III.
[READY FOR CONFIRMATION.]
Hans Odegaard had gone out as a young man from the hamlet of Odegaard in Bergen's shire; people had taken to him, and he was now a learned man and a strict preacher. He was besides an influential man, not so much in words as in deeds; for, as it was said, he "never forgot." This man who by perseverance pushed everything through, was however stopped in a way that he least expected, and where it was most painful.
He had three daughters and one son. Hans, the son, was the light of the school, and it was his father's daily pleasure to prepare him himself. Hans had a friend whom he helped to get the second place, and who therefore, save his mother, loved him more than all the world. They went together to school and to the university; they passed the two first examinations together, and were then to study for the same profession. One day as they were going joyfully down stairs after their studies, Hans, in an outburst of high spirits and glee, threw himself upon his companion's back, thereby causing him a fall, which some days later ended in his death. When dying he begged his mother, who was a widow, and now lost her only son, to fulfil his last request and take Hans up in his place. Almost immediately after the mother died, but her very considerable fortune was left to Hans Odegaard.
It was years before Hans could recover himself after this. A long tour on the continent so far restored him, that he could resume his theological studies; but on his return home, he could not be persuaded to make use of his examinations.
The father's greatest hope had been to see him as his assistant in the ministry, but he could not now be persuaded to enter the pulpit a single time; he gave always the same reply: "he felt no calling:" this was so bitter a disappointment to the father, that it made him several years older. He had commenced late in life, and was already an old man; he had worked hard, and always with this end in view. Now the son occupied the largest part of the house, handsomely furnished, while down below in his little study, by the lamp that lightened the night of age, sat the hard-working old father.
After this disappointment, he neither could nor would take other help, neither would he give in to his son, and relinquish altogether; therefore, summer or winter, he knew no rest; but each year the son took a longer tour abroad. When he was at home he associated with no one, except that in silence, greater or less, he dined at his father's table. If any began to converse with him, they were met by a superior clearness and earnestness for the truth, that made them always feel the conversation a little embarrassing. He never went to church, but he gave more than half his income to benevolent objects, and always with the most express injunctions as to its appropriation.
This beneficence was so different in its scale from the narrow customs of the little town that it won the hearts of all. Add to this, his reserve, his frequent journey abroad, the hesitation all felt in conversing with him, and one can easily understand that he was regarded as a mysterious being to which each added all possible qualities, and his own best judgment. Therefore when he condescended to take the Fisher Girl under his daily care, she was ennobled by it.
Every one, especially women, seemed anxious to show her some favour. One day she came to him clad in all the colours of the rainbow; she had put on her presents, thinking she would now be really to his taste, as he always wished her to be neat. But he had scarcely glanced at her, before he forbade her ever to receive presents; he called her vain, foolish: her aims were shallow, she took pleasure in folly.
When she came next morning, with eyes that told a tale of weeping, he took her with him a walk above the town. He told her about David in such a manner that he took now this, now that incident, and made the well-known story anew. First, he depicted him in his youth, beautiful and rich in talent, and in child-like faith; how, while yet a boy, he came with the triumphal procession. From a shepherd he was called to be king, he dwelt in caves, but ended in building Jerusalem. When Saul was ill, he came beautifully attired, and played and sang before him, but when as king he himself was ill, he played and sang clad in the garb of repentance. When he had achieved his great works, he took rest in sin, then came the prophet and punishment, and he became a child again. David, who could call the people of God to songs of praise, lay contrite at the feet of the Lord. Was he most beautiful, when crowned with victory he danced before the ark to his own songs, or when in his private closet he begged for mercy from the punishing hand?
The night after this conversation Petra had a dream, which all her life she never forgot. She sat upon a white horse and came in triumphal procession, but, at the same time, in front of the horse, she saw herself dancing in rags.
