 Sektion 5 av The Story of Jösta Bärling Detta är en LibriVox-rekord eller LibriVox-rekord som är i den publiska domen. För mer information eller att vara volontär, visst visst LibriVox.org. Riddning av Lars Rolander. The Story of Jösta Bärling by Selma Lagerlöf. Translaterat från den svenska bypålin Bankcroft Flack. Part 1, chapter 3, Christmas Day. On Christmas Day, the major's wife gives a great dinner at Ekeby. She sits as hostess at a table laid for fifty guests. She sits there in splendor and magnificence. Here her short sheepskin jacket, her striped woolen skirt and clay pipe do not follow her. She rustles in silk, goldways on her bare arms, pearls cool her white neck. Where are the pensioners? Where are they who on the black floor of the smitty out of the polished copper kettle drank a toast to the new masters of Ekeby? In the corner by the stove the pensioners are sitting at a separate table. Today there is no room for them at the big table. To them the food comes late, the wine sparingly. To them are sent no glances from beautiful women. No one listens to just us jokes. But the pensioners are like tame birds, like satiated wild beasts. They had scarcely an hour sleep that night. Then they had driven to morning worship, lighted by tortures and the stars. They saw the Christmas candles, they heard the Christmas hymns. Their faces were like smiling children's. They forgot the night in the smitty as one forgets an evil dream. Great and powerful is the major's wife at Ekeby. Who dares lift his arm to strike her? Who his voice to give evidence against her? Certainly not poor gentlemen who for many years have eaten her bread and slept under her roof. She can put them where she will. She can shut her door to them when she will. And they have not the power to fly from her mind. God be merciful to their souls. Far from Ekeby they cannot live. At the big table there was rejoicing. There shone Marian Sinkler's beautiful eyes. There rang the gay Countestona's low laugh. But the pensioners are gloomy. Was it not just as easy to have put them at the same table with the other guests? What a lowering position there in the corner by the stove. As if pensioners were not fit to associate with fine people. The major's wife is proud to sit between the Count at Borg. And the brew clergyman. The pensioners hang their heads like shame-faced children. And by degrees awake in them thoughts of the night. Like shy guests the gay Salis, the merry stories, come to the table in the corner by the stove. There the rage of the night and its promises enter into their minds. Master Julius makes the mighty Captain Krishanberry believe that the roasted crows which are being served at the big table will not go round for all the guests, but it amuses no one. They won't go round, he says. I know how many there are. But they'll manage in spite of it, Captain Krishan. They have some roasted crows for us here at the little table. But Colonel Beerencroids lips are curred by only a very feeble smile under the fierce moustaches and Justa has looked the whole day as if he was meditating somebody's death. Any food is good enough for pensioners, he says. At last the dish heaped up with magnificent crows reaches the little table. But Captain Krishan is angry. Has he not had a lifelong hate of crows, those odious, cooing, winged things? He hated them so bitterly that last autumn he had put on a woman's trailing dress and had fastened a cloth on his head and made himself a laughing stock for all men only to get in range when they ate the grain in the fields. He sought them out at their carcasses on the bare fields in the spring and killed them. He looked for their nests in the summer and threw out the screaming, featherless young ones or smashed the half-hatched eggs. Now he ceases the dish of crows. Do you think I don't know them? he cries to the servant. Do I need to hear them coo to recognize them? Shame on you to offer Krishanburg crows, shame on you. The riponi takes the crows one by one and throws them against the wall. Shame, shame he reiterates so that the whole room rings to offer Krishanburg crows, shame. And just as he used to hurl the helpless young crows against the cliffs so now he sends crows after crows whistling against the wall. Sauce and grease spatter about him, the crushed birds rebound to the floor and the bachelor's wing rejoices. Then the angry voice of the major's wife penetrates to the pensioner's ears. Turn him out, she calls to the servants. But they do not dare to touch him. He's still Krishanburg, the mighty captain. Turn him out! He hears the command and terrible in his rage. He now turns upon the major's wife as a bear turns from a fallen enemy to meet a new attack. He marches up to the horseshoe table. His heavy tread resounds through the hall. He stands opposite her with a table between them. Turn him out! cries the major's wife again. But he is raging. None dare to face his frowning brow and great clenched hand. He is big as a giant and as strong. The guests and servants tremble and dare not approach him. Who would