The Saga Of Gosta Berling by Selma Lagerlof

Author:Selma Lagerlof [Lagerlof, Selma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Gösta,” says Anna in a joking tone, while her voice is about to be tied in knots by anxiety, “they say that you have experienced more poems than others, who have done nothing else their whole lives, have written, but do you know, you do best composing in your own way. That poem should never see the light of day, you know.”

“You are not gentle.”

“Coming and reading such things about death and misery! Aren’t you ashamed?”

Gösta is no longer listening to her. His eyes are directed at the young countess. She is sitting completely rigid, immobile as a statue. He thinks she is going to faint.

But with endless difficulty a word passes across her lips.

“Go!” she says.

“Who should go? Should I go?”

“The minister must go!” she stammers out.

“Elisabet, be quiet now!”

“The drunken minister must get out of my house!”

“Anna, Anna,” asks Gösta, “what does she mean?”

“It’s best that you go, Gösta.”

“Why should I go? What does all this mean?”

“Anna,” says the Countess Elisabet, “tell him, tell him. . . .”

The countess bites her teeth together and overcomes her agitation.

“Mr. Berling,” she says, going over to him, “you have a remarkable ability to cause people to forget who you are. I have not known it before today. I have just heard the story about the death of Ebba Dohna, and that it was the information that she loved an unworthy man that killed her. Your poem has let me understand that this man is you. I cannot understand how anyone with the past you have lived can show himself in the company of an honorable woman. I cannot understand it, Mr. Berling. Am I clear enough now?”

“Yes, you are, countess. I only want to say a single word in defense. I was convinced, I have been convinced the entire time, that you have known everything about me. I have never tried to conceal anything, but it cannot of course be amusing to shout out the bitterest misfortunes of your life on the roads, least of all to do it yourself.”

He leaves.

And at the same moment Countess Dohna sets her narrow foot on the little bouquet with the blue stars.

“You have now done what I have wanted,” says Anna Stjärnhök harshly to the countess, “but now our friendship is also at an end. You must not think that I can forgive that you have been cruel to him. You have turned him away, mocked and wounded him, and I, I would follow him into prison, to the pillory, if such were the case. It is I who will guard him, preserve him. You have done what I wanted, but I will never forgive you.”

“But Anna, Anna!”

“If I told you this, do you think I did it with a happy heart? Have I not been sitting here and, piece by piece, tearing the heart out of my chest?”

“So why did you do it?”

“Why? Because, you, I did not want—did not want him to become a married woman’s lover. . . .”

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