One evening some time after this, as she was sitting at the edge of the forest above the town learning her lessons, Pedro Ohlsen, who since that day in the garden had approached gradually nearer, passed close by, and, with a singular smile, whispered: "Good evening!" Though more than a year had passed by, her mother's injunction not to speak to him was so strongly before her that she did not answer. But day after day he went by in the same way, and always with the same greeting; at last she missed him, when he did not come. Soon he asked a little question in passing, by-and-bye it increased to two, and at last it was quite a conversation. After such one day, he let a silver dollar slip down into her lap, and then hastened away in delight. Now, if it was against the mother's commands to talk to Pedro Ohlsen, it was against Odegaard's to take gifts from any one. The first prohibition she had little by little overstepped, but it came to her mind now, when it had led to her also overstepping the second. To get rid of the money she got hold of some one to treat; but, in spite of their best endeavours, they could not eat more than the worth of four marks; and afterwards it troubled her that she had misspent the dollar instead of giving it back. The mark that still lay in her pocket felt so hot that it might have burned a hole in her clothes; she took it and threw it into the sea. But she was not rid of the dollar thereby; her thoughts were burnt by it. She felt that, if she confessed, it might pass over, but her mother's fearful rage before, and Odegaard's good faith in her, were each, in its own way, alike alarming. Whilst the mother said nothing, Odegaard quickly observed that there was something which made her unhappy.
One day he asked her tenderly what it was, and, as instead of answering, she burst into tears, he thought they must be in want at home and gave her ten specie dollars. It made a strong impression on her that, although she had sinned against him, he yet gave her money, and as into the bargain she could now give this openly to her mother, she felt herself freed from her guilt, and gave herself up to the greatest joy. She took his hand in both of hers, she thanked him, she laughed, she jumped about, and smiled in ecstacy through her tears, as she looked at him something in the way that a dog regards his master when going out. He did not know her again; she who always sat wrapt in what he was saying, now took all power from him; for the first time he felt a strong, wild nature heaving within him, for the first time the well of life sent her red streams over him, and he drew back all crimson. Meanwhile Petra went out to run home over the hills behind the town. Once there, she laid the money on the baking-stone before her mother, throwing her arms round her neck. "Who has been giving you money?" said the mother, vexed already.--"Odegaard, mother, he is the greatest man upon earth."--"What am I to do with it?"--"I don't know--heavens! mother, if you knew"--and she again threw her arms round her neck; she could and she would now tell her all, but the mother released herself impatiently: "Will you have me to take alms? Take the money back at once. If you have made him believe I am in want, you have lied!"--"But, mother?"--"Take the money to him, I say, or I shall go myself and throw them at him, HIM who has taken my child from me!" The mother's lips trembled after the last words. Petra turned back very pale. She opened the door softly and glided out of the house. Before she knew what she was about the ten specie notes were torn to pieces in her fingers. When she found what she had done, she burst out in an invective against the mother. But Odegaard must know nothing about it, yes, he should know all! for to him she must not lie. A moment after and she stood in his house, and told him that her mother would not take the money, and that in her vexation at having to bring it back, she had torn the notes in two. She would have told him more, but he received her coldly, and told her to go home with the admonition to shew her mother obedience, even where it felt hard to do so. This, however, seemed strange to her, as she knew so much, that he did not do what the father most desired! On her way home she was quite overcome, and just then she met Pedro Ohlsen. She had shunned him all this time, and would have done the same now, for from him came all this unhappiness, but he followed her, and asked her, "Where have you been, has anything happened to you?" The waves of her mind rose so high that they cast her whithersoever they would, and, as she thought it over, she could not understand why the mother should forbid her to have anything to do with him; it could be only a fancy, the one as well as the other. "Do you know what I have done?" he said, almost humbly, when she had stopped "I have bought a sailing boat for you. I thought you might like to have a sail," and he laughed. His kindness, which resembled a poor man's entreaty, could touch her now; she nodded; he was in a great hurry and whispered eagerly that she must go through the town, and down the avenue to the right, till she came to the great yellow boat-house, behind which he would come and fetch her; no one could see them there. She went, and he came and took her in. They sailed along for some time in the light breeze, then made for a rocky island, where they moored the boat and got out. He had brought some nice things for her to eat, and he took out his flute and played. In seeing his pleasure she forgot her sorrows for a time, and the joy of weak people having a tendering influence, she became attached to him.
