XII.
[THE SCENE.]
One evening just before Christmas the theatre of the metropolis was sold out; a new actress was to appear, about whom there were the greatest expectations. Sprung from the people--her mother was a poor fisherwoman--she had reached her present position by the help of others who had discovered her talents, and she gave great promise. In the time before the curtain rose, all sorts of things were whispered about her; she was said to have been a strange unruly child, and later when grown up, to have been betrothed to six at one time, and to have kept it going for half a year. The town was in such an uproar on her account, that she had had to be conducted out of it by a guard of police; it was remarkable that the director should allow such a character to appear. Others affirmed there was not the slightest truth in the statement; she had been educated in a clergyman's family in Bergen's shire, from the time she was ten years old; she was a cultivated and amiable girl, they knew her well, she must have wonderful talent; she was so handsome.
Others were there who were better authority. First the well-known fish merchant, Yngve Vold. He had come here accidentally on a business journey; it was said that the brilliant Spanish lady, to whom he was married, made the house at home so hot, that he travelled merely to cool himself. He had taken the largest box in the house, and invited his hotel acquaintances to go with him to see "something, devilish something!" He was in remarkable spirits, till he suddenly caught sight of----could it be he?----in a box in the second tier and with a whole ship's company round him?----no! yes!----verily it was Gunnar Ask! Gunnar Ask who through his mother's money had become owner and captain of "The Norwegian Constitution," had in cruising out of the fiord come to sail side by side with a ship bearing the name: "The Danish Constitution," and as Gunnar thought he observed it trying to pass him, such certainly could not be permitted; he put out all the sail he possessed, the old Constitution creaked, and the consequence was, that in his endeavour to scud before the wind as long and as far as possible, he ran the ship aground in a most preposterous place, and was now reluctantly detained in the town while the vessel was being patched up. One day he met Petra in the street, and she was so thoroughly kind both then and afterwards, that he not only forgot his grudge, but called himself the greatest fool that ever sailed from their native place, that he could ever have imagined himself worthy of such a girl as Petra. To-day he had taken tickets at a premium for the whole of his crew, and mentally resolved to treat them between each act, and the seamen, all from Petra's native place, and familiar with the mother's tavern, that earthly paradise, felt Petra's honour to be their own, and sat and promised each other that they would applaud as had never been heard before.
Down below in the parquet one could see the dean's thick bristly hair. He looked calm, he had entrusted her cause to a Higher Power. By his side sat Signe, now Signe Odegaard. Her husband, herself and Petra, had just returned from a three month's tour on the continent; she looked happy, as she sat and smiled over to Odegaard, for between them sat an old woman with snow-white hair, that rose above her brown face like a crown; sitting higher than everybody, she could be seen from the whole house, and soon every opera glass was directed towards her, for it was said she was the young actress's mother. She who bore a man's name, now also produced so powerful an impression, that she shed peace over the daughter. A youthful people is full of expectancy, it possesses faith in the inner power of its nature, and the faith was roused by the sight of this mother? She herself saw neither anything nor anybody; she was indifferent as to what was coming; she was there only to see whether people were kind to her daughter or not.
The time was almost up; conversation died away in the suspense that by degrees pervaded all, and did them good.
A flourish of drums, trumpets and horns, suddenly opened the overture; Oehlenschläger's "Axel and Valborg" was to be played, and Petra had herself chosen this. She was sitting behind the scenes and listening.
Before the curtain, the small number of her countrymen that the house could muster, were trembling on her account, as one always does when expecting anything personally dear of one's own to be brought forward. It was as if each were about to appear on the stage himself; at such moments many prayers arise, even from hearts that otherwise seldom pray.
The overture grew softer, peace fell over the harmonies, they melted gradually away as in sunlight. It was over,--anxious silence ensued.
The curtain rose.