The Saga of Gosta Berling

by Selma Lagerlof

  It is quite noticeable in the market activity, however, that distress prevails in Svartsjö and Bro and Lövvik and the other Lövsjö parishes: trade is poor at the stands and counters. Most activity is at the large livestock market, for many a person must sell both cow and horse to survive through the winter. There the wild, exciting horse trading is also going on.

  The Broby market is a merry place. If only you have money for a few drams, then you can keep your courage up. And it is liquor alone that produces delight: when people from the desolate forest homes come down to the market field in billowing masses and hear the roar of the whole shrieking, laughing crowd, they become as if dizzy with happiness, made wild by the bustling life of the market.

  Of course there is much trade among so many people, but that, however, is hardly the main thing. The most important is to bring a group of relatives and friends with you to the carts and treat them to mutton sausage, klengås, and liquor or convince the lass to take a hymnbook and silk cloth or go looking for market gifts for the little ones back home.

  Everyone who did not have to stay at home to look after the house and livestock has come to this Broby market. There are cavaliers from Ekeby and forest farmers from Nygård, horse traders from Norway, Finns from the northern forests, drifters from the highway.

  Sometimes the whole bustling sea gathers in a whirlpool that swings in dizzy rings around a central point. No one knows what is in the middle until a few policemen force their way through the crowd to put an end to a fistfight or raise up an overturned cart. And at the next moment there is a new throng of people around a merchant who is bickering with a quick-witted woman.

  Along toward midday the great fistfight begins. The farmers have gotten the idea that the västgötar are using too short an ell measure, and noisy quarreling erupts around their counters, which then turns into violence. Everyone knows that for many, who in these times saw nothing but want and misery ahead of them, it was a joy to be able to strike out, indifferent to who or what was hit. And as soon as the strong and pugnacious see that a fistfight is under way, they rush in from all directions. The cavaliers intend to simply force their way in to make peace in their own way, and the Dalecarlians hurry in to help the västgötar.

  Strong Måns from Fors is the one who is most eagerly involved in the game. He is drunk, and he is angry. Now he has pulled down a västgöte and started thrashing him, but at the man’s cry for help his countrymen hurry over and try to force strong Måns to let go of their comrade. Then strong Måns rolls the bundles of cloth down from one of the counters and seizes the counter itself, which is an ell wide and eight ells long as well as joined together with thick planks, and starts swinging it as his weapon.

  He is a dreadful man, strong Måns. He kicked out a wall in the jail in Filipstad, he could lift a boat out of the lake and carry it on his shoulders. Now you can believe that when he starts striking around him with the heavy counter, the whole crowd of people flee and the västgötar with them. But strong Måns is after them, striking around him with the heavy counter. For him it is no longer a question of friends or enemies: now he only wants someone to hit, since he has a weapon.

  The people flee from him in desperation. Men and women scream and run. But how is flight possible for the women, several of whom have their children by the hand? Stands and carts are in their way, oxen and cows, becoming wild from the clamor, keep them from getting away.

  A group of women has been squeezed into a corner between the stands, and toward them storms the giant. He thinks he sees a västgöte in the midst of the group! He raises the counter and lets it fall. In pallid, terrified anxiety the women receive the attack, huddling together under the killing blow.

  But as the counter falls headlong down over them, its force is broken by the outstretched arms of a man. One man has not curled up, but instead risen above the mass, one man has of his own free will taken the blow to rescue the many. Women and children stand unharmed. One man has broken the violence of the blow, but now he too lies unconscious on the ground.

  Strong Måns does not lift up his counter to storm farther. He has met the man’s gaze, just as the counter crashed down on his head, and this has paralyzed him. He lets himself be bound and taken away without resistance.

  But at a rapid pace the rumor runs around the market that strong Måns has killed Captain Lennart. It is said that he, who has been the friend of the people, has died to rescue women and defenseless children.

  And it gets quiet over the wild fields where life has just been bustling at its wildest tempo: trade tapers off, fistfights cease, the banquets at the food bundles come to an end, the tightrope walker entices spectators in vain.

  The people’s friend is dead; the people are in mourning. In a silent throng they all stream toward the place where he has fallen. He lies outstretched on the ground, completely unconscious; no wound is apparent, but the skull itself seems to be flattened.

  Some men move him carefully up onto the counter that the giant has dropped. They think they notice that he is still alive.

  “Where should we carry him?” they ask one another.

  “Home!” answers a gruff voice from the crowd.

  Oh yes, you good men, carry him home! Lift him up on your shoulders and carry him home! He has been God’s plaything, he has been driven like a feather before the breath of his spirit. Carry him home now!

  The wounded head has rested on the hard cot in the prison, on the straw bale in the barn. Let it now come home and rest on a stuffed pillow! He has suffered undeserved shame and torment, he has been driven from his own door. He has been a wandering refugee, wandering God’s ways wherever he found them, but the land he longed for was this home, whose entryway God has closed to him. Perhaps his home stands open for one who has died to rescue women and children.

  Now he is not coming home as a convict, led by staggering drinking companions: he is escorted by a sorrowing people in whose huts he has stayed while he has helped their suffering. Carry him home now!