dare to touch him now when rage has taken away his reason? He stands opposite the major's wife and threatens her. I took the crown and threw it against the wall and I did right. Out with you, captain! Shame woman, offer Krishanburg crowns. If I did right I would take you and your seven hells. Thousand devils Krishanburg, don't swear. Nobody but I swears here. Do you think I am afraid of your hag? Don't you think I know how you got your seven estates? Silence, captain! When Alteringar died he gave them to your husband because you had been his mistress. Will you be silent? Because you had been such a faithful wife, Margarita Samselius. And the major took the seven estates and let you manage them and pretended not to know. And the devil arranged it all, but now comes the end for you. The major's wife sits down. She is pale and trembling. She ascends in a strange low voice. Yes, now it is the end for me. And it is your doing, Krishanburg. At her voice Captain Krishan trembles. His face works. And his eyes are filled with tears of anguish. I am drunk, he cries. I don't know what I am saying. I haven't said anything. Dog and slave, dog and slave. And nothing more have I been for her for forty years. She is Margarita Selsing whom I have served my whole life. I say nothing against her. What should I have to say against the beautiful Margarita Selsing? I am the dog which guards her door. The slave who bears her burdens. She may strike me, she may kick me. You see how I hold my tongue and bear it. I have loved her for forty years. How could I say anything against her? And a wonderful sight it is to see how he kneels and begs for forgiveness. And as she is sitting on the other side of the table. He goes on his knees round the table till he comes to her. Then he bends down and kisses the hem of her dress. And the floor is wet with his tears. But not far from the major's wife sits a small strong man. He has shaggy hair, small squinting eyes and a protruding under jaw. He looks like a bear. He is a man of few words who likes to go his own quiet way and let the world take care of itself. He is major some salius. He rises when he hears Captain Christian's accusing words. And the major's wife rises and all the fifty guests. The women are weeping in terror of what is coming. The men stand ejected and at the feet of the major's wife lies Captain Christian. Kissing the hem of her dress, wetting the floor with his tears. The major slowly clenches his broad hairy hands and lifts his arm. But the woman speaks first. Her voice sounds hollow and unfamiliar. You stole me, she cried. You came like a thief and took me. They forced me in my home by blows by hunger and hard words to be your wife. I have treated you as you deserved. The major's broad fist is clenched. His wife gives way a couple of steps. Then she speaks again. Living eels twist under the knife. An unwilling wife takes a lover. Will you strike me now for what happened twenty years ago? Do you not remember how he lived at Ekeby, we at Före? Do you not remember how he helped us in our poverty? We drove in his carriages. We drank his wine. Did we hide anything from you? Were not his servants your servants? Did not his gold weigh heavy in your pocket? Did you not accept the seven estates? You held your tongue and took them. Then you should have struck burnt some cellius. Then you should have struck. The man turns from her and looks on all those present. He reads in their faces that they think she is right. That they all believe he took these estates in return for his silence. I never knew it, he says and stamps on the floor. It is well that you know it now, she cries in a shrill ringing voice. Was I not afraid lest you should die without knowing it? It is well that you know it now so that I can speak out to you who have been my master and jailer. You know now that I in spite of all was his from whom you stole me. I tell you all now you have slundered me. It is the old love which exalts in her voice and shines from her eyes. Her husband stands before her with a lifted hand. She reads horror and scorn on the fifty faces about her. She feels that it is the last hour of her power. But she cannot help rejoicing that she may speak openly for the tendrous memory of her life. He was a man, a man indeed. Who were you to come between us? I have never seen his equal. He gave me happiness. He gave me riches. Blessed be his memory. Then the major lets his lifted arm fall without striking her. Now he knows how he shall punish her. Away he cries, out of my house. She stands motionless. But the pensioners stand with pale faces and stare at one another. Everything was going as the devil had prophesized. They now saw the consequences of the non-renewal of the contract. If that is true, so is it also true that she for more than twenty years had sent pensioners to perdition and that they too were destined for the journey. Oh, the witch! Out with you! Continues the major. Begged your bread on the highway. I shall have no pleasure of his money. You shall not live on his lands. There is no more a mistress