VII.
[THE FIRST ACT.]
It was evening and quite dusk when the vessel cast anchor in the harbour of Bergen. Petra half stupified from sea-sickness, was led in the captain's boat, through a multiplicity of ships large and small, till at last they emerged at the quay, which was covered with ferrymen, the narrow alleys leading to it swarming with peasants and street boys.
They stopped before a neat little house, where at the request of the Captain, an old woman gave Petra a most kind reception. She stood in need of rest and sleep, and both of these she obtained. Lively and well, she awoke next day at noon, to new sounds and a new dialect, and when the blind was drawn up, to a new landscape, new people, and a new town. She had become new herself she thought, as she stood before the looking glass,--that face was not the old one. True, she could not define the difference, and did not understand that at her age, trouble and sorrow have a refining, spiritualising influence; but seeing herself in the glass, made her think of the last nights, and trembling at the remembrance, she hastened to make herself ready to go down to the new life awaiting her. There, she met her hostess, and several ladies, who, after eyeing her profoundly, promised to do what they could for her, and began by taking her round the town. Having several things to buy, she ran up for her pocket book, but she felt ashamed to take the thick clumsy old thing down stairs, so she opened it, to take out the money there. Instead of 100 specie dollars she found 300! That must be Pedro Ohlsen again, who against her mother's will and knowledge had given her money. She had so little understanding about the worth of things, that the greatness of the sum did not astonish her; neither did it strike her therefore, to seek further for the cause of such great benevolence. Instead of a glowing letter of thanks with questions indicating a suspicion of the truth Pedro Ohlsen got a letter sent down from Gunlaug, and addressed to herself, wherein the daughter with undisguised annoyance, betrayed her benefactor, and asked what she was to do with the gift thus clandestinely made her.
Petra's first impression of the town, was entirely ruled by the power of the elements. She could not divest herself of the feeling that the mountains stood so close over her, that she must take care. She felt burdened every time she looked up to them, and then again, an inclination prompted her to stretch out her hand and knock at them; sometimes she felt as though there were no outlet at all. There stood the mountains, sunless and dark, the clouds hung close over them, or were chased hurriedly away; wind and rain vied incessantly with each other. But on the people around her was no burden resting, she was soon happy among them; for there was in their busy activity a freedom, ease and gaiety, which, after what she had passed through, she felt to be as smiles and welcome.
When the next day she remarked at the dinner table, that she liked to be where there were a number of people, they told her that she should go to the theatre, for there she would meet with many hundreds in one house. Yes, she would like that; the ticket was taken, the theatre was near at hand, and at the appointed time, she was taken there, and shewn to a seat in the first tier of the gallery. There she sat among many hundred happy people, in a dazzling light, surrounded by brilliant colours, and conversation breaking in upon her from all corners, with the noise of ocean.
Petra had not the slightest idea of what she was about to see. She knew nothing but what Odegaard had told her, and what by chance she had heard from others. But of the theatre Odegaard had never spoken; the sailors had merely talked of one where there were wild animals and horse-riders, and to the lads it never occurred to talk about the play, even if those from the school knew a little about it; for the little town had no theatre of its own, not even a house that was called such; travelling menageries, rope-dancers, and harlequins used to exhibit either in booths, or in the open field. She was so ignorant, that she did not even ask any questions, but was sitting boldly expecting something wonderful, e.g. camels or apes. Taken up by this idea, by degrees she began to see animals in all the faces around her, horses, dogs, foxes, cats, mice, and so amused herself. Meanwhile the orchestra had assembled without her being aware of it. She jumped up in a fright, for a short sharp burst from trombones, drums, trumpets, and horns, opened the overture. She had never in her life heard more music at one time, than a couple of violins and perhaps a flute. This pealing grandeur turned her pale, it partook of the nature of a cold, dark, heavy sea, she sat in dread for the next lest it should be still worse, and yet she did not wish it to be over. By and bye softer harmonies arose, vistas that she had never even dreamt of, opened before her; melodies lulled her thither, life and merriment floated in the air, the whole march rose upwards as on wings, it went softly down, it gathered again powerfully, it parted quiveringly and sprightfully,--till a sombre gloom fell over all; it was as if it were whirled away in a crashing waterfall. Then arose a single tone like a bird on a wet branch by the deep; sadly and timidly it began, but the air above it, cleared as it sang, a gleam of sunshine came,--and again the long blue vista was filled with that wonderful wave and fluttering behind the rays of the sun; when this had lasted a moment, lo! it subsided in gentle peace; the