But what did the cavaliers care about the majoress’s contracts? They kept joy and fiddle playing and partying alive. They saw to it that the dance proceeded over the hills of the ironworks.
Iron came from Stömne, iron from Sölje. Iron from Kymsberg made its way through wilderness down to Lake Vänern. From Uddeholm it came and from Munkfors and from all of the many ironworks. But where was the iron from Ekeby?
Is Ekeby no longer the most prominent of the ironworks of Värmland? Does no one watch over the honor of the old estate? Like ashes in the wind it is left in the hands of the careless cavaliers. They let the dance proceed over the hills of the ironworks. What else do their miserable brains manage to look after?
But rapids and rivers, small cargo boats and barges, harbors and locks marvel and ask, “Is no iron coming from Ekeby?”
And it is whispered and asked from forest to lake, from mountain to valley, “Is no iron coming from Ekeby? Will no iron ever again come from Ekeby?”
And deep in the forest the charcoal pile begins to laugh and the great hammerheads in the dark smithies seem to sneer, the mines open wide their mouths and laugh, the desks at the trading office where the majoress’s contracts are filed writhe with laughter. “Have you heard anything so amusing? They have no iron at Ekeby, at the finest of Värmland’s ironworks they have no iron!”
Up, you carefree ones, up, you homeless ones! Will you let such ignominy befall Ekeby? Oh, as sure as you love the fairest place on God’s green earth, as sure as it is the object of your longing on distant pathways, as sure as you cannot mention its name among strangers without a tear coming to your eye, stand up, cavaliers, save the honor of Ekeby!
Well, but if the hammers of Ekeby have rested, have they been working at our six underlying works? There must be iron enough and more than enough.
So Gösta Berling departs to speak with the managers of the six ironworks.
Now to begin with it should be mentioned that he felt there was no reason to go to Högfors, which is on the Björksjö River, a short ways above Ekeby. It was much too close to Ekeby, it had been as good as under the rule of the cavaliers.
But he traveled a dozen miles north, until he came to Lötafors. It is a beautiful place, of that there is no doubt. Upper Löven widens out before it, and close behind it is Gurlita Bluff with steeply rising top and a section of wildness and romance that well suits an old mountain. But the smithy, of course, it is not the way it should be: the flywheel is broken and has been like that the entire year.
“Well, why hasn’t it been fixed?”
“The carpenter, my dear friend, the carpenter, who was the only one in the entire district who could fix it, has been occupied elsewhere. We have not been able to forge a single hundredweight.”
“Well, why didn’t you send for the carpenter?”
“Send for! As if we didn’t send for him every day, but of course he hasn’t been able to come. He has been busy building bowling alleys and garden pavilions at Ekeby.”
Then Gösta suddenly realizes how this trip will turn out.
He travels on northward up to Björnidet. A beautiful and splendid place too, with a location fit for a palace. The large manor house dominates a semicircular valley, surrounded on three sides by massive heights and on the fourth by Löven, which has its endpoint there. And Gösta knows that there is no better place for moonlit promenades and swooning than the shoreline paths along the river, past the falls and down toward the smithy, which is housed in massive vaults blasted out of the mountain wall itself. But iron, is there any iron?
No, of course not. They did not have any charcoal, and they had not been able to get money from Ekeby to pay colliers and drivers. The entire ironworks operation had been suspended during the winter.
So Gösta turns southward again. He comes to Hån, on the eastern shore of Löven, and to Lövstafors, far into the forests, but it turns out no better for him there. Nowhere do they have iron, and everywhere it seems to be the cavaliers’ own fault that such is the case.
Then Gösta turns home to Ekeby, and with gloomy expressions the cavaliers take the one hundred and fifty hundredweights or so, which are in the storehouse, into consideration, and their brows are weighed down by sorrow, for they hear how all of nature is sneering at Ekeby, and they feel that the ground is shaking with sobs, that the trees threaten them with angry gestures, and that grass and herbs lament that the honor of Ekeby is past.
But what is the use of so many words and so much wondering? Of course there is iron from Ekeby!
There it is, loaded on barges on the shore of the Klara River, ready to sail down the river, ready to be weighed on the iron scales in Karlstad, ready to be conveyed on Vänern by boat to Gothenburg. So it is rescued then, the honor of Ekeby.
But how is this possible? At Ekeby there is of course no more than one hundred and fifty hundredweights of iron; at the six other ironworks there is no iron. How is it possible that fully loaded barges will now convey such an enormous quantity of iron to the scales in Karlstad? Yes, one would have to ask the cavaliers about that.
The cavaliers are themselves on board the heavy, ugly vessels; they intend to accompany the iron from Ekeby to Gothenburg themselves. No ordinary barge hand, no ordinary mortal may accompany the iron. The cavaliers have come with bottles and food baskets, with horns and fiddles, with rifles and fishing lines and decks of cards. They will do everything for their dear iron and not abandon it before it is unloaded at the wharf in Gothenburg. They will themselves load and unload, mind the sail and the rudder. They are just the right ones for such a task. Can there be a sandbank in the Klara River or a reef in Vänern that they do not know? Don’t the tiller and tackle lie equally easy in their hands as bow and rein!
