The Most Interesting Stories of All Nations

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Although I was rather surprised that the rector should be working
in his garden at so late an hour, I still saw nothing in this
statement that could arouse suspicion of murder. I gave the
complainant a solemn warning and advised him not only to let fall
his accusation, but to put an end to the talk in the parish. He
replied, "Not until I see what it is that the rector buried in his
garden."

"That will be too late," I said. "You are playing a dangerous
game. Dangerous to your own honor and welfare."

"I owe it to my brother," he replied, "and I demand that the
authorities shall not refuse me assistance."

My office compelled me to accede to his demands. Accompanied by
the accuser and his witnesses I took my way to Veilbye. My heart
was very heavy, not so much because of any fear that we might find
the missing man buried in the garden, but because of the surprise
and distress I must cause the rector and my beloved. As we went on
our way I thought over how severely the law would allow me to
punish the calumniators. But alas, Merciful Heavens! What a
terrible discovery was in store for me!

I had wished to have a moment alone with the rector to prepare him
for what was coming. But as I drove through the gate Morten Bruus
spurred his horse past me and galloped up to the very door of the
house just as the rector opened it. Bruus cried out in his very
face, "People say that you have killed my brother and buried him in
your garden. I am come with the district judge to seek for him."

The poor rector was so shocked and astounded that he could not find
a word to answer. I sprang from my wagon and addressed him: "You
have now heard the accusation. I am forced by my office to fulfill
this man's demands. But your own honor demands that the truth
shall be known and the mouth of slander silenced."

"It is hard enough," began the rector finally, "for a man in my
position to have to clear himself from such a suspicion. But come
with me. My garden and my entire house are open to you."

We went through the house to the garden. On the way we met my
betrothed, who was startled at seeing Bruus. I managed to whisper
hastily to her, "Do not be alarmed, dear heart. Your enemies are
going to their own destruction." Marten Bruus led the way to the
eastern side of the garden near the hedge. We others followed with
the rector's farm hands, whom he himself had ordered to join us
with spades.

The accuser stood and looked about him until we approached. Then
he pointed to one spot. "This looks as if the earth had been
disturbed lately. Let us begin here."

"Go to work at once," commanded the rector angrily.

The men set to work, but they were not eager enough to suit Bruus,
who seized a spade himself to fire them on. A few strokes only
sufficed to show that the firm earth of this particular spot had
not been touched for many years. We all rejoiced--except Bruus--
and the rector was very happy. He triumphed openly over his
accuser, and laughed at him, "Can't you find anything, you
libeler?"

Bruus did not answer. He pondered for a few moments, then called
out, "Jens Larsen, where was it you saw the rector digging?"

Jens Larsen had been standing to one side with his hands folded,
watching the work. At Bruus's words he aroused himself as if from
a dream, looked about him and pointed to a corner of the garden
several yards from where we stood. "I think it was over there."

"What's that, Jens!" cried the rector angrily. "When did I dig
here?"

Paying no heed to this, Morten Bruus called the men to the corner
in question. The earth here was covered by some withered cabbage
stalks, broken twigs, and other brush which he pushed aside
hurriedly. The work began anew.

I stood by the rector talking calmly with him about the punishment
we could mete out to the dastardly accuser, when one of the men
suddenly cried out with an oath. We looked toward them; there lay
a hat half buried in the loose earth. "We have found him," cried
Bruus. "That is Niels's hat; I would know it anywhere."

My blood seemed turned to ice. All my hopes dashed to the ground.
"Dig! Dig!" cried the bloodthirsty accuser, working himself with
all his might. I looked at the rector. He was ghastly pale,
staring with wide-open eyes at the horrible spot.

Another shout! A hand was stretched up through the earth as if to
greet the workers. "See there!" screamed Bruus. "He is holding
out his hand to me. Wait a little, Brother Niels! You will soon
be avenged!"

The entire corpse was soon uncovered. It was the missing man. His
face was not recognizable, as decomposition had begun, and the nose
was broken and laid flat by a blow. But all the garments, even to
the shirt with his name woven into it, were known to those who
stood there. In one ear was a leaden ring, which, as we all knew,
Niels Bruus had worn for many years.

"Now, priest," cried Marten Bruus, "come and lay your hand on this
dead man if you dare to!"