of Ikeby. The day you set your foot in my house, I will kill you. Do you drive me from my home? You have no home, Ikeby is mine. A feeling of despair comes over the major's wife. She retreats to the door, he following close after her. You who have been my life's curse, she lamins, shall you also now have power to do this to me. Out, out! She leans against the doorpost, clasps her hands and holds them before her face. She thinks of her mother and murmurs to herself. May you be disowned as I have been disowned. May the highway be your home. The hay stack your bed. It is all coming true. The good old clergyman from Breaux and the judge from Mönchery came forward now to major some salius and tried to calm him. They said to him that it would be best to let all those old stories rest, to let everything be as it was, to forget and forgive. He shakes the mild old hands from his shoulder. He is terrible to approach just as Christian Barry had been. It is no old story, he cries. I never knew anything till today. I have never been able before to punish the odd alt rest. At that word the major's wife lifts her head and regains her old courage. You shall go out before I do. Do you think that I shall give in to you? She says, and she comes forward from the door. The major does not answer, but he watches her every movement ready to strike if he finds no better way to revenge himself. Help me, good gentleman, she cries, to get this man bound and carried out until he gets back the use of his senses. Remember who I am and who he is. Think of it before I must give in to him. I arrange all the work at Ekeby, and he sits the whole day long and feeds his pairs. Help me, good friends and neighbors. There will be boundless misery if I am no longer here. The peasant gets his living by cutting my wood and carting my iron. The charcoal burner lives by getting me charcoal. The lumberman by bringing down my timber. It is I who give out the work which brings prosperity. Smits, mechanics and carpenters live by serving me. Do you think that man can keep my work going? I tell you that if you drive me away, you let famine in. Again are many hands lifted to help the major's wife. Again mild persuading hands are laid on the major's shoulders. No, he says, away with you. Who will defend an adulteress? I tell you that if she does not go of her own will, I shall take her in my arms and carry her down to my bears. At these words the raised hands are lowered. Then as a last resource she turns to the pensioners. Will you also allow me to be driven from my home? Have I let you freeze out in the snow in winter? Have I denied you bitter ale and sweet brandy? Did I take any part or any work from you because I gave you food and clothes? Have you not played at my feet, safe as children at their mother's side? Has not the dance gone through my halls? Have not meriment and laughter been your daily bread? Do not let this man who has been my life's misfortune drive me from my home, gentlemen. Do not let me become a beggar on the highway. At these words just a bearling had stolen away to a beautiful dark-haired girl who sat at the big table. You were very much at 45 years ago, Anna, he says. Do you know if it was the major's wife who told a badona that I was a dismissed priest? Helper justa, is the girl's only answer. You must know that I will first hear if she has made me a murderer. Oh justa, what a thought! Helper justa, you won't answer, I see. Then Sintram told the truth, and justa goes back to the other pensioners. He does not lift a finger to help the major's wife. Oh, if only she had not put the pensioners at a separate table off there in the corner by the stove. Now the thoughts of the night awake in their minds, and a rage burns in their faces, which is not less than the major's own. In pitiless hardness they stand unmoved by her prayers. Did not everything they saw confirm the events of the night. One can see that she did not get her contract renewed, murmurs one. Go to hell hag, screams another, by rights we ought to hunt you from the door. Fools, cries the gentle old uncle Eberhardt to the pensioners. Don't you understand it was Sintram? Of course we understand, of course we know it, answers Julius. But what of that made not be true at any rate? Does not Sintram go on the devil's errands? Don't they understand one another? Go yourself, Eberhardt, go and help her, they mock. You don't believe in hell, you can go. And justa barling stands without a word, motionless. No from the threatening, murmuring, struggling bachelor's wing, she will get no help. Then once again she retreats to the door, and raises her clasped hands to her eyes. May you be disowned, as I have been disowned, she cries to herself in her bitter sorrow. May the highway be your home, the hay stack your bed. Then she lays one hand on the door latch, but the other she stretches on high. Know you all, who now let me fall. Know that your hour is soon coming. You shall be scattered and your place shall stand empty. How can you stand when I do not hold you up? You, Melchior Sinclair, who