If they love anything in the world, then it is the iron on these barges. They guard it like the finest glass; they drape tarpaulins over it. Not a patch of it may lie bare. It is these heavy, gray bars that will hold up the honor of Ekeby. No stranger may cast indifferent glances at them. Oh Ekeby, you our land of longing, may your honor shine!
None of the cavaliers has remained at home. Uncle Eberhard has left his writing desk, and cousin Kristoffer has emerged from the chimney corner. Even gentle Lövenborg is there. No one can stay away where the honor of Ekeby is concerned.
But for Lövenborg it is not beneficial to see the Klara River. He has not seen it in thirty-seven years; he has not been on a boat in an equally long time. He hates the blank surfaces of lakes and the gray rivers. He is reminded of overly gloomy things when he gets out on the water, and he usually avoids it, but today he has not been able to stay at home. Even he must go along to save the honor of Ekeby.
You see, it happened that thirty-seven years ago Lövenborg saw his fiancée drown in the Klara River, and since then his poor head has often been confused.
As he stands looking at the river, his old brain begins to be more and more disordered. The gray river, flowing along with many small glittering waves, is a large snake with silver scales, waiting in ambush. The high, yellow sand walls, through which the river has scoured its furrow, are the walls of a trap at whose bottom the snake is lurking, and the wide highway that makes a hole in the wall and wades down through deep sand to the ferry, next to which the barges are moored, is the very opening to the frightful hole of death.
And the little old man stands staring with his little blue eyes. His long, white hair is flying in all directions, and his cheeks, which most often blossom in a soft rose color, are completely pale from anxiety. He knows as surely as if someone has told him that someone will soon arrive on that road and fall down into the jaws of the lurking snake.
Now the cavaliers intend to cast off and take hold of the long poles to drive the barges out into the stream, but then Lövenborg calls out, “Stop, I’m telling you, stop, for God’s sake!”
They understand that he is starting to get confused because he feels the barge swaying under him, but they immediately stop the raised poles.
And he, who sees that the river is lying in wait and that someone must arrive immediately to fall down into it, points with a warning gesture up toward the road, just as if he saw someone coming down it.
Each of them knows well enough that life gladly arranges such coincidences as the one that now ensued. Anyone who can still be astonished may well marvel at the fact that the cavaliers would be with their barges at the ferry station across the Klara River just that morning, after the night when Countess Elisabet embarked eastward on foot. But it would certainly have been more peculiar if the young woman had not found any help in her distress. It now happened that she, who had been walking the whole night, came along on the road that went down to the ferry just as the cavaliers intended to put out, and they remained standing and looked at her as she spoke with the ferryman and he unmoored the boat. She was dressed like a farm maid, and they did not suspect who she was. But they nonetheless stood staring at her, because there was something familiar about her. Now while she stood there talking with the ferryman, a cloud of dust was visible on the road, and from out of the cloud of dust a large, yellow calash emerged. She realized that it was from Borg, that they were out looking for her, and that she would now be discovered. She could no longer think about getting away in the ferryman’s boat, and the only hiding place she saw was the cavaliers’ barges. She rushed toward them without seeing what sort of people were on board. And it was well that she did not see that, for otherwise she would sooner have thrown herself under the horses’ feet than taken refuge there.
When she had come on board, she simply shouted, “Hide me, hide me!” And then she stumbled and fell down on the load of iron. But the cavaliers bade her to be calm. They pushed quickly away from land, so that the barge came out in the stream and drifted down toward Karlstad just as the calash came up to the ferry station.
In the coach sat Count Henrik and Countess Märta. Now the count ran over to ask the ferryman if he had seen his countess. But as Count Henrik was a little embarrassed at having to ask about a runaway wife, he simply said, “There is something missing!”
“I see,” said the ferryman.
“There is something missing. I am asking if you have seen something.”
“What is it you’re asking about?”
“Yes, that’s all the same, but there is something missing. I am asking whether you have ferried something across the river today.”
In that manner, however, he found out nothing, and Countess Märta had to speak with the fellow herself. She knew in a minute that the missing person was on board one of the barges gliding sluggishly away.
“What sort of people are on those barges?”
“It’s the cavaliers, as we always say.”
“Ah!” says the countess. “Yes, then your wife is in good hands, Henrik. We may as well return home at once.”
Out on the barge no happiness prevailed as great as Countess Märta believed. As long as the yellow calash was visible, the frightened young woman sat curled up on the load without either moving or saying a word. She only stared at the shore.
It is probable that she recognized the cavaliers only when she had seen the yellow calash depart. She sprang up. It was as if she wanted to flee again, but she was stopped by the one standing closest, and then she again sank down with a drawn-out whimper onto the load.
And the cavaliers did not dare speak to her or ask her any questions. She looked as if she was on the verge of madness.
These carefree heads truly started to be weighed down with responsibility. This iron was already a heavy burden for unaccustomed shoulders, and now they would have to watch over a young, noble-born lady to boot, who had run away from her husband.
