hope, Mr. Hansted, that I in the future may venture to rely upon your assistance in this regard. It is my hope, Mr. Vicar Hansted, that we in all essential matters have an understanding such that our common efforts here can serve for the glory of God our Lord and for the benison of the congregation!"

"I wish for nothing more," the young man answered quietly as he looked at the floor.

"I was already convinced that this was the case," the dean continued, visibly satisfied with the curate's answer. "Still, I am glad to hear it confirmed from your own month. … On the whole, I do not doubt that we through mutual courtesy shall get along."

On the heels of this exchange of words Dean Toennesen soon regained his previous composure. He went to a corner of the room and filled his pipe, lit it with a spill, and returned to his seat in the armchair to continue his interrupted didactic lecture.

As he turned to what he half in jest called "a little course on practical theology," he began expounding on the more specialized tasks related to ecclesiastical work. He spoke about the procedure for christenings, and for communion in the church as well as by a sick bed. He then began tutoring his young pupil with regard to the proper lengths of sermons during mass and altar service etc. and finished by giving practical advice with regard to outer deportment, "which should by no means be neglected."

"There is for instance the matter of the hands, which often causes young preachers trouble in the beginning. Some preachers, as you know, favor intense gesticulation, while others prefer to keep their hands calmly folded. The latter approach, undeniably, projects more intimacy and is therefore particularly suitable at, for example, wedding ceremonies, where one generally seeks to speak to the gentle emotions rather than invoking the guilty conscience of the congregation. At other occasions I am on the other hand of the mind that reasonable gesticulation is useful. When saying words such as "the Lord's damnation," "the wrath of heaven," "the eternal suffering of hell," etc. it is quite natural to accompany your words with the lifting up of an arm, the clenching of a fist, or the like to give the words more strength. … I must, however, ask you to keep one thing in mind, dear friend --"

At that very moment a sonorous mantel clock in the living room stuck eight o'clock. Just then the dean's daughter appeared in the door and asked the gentlemen to join her for tea.

"Yes, then we must do as we are told!" the dean exclaimed cheerfully. And as he laid his hand on the shoulder of the curate he added jokingly: "As you may have already noticed, Mr. Hansted, my daughter governs the house -- and I can tell you that she is a strict commandant! … Well, we can always continue on another occasion. Come now and make do with a rural supper table."