have a heavy hand, and let your wife feel it, beware. You, Minister et Brubbi, your punishment is coming. Madame Uggla, look after your house, poverty is coming. You, young, beautiful women. Elisa Bettona, Marianne Sinclair, Anna Schernhög, Do not think that I am the only one who must flee from her home, and beware pensioners. A storm is coming over the land. You will be swept away from the earth. Your day is over. It is verily over. I do not lament for myself, but for you. For the storm shall pass over your heads, and who shall stand when I have fallen, and my heart bleeds for my poor people, who will give them work when I am gone. She opens the door, but then Captain Christian lifts his head and says, How long must I lie here at your feet, Margareta Selsing? Will you not forgive me so that I may stand up and fight for you? Then the major's wife fights a hard battle with herself, but she sees that if she forgives him, he will rise up and attack her husband, and this man who has loved her faithfully for forty years will become a murderer. Must I forgive too? She says, are you not the cause of all my misfortune, Christian Barry? Go to the pensioners and rejoice over your work. So she went. She went calmly leaving terror and dismay behind her. She fell, but she was not without greatness in her form. She did not lower herself to grieving weakly, but in her old age she still exalted over the love of her youth. She did not lower herself to lamenting and pitiful weeping when she left everything. She did not shrink from wondering about the land with beggars bag and crutch. She pitted only the poor peasants and the happy, careless people on the shores of the loven, the penniless pensioners, and all those whom she had taken in and cared for. She was abandoned by all, and yet she had strength to turn away her last friend that he should not be a murderer. She was a woman great in strength and love of action. We shall not soon see her like again. The next day Major Samselius moved from Ekeby to his own farm of Före, which lies next to the large estate. In Ultringer's will, by which the major had got the estates, it was clearly stated that none of them should be sold or given away, but that after the death of the major his wife and her heirs should inherit them all. Så, as he could not dissipate the hated inheritance, he placed the pensioners to reign over it, thinking that he by so doing most injured Ekeby and the other six estates. As no one in all the country round now doubted that the wicked syndrome went on the devil's errands, and as everything he had promised had been so brilliantly fulfilled, the pensioners were quite sure that the contract would be carried out in every point, and they were entirely decided not to do during the year. Anything sensible or useful or effeminate convinced that the major's wife was an abominable witch who sought their ruin. The old philosopher Eberhard ridiculed their belief. But who paid any attention to such a man, who was so obstinate in his unbelief, that if he had lain in the midst of the fires of hell, and had seen all the devil standing and grinning at him, would still have insisted that they did not exist, because they could not exist, for uncle Eberhard was a great philosopher. Just a bowling told no one what he thought. It is certain that he considered he owed the major's wife little thanks, because she had made him a pensioner at Ekeby. It seemed better to him to be dead than to have on his conscience the guilt of Ebadornas suicide. He did not lift his hand to be revenged on the major's wife, but neither did he to help her. He could not, but the pensioners had attained great power and magnificence. Christmas was at hand with its feasts and pleasures. The hearts of the pensioners were filled with rejoicing. And whatever sorrow weighed on Just a Bowling's heart he did not show in face or speech. End of section 5 of the story of Just a Bowling read by Lars Rolander. Section 6 of the story of Just a Bowling This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org reading by Lars Rolander. The story of Just a Bowling by Selma Lagerlöf translated from the Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flack. Part 1 chapter 4 Just a Bowling Poet It was Christmas and there was to be a ball at Borry. At that time and it is soon sixty years ago a young Count Dona lived at Borry. He was newly married and he had a young beautiful Countess. It was sure to be gay at the old castle. An invitation had come to Ekeby, but it so happened that of them all who were there that year Just a Bowling whom they called the Poet was the only one who wished to go. Borry and Ekeby both lie by the loven, but on opposite shores. Borry is in Svart Sjöparish, Ekeby in Bro. When the lake is impossible it is a ten or twelve miles journey from Ekeby to Borry. The pauper Just a Bowling was fitted out for the festival by the old men as if he had been a king's son and had the honour of a kingdom to keep up. His coat with the glittering buttons was new. His ruffles were stiff and his buckled shoes shining. He