When they had encountered this young woman during the winter’s parties, one or another of them had come to think of a little sister whom they had loved in the past. When he had played and wrestled with this sister, he had to be careful with her, and when he talked with her, he had to learn to keep an eye on himself and not say bad words. If a strange boy chased her too wildly in play or sang dirty songs to her, then he had thrown himself upon this boy with boundless fury and nearly pounded the life out of him, for his young sister should never hear anything bad or suffer any sorrow or ever be met by evil and hatred.
Countess Elisabet had been the happy sister of them all. When she had placed her small hands in their hard fists, it had been just as if she had said, “Feel how fragile I am! But you are big brother, you will protect me both against others and against yourself.” And they had been courteous gentlemen, as long as they had seen her.
Now the cavaliers viewed her with dismay and did not really recognize her. She was haggard and emaciated, her throat had no roundness, her face transparent. She must have hurt herself during her nocturnal wandering, for now and then a drop of blood trickled out of a small wound on her temple, and the curly, light hair that hung down over her forehead was sticky with blood. Her dress was dirty after the long walk on roads damp with dew, and her shoes were badly battered. The cavaliers had the terrible feeling that this was a stranger. The Countess Elisabet they had known did not have such wild, glowing eyes. Their poor sister had been almost driven to madness. It was as if a soul come down from other dimensions was struggling with the right soul for dominion in this tormented body.
But they do not need to worry about what they should do with her. The old thoughts awaken within her. Temptation is again upon her there. God wants to test her again. See, she stands among friends! Does she intend to leave the way of penance?
She got up and cried that she must leave.
The cavaliers tried to calm her. They told her that she could feel secure. They would protect her against all persecution.
She asked only to be allowed to climb down into the little boat that followed the barge, and row to shore to continue her wandering alone.
But they could not just let her go. What would become of her? It was better that she stay with them. They were only poor old men, but they would certainly find some way to help her.
Then she wrung her hands and pleaded with them to let her go. But they were not able to grant her plea. They saw her so distressed and weak that they thought she would die on the road.
Gösta Berling stood a short distance away, looking down into the water. Perhaps the young woman would not gladly see him. He did not know it, but his thoughts were playing and smiling in any event. “Now no one knows where this young woman is,” he thought, “now we could convey her at once to Ekeby. We would keep her hidden there, we cavaliers, and we would be good to her. She would be our queen, our sovereign, but no one else would know that she is there. We would guard her so well, so well. Perhaps she would be happy among us; she would be cherished like a daughter by all the old men.”
He had never dared make it completely clear to himself that he loved her. He could not have her without sin, and he did not want to drag her down to anything low or base; that was what he knew. But to have her hidden at Ekeby and be able to be good to her after others had been cruel, and let her enjoy all the good things life possesses, oh, what dreams, what blessed dreams!
But he awakened from them, for the young countess was in complete despair, and her words had the cutting intonation of despair. She had thrown herself on her knees in the midst of the cavaliers and pleaded with them to be able to go.
“God has not yet forgiven me,” she cried. “Let me go!”
Gösta saw that none of the others were capable of obeying her, and understood that he must do it. He, who loved her, must do it.
He found it difficult to walk, as if every limb in his body put up resistance to his will, but he dragged himself over to her and said that he would convey her to shore.
She got up at once. He lifted her down into the boat and rowed her to the eastern shore. He landed at a narrow gangway and helped her out of the boat.
“What will become of you now, countess?” he said.
She raised her finger seriously and pointed toward the sky. “If
you are in distress, countess . . .”
He could not speak, his voice betrayed him, but she understood him and replied, “I will send a message to you, when I need you.”
“I would have liked to protect you against all evil,” he said.
She extended her hand to him in farewell, and he was not capable of saying anything more. Her hand lay cold and limp in his.
The countess was not aware of anything other than inner voices, which compelled her to go away among strangers. Perhaps she scarcely knew that it was just the man she loved whom she now left.
So he let her go and rowed back to the cavaliers. When he came up onto the barge, he shook with fatigue and seemed worn-out and powerless. He had done the heaviest work of his life, it seemed to him.
For a few more days he kept up his courage, until the honor of Ekeby was saved. He conveyed the iron to the scales at Kanikenäset, then for a long time his energy and his intrepidness were at an end.
The cavaliers noticed no change in him, as long as they were on board. He tensed every nerve to keep up the merriment and levity, for it was through merriment and levity that the honor of Ekeby would be saved. How would this venture succeed if they tried it with worried faces and discouraged hearts?
If it is true, as rumor has it, that at that time the cavaliers had more sand than iron on the barges, if it is true that they carried the same rods incessantly up and down to the scale at Kanikenäset, until the many hundredweights of iron were weighed, if it is true that all of this could go on because the weighing master and his people were so well regaled from the food baskets and canteens brought along from Ekeby, then you must know that they had to be merry on the iron barges.
Who can know it now? But if it was that way, then it is certain that Gösta Berling could not have time to grieve. He knew nothing, however, of the delight of adventure and danger. As soon as he dared, he sank into desperation.
The Saga of Gosta Berling Page 28
