“You let me be!” stammered Bjerregrav. “I’ve done nothing to you! And she has had one happy day in the midst of all her sorrow.” His hands were trembling.
“You’re a goat!” said Jeppe shortly.
“What is Bjerregrav really thinking about when he stands like this looking down into the grave?” asked the young master, in order to divert the conversation.
“I am thinking: Now you are lying there, where you are better off than here,” said the old tailor simply.
“Yes, because Bjerregrav follows only poor people,” said Jeppe, rather contemptuously.
“I can’t help it, but I’m always thinking,” continued Master Andres; “just supposing it were all a take-in! Suppose he follows them and enjoys the whole thing—and then there’s nothing! That’s why I never like to see a funeral.”
“Ah, you see, that’s the question—supposing there’s nothing.” Baker Jörgen turned his thick body. “Here we go about imagining a whole lot of things; but what if it’s all just lies?”
“That’s the mind of an unbeliever!” said Jeppe, and stamped violently on the floor.
“God preserve my mind from unbelief!” retorted brother Jörgen, and he stroked his face gravely. “But a man can’t very well help thinking. And what does a man see round about him? Sickness and death and halleluiah! We live, and we live, I tell you, Brother Jeppe—and we live in order to live! But, good heavens! all the poor things that aren’t born yet!”
He sank into thought again, as was usual with him when he thought of Little Jörgen, who refused to come into the world and assume his name and likeness, and carry on after him…. There lay his belief; there was nothing to be done about it. And the others began to speak in hushed voices, in order not to disturb his memories.