THE BISHOP OF BORGLUM AND HIS WARRIORS [1]
that belongs to her.
Let her be expelled from the congregation and the Church. Let no man
stretch forth a helping hand to her, and let friends and relations
avoid her as a plague and a pestilence!"
"What will not bend must break," said the Bishop of Borglum
And all forsake the widow; but she holds fast to her God. He is
her helper and defender.
One servant only- an old maid- remained faithful to her; and
with the old servant, the widow herself followed the plough; and the
crop grew, although the land had been cursed by the Pope and by the
bishop.
"Thou child of perdition, I will yet carry out my purpose!"
cried the Bishop of Borglum. "Now will I lay the hand of the Pope upon
thee, to summon thee before the tribunal that shall condemn thee!"
Then did the widow yoke the last two oxen that remained to her
to a wagon, and mounted up on the wagon, with her old servant, and
travelled away across the heath out of the Danish land. As a
stranger she came into a foreign country, where a strange tongue was
spoken and where new customs prevailed. Farther and farther she
journeyed, to where green hills rise into mountains, and the vine
clothes their sides. Strange merchants drive by her, and they look
anxiously after their wagons laden with merchandise. They fear an
attack from the armed followers of the robber-knights. The two poor
women, in their humble vehicle drawn by two black oxen, travel
fearlessly through the dangerous sunken road and through the
darksome forest. And now they were in Franconia. And there met them
a stalwart knight, with a train of twelve armed followers. He
paused, gazed at the strange vehicle, and questioned the women as to
the goal of their journey and the place whence they came. Then one
of them mentioned Thyland in Denmark, and spoke of her sorrows, of her
woes, which were soon to cease, for so Divine Providence had willed
it. For the stranger knight is the widow's son! He seized her hand, he
embraced her, and the mother wept. For years she had not been able
to weep, but had only bitten her lips till the blood started.
It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soon
will icy winter come.
The sea rolled wine-tubs to the shore for the bishop's cellar.
In the kitchen the deer roasted on the spit before the fire. At
Borglum it was warm and cheerful in the heated rooms, while cold
winter raged without, when a piece of news was brought to the
bishop. "Jens Glob, of Thyland, has come back, and his mother with
him." Jens Glob laid a complaint against the bishop, and summoned
him before the temporal and the spiritual court.
"That will avail him little," said the bishop. "Best leave off thy
efforts, knight Jens."
Again it is the time of falling leaves and stranded ships. Icy
winter comes again, and the "white bees" are swarming, and sting the
traveller's face till they melt.
"Keen weather to-day!" say the people, as they step in.
Jens Glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought, that he singes
the skirt of his wide garment.
"Thou Borglum bishop," he exclaims, "I shall subdue thee after
all! Under the shield of the Pope, the law cannot reach thee; but Jens
Glob shall reach thee!"
Then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, Olaf Hase, in
Sallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on Christmas eve, at
mass, in the church at Widberg. The bishop himself is to read the
mass, and consequently will journey from Borglum to Thyland; and
this is known to Jens Glob.
Moorland and meadow are covered with ice and snow. The marsh
will bear horse and rider, the bishop with his priests and armed
men. They ride the shortest way, through the waving reeds, where the
wind moans sadly.
Blow thy brazen trumpet, thou trumpeter clad in fox-skin! it
sounds merrily in the clear air. So they ride on over heath and
moorland- over what is the garden of Fata Morgana in the hot summer,
though now icy, like all the country- towards the
Let her be expelled from the congregation and the Church. Let no man
stretch forth a helping hand to her, and let friends and relations
avoid her as a plague and a pestilence!"
"What will not bend must break," said the Bishop of Borglum
And all forsake the widow; but she holds fast to her God. He is
her helper and defender.
One servant only- an old maid- remained faithful to her; and
with the old servant, the widow herself followed the plough; and the
crop grew, although the land had been cursed by the Pope and by the
bishop.
"Thou child of perdition, I will yet carry out my purpose!"
cried the Bishop of Borglum. "Now will I lay the hand of the Pope upon
thee, to summon thee before the tribunal that shall condemn thee!"
Then did the widow yoke the last two oxen that remained to her
to a wagon, and mounted up on the wagon, with her old servant, and
travelled away across the heath out of the Danish land. As a
stranger she came into a foreign country, where a strange tongue was
spoken and where new customs prevailed. Farther and farther she
journeyed, to where green hills rise into mountains, and the vine
clothes their sides. Strange merchants drive by her, and they look
anxiously after their wagons laden with merchandise. They fear an
attack from the armed followers of the robber-knights. The two poor
women, in their humble vehicle drawn by two black oxen, travel
fearlessly through the dangerous sunken road and through the
darksome forest. And now they were in Franconia. And there met them
a stalwart knight, with a train of twelve armed followers. He
paused, gazed at the strange vehicle, and questioned the women as to
the goal of their journey and the place whence they came. Then one
of them mentioned Thyland in Denmark, and spoke of her sorrows, of her
woes, which were soon to cease, for so Divine Providence had willed
it. For the stranger knight is the widow's son! He seized her hand, he
embraced her, and the mother wept. For years she had not been able
to weep, but had only bitten her lips till the blood started.
It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soon
will icy winter come.
The sea rolled wine-tubs to the shore for the bishop's cellar.
In the kitchen the deer roasted on the spit before the fire. At
Borglum it was warm and cheerful in the heated rooms, while cold
winter raged without, when a piece of news was brought to the
bishop. "Jens Glob, of Thyland, has come back, and his mother with
him." Jens Glob laid a complaint against the bishop, and summoned
him before the temporal and the spiritual court.
"That will avail him little," said the bishop. "Best leave off thy
efforts, knight Jens."
Again it is the time of falling leaves and stranded ships. Icy
winter comes again, and the "white bees" are swarming, and sting the
traveller's face till they melt.
"Keen weather to-day!" say the people, as they step in.
Jens Glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought, that he singes
the skirt of his wide garment.
"Thou Borglum bishop," he exclaims, "I shall subdue thee after
all! Under the shield of the Pope, the law cannot reach thee; but Jens
Glob shall reach thee!"
Then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, Olaf Hase, in
Sallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on Christmas eve, at
mass, in the church at Widberg. The bishop himself is to read the
mass, and consequently will journey from Borglum to Thyland; and
this is known to Jens Glob.
Moorland and meadow are covered with ice and snow. The marsh
will bear horse and rider, the bishop with his priests and armed
men. They ride the shortest way, through the waving reeds, where the
wind moans sadly.
Blow thy brazen trumpet, thou trumpeter clad in fox-skin! it
sounds merrily in the clear air. So they ride on over heath and
moorland- over what is the garden of Fata Morgana in the hot summer,
though now icy, like all the country- towards the