* * * * *
But I still remember….
"Well, that's all," concluded Norem.
Everybody was silent for a moment; then the Journalist said:
"I refrain from expressing an opinion; I notice Milde is going to say something."
And Milde did not refrain; far from it; on the contrary, he had a remark to make. Could anybody tell him what it was all about? He admired Ojen as much as anybody, but was there any sense to all this "Jehovah said" and "Jehovah said"? He wanted to be enlightened.
"But why are you always so unkind to Ojen?" asked Mrs. Hanka. "Memories— can't you understand? To me it seemed beautiful and full of feeling; don't spoil it for me now." And she turned to Aagot and said: "Didn't you find it so, too?"
"But, dear Mrs. Hanka," exclaimed Milde, "don't say that I am always unkind to Ojen! Do I not wish him success with his application for the subsidy, contrary to my own interests? But this blessed new 'intention' is beyond me. Memories—all right. But where, in Heaven's name, is the point? Jehovah has never visited him; it is an invention. And, furthermore, why didn't he choose both Youth and Beauty, and Truth as well? That is what I should have done. The point, I say!"
"But that is just it—there is no definite point," replied Ole Henriksen.
"So Ojen says in a letter to me. Its effect lies in its euphony, he says."
"He does? No, that fellow is the same wherever he goes. That is the trouble. Not even the mountains can do anything for him. Goats' milk and pine woods and peasant girls have not the slightest effect on him, as it were—I am still at a loss to understand why he sent you his manuscript, Ole; but if it is an offence to ask, of course, then—"