exultant host withdrew further and further, nothing was to be seen but the rays of the sun oozing and fusing through the air,--over the whole of the endless plain, only sun, over all light and stillness,--and in this blessedness it died away. Involuntarily she arose, for she felt it was over. Oh marvel! there went the beautiful painted wall in front of her straight up through the roof! She was in a church, a church with pillars and arches, beautifully decorated; the organ was pealing, and people advancing towards her, in a strange garb, and they were talking,--yes, talking in church, and in a language she did not understand. What? They were talking also behind her: "Sit down!" they said, but there was nothing there to sit upon, and the two in church continued to stand too; as she looked at them, it came clearly to her mind, that the dress was the same as that she had seen in a picture of St. Olaf,--and there they were calling St. Olaf's name!--"Sit down!" sounded again from behind her; "sit down!" cried a great many voices,--"there is perhaps something behind as well," thought Petra, turning round. A sea of angry threatening faces met her gaze;--"there's something wrong here," she thought, and wanted to get away; but an old woman who sat next to her, pulled her gently by the dress: "Come, sit down, child," she whispered, "you know they behind cannot see!" She was in her place in a moment; for to be sure: that is the theatre, and we are looking on,--the theatre! she repeated the word, as if to recall herself. Then she was in the church again; notwithstanding all her endeavours, she could not understand the speaker; but when she fairly discovered that he was a young, handsome man, she began to understand a word now and then, and when she heard that he was in love, and love was his theme, she understood most of all. Then a third came in, who, for an instant, drew her attention away, for she knew from drawings that he must be a monk, and a monk she had a great desire to see. He trod so softly, was so quiet, yes, he must in truth be a godfearing man; he spoke slowly, distinctly, she followed every word. But the next minute, he turned and said exactly the opposite of what he had said before,--heavens! he's a scoundrel, he's a scoundrel! he has the look of it! And this young handsome man cannot see it! he might at all events hear it! "He is deceiving you!" she whispered, half aloud. "Hush!" said the old lady. No, the young man does not hear, he withdraws in good faith, they all go, and an old man comes in alone. How is this? When the old man speaks, it is just as if the young one was speaking, and yet it is the old man, ... oh! look there! look there! a shining procession of girls, all in white, two and two they pass silently through the church; she saw them long after they had gone by,--and a similar impression from her childhood hovered in her memory. One winter she had gone with her mother over the mountain; making their way in the new fallen snow, they had startled a covey of ptarmigans, that with one accord, flew up in front of them; they were white, the snow was white, the forest white,--long after, all her thoughts rose white before her, and now the same thing again. But one of these maidens robed in white, steps forth alone, with a wreath in her hand, and kneels, the old man has knelt also, and she talks to him, he has brought messages and a letter for her from foreign lands, he brings it out,--her face tells clearly, it is from one she loves, oh! how delightful, they all seem to love here! She opens it,--it is not a letter, it is full of music,--yes, see, yes, see! he himself is the letter, the old man is the young one, and he is the one she loves! They embrace, heavens, they kiss each other,--Petra felt she grew scarlet, and hid her face with her hands, while she watched further;--listen, he is telling her that they will soon get married; and she laughingly pulls his beard, and says he has grown a barbarian, and he says she has grown so lovely, and he gives her a ring, and promises her scarlet and velvet, gold slippers, and a golden belt; he merrily takes his leave, and goes to the king to arrange about their wedding. His betrothed looks after him, and her eye glistens, but turning round without him, all seems so empty!
There slides the wall down again. Over now? just as it began? Blushing, she turned to the old lady: "Is it over?"--"No, no, child, it is the first act. There are five such, yes indeed there are," she repeated with a sigh: "There are five such."--"About the same?" asked Petra. "What do you mean by that?"--"The same people come in again, and it all goes on further?" "Then you have never been at a comedy?"--"No."--"Well, in many places there is no theatre, it is so expensive." "But whatever is this?" asked Petra anxiously, staring as if she couldn't wait for a reply: "Who are these people?"--"A company that Director Naso has, a first class company; he is very clever."--"Does he invent it?--or what is it? Pray do tell me!"--"Dear child, do you really not know what a play is? Where are you from?" But when Petra thought of her native place, she thought also of her shame, her flight, she did not speak and dare not ask any more questions.
The second act came, and with it the king, then she really got to see a king too! She did not hear what he said, she did not see whom he talked to, she was observing the king's dress, the king's manners, the king's bearing; she was first recalled, when the young man came in again and now they all withdrew to bring in the bride! So she must wait once more.