After this day she had a new and continual secret from her mother, and soon this had the effect of keeping everything from her. Gunlaug made no inquiries, she believed everything till she doubted all.
But now Petra had also a secret from Odegaard, for she accepted many gifts from Pedro Ohlsen; he likewise made no inquiries, but the lessons were day by day conducted in a more distant manner. Petra was now divided amongst three; she never spoke to any one of them about the others, and she had something to hide from each in particular.
Under all this she had grown up without being aware of it herself, and one day Odegaard communicated to her that she must now be confirmed.
This intimation filled her with uneasiness, for she knew that with the confirmation her lessons were to cease, and what would then become of her? The mother was having an attic chamber made for her, that after the confirmation she might have a room of her own, and the constant knocking and hammering was a painful reminder. Odegaard observed that she grew more and more quiet, sometimes he saw also that she had been weeping. Under these circumstances the religious instruction made a great impression on her, although Odegaard with great care avoided all that might excite or move her. For this reason a fortnight before the confirmation, he gave up the lessons with the short intimation that this was the last time. By this he meant the last with him; for he would certainly watch over her still, though through others. She, however, remained seated where she was, the blood left her veins, her eyes remained fixed, and involuntarily moved, he hastened to give a reason: "It is not all young girls that are grown up at their confirmation; but you must be aware that it is so with you." If she had stood in the glare of a great fire, she could not have been more fiery red than she became at these words; her bosom heaved, her eyes took a vague expression and filled with tears, and driven further he hastened to say: "We may perhaps still go on?" He did not until after realise what he had proposed; he was wrong, he must retract it; but her eyes were already lifted towards him. She did not answer "yes" with her lips, but more plainly it could not be said. To excuse himself in his own eyes, by finding a pretext, he asked: "There will be something you would especially like to do now, something you--" he bent down towards her--"feel a calling to, Petra?"--"No," she replied so quickly that he coloured, and as if chilled, fell back into the considerations which for years had occupied his mind; her unexpected reply had recalled them.
That she was possessed of some peculiar qualities, he had never doubted from the time she was a child, and he saw her march singing at the head of the street boys; but the longer he taught her, the less he felt to understand her talent. It was present in every movement; what she thought, what she wished, mind and body simultaneously made known in the fulness of power, and the light of beauty, but put in words, and especially in writing, it is only child-like simplicity. She appeared all imagination, but he perceived in it especially a feeling of unrest. She was very earnest, but she read more to go on than to learn; what could be on the other side occupied her most. She had religious feeling, but as the pastor expressed it, "no turn for a religious life," and Odegaard was often anxious about her. Now that he was at the closing point, his thoughts involuntarily reverted to the stone step where he had received her; he heard the mother's sharp voice leaving the responsibility with him, because he had used the name of Our Lord. After pacing a few times up and down he collected himself: "I am going abroad, now," he said with a certain shyness, "I have asked my sister to care for you in my absence, and when I return we will try again. Farewell! We shall meet again before I go!" he went so quickly into the next room, that she could not even shake hands with him.
She saw him again where she had least expected it, in the pastor's pew beside the choir, just in front of her as she stepped forth with the others to be confirmed. This so affected her, that her thoughts flew far away from the holy act, for which, in humility and prayer, she had prepared herself. Yes, if that was Odegaard's old father, he stopped and looked long at his son, as he stepped forth to begin. Soon Petra was once more to be startled in church, for a little below sat Pedro Ohlsen in prim new clothes; he was just stretching his neck to catch a glimpse of her over the heads of the boys; he soon bobbed down, but she saw him repeatedly stick up his thin-haired head to bob again. This distracted her, she did not wish to look, but she did look, and there,--just as the others were all deeply moved, many in tears,--she was terrified to see him rise up with stiff open mouth and transfixed eyes, without power to sit down or move, for opposite him, stretched to her full height, stood Gunlaug; Petra shuddered to see her, she was white as the altar cloth. Her black crimpy hair seemed to rise up, while her eyes got suddenly a repulsive power, as though they said: "Away from her, what have you to do with her?" Under this look he sank down upon the form, and a minute after stole out of church.
