[IS MUSIC LAWFUL?]
On awaking she was still in the skies. The thoughts that day poured in upon her would follow, but were caught and carried away by something which filled the whole air,--it was the Sabbath bells. She sprang up and dressed herself, got something to eat in the breakfast room, wrapped herself warmly up, and hastened away;--never before had she been so thirsty for the Word of God!
When she arrived, they had just begun, and the door was shut. The dean was standing in front of the altar, she waited by the door till he had concluded, and the assistant had removed his gown; she then went up to the so-called bishop's pew, that stood in the choir, hung with curtains. The special pew for the minister's family was higher up; but if there was any one who felt a desire for seclusion, they retired to the bishop's pew. As Petra reached it, and glided in, she saw Signe seated at the farthest corner. She retreated a step out, but just then the dean turned to go from the altar to the vestry; she hastened back into the pew, and sat as near the door as possible; Signe had put down her veil. This grieved Petra. She looked over the congregation, crowded together in the high wooden pews, the men on the right hand, the women on the left; their breath lay above them like mist in the air; the ice was inches thick upon the windows, the rudely carved wooden images, the heavy drawling singing, the people muffled up,--it was all in unison, harsh and distant,--she thought of the impression nature made upon her that afternoon she left Bergen; here she was also only a timid wayfarer.
The dean ascended the pulpit, he too looked severe. His prayer was: "Lead us not into temptation." We knew that the talents God had given us, contained in themselves the elements of temptation; but He would be merciful and not suffer us to be tempted above that we were able to bear, for this we should always remember to pray;--for only by laying our talents at His feet, could they be of any real service to us. The minister enlarged upon the theme, setting forth our double duty--on the one hand to work out our life's calling according to our talents and position, and on the other to develope the spiritual life in ourselves, and in those committed to our care. One must be careful in the choice of a vocation, for there may be a vocation sinful in itself, and there may be one that would become so for us,--either because it did not suit us, or because it suited our lusts and passions. Again: as surely as everyone should choose a vocation according to his talents, so truly may a choice both right and good in itself, become a snare to us, if we allow it to take up all our time and thoughts. Our spiritual life must not be neglected any more than our duty as parents to our children. We must be collected in ourselves, that the Holy Spirit may have its constant work in us; we must plant and guard the good seeds of Christian life in our children. There is no duty, no pretext, that can liberate us from this, though the opportunities may vary. And now he went further--into THEIR calling that sat there, their houses, their conduct, their opinions. Then he drew examples from other conditions and nobler occupations, that cast their side rays down upon us.
From the moment the dean waxed warm in the pulpit, he was an entirely new man to those who knew him only in daily life. Even in appearance, he was changed; his reserved and powerful face had opened, revealing the play of thought within; his glance was full, and he looked earnestly as he set forth the glad tidings of salvation. The shaggy head stretched itself up like a lion. His voice rolled in thunder, or struck in short earnest variations, sometimes falling to a gentle tone, but only again to take new heights. Indeed he could never speak except in a great room, and with eternity over his thoughts; for his voice had no harmony till it rose, his countenance no clearness, his thoughts no striking perspicuity, till they burned with enthusiasm. Not that the material was first found then, no, if affliction had enriched his soul, reflection had done so too; he was a diligent worker. But he was not adapted to general conversation, he must have it to himself, at all events he must be able to inflect his voice. To open a discussion with him, was almost like attacking a defenceless man, but dangerous nevertheless; for his convictions were quickly expressed and with such force that reasons were left in the back ground; if at last he was pressed to give them, one of two things happened, either he completely overset the opposing party, or he became suddenly silent, because he was afraid of himself. No one could more easily be brought to silence than this powerful, eloquent man.
Petra had trembled as soon as the dean began his prayer; she felt whereto it tended. The further he got in his sermon, the more she felt he was true to himself; she crept together, and she saw Signe do the same. But he proceeded unrelentingly; the lion was out after his prey, she felt herself pursued from all quarters, shut in, and captured;--but that which was seized so vigourously was gently held in the hand of mercy. It was as if without a word of condemnation, she was simply folded in the embrace of Divine love. And there she prayed and wept; Signe did the same,--and she loved her for it!
As the dean descended from the pulpit, to go past into the vestry, the reflection of his communion with the Most High still overspread his countenance. His gaze fell directly and inquiringly upon Petra; and as she looked right up to meet it, a ray of mildness shone forth: he glanced quickly into the corner at his daughter as he passed on.
Signe rose soon after; her veil was down, so Petra did not venture to go with her; she therefore waited longer. But at dinner they all three met together; the dean spoke a little, but Signe was reserved. If the dean--who was evidently about to bring the recent events into conversation,--gave the slightest allusion to it, Signe turned his remarks in a shy delicate way, reminding him at once of her mother;--he became silent, and by degrees sorrowful.
There is nothing more painful than an unsuccessful attempt at reconciliation. They rose without being able to look at each other, to return thanks for the meal. In the dining room it became at last so oppressive, that all three would willingly have left the room, but no one wished to go first. Petra for her part, felt that if she went, it would be for ever. She could not see Signe again, if she might not love her, she could not bear to see the dean sorrowful for her sake. But if she was to go away, she must go without taking leave; for how could she take leave of these people? The mere thought of it agitated her so, that she could with the greatest difficulty suppress it.
An oppressive silence like this, when each is waiting for the other, becomes more insupportable every moment. We cannot move, because we feel it will be noticed, every sigh is heard, and if we are quite still it is heard too, for it is heard as harshness. We are kept in suspense because no one says anything, and we tremble lest any one should begin.--They all felt this to be a moment that would never return.--The walls that we build up between each other rise higher, our own guilt and that of the others increases with every breath; now we are in desperation, now in wroth; for the one that behaves so to us is unmerciful, wicked, we don't tolerate THAT, we don't forgive THAT! Petra could not bear it longer, she must either escape or scream.