wore a cloak of the finest beaver and a cap of sable on his yellow curling hair. They spread a bare skin with silver claws over his sledge and gave him black Don Juan, a dryd of the stable to dry. He whistled to his white tankred and seized the braided reins. He started rejoicing surrounded by the glitter of riches and splendor. He who shone so by his own beauty and by the playful brillancy of his genius. He left early in the fornown. It was Sunday and he heard the organ in the church at Brú as he drove by. He followed the lonely forest road which led to Bärja where Captain Uggla then lived. There he meant to stop for dinner. Bärja was no rich man's home. Hunger knew the way to that churved house. But he was met with guests, charned with song and games like other guests and went as unwillingly as they. The old mansell Ulrika Dilner who looked after everything at Bärja stod on the steps and wished just a bärling welcome. She curtes it to him and the false curse which hung down over her brown face with its thousand wrinkles danced with joy. She led him into the dining room and then she began to tell him about the family and their changing fortunes. Distress stood at the door she said. It was hard times at Bärja. They would not even have had any horse radish for dinner with their corned beef if Ferdinand and the girls had not put diesel before a sledge and driven down to Mönkery to borrow some. The captain was off in the woods again and would of course come home with a tough old hair on which one had to use more butter in cooking it than it was worth itself. That's what he called getting food for the house. Still it would do if only he did not come with a miserable fox. The worst beast our lord ever made. No use whether dead or alive. And the captain's wife, yes, she was not up yet. She lay a bed and read novels just as she had always done. She was not made for work that God's angel. No, that could be done by someone who was old and grey like Ulrika Dilner working night and day to keep the whole miserable affair together. And it wasn't always so easy for it was the truth that for one whole winter they had not had in that house any other meat than bearhams. And big wages she did not expect so far she had never seen any but they would not turn her out on the roadside either when she couldn't work any longer in return for her food. They treated a housemaid like a human being in that house and they would one of these days give old Ulrika a good burial if they had anything to buy the coffin with. For who knows how it will be? She bursts out and wipes her eyes which are always so quick to tears. We have depth to the wicked syndrome and he can take everything from us. Of course Ferdinand is engaged to the rich Anna Fernhurst but she is tired. She is tired of him and what will become of us of our three cows and our nine horses of our gay young ladies who want to go from one ball to another of our dry fields where nothing grows of our mild Ferdinand who will never be a real man what will become of the whole blessed house where everything thrives except work but dinner time came and the family gathered the good Ferdinand the gentle son of the house and the lively daughters came home with the borrowed horse radish the captain came fortified by bath in a hole in the ice and a tramp through the woods he threw up the window to get more air and shook just his hand with a strong grip and his wife came dressed in silk with wide laces hanging over her white hands which justa was allowed to kiss they all greeted justa with joy just flew about the circle gaily they asked him how are you all at Ikeby how is it in that promised land milk and honey flow there he answered we emptied the mountains of iron and fill our cellar with wine the fields bear gold with which we guild life's misery and we cut down our woods to build bowling alleys and summer houses the captain's wife sighed and smiled at his answer and her lips murmured the word poet many sins have I on my conscience answered justa but I have never written a line of poetry you are nevertheless a poet justa that name you must put up with you have lived through more poems than all our poets have written then she spoke tenderly as a mother of his wasted life I shall live to see you become a man she said and he felt it sweet to be urged on by this gentle woman who was such a faithful friend whose romantic heart burned with the love of great deeds but just as they had finished the gay meal and had enjoyed the corned beef and horseradish and cabbage and apple fritters and Christmas ale and justa had made them laugh and cry by telling them of the major and his wife and the brooby clergyman they heard sleigh bells outside and immediately afterward the wicked syndrome walked in he beamed with satisfaction from the top of his bald head down to his long flat feet he swang his long arms and his face was twisted it was easy to see that he brought bad news have you heard he asked have you heard that the bands have been called today for Anna, Sjönhök and the rich Dahlberg in the Swatschere