The Fisher Girl

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

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.