The Saga of Gosta Berling

by Selma Lagerlof

  “For who can know how it will work out?” she exclaims, drying her eyes, which were always so quick to tear up. “We have debts with the malevolent mill owner Sintram, and he can take all of it away from us. To be sure, Ferdinand is now engaged to the wealthy Anna Stjärnhök, but she is getting tired, she is getting tired of him. And what will become of us then with our three cows and our nine horses, with our cheerful young girls, who want to go from ball to ball, with our dry fields, where nothing grows, with our kind Ferdinand, who will never become a rich man! What will become of this entire blessed house, where everything thrives, except the work?”

  But it was dinnertime, and the household gathered. Kind Ferdinand, the gentle son of the house, and the merry daughters came home with the borrowed horseradish. The captain came, energized by a swim in a hole in the ice in the marsh and a hunt in the forest. He threw open the window to get some air and shook Gösta’s hand with manly force. And the captain’s wife came, dressed in silk, with broad lace falling down over her white hands, which Gösta was allowed to kiss.

  Everyone greeted Gösta with joy, the jokes came flying into the circle, and merrily they asked him, “How are you all doing at Ekeby, how are you doing in the promised land?”

  “Milk and honey are flowing there,” he answered then. “We empty the hills of iron and fill our cellars with wine. The fields wear gold, from which we gild the misery of life, and we cut down our forests to build ninepin alleys and summerhouses.”

  But the captain’s wife sighed and smiled at the reply, and a single word forced its way across her lips: “Poet!”

  “I have many sins on my conscience,” answered Gösta, “but I have never written a line of poetry.”

  “You are still a poet, Gösta; you will have to bear that nickname. You have lived more poems than our poets have written.”

  Then the captain’s wife spoke, gentle as a mother, about his squandered life. “I will live in order to see you become a man,” she said. And he felt it sweet to be egged on by this gentle woman, who was such a faithful friend, and whose strong, romantic heart was burning with love for great actions.

  But when they finished their cheerful meal and enjoyed the horseradish meat and cabbage and fritters and yule beer and Gösta had got them to smile and cry by telling about the major and the majoress and the Broby minister, sleigh bells were heard in the farmyard, and immediately thereafter the malevolent Sintram entered the room.

  He radiated satisfaction, all the way from his bald head down to his big, flat feet. His long arms were swinging, and his face was contorted. It was easy to see that he was bringing bad news.

  “Have you heard,” asked the malevolent man, “have you heard that today the banns were read in Svartsjö church for the first time for Anna Stjärnhök and rich Dahlberg? She must have forgotten that she was engaged to Ferdinand.”

  They had not heard a word about it. They were astonished, and sorrowful.

  They were already imagining their home pillaged in order to pay the debt to the malevolent man: the beloved horses sold, and likewise the worn furniture, which had been inherited from the captain’s wife’s home. They saw the end of the merry life with parties and journeys from ball to ball. Bear ham would be back on the table, and the young ones would have to go away and serve among strangers.

  The captain’s wife caressed her son and let him feel the consolation of a never-failing love.

  And yet—there sat Gösta Berling in the midst of them, and the unconquerable one was hatching a thousand plans in his head.

  “Listen,” he cried out, “it is not yet time to think about lamentation. It is the minister’s wife down in Svartsjö who has arranged this. She has power over Anna now, since she’s living with her at the parsonage. It is she who has induced her to abandon Ferdinand and take old Dahlberg, but they are not yet wed and they aren’t going to be either. Now I’m going to Borg and will see Anna there. I will talk to her, I will tear her away from the minister, from her fiancé. I will bring her here tonight. Then old Dahlberg will not get any more good out of her.”

  So it was. Gösta drove alone to Borg without getting to drive any of the cheerful girls, but with warm wishes they followed his journey from home. And Sintram, who rejoiced over the fact that old Dahlberg would be tricked, decided to stay at Berga in order to see Gösta return with the unfaithful girl. In an outburst of goodwill, Sintram even draped his green travel sash around him, a gift from Miss Ulrika herself.

  But the captain’s wife came out on the steps with three small books, bound in red leather, in her hand.