church she must have forgotten that she was engaged to Ferdinand they had not heard a word of it they were amazed and grieved already they fancied the home pillage to pay the debt to this wicked man the beloved horse is sold as well as the worn furniture which had come from the home of the captain's wife they saw an end to the gay life with feasts and journeys from ball to ball bearhams would again adorn the board and the young people must go out into the world and work for strangers the captain's wife caressed her son and let him feel the comfort of a never-failing love but there sat just a bärling in the midst of them and unconquerable turned over a thousand plans in his head listen he cried it is not yet time to think of grieving it is the minister's wife at Svatschö who has arranged all this she has got a hold on Anna since she has been living with her at the vickridge it is she who has persuaded her to forsake Ferdinand and take Old Dahlberg they are not married yet and will never be either I am on my way to Bori and shall meet Anna there I shall talk to her I shall get her away from the clergymen from her fiance I shall bring her with me here tonight and afterwards Old Dahlberg shall never get any good of her and so it was arranged just a started for Bori alone without taking any of the gay young ladies but with warm good wishes for his return and syndrome who rejoiced that Old Dahlberg should be cheated decided to stop at Bärja to see just a comeback with a faithless girl in a burst of goodwill he even wrapped round him his green played a present from Mamsel Ulrika the captain's wife came out on the steps with three little books and red leather in her hand take them she said to Jösta who already sat in the slage take them if you fail it is Corinne, Madame de Stel's Corinne I do not want them to go by auction I shall not fail ah, Jösta, Jösta she said and passed her hand over his bare head strongest and weakest of men how long will you remember that a few poor people's happiness lies in your hand once more Jösta flew along the road drawn by the black donsch one followed by the white tankred and the joy of adventure filled his soul he felt like a young conqueror the spirit was in him his way took him past the vicarage at Svattsö he turned in there and asked if he might drive fanhögt till the ball and that he was permitted a beautiful self-willed girl it was who sat in his sledge who would not want to drive behind the black donsch one the young people were silent at first but then she began the conversation or dashesness itself have you heard what the minister read out in church today did he say that you were the prettiest girl between the Löven and the Klar River how stupid you are but everyone knows that he called the bands for me and old Dalberg never would I have let you sit in my sledge nor sat here myself if I had known that never would I have wished to drive you at all and the proud air is answered I could have got there well enough without you just a balling it's a pity for you anam said just thoughtfully that your father and mother are not alive you are your own mistress and no one can hold you to account it is a much greater pity that you had not said that before so that I might have driven with someone else the minister's wife thinks as I do that you need someone to take your father's place else she had never put you to pull in harness with such an old nag it is not she who has decided it ah heaven preservice have you yourself chosen such a fine man he does not take me for my money no the old ones they only run after blue eyes and red cheeks and awfully nice they are when they do that oh justa are you not ashamed but remember that you are not to play with young men any longer no more dancing and games your place is in the corner of the sofa or perhaps you mean to play cribbage with old dolby they were silent and they drew up the steep hill to Borry thanks for the drive it will be long before I drive again with you justa balling thanks for the promise I know how many who will be sorry today they ever drove you to party little pleased was the haughty beauty when she entered the ballroom and looked over the guests gathered there first of all she saw the little ball dolby beside the tall slender golden head justa balling she wished she could have driven them both out of the room her fiancee came to ask her to dance but she received him with crushing astonishment are you going to dance you never do and the girls came to wish her joy don't give yourselves the trouble girls you don't suppose that anyone could be in love with old dolby but he is rich and I am rich therefore we go well together the old ladies went up to her pressed her white hand and spoke of life's greatest happiness congratulate the minister's wife she said she's gladder about it than I am but there stood justa balling the gay cavalier greeted with joy for his cheerful smile and his pleasant words which sifted gold dust over life's grey web never before had she seen him as he was that night he was no outcast no homeless jester no a