She began to place some credence in me and cherished a hope that I
should do my utmost to stir up the stagnation at home, and during the
long conversations we had together, when, in the course of these
Summers, I now and again spent a week at a time with the Hauchs at
Hellebaek, she enflamed me with her ardour.
In September, 1868, after wandering with my old friend up and down the
shore, under the pure, starlit heaven, and at last finding myself late
at night in my room, I was unable to go to rest. All that had been
talked of and discussed in the course of the day made my head hot and
urged me to reflection and action. Often I seized a piece of paper and
scribbled off, disconnectedly, in pencil, remarks corresponding to the
internal agitation of my mind, jottings like the following, for example:
S.R., that restive fanatic, has a wife who cannot believe, and wishes
for nothing but to be left in peace on religious matters. He _forces
her_ to go to Communion, though he knows the words of Scripture, that
he who partakes unworthily eats and drinks to his own damnation.
There is not one sound, healthy sentiment in the whole of our religious
state of being. You frequently hear it said: "Everyone can't be a
hypocrite." True enough. But begin, in the middle classes, to deduct
hypocrisy, and gross affectation and cowardly dread of Hell, and see
what is left!
If we have young people worthy the name, I will tell them the truth; but
this band of backboneless creatures blocks up the view.
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