  “Take them,” she said to Gösta, who was already seated in the sleigh, “take them, if you don’t succeed! It is Corinne, Madame de Staël’s Corinne. I do not want them to go to auction.”

  “I will not fail.”

  “Oh, Gösta, Gösta,” she said, passing her hand across his bare head, “strongest and weakest of people! How long will you remember that the happiness of a few poor people is in your hands!”

  Once again Gösta flew along the highway, pulled by the black Don Juan, followed by the white Tancred, and the exultation of adventure filled his soul. He felt like a young conqueror; the spirit was upon him.

  His way led him to the parsonage in Svartsjö. He pulled in there and asked if he might not be allowed to drive Anna Stjärnhök to the ball. And indeed he was allowed to. He had a beautiful, willful girl with him in the sleigh. Who wouldn’t want to ride behind the black Don Juan!

  The young people were silent at first, but then she began the conversation, defiant as rashness itself.

  “Have you heard, Gösta, what the minister read out in the church today?”

  “Did he say that you are the most beautiful girl between Löven and the Klara River?”

  “You are stupid, Gösta; people know that well enough. He read the banns for me and old Dahlberg.”

  “Verily I would have let you sit in the sleigh and sat myself here in the back, if I had known that. Verily I would not have wanted to drive for you at all.”

  And the proud heiress replied, “I’m sure I would have made it there without you, Gösta Berling.”

  “It’s a shame, though, Anna,” said Gösta meditatively, “that your father and mother are not still alive. Now you are the way you are, and no one can be sure about you.”

  “It’s an even bigger pity that you haven’t said that before, then someone else would have gotten to drive me.”

  “The minister’s wife thinks like I do, that you need someone to be in your father’s place, otherwise I suppose she wouldn’t have put you in harness together with such an old nag.”

  “It isn’t the minister’s wife who decided it.”

  “Oh, dear me, have you picked out such a fine fellow yourself?”

  “He isn’t taking me for the money.”

  “No, the old men, they only chase after blue eyes and red cheeks, and dreadfully sweet they are, when they do it.”

  “Oh, Gösta, have you no shame!”

  “But do keep in mind that you are not playing with the young fellows anymore. It’s over with dancing and games. Your place is in the corner sofa—or perhaps you intend to play cards with old Dahlberg?”

  Then they were silent, until they were driving up the steep hills at Borg.

  “Thanks for the ride! It will be some time before I ride with Gösta Berling again.”

  “Thanks for the promise! I know many a one who has rued the day he rode with you to a banquet.”

  Hardly timid, the village’s defiant beauty entered the ballroom and surveyed the assembled guests.

  First of all she saw little bald-headed Dahlberg by the side of the tall, slender, light-haired Gösta Berling. She had a good desire to drive the both of them out of the room.

  Her fiancé came up to invite her to a dance, but she met him with heartbreaking surprise.

  “Are you going to dance? You don’t usually do that!”

  And girls came up to congratulate her.

 
“Don’t show off, girls! You shouldn’t think that anyone has fallen in love with old Dahlberg. But he is rich, and I am rich, therefore we suit each other well.”

  The old women came up to her, pressed her white hand, and spoke of life’s greatest happiness.

  “Congratulate the minister’s wife,” she said then. “She’s happier about it than I am.”

  But there stood Gösta Berling, the merry cavalier, greeted with enthusiasm for his healthy smile and for his beautiful words, which showered gold dust over the gray fabric of life. Never before had she seen him the way he was this evening. He was not a reject, an outcast, a homeless jester, no, he was a king among men, a born king.

  He and the other young men conspired against her. She would have to think about how badly she behaved when she gave herself away, with her beautiful face and her great wealth, to an old man. And they let her sit for ten dances.

  She was seething with fury.

  On the eleventh dance a man came, the lowliest among the lowly, a wretch that no one else wanted to dance with, and asked her to dance.

  “The bread is gone, the hash can come to the table,” she said.

  They played a game of forfeits. Light-haired girls put their heads together and sentenced her to kiss the one she liked the most. And with smiling lips they expected to see the proud beauty kiss old Dahlberg.

