In God's Way: A Novel

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

Young people are not quite so cruel as children; but still it is the same kind of spirit. Some were sorry for him, others just wanted to drive him into a corner, Edward Kallem first and foremost.

But Josephine stepped quickly away to the dark girl with the soprano voice. She began one of their songs directly, the others joined in, the gentlemen rather after the ladies. With very few exceptions, the party consisted of a chorus of ladies and gentlemen who had practised together the last three winters with all the perseverance and industry only to be met with in a small town.

Josephine went and sat down in the middle of the bank, the others round about her. She did not sing; she had her flowers.

The party had come out there in the little schooner which now lay so fresh and bright-looking in the sun. On board, Josephine, Edward, and Ole had sat together, close together, for there was not much room. No one could guess, hearing their merry, oft-whispered conversation, that there was aught between them save friendship and goodwill. And now, only three hours after, Ole Tuft sat there like an outcast! How he suffered! An attack on his calling, on his faith, and before them all! And by Edward, too! So cruel, so persistingly scornful! And Josephine? Not a single word of sympathy, not even a look from Josephine.

From their childhood Ole and she had been constantly together; they had written to each other when he was away at Christiania, he once a fortnight, she as often as she had anything to write about. When he was at home for his holidays they met daily. During the two years that she was at a French school and away in Spain their correspondence had been more active than ever, on her part, too, and when she came home again--changed though she was otherwise--to him she was always the same. Her father had helped him with his studies and enabled him to give all his attention to them; he was to pass his last examination at Christmas; everyone prophesied that it would be one of the first and best ever passed in theology. Undoubtedly he had her, and possibly her brother too, to thank for his having been helped. In former days they had both of them brought him to their father, to the head-master, to the apothecary, and to many other families; and now through her he was accepted everywhere. In everyday life she spoke but little, and was often rather difficult to get on with; but she was a firm and true friend. At times she would censure him (for he was not always according to her taste); it was all part of their intercourse and he did not attach much importance to it, nor she either; from the very first she had always been his guardian. As yet he had not dared to say that he loved her; there was no necessity for it, and, in fact, it was almost too sacred to be mentioned. He was as sure of her as of his own faith. He was a peasant, his chief characteristic was a certain trustful, solid collectiveness. God provided for his faith; his well-being and future were provided for--of course also by God; but through Josephine. In his eyes she was the cleverest, most beautiful and healthiest girl not only in the town but in the whole country, and she was very rich. This last must be taken into consideration too; as a small boy he had been an ambitious dreamer, but now his dreams had a different bent.

His fellow-students knew all about it; as well as Melancthon, they called him the "bishop-theme from the bay," or the "bay bishop." He had got accustomed to this, it was almost a necessity for him; there was something child-like in his smiling trustfulness that suited him well; then he was so handsome, with his fair, open face; and when that is the case it is quite excusable to be ambitious.

Now he felt that he had been hurled down from his secure and pleasant height! Anyone who having been safe and secure, for the first time is thoroughly defeated, feels so completely out of it all. The worst of this was that Josephine did not appear to wish to have anything to do with him; he looked repeatedly across to her, but she went on arranging her flowers and grass just as if he did not exist.

At last it was exactly as though they all had glided away and he too were no longer there. He sat without seeming to sit, heard without hearing, saw without seeing. The supper was being got ready up before the house; they all went up there as soon as the table was laid; they ate, they drank, they laughed and made merry; but he was not with them, he stood there staring out across the bay--far, far away. A young man, clerk in some business, spoke to him about the routes of the different steamers and how badly they were managed; a girl with crooked teeth, red hair in plaits and a freckled face (he had formerly been her master), assured him that sailors were by no means so well educated as one might expect from people who travelled so much. The hostess came and asked how it was he would not eat anything, and the host took wine with him; in doing so they showed him the usual respect; but both of them cast a hurried, searching glance at his eyes, which made him tremble. He felt they doubted. In his ceaseless and ever-increasing pain, he saw nothing but doubt and scorn on every side, even in the fact of the general merriment. Edward Kallem was especially full of fun and they all collected round him. It was in his honor too (he had come home a fortnight ago) that the expedition had been got up. As in a dream, Ole saw that Josephine's flowers had been placed on the table, and he heard how everyone praised the blending of their colors; she herself was sitting at a little stone table with two girl friends--was that to prevent his joining her? There was much noise and fun going on at the other side. He saw her talking and laughing, all the young men waiting upon her; Edward joined them several times; he made them laugh too. Ole noticed all this with a strange feeling of fear. The noise jarred on him, the laughter made him feel ashamed, he could not swallow a morsel, and the wine had a bad taste; everyone seemed as though they were worked by machinery, the house, the bay, the schooner, the mountains, all seemed so overwhelmingly near.

A dead calm had set in, so that the whole party were obliged to walk back to town. They started on their walk singing and all together; but almost immediately some of the numerous summer visitors came pouring out from the houses along the road, and, as they were all acquaintances, they stopped to speak. The newcomers joined them and walked on with them; then came others, and each time they stopped, and each time the party broke up and became more divided. In that way Ole was able to keep behind without anyone's noticing it. He could not bear their company and their merriment any longer.

Now it was that everything was, as it were, concentrated in Josephine. The being attacked and overthrown by Edward, the shame of this defeat, his wounded religious feelings ... it all was due to the fact that she had not upheld him, neither by word nor by look; had shunned him before, and now had gone and left him! He could not stand that; for she had grown to be so much, too much, for him, he knew it and was not ashamed. That which once had been his highest aim, namely, to be a missionary, had fallen from him like scales, when he saw she no longer cared about it. Whenever his mother had said that he should never become a missionary, his answer was that God must be obeyed before man. But when Josephine, in her strong sort of way, had looked closer into the reality of things, he gave up all his wishes without her needing even to say a word on the subject. He said to himself that he would surely be punished for having so great a love for any one person. But he could not help it.