Between the acts, the old lady bent over towards her: "Don't you think they play beautifully?" she said. Petra looked up astonished at her. "Play,--what do you mean?" She id not see that everybody round about was looking at her, and that the old woman had been deputed to ask her, nor did she hear that they sat and laughed at her. "But they don't speak like we do?" she asked, as she did not get any reply. "They are Danes of course," said the lady and began to laugh herself. Then Petra understood that the good woman was laughing at her many questions, and was silent; she looked stedfastly at the curtain.
When it went up again, she had the great pleasure of seeing an archbishop. It was now the same as before; she was lost in the sight and did not hear a word of what he said. But then came music, oh so softly, so far away, but it was coming nearer; female voices were singing, and the play of flutes and violins, and an instrument, it was not a guitar, and yet like many guitars, but softer, fuller, loftier in its tone, the entire harmony poured in in long waves,--and as if all were a blending of colouring, came the procession, soldiers carrying halberds, choristers bearing censors, monks holding candles, the king wearing his crown, and the bridegroom arrayed in white, at his side,--then the white robed maidens strewing flowers and music before the bride, who was attired in white silk, and wore a red wreath: at her side walked a tall lady with a purple train adorned with gold crowns, and a little sparkling crown on her head, that must be the queen! The whole church was filled with their song and colours, and all that now happened, from the bridegroom leading the bride to the altar where they knelt, the whole company kneeling with them,--to the archbishop coming in pomp with his brethren, were only fresh links in the tinted music chain.
But just as the ceremony was about to take place, the Archbishop waved his staff, and forbade it; their marriage was against the holy scriptures, here on earth they could never be united,--oh heavens have mercy,--the bride sank down, and with a piercing cry, Petra, who had risen, also fell!
"Water, bring water!" cried those around her.
"No," replied the old lady, "there is no need, she has not fainted!" "No need," they repeated, "silence!"----"Silence!" they cried from the parquet, "silence in the gallery!"--"Silence!" answered those above.--"You must not take it so much to heart; it is only fiction and nonsense altogether," whispered the old lady; "but Madame Naso plays wonderfully."
"Silence!" now exclaimed Petra herself; she was already deep in the acting, for the devilish monk had come forward with a sword, the two lovers had to hold a handkerchief and he rent it asunder between them,--as the church rent, as grief rent, as the sword over the gate of paradise rent that first day. Weeping maidens took the red wreath from the bride, and replaced it with a white one; thereby she was sealed to the cloister for life. He to whom she belonged in time and eternity, he should know her to be alive, yet lost to him, know her to be within, yet never see her; now dilacerating the farewell they took, there was no greater suffering upon earth than theirs!--
"Mercy," whispered the old lady, when the curtain fell: "don't be so foolish; you know it is only Madame Naso, the director's wife." Petra stared at the old lady, she thought she must be crazy and as the latter had long thought the same of her, they continued to look a little askance at each other, but did not speak any more.
Petra could not follow the scene when the curtain rose; the bride within the convent, and the bridegroom day and night in doubt without the walls, was what she saw, she suffered their suffering, she prayed their prayers; but that which took place before her eyes, passed unheeded by. An ominous silence fell over all, and this brought her to herself; the church seemed to grow larger, the twelve strokes of the clocks sounded in empty space; it rumbled under the arches, the walls shook, St. Olaf had risen from his tomb, and wrapped in a winding sheet, tall and awful, a spear in his hand, he strode along: the sentinels flee, the thunder peels, the monk is pierced by the outstretched lance; then all is darkness, and the apparition disappears. But where the lightning struck, the monk lies as a heap of ashes.
Without being aware of it, Petra had caught fast hold of the old lady, and grasped her so tightly, that she alarmed her, and seeing Petra's increasing paleness, she exclaimed: "Why my dear child, it is only Knutsen; that is the only part he can play, he speaks so broad."--"No, no, no," said Petra, "I saw flames round about him, and the whole church shook beneath his tread!"--"Be quiet there!" was heard from several quarters; "Out with those who can't be quiet!"--"Silence in the gallery!" cried the parquet; "Silence!" replied the gallery.--Petra had crept together as if to hide herself, but she soon forgot them altogether; for see! there are the lovers again, the lightning has opened their way, they will escape! They have found each other, they embrace; Heaven protect them!
Then a tumult arises, a sound of voices and trumpets, the bridegroom is torn from her side, they are fighting for their country, he is wounded, and dying he greets his bride, ... Petra first understands what has happened, when the bride enters softly, and sees him dead! It is as if the clouds of grief would gather over a single spot, but a glance dispels them: the bride looks up from the dead man's side, and prays that she too may die! The heavens open at her glance, the lightning flashes, the bridal hall is above; let the bride in! Yes,--already she can see within; for her eyes shed a blessed peace, like that upon the mountain tops. Then the eyelids close: the battle had a higher solution, their constancy a brighter crowning; she was now with him.