After this Petra felt composed, and the further the rite proceeded the more fully she entered into it. And when, after having given her promise, she turned round and looked through her tears at Odegaard, as the one who stood nearest to her good intentions, she resolved in her heart that she would not put his hopes to shame. The steadfast eye that looked expressively in return seemed to entreat her for the same, but when she had taken her place and would find him again, he was gone. She soon went home with her mother, who on the way let fall these words: "I have done my part;--now may Our Lord do His!"
When they had dined together, they two alone, the mother said as she rose: "Now we may as well go to him,--the pastor's son. Though I don't know what it will lead to that he does, he surely means it well. Put on your things again, child!"
The road to church which they two had so often trodden, lay above the town, but through the street they had never before walked together; indeed the mother had scarcely been there since she had come back to the place, but she would now go the whole length with her grown up daughter!
On the afternoon of a confirmation Sunday, such a little town is all on the move, either going from house to house to congratulate, or in the street to see and to be seen; there is a salutation and halting at every step, a shaking of hands, and interchanging of good wishes: the poor children appear in the cast-off clothes of the rich, and are paraded forth to return their thanks. The sailors in their foreign pageantry, with the hat upon three hairs; and the fops, the merchants, clerks, walked in groups, bowing to all as they passed. The half-grown up lads of the Latin school, each arm in arm with his best friend in the world, sauntered after in rash criticism; but to-day every one in his own mind must yield the palm to the lion of the place, the young merchant, the wealthiest man in the town, Yngve Vold, just returned from Spain, all in trim to take charge on the morrow of his mother's extensive fish trade. With a light hat over his light hair, he strolled through the streets; every one bade him welcome, he spoke to all, smiled to all; so the young people who had just been confirmed were almost forgotten;--backwards and forwards one might see the light hat over the light hair, and hear the light laughter. When Petra and her mother entered the street, he was the first they stumbled upon, and as if they had in reality stumbled against him, he started back before Petra, whom he did not recognise.
She had grown tall, not as tall as the mother but above the average height, easy, elegant, and fearless, the mother and not the mother inconstant interchange. The young merchant, who walked along behind them, could no longer attract the attention of the passers-by; the two, mother and daughter, were a more striking sight. They walked quickly, without noticing any one, for they were seldom greeted except by seamen; they soon returned more quickly still, for they had heard that Odegaard had just left home for the steamer and would soon be gone. Petra was in great haste; she must, she must indeed see him and thank him before he went; it was wrong of him to leave her thus! She saw none of all those who were looking at her; it was the smoke from the steamer she saw over the roofs of the houses, and it seemed to be getting further away. When they came to the quay, the boat had just left, and, with sobs in her throat, she hastened further up the walk; indeed she more sprang than walked, and the mother strode after. As the steamer had taken some minutes to turn in the harbour, she was just in time to spring down on the wharf, get up on a stone, and wave her pocket handkerchief. The mother remained on the walk, and would not go down; Petra waved--waved higher and higher, but there was no one who waved again.
Then she could bear it no longer; she could not restrain her tears, and was obliged to return home by the higher path; the mother followed, but in silence. The attic which her mother had prepared for her, and where she had slept for the first time the night before, and had that morning put on her new dress with so much delight, now received her bathed in tears, and without so much as a glance around; she would not go down where the seamen and others were sitting;--she took off her confirmation dress and sat on the bed till night came; to be grown up seemed to her the most unhappy thing that could be.