"Almighty God!" sighed the rector, looking up to heaven, "Thou art
my witness that I am innocent. I struck him, that I confess, and I
am bitterly sorry for it. But he ran away. God Almighty alone
knows who buried him here."

"Jens Larsen knows also," cried Bruus, "and I may find more
witnesses. Judge! You will come with me to examine his servants.
But first of all I demand that you shall arrest this wolf in
sheep's clothing."

Merciful God, how could I doubt any longer? The truth was clear to
all of us. But I was ready to sink into the earth in my shock and
horror. I was about to say to the rector that he must prepare to
follow me, when he himself spoke to me, pale and trembling like an
aspen leaf. "Appearances are against me," he said, but this is the
work of the devil and his angels. There is One above who will
bring my innocence to light. Come, judge, I will await my fate in
fetters. Comfort my daughter. Remember that she is your betrothed
bride."

He had scarcely uttered the words when I heard a scream and a fall
behind us. It was my beloved who lay unconscious on the ground. I
thought at first that she was dead, and God knows I wished that I
could lie there dead beside her. I raised her in my arms, but her
father took her from me and carried her into the house. I was
called to examine the wound on the dead man's head. The cut was
not deep, but it had evidently fractured the skull, and had plainly
been made by a blow from a spade or some similar blunt instrument.

Then we all entered the house. My beloved had revived again. She
fell on my neck and implored me, in the name of God, to help her
father in his terrible need. She begged me by the memory of our
mutual love to let her follow him to prison, to which I consented.
I myself accompanied him to Grenaa, but with a mournful heart.
None of us spoke a word on the sad journey. I parted from them in
deep distress. The corpse was laid in a coffin and will be buried
decently to-morrow in Veilbye churchyard.

To-morrow I must give a formal hearing to the witnesses. God be
merciful to me, unfortunate man!

Would that I had never obtained this position for which I--fool
that I am--strove so hard.

As the venerable man of God was brought before me, fettered hand
and foot, I felt as Pilate must have felt as they brought Christ
before him. It was to me as if my beloved--God grant her comfort,
she lies ill in Grenaa--had whispered to me, "Do nothing against
that good man!"

Oh, if he only were innocent, but I see no hope!

The three first witnesses repeated their testimony under oath, word
for word. Then came statements by the rector's two farm hands and
the dairy maid. The men had been in the kitchen on the fatal day,
and as the windows were open they had heard the quarrel between the
rector and Niels. As the widow had stated, these men had also
heard the rector say, "I will strike you dead at my feet!" They
further testified that the rector was very quick-tempered, and that
when angered he did not hesitate to strike out with whatever came
into his hand. He had struck a former hand once with a heavy maul.

The girl testified that on the night Jens Larsen claimed to have
seen the rector in the garden, she had lain awake and heard the
creaking of the garden door. When she looked out of the window she
had seen the rector in his dressing gown and nightcap go into the
garden. She could not see what he was doing there. But she heard
the door creak again about an hour later.

When the witnesses had been heard, I asked the unfortunate man
whether he would make a confession, or else, if he had anything to
say in his own defense. He crossed his hands over his breast and
said, "So help me God, I will tell the truth. I have nothing more
to say than what I have said already. I struck the dead man with
my spade. He fell down, but jumped up in a moment and ran away
from the garden out into the woods. What may have happened to him
there, or how he came to be buried in my garden, this I do not
know. When Jens Larsen and my servant testify that they saw me at
night in the garden, either they are lying, or Satan has blinded
them. I can see this--unhappy man that I am--that I have no one to
turn to for help here on earth. Will He who is in heaven be silent
also, then must I bow to His inscrutable will." He bowed his head
with a deep sigh.

Some of those present began to weep, and a murmur arose that he
might possibly be innocent. But this was only the effect of the
momentary sympathy called out by his attitude. My own heart indeed
spoke for him. But the judge's heart may not dare to dictate to
his brain or to his conscience. My conviction forced me to declare
that the rector had killed Niels Bruus, but certainly without any
premeditation or intention to do so. It is true that Niels Bruus
had often been heard to declare that he would "get even with the
rector when the latter least expected it." But it is not known
that he had fulfilled his threat in any way. Every man clings to
life and honor as long as he can. Therefore the rector persists in
his denial. My poor, dear Mette! She is lost to me for this life
at least, just as I had learned to love her so dearly.

