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 'repertoire,' 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.