Bildungsromans; Norway -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
When Petra awoke next day, the girl came up to tell her it was
half-past eleven o'clock; she felt ravenously hungry, eat her breakfast
and wanted more,--complained of headache and weariness, and soon fell
asleep again; on awaking about three in the afternoon, she felt quite
well. The mother came up and said she had undoubtedly slept away an
illness, for she used to do so herself; but now she must get up and go
to the sewing school. Petra was sitting upright in bed, and leaned her
head upon her arm; without getting up she answered that she was not
going to the sewing school any more. The mother thought she must be
still a little dazed, and went down to get a parcel and a letter that a
sailor boy had brought. There were the gifts already! As soon as she
was alone, Petra, who had laid down again, got up in haste and opened
the parcel with a certain solemnity; it contained a pair of French
shoes; a little disappointed she was putting them aside, when she felt
them heavy in the toes; she put her hand into one of them and drew
forth a small parcel folded in fine paper; it was a gold bracelet; in
the other was also a parcel, carefully wrapped up; a pair of French
gloves,--and in the right hand she found a scrap of paper containing
two plain gold rings. "Already!" thought Petra, her heart beat as she
looked for the inscription, and read in the one, sure enough: "Petra,"
with the date, and in the other: "Gunnar." She turned pale, threw the
rings and all the rest on the floor as though she had burnt herself,
and hastily opened the letter. It was dated "Calais;"--she read:
"Dear Petra,
We had a fair wind from the sixty-first to the fifty-fourth degree of
latitude, and afterwards got here under a strong side wind, which is
unusual even for better vessels than ours, which is a fine craft under
full sail. But now you must know that all the way I have been thinking
about you, and about that which last occurred between us two, and am
grieved that I could not see you to bid you good-bye. I went on board
very vexed about it, but have never forgotten you since, except now and
then in between, for a sailor has hard times of it. Now we have got
here, and I have used all my wages to buy you presents as you asked me,
and the money I got of mother, too, so I have none left. But, if I get
leave, I shall come as soon as the gifts, for as long as it is secret,
there is no certainty about others, especially young men, of whom there
are many; but I will have it certain, so that no one can excuse
himself, but beware of me. You can easily get a better one than me, for
you can get any one you choose, but you can never get a truer, and that
is me. Now I will conclude, for I have used up two sheets, and the
letters are getting so large; it is the worst thing I have to do, but I
do it, nevertheless, as you wish it. And so in conclusion I will say,
that I hope it was earnest; for it was not earnest, it was a great sin,
and will bring misfortune upon many.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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