I have had a hard fight to fight to-day. As I sat alone, pondering
over this terrible affair in which it is my sad lot to have to give
judgment, the door opened and the rector's daughter--I may no
longer call her my betrothed--rushed in and threw herself at my
feet. I raised her up, clasped her in my arms and we wept together
in silence. I was first to control myself. "I know what you would
say, dear heart. You want me to save your father. Alas, God help
us poor mortals, I cannot do it! Tell me, dearest one, tell me
truly, do you yourself believe your father to be innocent?"

She crossed her hands on her heart and sobbed, "I do not know!"
Then she burst into tears again. "But he did not bury him in the
garden," she continued after a few moments. "The man may have died
in the wood from the blow. That may have happened--"

"But, dearest heart," I said, "Jens Larsen and the girl saw your
father in the garden that night."

She shook her head slowly and answered, "The evil one blinded their
eyes." She wept bitterly again.

"Tell me, beloved," she began again, after a while, "tell me
frankly this much. If God sends us no further enlightenment in
this unfortunate affair, what sentence must you give?"

She gazed anxiously at me, her lips trembling.

"If I did not believe," I began slowly, "that anyone else in my
place would be more severe than I, then I would gladly give up my
position at once and refuse to speak the verdict. But I dare not
conceal from you that the mildest sentence that God, our king, and
our laws demand is, a life for a life."

She sank to her knees, then sprang up again, fell back several
steps as if afraid of me, and cried out: "Would you murder my
father? Would you murder your betrothed bride? See here! See
this!" She came nearer and held up her hand with my ring on it
before my eyes. "Do you see this betrothal ring? What was it my
father said when you put this ring upon my finger? 'I have given
my maid unto thy bosom!' But you, you thrust the steel deep into
my bosom!"

Alas, every one of her words cut deep into my own heart. "Dearest
love," I cried, "do not speak so. You thrust burning irons into my
heart. What would you have me do? Acquit him, when the laws of
God and man condemn?"

She was silent, sobbing desperately.

"One thing I can do," I continued. "If it be wrong may God forgive
me. If the trial goes on to an end his life is forfeited, there is
no hope except in flight. If you can arrange an escape I will
close my eyes. I will not see or hear anything. As soon as your
father was imprisoned, I wrote to your brother in Copenhagen. He
can arrive any moment now. Talk to him, make friends with the
jailer. If you lack money, all I have is yours."

When I had finished her face flushed with joy, and she threw her
arms about my neck. "God bless you for these words. Were my
brother but here, he will know what to do. But where shall we go?"
her tone changed suddenly and her arms dropped. "Even should we
find a refuge in a foreign country I could never see you again!"
Her tone was so sad that my heart was near to breaking.

"Beloved," I exclaimed, "I will find you wherever you may hide
yourself! Should our money not be sufficient to support us I can
work for us all. I have learned to use the ax and the hoe."

She rejoiced again and kissed me many times. We prayed to God to
bless our undertaking and parted with glad hearts. I also hoped
for the best. Doubts assail me, but God will find for us some
light in this darkness.

Two more new witnesses. They bring nothing good, I fear, for Bruus
announced them with an expression I did not like. He has a heart
of stone, which can feel nothing but malice and bitterness. I give
them a hearing to-morrow. I feel as if they had come to bear
witness against me myself. May God strengthen my heart.

All is over. He has confessed.

The court was in session and the prisoner had been brought in to
hear the testimony of the new witnesses. These men stated as
follows: On the night in question they were walking along the path
that led between the woods and the rectory garden. A man with a
large sack on his back came out of the woods and walked ahead of
them toward the garden. They could not see his face, but in the
bright moonlight his figure was clearly visible, and they could see
that he wore a loose green garment, like a dressing gown, and a
white nightcap. The man disappeared through an opening in the
rectory garden fence.

Scarcely had the first witness ended his statement when the rector
turned ghastly pale, and gasped, in a voice that could scarcely be
heard, "I am ill." They gave him a chair.

Bruus turned to his neighbor and exclaimed audibly, "That helped
the rector's memory."