  But she arose, stately in her fury, and said, “May I not just as well slap the face of the one I like the least?”

  The following moment Gösta’s cheek burned under her steady hand. He turned flaming red, but he kept his composure, grasped her hand, holding it fast for a second, and whispered, “Meet me in half an hour in the red drawing room on the ground floor!”

  His blue eyes sparkled down on her and surrounded her with chains of enchantment. She felt that she must obey.

  She met him there with pride and harsh words.

  “What concern is it of Gösta Berling whom I marry?”

  He did not yet have tender words on his lips, nor did it seem advisable to speak of Ferdinand at once.

  “To me it does not seem too severe a punishment that you had to sit for ten dances. But you want permission to break vows and promises unpunished. If a better man than I had taken the punishment in his hands, he might have made it harder.”

  “What have I done to all of you that I can’t be left in peace? You are persecuting me because of the money. I will throw it into Löven, then whoever wants it can fish it out.”

  She put her hands to her face and wept bitterly.

  This touched the poet’s heart. He was ashamed of his severity. He spoke in a soothing tone of voice.

  “Oh, child, child, forgive me! Forgive poor Gösta Berling! No one cares what a wretch like him says or does, you know that. No one cries over his wrath; you might just as well cry over a mosquito bite. It was madness, but I wanted to prevent our most beautiful and richest girl from marrying that old man. And now I have only distressed you.”

  He sat down on the sofa beside her. Slowly he placed his arm around her waist in order to support and hold her up with caressing tenderness.

  She did not withdraw. She pressed herself against him, threw her arms around his neck, and wept with her lovely head leaning against his shoulder.

  Oh, poet, strongest and weakest among people, it was not around your neck those white arms should rest.

  “If I had known this,” she whispered, “never would I have taken the old man. I have been watching you this evening; no one is like you.”

  But between pale lips Gösta forced out, “Ferdinand.”

  She silenced him with a kiss.

  “He is nothing, no one is anything more than you. To you I will be faithful.”

  “I am Gösta Berling,” he said gloomily, “you cannot marry me.”

  “You are the one I love, you are the finest of men. You don’t need to do anything, be anything. You were born a king.”

  Then the poet’s blood was seething. She was lovely and sweet in her love. He enclosed her in his arms.

  “If you want to be mine, you cannot stay in the parsonage. Let me drive you up to Ekeby this night; there I will know how to defend you until we celebrate our wedding.”

  A turbulent ride in the night ensued. Obeying the call of love, they let Don Juan carry them away. It was as if the creaking under the runners were the complaint of the betrayed. What did they care about that? She was hanging on to his neck, and he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Can any bliss compare in sweetness to stolen joy?”

  What did reading the banns mean? They had love. And people’s wrath? Gösta Berling believed in fate, fate had compelled them: no one can fight against fate.

  If the stars had been wedding candles, which had been lit for her wedding, if Don Juan’s bells had been church bells, calling people to witness her marriage to old Dahlberg, then she still would have had to flee with Gösta Berling. Fate is that powerful.

  They had come safely past the parsonage and Munkerud. They had about a mile and a half left to Berga and then three miles over to Ekeby. The road passed along the forest edge; to the right of them were dark hills, to the left a long, white valley.

  Then Tancred came rushing up. He ran so that he seemed to be above the ground. Howling with terror, he jumped up into the sleigh and cowered next to Anna’s feet.

  Don Juan started and set off, out of control.

  “Wolves!” said Gösta Berling.

  They saw a long, gray line stretching out along the stone fence. There were at least a dozen of them.

  Anna was not afraid. The day had been well blessed with adventures, and the night promised to be its like. This was life—rushing along over sparkling snow, defying wild animals and people.

  Gösta swore, leaned forward, and gave Don Juan a powerful rap with the whip.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  “They intend to intercept us up there, where the road curves.”

  Don Juan ran, running a race with the wild animals of the forest, and Tancred howled in fury and fear. They reached the curve in the road at the same time as the wolves, and Gösta drove off the foremost one with the whip.

