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THE PARSON'S WIDOW

Now, as a thousand years ago, the waterfall sings by the old Norwegian village.

If we listen closely, it tells a lot about the days gone by.

Hear, O hear my voice proclaim. Come all ye from far and near. I summon you to elect a parson. For we have no good shepherd here.

These two had wandered over the mountain from a neighboring parish...

Sofren had struggled through long student days and now he was applying for the vacant post.

Mari had waited faithfully during all the hard years.

Mari reminds Sofren that her father will not allow them to marry until Sofren is truly a parson.

Sofren's two rivals to the post had faith in their handsome clothes and the fine learning that was crammed into them in Copenhagen.

Each of the three candidates wished heartily for the Devil himself to take away the others.

"In the beginning, Man, unlike others creatures, was made in the image of God."

"But we must consider why it was that God made Man so perfect and magnificent..."

"I am going to speak to you about Balaam's ass and God's strange power --- by which He was able to open the jaws of a dumb animal so that it might speak like a man!"

"Now, two learned applicants have appeared here before me."

"One of them took us to Eden. And that is as far back as we can go."

"Let him stay there!"

"The other one chose the text: Am I Not An Ass? But what has an ass to do on the pulpit?"

"My friends, I will not take you to Eden --- you are too clever. But I will take you to the bowels of the Earth, deep in the roaring jaws of Hell!"

"And so, my friends, beware that you are not swallowed up by the roaring jaws of Hell!"

The congregation had appointed five wise and trusted men to pass verdicts on the applicants.

When the two theologians from Copenhagen saw they could not reach their goal by words alone, they joined forces to invite everyone to a feast that evening.

Out of common decency, they were obliged to invite Sofren too.

At last, the verdict was Sofren.

"According to the law of our parish, the late parson's widow, Dame Margarete, claims the right to demand that his successor marry her."

"Since Dame Margarete insists on her right, we have asked her to come here tonight so the candidate may have a look at her."

"Night has fallen already. Will you do me the honor to accompany me to the parsonage?"

Sofren had heard that Dame Margarete might be a witch. But he did not feel it would do him any harm just to enter the house.

"My lot is not an easy one. This the fourth time I must be handed over like a piece of furniture to whomever claims me..."

"But I am attached to this place, to every chair and candlestick..."

"...and if you part with what has become so important to your life, your innermost heart gets torn open. And you die..."

"You are not engaged to any young maiden, are you?"

"I hope that you will accept my hospitality. It is dark and long way to the Inn."

The next morning, Sofren woke up late.

Never in his life had he been so well dressed! He wore a black coat and breeches that had been put beside his bed.

"I had the most wonderful sleep last night. I felt I was resting in Abraham's bosom."

"Indeed... there I have never slept."

In front of him lay a gleaming white herring. He was drawn to it as if by a magic power.

Dame Margarete's two old servants had been with her as long as anyone could remember.

After Sofren had eaten the fat herring and emptied the bottle of schnapps, he felt very strange.

As if in a fog, he saw Dame Margarete, not old and ugly, but as a young smiling girl.

"Dame Margarete, I love you! Let me stay here with you always."

"Isn't it so, Master Sofren, that you offered me your heart and hand and asked me to be your wife?"

"Of course you will have your freedom. You have your room and I have mine. I only wish to stay and manage everything as before."

"Sofren, how could you!"

"How did the widow bewitch you?"

"With a herring she gave me."

"It made me so dizzy that I proposed to her."

"I cannot get you if I do not get the post, and I will not get that unless I wed the old woman."

"But after she dies, I inherit everything. Then we can marry."

"Can Dame Margarete really not see who it is?

"Why, it is my sister Mari."

"She is so unhappy at having to leave me! I beg you to let Mari live at the parsonage in return for help around the house."

"Do you think the old woman will be done for soon?"

A few weeks later, a neighboring parson joined the two in wedlock.

Even though both bride and bridegroom preferred a quiet ceremony, it was the custom in the area to hold a big celebration.

"We will now drink to the health of the bridal couple and wish them a long and happy life."

The day after the wedding. Sofren made up for it.

"In the future. I suggest you and your companions be less high and mighty. For I am master of this house."

"Master Sofren is too big for his boots. Give him a drubbing!"

"I suggest you concentrate on prayers and sermons. Do not play master here. I am master of this house!"

Time passed by... Dame Margarete had not yet died and Sofren had not been able to see Mari alone.

It was not the only time that Sofren was unlucky.

"Oh! The Parson cast amorous glances at me!"

"Let the fine fellow go!"

"I will have you know I am a decent girl!"

Sofren was at his wit's end. Finally he stooped to courting at night just as peasant lads did.

"I had a sudden stomachache and was just going to ask my sister for some drops."

"If you need drops, you had better come to me!"

Sofren would not give up. A night or two later he tried again.

"My little popsy!"

"Shame, that you cannot leave us girls alone!"

One evening they sat together all three, working.

"Do you know what country folk say about you, Dame Margarete? That you got your former husband through black magic!"

I also wonder a good deal about that herring you gave me --- was it real?

"No, it had a spell cast upon it!"

"And they say you have a potion which can prolong one's life."

"It must be the truth... just look at me. I will live for at least another hundred years!"

A few nights later the full moon came shining into Dame Margarete's chamber.

"Never have I seen the like. The Devil himself walking in the pastor's slippers!"

A couple of hours went by but Dame Margarete held out bravely.

"So that is how the Devil looks!"

Sofren did one stupid trick after another. However, one day something happened of the greatest importance to everybody.

"Shouldn't you prepare your Sunday sermon instead of idling here?"

Sofren hoped Dame Margarete would stay up in the loft and mayby in the meantime he could meet Mari.

But Mari was where Sofren least expected.

"Be careful, Dame Margarete! The ladder is gone!"

"The thigh-bone is broken and she suffered a concussion. But she will recover."

Several weeks passed before Sofren was allowed to enter the sickroom.

During this time, Sofren truly grew fond of Dame Margarete, who nursed little Mari day and night as tenderly as a mother.

"I am reminded of my youth..."

"My first husband and I were engaged for many years when he applied for the post here and learned he could have it only if he wedded the parson's widow."

"We knew that the widow was weak and could scarcely live long. It was a sore temptation to us..."

"Yes, God forgive us. We built our happiness on the hope of another's death."

"Five years we had to wait. But these rooms hold memories of thirty happy years, and in the churchyard is a grave that is never out of my thoughts."

"Forgive us, Dame Margarete!"

"Mari and I are not sister and brother --- she is my fiancee. We have also waited for your death, Dame Margarete!"

"Poor children! Poor children!"

Not long afterwards, Mari was on her feet again --- thanks to Dame Margarete's tender care.

But Dame Margarete now spent half the day in the churchyard by her first husband's grave.

One morning at breakfast, Dame Margarete was missing.

Do not forget, when my mortal remains are taken away, to put a horseshoe over the door and to strew linseed after me so that I shall not haunt you.

A week later the funeral took place.

"I render thanks for all the good I have known in my days."

My voice I raise by tones of bells In praise of the Lord of Lords. To call God's folk to church And now to sound a burial hymn.

Following her own wish, Dame Margarete was buried with her first husband.

"We owe her a great debt, Mari. She taght you to keep a good home, and she taught me to be a honorable man."