The prisoner did not hear the words, but motioned to me and said,
"Lead me back to my prison. I will talk to you there." They did
as he demanded.

We set out at once for Grenaa. The rector was in the wagon with
the jailer and the gendarme, and I rode beside them.

When the door of the cell was opened my beloved was making up her
father's bed, and over a chair by the bedside hung the fatal green
dressing gown. My dear betrothed greeted me with a cry of joy, as
she believed that I was come to set her father free. She hung
about the old man's neck, kissing away the tears that rolled
unhindered down his cheeks. I had not the heart to undeceive her,
and I sent her out into the town to buy some things for us.

"Sit down, dear friend," said the rector, when we were alone. He
seated himself on the bed, staring at the ground with eyes that did
not see. Finally he turned toward me where I sat trembling, as if
it were my own sentence I was to hear, as in a manner it was. "I
am a great sinner," he sighed, "God only knows how great. His
punishment crushes me here that I may enter into His mercy
hereafter."

He grew gradually calmer and began:

"Since my childhood I have been hot-tempered and violent. I could
never endure contradiction, and was always ready to give a blow.
But I have seldom let the sun go down upon my wrath, and I have
never borne hatred toward any man. As a half-grown boy I killed
our good, kind watchdog in one of my fits of rage for some trifling
offense, and I have never ceased to regret it. Later, as a student
in Leipzig, I let myself be carried away sufficiently to wound
seriously my adversary in one of our fencing bouts. A merciful
fate alone saved me from becoming a murderer then. It is for these
earlier sins that I am now being punished, but the punishment falls
doubly hard, now that I am an old man, a priest, a servant of the
Lord of Peace, and a father! Ah, that is the deepest wound!" He
sprang up and wrung his hands in deep despair. I would have said
something to comfort him, but I could find no words for such
sorrow.

When he had controlled himself somewhat he sat down again and
continued: "To you, once my friend and now my judge, I will confess
this crime, which it seems beyond a doubt that I have committed,
although I am not conscious of having done so." (I was startled at
this, as I had expected a remorseful confession.) "Listen well to
what I shall now tell you. That I struck the unfortunate man with
the spade, that he fell down and then ran away, this is all that I
know with full consciousness. . . . What followed then? Four
witnesses have seen that I fetched the body and buried it in my
garden--and now at last I am forced to believe that it must be
true. These are my reasons for the belief. "Three or four times
in my life I have walked in my sleep. The last time--it may have
been nine or ten years ago--I was to have held a funeral service on
the following day, over the body of a man who had died a sudden and
terrible death. I could not find a suitable text, until suddenly
there came to me the words of an old Greek philosopher, 'Call no
man fortunate until his death.' It was in my mind that the same
idea was expressed in different words in the Holy Scriptures. I
sought and sought, but could not find it. At last I went to bed
much fatigued, and slept soundly. Next morning, when I sat down at
my desk, to my great astonishment I saw there a piece of paper, on
which was written, 'Call no man happy until his end hath come'
(Sirach xi. 34), and following it was a funeral sermon, short, but
as good in construction as any I have ever written. And all this
was in my own handwriting. It was quite out of the question that
anyone could have entered the room during the night, as I had
locked it myself, and it had not been opened until I entered next
day. I knew what had happened, as I could remember one or two such
occurrences in my life before.

"Therefore, dear friend, when the last witnesses gave their
testimony to-day, I suddenly remembered my sleepwalking exploits,
and I also remembered, what had slipped my mind before, that on the
morning after the night the body was buried I had found my dressing
gown in the hall outside of my bedroom. This had surprised me, as
I always hung it over a chair near my bed. The unfortunate victim
of my violence must have died in the woods from his wound, and in
my dream consciousness I must have seen this and gone to fetch the
body. It must be so. I know no other explanation. God have mercy
on my sinful soul." He was silent again, covering his face with
his hands and weeping bitterly.

I was struck dumb with astonishment and uncertainty. I had always
suspected that the victim had died on the spot where he was buried,
although I could not quite understand how the rector had managed to
bury the body by day without being seen. But I thought that he
might have covered it lightly with earth and twigs and finished his
work at night. He was a man of sufficient strength of mind to have
done this. When the latest witnesses were telling their story, I
noted the possible contradiction, and hoped it might prove a
loophole of escape. But, alas, it was all only too true, and the
guilt of the rector proven beyond a doubt. It was not at all
impossible for a man to do such things in his sleep. Just as it
was quite possible that a man with a fractured skull could run some
distance before he fell to die. The rector's story bore the stamp
of truth, although the doubt WILL come that he desired thus to save
a shred of honor for his name.