  “Oh, Don Juan, my boy, how easily you would escape from twelve wolves, if you didn’t have us people to drag along.”

  They tied the green travel sash behind them. The wolves were afraid of it and for a time kept at a distance. But when they overcame their fear, one of them ran, panting, with tongue hanging and jaws open, up to the sleigh. Then Gösta took Madame de Staël’s Corinne and threw it into his jaws.

  Again they gained a moment’s breathing room, while the animals tore apart this booty, and then again they felt the tugging, as the wolves tore at the green travel sash, and heard their panting breath. They knew that they would not encounter any human dwellings before Berga, but it seemed worse than death to Gösta to see those whom he had betrayed. He also understood that the horse would tire, and what would become of them then?

  Then they saw Berga farm at the forest edge. Lights were burning in the windows. Gösta knew well enough for whose sake.

  Yet—now the wolves were fleeing, fearful of the nearness of humans, and Gösta drove past Berga. Nevertheless he came no farther than to the place where the road plunges into the forest anew, where he saw a dark group ahead of him—the wolves were awaiting him.

  “Let’s turn around to the parsonage and say that we’ve been having a pleasure ride in the starlight. This won’t do.”

  They turned, but at the next moment the sleigh was surrounded by wolves. Gray forms could be seen flashing past them, white teeth shining in wide-open jaws, and the glowing eyes shining. They were howling with hunger and blood-thirst. Their gleaming teeth were ready to cut into tender human flesh. The wolves were jumping up onto Don Juan and hung fast onto the harness. Anna sat, wondering whether they would eat her up completely, or if something would be left so that the next morning people would find torn-apart limbs on the trampled, bloody snow.

&
nbsp; “Now it’s a matter of life and death,” she said, bowing down and gripping Tancred by the neck.

  “Let him be, it won’t help! It’s not for the dog’s sake that the wolves are out tonight!”

  With that Gösta drove into Berga farm, but the wolves pursued him all the way up to the steps. He had to defend himself against them with the whip.

  “Anna,” he said, as they stopped at the steps, “God did not want this. Keep a good face now, if you are the woman I take you for, keep a good face!”

  Inside they heard the clang of bells and came out.

  “He has her,” they called, “he has her! Long live Gösta Berling!” And the new arrivals were torn from embrace to embrace.

  Not many questions were asked. The night was far advanced, the travelers were shaken by their dangerous journey and needed to rest. It was enough that Anna had come.

  All was well. Only Corinne and the green travel sash, Miss Ulrika’s esteemed gift, were destroyed.

  The whole house was sleeping. Then Gösta got up, dressed, and slipped out. Completely unnoticed he took Don Juan out of the stall, set him before the sleigh, and intended to take off. Then Anna Stjärnhök came out of the house.

  “I heard you go out,” she said. “Then I got up too. I am ready to leave with you.”

  He went up to her and took her hand.

  “Don’t you understand yet? This cannot happen. God does not want it to. Listen now and try to understand. I was here at dinner and saw their laments over your faithlessness. Then I went to Borg to bring you back to Ferdinand. But I have always been a wretch and will never be otherwise. I betrayed him and kept you for my own account. Here is an old woman who believes I will become a man. I betrayed her. And another poor old thing will freeze and starve here simply to be able to die among friends, but I was ready to let the malevolent Sintram take her home. You were lovely, and sin was sweet. Gösta Berling is so easy to entice. Oh, what a wretch I am!—I know how much they love their home, the people inside, but still only just now I was ready to leave it to be pillaged. I forgot everything for your sake, you were so sweet in your love. But now, Anna, now since I have seen their joy, I do not want to keep you, no, I don’t want to. You are the one who would have made a human being out of me, but I may not keep you. Oh, you my beloved! He up there is playing with our will. Now it is time that we bow ourselves under his chastising hand. Say that from this day on you will take your burden upon yourself! Inside there all of them are counting on you. Say that you want to stay with them and become their support and help! If you love me, if you will ease my deep sorrow, then promise me this! My beloved, is your heart so big that it can conquer itself and smile at it?”