Petra sat a long time still: her heart was lifted in faith, and the strength of the Highest filled her soul. She rose up, above all that was small, above fear and pain, rose with smiles to all,--were they not brothers and sisters; the evil that separates was not present, it was crushed under the thunder. They laughed at her in return, that was the girl that had been half mad at the play;--but in their smiles, she saw only a reflection of the victory she herself had gained. In this confidence, that they were smiling in participation with her joy, her face bore so radiant an expression, that they could not resist it, and they smiled her smile in return; she passed down the broad stairs between the people who made way for her on both sides, returning joy for her joy, and beauty for the beauty which beamed upon them. There are times when our souls shine forth in such resplendence, that we shed a brightness on all about us, though we ourselves cannot see. The greatest triumphal procession in the world, is this, to be led, upheld, and followed by one's own refulgent thoughts.
When, without knowing how, she arrived at home, she asked what it had all been. There were some present, who were able to understand her, and give her a satisfactory reply; and when she had got a real appreciation of what the drama was, and of what great actors had in their power, she rose and said: "There is nothing greater than this upon earth, and this I must be."
To their astonishment she put on her things and went out again; she must be alone, and in the open air. She went away from the town, and out to the adjacent promontory,--the wind was high, and the sea lashed up beneath her;--the town on both sides of the bay lay enveloped in a light mist, behind which the innumerable lights with all their endeavours could do no more than lighten the fog they could not lift.
This was the image of her soul.
The great darkness, in its damp surge beneath her feet, gave warning of an impenetrable deep; it behoved her to sink down thither, or rise in the attempt to lighten it. She asked herself why she had never before felt these thoughts, and she answered, because it was the moments only that had power over her, but then she felt that she had also power over them. She saw it now: as many moments would be given her, as there were flickering lights yonder, and she prayed God that she might perfect them all, that so His love might have kindled no light in vain.
She rose, for the wind was icy told; she had not been long away, but as she went home again, she knew whither she was going.
The next day she stood at the director's door. Hot words were heard from within; one of the voices seemed to her like the bride's of yesterday; in another key, to-day, to be sure, but still it made Petra tremble. She waited a long time, but as it would not stop, at last she knocked. "Come in," said a man's voice angrily. "Oh!" screamed a lady, and as Petra entered, she saw a flying terror in a night dress, and with dishevelled hair, disappearing through a side door. The director, a tall man with blear eyes (which he hastened to hide with a pair of gold spectacles), was pacing backwards and forwards in agitation. His long nose so ruled his face, that all the rest was there for the nose's sake, the eyes stuck out like two gun barrels behind this rampart, the mouth was a trench before it, and the forehead, a light bridge over to the forest, or barricade of felled trees.--"What is it you want?" he stopped short; "is it you that wishes to join the chorus?" he asked hurriedly. "'The chorus,' what is that?"--"Ha! so you don't know that; what is it you want then?"--"I wish to be an actress."--"An actress indeed,--and don't know what a chorister is! But you speak the dialect?"--"'Dialect,' what is that?" "Eh! so you don't know that either, and will yet be an actress, well, well; yes, that's like the Norsemen. Dialect means, that you don't talk like we do."--"Yes, but I've been practising all the morning."--"Have you, indeed? Come, come, let me hear!" Petra took an attitude, and said with exactly the same accent as the bride of yesterday: "I greet you my love. Good morning!"--"I say, you are possessed, are you come here to make a fool of my wife!" A peal of laughter was heard in the adjoining room, the director opened the door, and without a trace of remembrance that but a moment since they had been fighting for life and death: "Here is a Norwegian hussy," he said, "caricaturing you, pray come and see her!" A lady's head with untidy, refractory black hair, dark eyes, and large mouth, peeped in and laughed. And yet Petra hastened towards her; for it must be the bride,--no, her mother, she thought as she drew nearer. She looked at the lady, and said: "I am not sure if it is you, or if it is your mother!" whereupon the director also laughed. The head had retreated, but laughed in the side room. Petra's embarrassment was clearly depicted in her face and attitude; it attracted the director's attention, he looked at her, and taking a book, said as though nothing in the world had happened: "Take this, my girl, and read, but read as you talk yourself."--She did so. "No, no, that is not right, read Norwegian,--Norwegian, I say!"--and Petra read, but the same as before. "No, I tell you, it is altogether wrong. Do you understand what I mean? Are you stupid?"--He tried her again and again, then took the book from her and gave her another: "See, that is the opposite, it is comic, read that!"--"Yes, Petra read, but with the same result till she wearied him out."