The Emigrants (23 page)

However, the reconciliation had not taken place; and their meeting
was
forbidden by law. Law was law, and duty was duty, and it behooved a crown sheriff to do his official duty in this place.

Lönnegren spoke to Danjel sternly: “Do you admit that you hold meetings and administer the holy sacrament?”

“Yes, Mr. Sheriff.”

“Have you tonight administered the sacrament to these people?”

“Not to all of them as yet. I was interrupted by you, Mr. Sheriff.”

“But you must know that no one is allowed to hold Communion without being ordained?”

“That I do not know.”

“But the dean here has told you so.”

“I do not obey the dean, but Holy Writ. The Bible says nowhere that our Lord Jesus was ordained.”

“Don’t get yourself into an argument with this hair-splitter,” advised the dean. “These things are too deep for the simple and ignorant.”

“You hear what your pastor says!” said Lönnegren. “Aren’t you going to obey him, you scoun—scou—” The sheriff’s usual term of address froze on his lips this time. He met the calm, fearless look of the little peasant, and swallowed the other half of the word. There was something strange in that man’s unchangeable meekness and unswerving politeness. In some way, through his gentleness and calm, he was beyond reach. It seemed to the sheriff that he couldn’t touch Danjel with his reprimands.

Lönnegren continued: “It has been proved that you have broken the law pertaining to the sacraments, Danjel Andreasson.”

“There is no law over those who live in Christ.”

“There, you hear for yourself!” interrupted Brusander. “He sets himself above the authorities and public ordinances.”

Danjel could only make matters worse through his fearless answers, and Lönnegren did not wish him to worsen his case. He might have a tedious investigation on his hands if this meeting came under the sedition paragraph; he wanted to finish the business as quickly as possible.

“I’ll call you in for questioning, Danjel,” he said. “After that you will be sued in civil court, as well as all others gathered here.”

Danjel listened unmoved to the sheriff. Of late he had felt the time of persecution nearing.

Lönnegren ordered the bailiff to take down the names of all present at the meeting. The neighbors, on hearing that their names would be taken, immediately rose from the table, slowly easing themselves in the general direction of the door.

The dean held a whispered consultation with his assistant, then he stepped forward and demanded attention. “I have once forbidden you, Danjel Andreasson, to meddle in anything pertaining to the ministry. You persist in your excesses and it is therefore necessary now to treat you according to the letter of the law. The same holds true for the others who have broken the sacramental law here tonight.

“But I beg you to think of your eternal salvation. Each one of you who regrets his transgressions, and recalls them, will be again received by me into the fold of the church. I cannot be responsible to my God unless I do all I can to save you from eternal fire.”

He now had tears in his eyes.

Ulrika of Västergöhl threw looks of hatred toward the spiritual guide of the parish. “We have our Redeemer here among us. We don’t have to hang on to the coat tails of a priest. To hell with you!” She spat.

“You blaspheme, woman!” Pastor Krusell exclaimed excitedly.

“This is our temple. Get out of the light, priests! You darken this room. You stand there black and evil like the devil himself!”

“This woman reviles the ministry!” said Pastor Krusell to the dean.

Dean Brusander turned to Ulrika of Västergöhl, in all his dignity. “I see that you have not mended your ways.” He looked at the wine mug in front of her, and repugnance and loathing crept into his voice: “You harlot, how dare you take Christ’s blood into your foul mouth!”

“I do as I damn well please, you God-damned priest!”

Brusander recoiled. He took a step backward and sucked in his breath; he mustn’t lose his head.

The churchwarden, Per Persson, stepped forward to help the parish pastor. He shouted to Ulrika: “How dare you insult the dean!”

“Watch out! I might insult the warden, too!”

“Before you speak to our clergy you should wash out your mouth!”

“How? With parsonage brännvin or priest piss?”

“Shut up, you old whore!”

“Whore? Did you call me a whore?”

Ulrika jumped up so abruptly her chair overturned with a great clatter. Her whole body shook, her eyes flashed with rage, and she screamed at the warden: “A whore? To you, Per Persson?
You
call
me
a whore, you old son of a bitch?”

