“Let him talk,” said Olsen. “He hasn’t spoken a word for months now; he must feel the need to clear his mind this once. It’ll be long before he speaks again, too!”
Now the “Great Power” was only weakly moving his lips. His life was slowly bleeding away. “Have you got wet, little Karen?” he murmured. “Ah, well, it’ll dry again! And now it’s all well with you, now you can’t complain. Is it fine to be a young lady? Only tell me everything you want. Why be modest? We’ve been that long enough! Gloves for the work-worn fingers, yes, yes. But you must play something for me too. Play that lovely song: ‘On the joyful journey through the lands of earth….’ That about the Eternal Kingdom!”
Gently he began to hum it; he could no longer keep time by moving his head, but he blinked his eyes in time; and now his humming broke out into words.
Something irresistibly impelled the others to sing in concert with him; perhaps the fact that it was a religious song. Pelle led them with his clear young voice; and it was he who best knew the words by heart.
“Fair, fair is earth,
And glorious Heaven;
Fair is the spirit’s journey long;
Through all the lovely earthly kingdoms,
Go we to Paradise with song.”
The “Great Power” sang with increasing strength, as though he would outsing Pelle. One of his feet was moving now, beating the time of the song. He lay with closed eyes, blindly rocking his head in time with the voices, like one who, at a drunken orgy, must put in his last word before he slips under the table. The saliva was running from the corners of his mouth.
“The years they come,
The years they go,
And down the road to death we throng,
But ever sound the strains from heaven—
The spirit’s joyful pilgrim song!”
The “Great Power” ceased; his head drooped to one side, and at the same moment the others ceased to sing.
They sat in the straw and gazed at him—his last words still rang in their ears, like a crazy dream, which mingled oddly with the victorious notes of the hymn.
They were all sensible of the silent accusation of the dead, and in the solemnity of the moment they judged and condemned themselves.