--"No, no!" he cried, "for heavens sake give over,--what do you want with the stage, what the deuce is it you want to act?"--"The play I saw yesterday."--"Aha! To be sure! well, and then?"--"Yes," said she, feeling a little bashful, "I thought it was so delightful, yesterday, but I have been thinking today it would be still more delightful if it had a good ending, and I would give it that."--"Eh, that is it? Well, to be sure! There's nothing to hinder; the author is dead. Of course, he is no longer correct, and you, who can neither speak, nor read, will improve his works;--yes, that is Norwegian!" Petra did not understand the words, she understood only that they went against her, and she began to fear. "Will you let me?" she asked softly.--"Certainly, Lord preserve us, there's nothing to hinder, be so good!--Listen," he said in a different tone, as he went close up to her, "you have no more idea of the drama than a cat; and you have no talent for either the comedy or the tragedy; I have tried you in both. Because you have a pretty face, and a fine figure, I suppose people have put it into your head that you could play much better than my wife, and so you will take the first part in my 'répertoire,' and make alterations to begin with;--yes, that is the Norwegians, they are the people that can do it."--Petra could hardly breathe, she struggled and struggled; at last she ventured to say: "Will you really not allow me?" He had been standing looking out of the window, and was certain she had gone; he now turned round in surprise, and was struck with her emotion, and the wonderful strength with which it was pourtrayed in her whole being; he looked at her a moment, then suddenly seizing the book, he said with a voice and manner as if nothing had happened before: "See, take this piece here, and read it slowly, let me hear your voice. Come now!" But she could not read, for she could not see the letters. "Don't be afraid!" At last she began, but coldly, without any spirit; he bade her read it over again with more feeling; but it was still worse, so he quietly took the book from her: "I have tried you in all ways," he said "so I have no responsibility. I assure you, my good girl, if I were to send my boots upon the stage, or I were to send you, the impression would be just the same--viz., a very remarkable one. So that must end the matter!" But as a last endeavour, Petra ventured entreatingly: "I believe though I understand it, if only I get----" "Yes, to be sure,--every fishing village understands it a great deal better than we; the Norwegian public is the most enlightened in the world."--"Come now, if you won't disappear, I must!" She turned to the door, and burst into tears. "I say," this violent outburst had thrown a new light on the subject; "I say, I suppose it isn't you that made such a disturbance in the theatre last night?"--She turned round, fiery red; "Yes, to be sure, I know you now, Fisher Girl! I was in company with a gentleman from your town after the play, he 'knew you well.' Ha! so that is why you wanted to get on the stage; you would try your tricks there,--I understand!--Listen: My theatre is a respectable establishment, and I defy all attempts to transform it. Go! Will you go, I say!"--and Petra went, sobbing fearfully, down the steps, and out into the street. She ran crying past all the people, and a lady at mid-day, running and crying in the street created, as may be imagined, a great sensation. People stopped, the dogs ran after her, and more followed. The whirr behind her reminded her of those awful nights in the attic chamber, she remembered the faces in the air and ran faster. But the remembrance grew more vivid with every step, the noise behind her increased, and when she arrived at the house and shut the street door, reached her room and locked herself in, she threw herself down in a corner to defend herself from the faces; she struck them off with her hands, and threatened them, then sinking down exhausted, she wept more quietly,--and was saved.
The same day towards evening, she left Bergen and started for the country; she did not know where to, but she would go where she was not known. She went in a carriole, the driver boy sitting on her trunk strapped on behind. It rained fast, she sat crouched together under a great rain hat, and looked uneasily at the mountain above her, and then at the precipice below. The forest before her was a dense mass of fog, teeming with spectres; the next moment she would enter it, but the fog was parting at every step she took towards it. A mighty rumbling that grew stronger and stronger increased the feeling that she was entering upon an unknown region, where everything had its own meaning and some dark and mysterious connection, where man was only a nervous traveller, who had yet to discover whether or not he could get further. The rumbling came from several waterfalls, that in the wet weather had grown up to battle, and now hurled themselves precipitately from rock to rock with a terrific crash. Now and then they passed over narrow bridges; she could see the water boiling and seething in the hollows below. Soon the road began to bend and wind down the mountain; here and there lay a cultivated field, and a few turf houses stood together; then again it turned up towards the forest and rumbling. She was wet through, and shivered, but still she would go further, as long as the day lasted,--further also the next day, ever deeper in, till she came to a place she dare trust herself to. Thereto He Himself would help her, the Almighty, who now led them through the darkness and the storm.