“What are you talking about, woman?”

“A whore to you, Warden? What was it you used to say in the old days, when you came with a daler in one hand and your cock in the other?”

“Shut up! Insane creature!” roared Per Persson with the full strength of his lungs.

“What was it you said then? When you wanted me to lie on my back for you—for just a little while? Then you came crawling, then you asked, and begged, and fawned! Then I was good enough for you! Then the whore was good enough!”

By now words stuck in the throat of the churchwarden, and he could no longer answer Ulrika. But she drew breath to gather new strength.

Complete silence ensued after this exchange of words. The soldier Pihl and Sissa Svensdotter looked at the dean in malicious joy. The dean and assistant pastor looked at each other in bewilderment, and the sheriff stood open-mouthed and looked from the Åkerby warden to the fuming woman.

Danjel remained quiet and stared at the floor, waiting for the foul weather to pass.

Someone began to weep—it was Ulrika’s daughter; Inga-Lena moved her chair closer and comforted Elin.

Ulrika’s shrill voice was heard again: “That whoring son of a bitch Per Persson is not denied the sacrament in church. Why? Because he is a good friend of the God-damned priests—those black devils who darken the light for us! Those lazy potbellies who live in their fat flesh!”

The dean and his assistant were still silent and irresolute, shocked by Ulrika’s explosion. Per Persson shook his fisted hands as though he would grab her throat.

Sheriff Lönnegren did not interfere in the exchange of words between Ulrika and the churchwarden; experience gained from many hard years in office had taught him not to argue with whores; it led nowhere. And he felt no sympathy for Per Persson, whose lust for power made him difficult. He did not begrudge the warden this humiliation. And he experienced a great relief as he stood here and recalled a happening of many years ago, in his youth. One evening while drunk and reckless he had been on his way to Ulrika’s cottage—on the same errand as Per Persson and many other men; the devil must have guided his steps. But Ulrika had not been at home; she had accompanied some caller a bit on his way, and he had had to return without having effected his purpose. An act of providence had averted his undertaking and sent the woman away at the right moment. Now he could bless this act of providence, he could thank God he didn’t have to suffer disgrace from the mouth of the harlot here this evening.

The dean felt Ulrika had spoken the truth about his warden. He knew already that she had misled many honest and upright men, and with her body enticed them into her nest of sin, but this was not the right time or place to divulge the truth and lay bare Per Persson’s debaucheries, his much-to-be-regretted youthful dissipations. Here the truth was not used in its right place; it became a raw insult to a trusted and well-thought-of man. But nothing could excuse or forgive the rude words (to say the least) which the sinful woman had used.

Brusander went over to the sheriff. “You must put a stop to this painful and shameful scene.” By the strength of his office Lönnegren must disperse the gathering and send those present on their way.

The sheriff did not ask for anything better than to conclude his unpleasant mission here tonight. Danjel Andreasson had admitted his offense, the names of his accessories were inscribed, and he had nothing more to do in this house.

“In the name of the law I now order this meeting to disperse. Each go quietly to his own house!”

The bailiff said the neighbors had already left after giving their names and places of residence. Those remaining here belonged to the farm. In the words of the law the meeting was already dispersed.

But before Brusander left he had something to say still to the master of the house: “I strictly forbid you to continue Communions at this table.”

“You cannot forbid the Lord Jesus my house, Mr. Dean,” said Danjel.

“Who has told you that the Lord is here?”

“He has shown Himself to me in my heart.”

“You think all your whims are inspirations from God. I assure you they are from the devil!”

The warden Per Persson interrupted, still red-faced from anger: “We’ll throw out the Kärragärde devil, we’ll get rid of him when you, Danjel, are in prison on bread and water!”

Danjel had spoken to Ulrika in a fatherly way, silencing her. His words had power over her. But now the fiery woman could contain herself no longer. “Get out, you God-damned priests!”

And Soldier Pihl added in a rasping voice: “Leave the house of the righteous and repair yourselves to the sinners’ den!”

Pastor Krusell had a more easily disturbed temper than the dean, and he now exclaimed: “This is enough! Are we to accept such insults?”

