<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>V<br/> <br/> <span class="f8">THE SECRET CHURCH</span></h2>
<p class="cap"><span class="upper">Once</span> the schoolmaster of Etnedal was staying
in the mountains to fish. He was very fond
of reading, and so he always carried one book or
another along with him, with which he could lie
down, and which he read on holidays, or when the
weather forced him to stay in the little fishing-hut.
One Sunday morning, as he was lying there reading,
it seemed as though he could hear church bells;
sometimes they sounded faintly, as though from a
great distance; at other times the sound was clear,
as though carried by the wind. He listened long
and with surprise; and did not trust his ears—for
he knew that it was impossible to hear the bells of
the parish church so far out among the hills—yet
suddenly they sounded quite clearly on his ear. So
he laid aside his book, stood up and went out. The
sun was shining, the weather was fine, and one group
of churchgoers after another passed him in their
Sunday clothes, their hymn-books in their hands.
A little further on in the forest, where he had never
before seen anything but trees and brush, stood an
old wooden church. After a time the priest came
by, and he was so old and decrepit that his wife and
daughter led him. And when they came to the spot
where the schoolmaster was standing, they stopped<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span>
and invited him to come to church and hear mass.
The schoolmaster thought for a moment; but since
it occurred to him that it might be amusing to see
how these people worshiped God, he said he would
go along, if he did not thereby suffer harm. No,
no harm should come to him, said they, but rather a
blessing. In the church all went forward in a quiet
and orderly manner, there were neither dogs nor
crying children to disturb the service, and the singing
was good—but he could not make out the words.
When the priest had been led to the pulpit he delivered
what seemed to the listening schoolmaster
a really fine and edifying sermon—but one, it appeared
to him, of quite a peculiar trend of thought,
which he was not always able to follow. Nor did the
“Our Father in heaven ...” sound just right, and
the “Deliver us from evil ...” he did not hear at
all. Nor was the name of Jesus uttered; and at the
close no blessing was spoken.</p>
<p>When mass had been said, the schoolmaster was
invited to the parsonage. He gave the same answer
he had already returned, that he would be glad to
go if he suffered no harm thereby. And as before,
they assured him he would not lose; but rather gain
thereby. So he went with them to the parsonage,
just such an attractive and well-built parsonage like
most in the neighborhood. It had a garden with
flowers and apple-trees, with a neat lattice fence
around it. They invited him to dinner, and the
dinner was well cooked and carefully prepared. As
before, he said that he would gladly accept their invitation,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</SPAN></span>
if he came to no harm thereby, and was
given the same reply. So he ate with them, and said
later that he had noticed no difference between this
food and the Christian dinner he had received when,
once or twice, he had been asked to dinner by the
priest of the village church. When he had drunk
his coffee, the wife and daughter drew him aside
into another room, and the wife complained that her
husband had grown so old and decrepit that he could
not keep up much longer. Then she began to say
that the schoolmaster was such a strong and able
man, and finally, that she and her daughter would
like to have him for priest, and whether he would
not stay and succeed the old father. The schoolmaster
objected that he was no scholar. But they
insisted that he had more learning than was needed
in their case, for they never had any visits from the
bishop, nor did the dean ever hold a chapter, for of
all such things they knew nothing. When the
schoolmaster heard that, he said that even though he
had the necessary scholarship, he doubted very much
that he had the right vocation, and since this was a
most important matter for him and for them, it
would be unwise to act too hurriedly, so he would
ask for a year to think it over. When he had said
that, he found himself standing by a pond in the
wood, and could see neither church nor parsonage.
So he thought the matter was at an end. But a year
later, just as the term he had set was up, he was
working on a house, for during the school vacation
he busied himself either with fishing or carpentering.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</SPAN></span>
He was just straddling a wall when he saw
the pastor’s daughter, the one whom he had seen
in the mountains, coming straight toward him. She
asked him if he had thought over the matter.
“Yes,” said he, “I have thought it over, but I cannot;
since I cannot answer for it before God and
my own conscience.” That very moment the pastor’s
daughter from underground vanished; but immediately
after he cut himself in the knee with the
ax in such wise that he remained a cripple for life.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="center">NOTE</p>
<p>“The Secret Church” (Asbjörnsen, <cite lang="no" xml:lang="no">Huldreeventyr</cite>, I, 217, from
Valders, told by a pastor), impresses one with its weirdness, in contrast
to the preceding tale of friendly neighborly understanding
with the underground folk. In Norway stories are still told of these
churches in the wilderness, and of the chiming of their bells, which
are supposed to be of evil omen to those who hear them. The idea
of the church of ice, in Ibsen’s “Brand,” may have its root in such
folk-tale.</p>
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