  And they do so. Six men lift the counter upon which he is lying onto their shoulders and carry him away from the market field. Where they proceed the people move aside and stand quietly: the men bare their heads, the women curtsy, like they do in church when the name of God is mentioned. Many weep and dry their eyes, others begin to talk about what a man he has been, so good, so merry, so resourceful, and so God-fearing. It is also remarkable to see how as soon as one of the bearers gets tired, another quite slowly comes and brings his shoulder in under the counter.

  So Captain Lennart also comes past the place where the cavaliers are standing.

  “May as well go along and see to it that he makes it home properly,” says Beerencreutz, leaving his place at the roadside to go along up to Helgesäter. His example is followed by many.

  The market field becomes as if deserted: the people wander with Captain Lennart up to Helgesäter. Of course they have to see to it that he makes it home. All the necessities that should be bought can wait; as it is, the market presents for the little ones back home are forgotten, the purchase of a hymnbook is never completed, the silk cloth which has shone in the girl’s eyes remains lying on the counter. Everyone must go and see to it that Captain Lennart comes home.

  As the procession comes up to Helgesäter, it is silent and deserted there. Again the colonel’s fists pound against the closed entrance door. All the servants are at the market, the captain’s wife is home alone guarding the house. Now too it is she who opens.

  And she asks, as she asked once before, “What do you want?”

  Whereupon the colonel replies, as he has replied once before, “We are here with your husband.”

  She looks at him, as he stands stiff and secure as always. She looks at the bearers behind him, who are weeping, and at the whole mass of people behind them. She stands there on the staircase and looks into hundreds of crying eyes who anxiously stare up at her. Finally she looks at the man lying outstretched on the stretcher and presses her hand to
her heart.

  “This is his right face,” she murmurs.

  Without asking more she leans down, drawing aside a bolt, opens wide the door, and then goes ahead of the others into the bedroom.

  The colonel and the captain’s wife help draw out the double bed and shake out the bolster, and then Captain Lennart is again bedded on soft down and white linen.

  “Is he alive?” she asks.

  “Yes,” replies the colonel.

  “Is there hope?”

  “No. There is nothing to be done.”

  It is silent a moment, then a sudden thought comes over her.

  “Are they weeping for his sake, all of these people?”

  “Yes.”

  “What has he done then?”

  “The last thing he did was to let strong Måns kill him to rescue women and children from death.”

  She again sits silently a moment, thinking.

  “What kind of face did he have, colonel, when he came home two months ago?”

  The colonel gives a start. Now he understands, only now does he understand.

  “Gösta had painted him of course!”

  “So it was for the sake of a cavalier joke that I shut him out of his home. How will you answer for such a thing, colonel?”

  Beerencreutz raised his broad shoulders.

  “I have much to answer for.”

  “But I mean, this might be the worst thing all of you have done.”

  “And I have never walked a heavier path than the one today up here to Helgesäter. Besides, there are two others who are guilty in this.”

  “Who then?”

  “Sintram is the one, the other is you yourself, cousin. You are a stern woman, cousin. I know that many have tried to talk with you about your husband.”

  “It is true,” she replies.

  Then she asks him to tell about the drinking party in Broby.

  He tells all, as well as he can recall, and she listens silently. Captain Lennart is still lying unconscious on the bed. The room is full of weeping people; no one thinks about keeping this grieving group out. All doors stand open, all rooms, stairs, and vestibules are filled with silent, anxious people, far out in the yard they stand in dense flocks.

  When the colonel has finished, the captain’s wife raises her voice and says, “If there are any cavaliers in here, then I ask them to go away from here. It is difficult for me to see them, as I sit by my husband’s deathbed.”

  Without another word the colonel then gets up and leaves. So do Gösta Berling and a few of the other cavaliers who have accompanied Captain Lennart. The people shyly make way for the small band of humiliated men.

  When they are gone, the captain’s wife says, “Do any of those who have seen my husband during this time want to tell me where he has stayed and what he has been doing?”

  Then those inside begin to bear witness about Captain Lennart for his wife, who has misjudged him and in severity hardened her heart to him. Now the language of the old hymns sounds again. Men speak who have never read any book other than the Bible. In imagery from the Book of Job, with turns of phrase from the days of the patriarchs, they speak of God’s pilgrim, who went around helping the people.

  It goes on a long time before they have had their say. While the twilight comes and evening, they remain standing and speak: one after the other steps forth and tells about him for his wife, who has not wanted to hear his name mentioned.

  There are those who could speak about how he found them on the sickbed and healed them. There are wild fighters that he has tamed. There are grieving people whom he has raised up, drunks he has forced into sobriety. Each and every one who has been in a state of unbearable distress had sent word to God’s pilgrim, and he had been able to help, at least he had been able to awaken hope and faith.

  The language of hymns resounds the whole evening in the sickroom.

  Out in the yard stand the compact groups, waiting for the end. They know what is going on inside. What is being said out loud by the deathbed is whispered from man to man out there. Anyone who has something to say slowly forces his way forward. “This is someone who can testify,” someone says, leaving him room. And they step forth from the darkness, give their testimony, and again sink down into the darkness.