It looked as if a new row were to ensue. Danjel admonished his people to keep quiet. To make sure, he reached for the psalmodikon and began singing a hymn:

“Let me live in peace and stillness

Giving to no soul offense;

Pain or pleasure, health or illness

Take I from Thy providence.

Never wounding, ever healing,

Thus a Christly life revealing.”

And all the Åkians joined in:

“Here my cross with patience bearing,

I will go where Jesus leads,

All enduring, all forbearing . . .”

Danjel and his flock continued the hymn, verse after verse, as if no outsider were present in the room. Dean Brusander several times attempted unsuccessfully to make himself heard above the singing. He said to his assistant, for these hardened people nothing could be done. Lönnegren had performed his duty and was ready to leave with his men, who, he thought, might as well have stayed at home; vaguely it seemed to him that Danjel in his unshakable belief was in some way beyond the reach of the secular authorities.

All the intruders had left before the psalm was ended.

Danjel went outside on the porch: both the dean’s and the sheriff’s sleighs were gone. He locked his door for the second time this night; then he went back to his place at the upper end of the table. With sadness he gazed on the four empty chairs at the Communion table, lately vacated by his neighbors. Fear of worldly authority had been too much for them; they had not been steadfast in their faith; they had deserted their Lord and Master. As Peter once denied Jesus to the servant of the High Priest, in like manner Danjel’s neighbors had denied him to Sheriff Lönnegren.

Danjel Andreasson comforted the devoted followers who still remained with him: the time of persecution was upon them; they should thank the Lord Jesus that they were chosen, thank Him for the joy of suffering for His sake.

So the farmer of Kärragärde once more reached for the tin mug which served as chalice, and which had remained in front of Ulrika of Västergöhl; he held it to her mouth: “Jesus Christ, Whose blood you drink . . .”

Christ was still there, they felt His presence, and this was a holy place.

—3—

At Konga County spring court, 1849, homeowner Danjel Andreasson of Kärragärde was fined two hundred daler in silver for transgressing the sacrament law and the ordinance pertaining to unlawful meetings. Those who had received the Holy Communion in his house were fined one hundred daler silver each. As most of the offenders were without funds and unable to pay, the fines were changed to prison sentences and each one served twenty-eight days on bread and water.

Six of the condemned—former soldier Pihl, maid Sissa Svensdotter, and four neighbors—returned to the fold of the church after serving their sentences. They expressed to Dean Brusander their deep repentance over their errors. Since they again confessed the only true and right religion, they were admitted to Communion with the rest of the congregation.

Only Ulrika of Västergöhl and her daughter remained in Kärragärde to follow the teachings of their master. Through the sentence of the county court Danjel’s little flock had been scattered. No new followers came to him. The danger of Åkianism in the parish was averted—with God’s help, and through the assistance of the secular authorities.

IX

THE AMERICA CHEST

—1—

A whole year passed during which Karl Oskar and Kristina made preparations for their emigration, feeling as if they were already on the move. There was so much to do and to think about they could not sink too deeply into sorrow over their dead child.

Karl Oskar let it be announced from the church pulpit that his farm was for sale. News soon spread through the parish that the farmer of Korpamoen intended to move away from the country, intended to emigrate to North America, taking with him wife, children, and his only brother. There was much talk in the village about this strange projected undertaking. Whence had he got the amazing notion? Serious-minded older peasants shook their heads and came up to Karl Oskar on the church green on Sundays. To one who was younger they could speak as father to son, and they wished now—with the best of intentions—to dissuade him; how could he relinquish his farm, the parental home whose deed he had, and reach out for land in faraway North America, a country which neither he nor anyone else had seen? Wasn’t it like trying to catch the will-o’-the-wisp on a misty morning? The project seemed rash to them; he would enter into a dangerous game in which he might win a little, but lose all; this they must tell him as older and more experienced farmers. It was not that he was forced to give up his farm. The sheriff had been to many farms this last year but he had not yet come to take anything in pawn from Korpamoen. Many were harder pressed on their farms than he, yet they remained at home.