He should start reading his sermon. Then a thought occurred to him and halted the words on his lips. He realized that this was the last time he would get to stand up there in the pulpit and proclaim the glory of God.

For the last time—this touched the minister. He forgot all about liquor and the bishop. He thought that he must use this opportunity to bear witness to the glory of God.

He imagined that the church floor, with all the listeners, sank deep, deep down, and that the roof was lifted off the church, so that he was looking into heaven. He stood alone, completely alone in his pulpit; his spirit took flight toward the open skies above him, his voice became strong and powerful, and he proclaimed the glory of God.

He was a man of inspiration. He abandoned what he’d written; thoughts came down upon him like a flock of tame doves. He felt as though it wasn’t he who was speaking, but he also realized that this was the greatest thing on earth, and that no one could reach higher in radiance and majesty than he, who was standing there proclaiming the glory of God.

As long as inspiration’s tongue of flame burned over him, he spoke, but when it died out and the roof lowered back down onto the church, and the floor came up again from far, far below, then he bowed his head and wept, at the thought that life had given him his best hour, and now it was over.

After the service came the inquiry and congregational meeting. The bishop asked if the congregation had any complaints against their minister.

The minister was no longer angry and defiant like before the sermon. Now he felt ashamed and lowered his head. Oh, all those miserable drinking stories that would now be told!

But there were none. It was completely silent around the large table in the parish hall.

The minister looked up, first at the organist, no, he was silent; then at the church wardens, then at the wealthy farmers and the owners of the ironworks; they all kept silent. They kept their lips pressed tightly together and looked with some embarrassment down at the table.

“They’re waiting for someone to go first,” thought the minister.

One of the church wardens cleared his throat.

“I think that we have an exceptional minister,” he said.

“Reverend, you’ve heard for yourself how he preaches,” the organist put in.

The bishop said something about the numerous cancellations of services.

“The minister has the right to be sick, just like anybody else,” the farmers declared.

The bishop alluded to their dissatisfaction with the minister’s way of living.

They defended him with a single voice. He was so young, their minister, there was nothing wrong with him. No, if he would always just preach the way he had today, they wouldn’t exchange him for the bishop himself.

There were no accusers, nor could there be a judge.

The minister felt how his heart expanded and how easily the blood was flowing through his veins. No, that he no longer walked among enemies, that he had won them over, when he thought it least likely that he would be allowed to continue to be a minister!

After the inquiry, the bishop and the other clergymen and the deans and the most distinguished men of the parish had dinner at the parsonage.

One of the neighbor ladies had taken over the arrangements for the meal, for the minister was a bachelor. She had arranged everything in the best manner, and it opened his eyes to the fact that the parsonage was really not so bad. The long dinner table was set out under the spruce trees, and looked very attractive with a white tablecloth, with blue and white china, with glistening glasses and folded napkins. Two birches arched over the entrance, juniper boughs were strewn across the floor of the vestibule, a wreath of flowers was hanging from the ridge of the roof, flowers were placed in all the rooms, the smell of mold was driven out, and the green windowpanes glistened jauntily in the sunshine.

The minister was thoroughly delighted. He thought that he would never drink again.

There was no one who was not pleased at the dinner table. Those who had been broad-minded and forgiving were pleased with themselves, and the distinguished ministers were pleased, because they had avoided a scandal.

The good bishop raised his glass and said that he had set out on this journey with a heavy heart, for he had heard some bad rumors. He had gone out to meet a Saul; but see, Saul was already transformed into a Paul, who would work harder than all the rest. And the pious man spoke further of the rich gifts that their young brother possessed, and praised them. Not so that he might feel proud, but rather so that he would exert all his energies to keep close watch on himself, as one who bears an excessively heavy and valuable burden on his shoulders must do.

The minister did not get drunk that afternoon, but he was intoxicated. All this great, unexpected happiness was a heady experience. Heaven had allowed the fiery tongue of inspiration to flame over him, and the people had given him their love. The blood still continued to flow feverishly and at a furious pace through his veins when evening came and the guests had gone. Far into the night he sat awake in his room, letting the night air stream in through the open window so as to cool this fever of happiness, this sweet unrest, which wouldn’t allow him to sleep.

Then a voice was heard.

“Are you awake, minister?”

A man came walking across the grass up to the window. The minister looked out and recognized Captain Kristian Bergh, one of his faithful drinking companions. He was a wayfaring man without house or farm, this Captain Kristian, and a giant in body and strength; he was as large as Gurlita Bluff and as stupid as a mountain troll.

“Of course I’m up, Captain Kristian,” the minister replied.