  “What is she saying now?” those standing outside ask when someone comes out. “What is she saying, the stern wife at Helgesäter?”

  “She is radiant as a queen. She smiles like a bride. She has moved his armchair up to the bed and set the clothes on it that she herself has woven for him.”

  But then there is silence among all the people. No one says it, everyone knows it at once: “He is dying.”

  Captain Lennart opens his eyes, sees, and sees enough.

  He sees his home, the people, his wife, the children, the clothes, and he smiles. But he has only woken up in order to die. He draws a rattling breath and gives up the ghost.

  Then the stories are silenced, but a voice takes up a death hymn. Everyone joins in, and borne by hundreds of strong voices the song rises to the heights.

  It is the earth’s farewell to the fleeing soul.

  CHAPTER 35

  THE FOREST CROFT

  It was many years before the year when the cavaliers ruled Ekeby.

  The herd boy and herd girl played together in the forest, building houses from flat stones, picking cloudberries, and making alderwood horns. Both were born in the forest. The forest was their home and pasture. They lived there in peace with everything, as one lives in peace with servants and livestock.

  The little ones counted lynx and fox as their farm dogs, the weasel was their cat, hare and squirrel were their large livestock, owls and grouse were in their birdcage, the spruce trees were their servants, and the young birches the guests at their banquets. They knew the hole where the viper lay coiled during its winter sleep, and when they bathed, they had seen the grass snake come swimming through the clear water, but they feared neither snake nor forest witch; that sort of thing was part of the forest, and it was their home. Nothing could frighten them there.

  Deep in the forest was the croft where the boy lived. A hilly forest path led there, hills stood around it and hid the sun, bottomless marsh was nearby, emitting ice-cold fog year-round. Such a residence was hardly enticing for the plains people.

  The herd boy and herd girl would one day become a couple, live together in the forest croft, and survive by the labor of their hands. But before they were married, the misfortune of war passed over the land, and the boy enlisted. He came home without wounds or injured limb, but he had been marked for life by that journey. He had observed far too much of the world’s evil and the cruel treatment of people by other people. He was no longer in a position to see what was good.

  At first no one saw a change in him. He went to the minister with his childhood sweetheart and had the banns published. The forest croft above Ekeby became their home, as they had agreed long ago, but in that home no harmony prevailed.

  The wife saw the husband as a stranger. Ever since he had come back from the war, she could not recognize him. He laughed bitterly and spoke little. She was afraid of him.

  He caused no harm or damage, and he was a diligent worker. Yet he was not well liked, for he believed the worst about everyone. He himself felt like a despised stranger. Now the animals of the forest were his enemies. The hill that concealed the sun and the marsh that emitted fog were his adversaries. The forest is a horrid residence for anyone who bears evil thoughts.

  Anyone who wishes to live in the wilderness should acquire sweet memories! Otherwise he will see only murder and oppression among plants and animals, as he had previously seen among people. He expects the worst from everything he encounters.

  Jan Hök, the soldier, could not himself interpret what had broken within him, but he noticed that nothing went well for him. Home offered little peace. His sons, who were growing up there, became strong, but wild. They were hardened and courageous men, but they also lived in conflict
with everyone.

  In her sorrow his wife was drawn to exploring the secrets of the wilderness. In marsh and thicket she sought health-giving herbs. She pondered over beings of the underworld, and she knew what offerings pleased them. She could cure sickness and give good advice to those who had afflictions from lovemaking. She won a reputation as skilled in magic and was shunned, although she was very useful to people.

  One time the wife decided to speak with the man about his worries.

  “Ever since you went to war,” she said, “you have been a different person. What did they do to you there?”

  Then he leaped up and was close to striking her, and the same thing happened every time she talked about the war. He went into an insane rage then. He could not bear to hear the word “war” spoken by anyone, and soon it became known that he could not bear talk of it. So people were on their guard about that topic of conversation.

  But none of his war comrades could say that he had done more evil than others. He had fought like a good soldier. It was simply all the terrible things he had seen that frightened him so that later he could see nothing but the bad. He attributed all his grief to the war. He thought that all of nature hated him because he had taken part in such things. Those who know better might console themselves with the fact that they fought for fatherland and glory. What did he know of such things? He knew only that everything hated him because he had shed blood and caused harm.

  By that time, when the majoress was driven from Ekeby, he was living alone in his cabin. His wife was dead, and his sons were gone. At market times, however, the forest croft was full of guests. The black-haired, dark-skinned gypsies stayed there. They feel most at home with someone most people avoid. Small, long-haired horses then climbed up the forest path, pulling carts loaded with tin-plating tools, with children and bundles of rags. Women, prematurely aged, with features swollen from smoking and drinking, and men with pallid, sharp faces and sinewy bodies followed the carts. When the gypsies came to the forest croft, things got lively there. They brought liquor and card playing and noisy laughing and talking with them. They could tell stories about thefts and horse trading and bloody fistfights.