The prisoner walked up and down the room several times, then
stopping before me he said gravely: "You have now heard my
confession, here in my prison walls. It is your mouth that must
speak my sentence. But what says your heart?"

I could scarcely utter the words, "My heart suffers beyond
expression. I would willingly see it break if I could but save you
from a shameful death." (I dared not mention to him my last hope
of escape in flight.)

"That is impossible," he answered. "My life is forfeited. My
death is just, and shall serve as a warning to others. But promise
me that you will not desert my poor daughter. I had thought to lay
her in your arms"--tears choked his voice--"but, alas, that fond
hope is vanished. You cannot marry the daughter of a sentenced
murderer. But promise me that you will watch over her as her
second father." In deep sorrow and in tears I held his hand in
mine. "Have you any news from my son?" he began again. "I hope it
will be possible to keep him in ignorance of this terrible affair
until--until it is all over. I could not bear to see him now. And
now, dear friend, let us part, not to meet again except in the hall
of justice. Grant me of your friendship one last service, let it
end soon. I long for death. Go now, my kind, sympathetic judge.
Send for me to-morrow to speak my sentence, and send to-day for my
brother in God, the pastor in Aalso. He shall prepare me for
death. God be with you."

He gave me his hand with his eyes averted. I staggered from the
prison, hardly conscious of what I was doing. I would have ridden
home without seeing his daughter had she not met me by the prison
door. She must have seen the truth in my face, for she paled and
caught at my arm. She gazed at me with her soul in her eyes, but
could not speak. "Flee! Save your father in flight!" was all I
could say.

I set spurs to my horse and rode home somehow.

To-morrow, then!

The sentence is spoken.

The accused was calmer than the judge. All those present, except
his bitter enemy, were affected almost to tears. Some whispered
that the punishment was too severe.

May God be a milder judge to me than I, poor sinner, am forced to
be to my fellow men.

She has been here. She found me ill in bed. There is no escape
possible. He will not flee. Everything was arranged and the
jailer was ready to help. But he refuses, he longs for death. God
be merciful to the poor girl. How will she survive the terrible
day? I am ill in body and soul, I can neither aid nor comfort her.
There is no word from the brother.

I feel that I am near death myself, as near perhaps as he is, whom
I sent to his doom. Farewell, my own beloved bride. . . . What
will she do? she is so strangely calm--the calm of wordless
despair. Her brother has not yet come, and to-morrow--on the
Ravenshill--!

Here the diary of Erik Sorensen stopped suddenly. What followed
can be learned from the written and witnessed statements of the
pastor of Aalso, the neighboring parish to Veilbye.

II

It was during the seventeenth year of my term of office that the
terrible event happened in the neighborhood which filled all who
heard of it with shock and horror, and brought shame and disgrace
upon our holy calling. The venerable Soren Quist, Rector of
Veilbye, killed his servant in a fit of rage and buried the body in
his garden.

He was found guilty at the official trial, through the testimony of
many witnesses, as well as through his own confession. He was
condemned to death, and the sentence was carried out in the
presence of several thousand people on the little hill known as
Ravenshill, here in the field of Aalso.

The condemned man had asked that I might visit him in his prison.
I must state that I have never given the holy sacrament to a better
prepared or more truly repentant Christian. He was calm to the
last, full of remorse for his great sin. On the field of death he
spoke to the people in words of great wisdom and power, preaching
to the text from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, chap. ii., verse 6:
"He hath despised the priest in the indignation of his anger." He
spoke of his violence and of its terrible results, and of his deep
remorse. He exhorted his hearers to let his sin and his fate be an
example to them, and a warning not to give way to anger. Then he
commended his soul to the Lord, removed his upper garments, bound
up his eyes with his own hand, then folded his hands in prayer.
When I had spoken the words, "Brother, be of good cheer. This day
shalt thou be with thy Saviour in Paradise," his head fell by the
ax.

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