king among men a born king he and the other young men conspired against her she should think over how badly she had behaved when she gave herself with her lovely face and her great fortune to an old man and they let her sit out ten dances she was boiling with rage at the eleventh dance came a man the most insignificant of all a poor thing whom nobody would dance with and asked her for a turn there is no more bread bring on the crusts she said they played a game of forfeits the fair had girls put their heads together and condemned her to kiss the one she loved best and with smiling lips they waited to see the proud beauty kiss old dollberry but she rose stately in her anger and said may I not just as well give a blow to the one I liked the least the moment after justa's cheek burned under her firm hand he flushed a flaming red but he conquered himself seized her hand held it fast a second and whispered meet me in half an hour in the red drawing room on the lower floor his blue eyes flashed on her and encompassed her with magical waves she felt that she must obey she met him with proud and angry words how does it concern you whom I marry he was not ready to speak gently to her nor did it seem to him best to speak yet of Ferdinand I thought it was not too severe punishment for you to sit out ten dances but you want to be allowed unpunished to break vows and promises if a better man than I had taken your sentence in his hand he could have made it harder what have I done to you and all the others that I may not be in peace it is for my money's sake you persecute me I shall throw it into the loven and anyone who wants it can fish it up she put her hands before her eyes and wept from anger that moved the poet's heart he was ashamed of his harshness he spoke in caressing tones ah child child forgive me forgive poor you're stabbiling nobody cares what such a poor wretch says or does you know that nobody weeps for his anger one might just as well weep over a mosquito's bite it was madness in me to hope that I could prevent our loveliest and richest girl marrying that old man and now I have only distressed you he sat down on the sofa beside her gently he put his arm about her waist with caressing tenderness to support and raise her she did not move away she pressed closer to him threw her arms round his neck and wept with her beautiful head on his shoulder oh poet strongest and weakest of men it was not about your neck those white arms should rest if I had known that she whispered never would I have taken the old man I have watched you this evening there is no one like you from between paleips just a forestop Ferdinand she silenced him with a kiss he's nothing no one but you is anything to you will I be faithful I am just a balling he said gloomily you cannot marry me you are the man I love the noblest of men you need do nothing be nothing you are born a king then the poet's blood ceased she was beautiful and tender in her love he took her in his arms if you will be mine you cannot remain at the vickridge let me drive you to Iqbi tonight there I shall know how to defend you till we can be married that was a wild drive through the night absorbed in their love they let Don Juan take his own pace the noise of the runners was like the lamentations of those they had deceived what did they care for that she hung on his neck and he leaned forward and whispered in her ear can any happiness be compared in sweetness to stolen pleasures what did the bands matter they had love and the anger of men just a balling believed in fate fate had mastered them no one can resist fate if the stars had been the candles which had been lighted for her wedding if Don Juan's bells had been the church chimes calling the people to witness her marriage to Old Dalbury still she must have fled with just a balling so powerful is fate they had passed the vickridge at Munkerud they had three miles to Barya and three miles more to Iqbi the road skirted the edge of the wood on the right laid dark hills on their left a long white valley Tancred came rushing he ran so fast that he seemed to lie along the ground howling with fright he sprang up in the sledge and crept under Anna's feet Don Juan shied and bolted Wolves said just a balling they saw a long grey line running by the fence there were at least a dozen of them Anna was not afraid the day had been richly blessed with adventure and the night promised to be equally so it was life to speed over the sparkling snow defying wild beasts and men just uttered an oath leaned forward and struck Don Juan a heavy blow with a whip are you afraid? he asked they mean to cut us off there where the road turns Don Juan ran racing with the wild beasts of the forest and Tancred howled in rage and terror they reached the turn of the road at the same time as the wolves and just I drove back the foremost with a whip ah Don Juan my boy how easily you could get away from twelve wolves if you did not have us to drag they tied the green plate behind them the wolves were afraid of it and fell back for a while but when they had overcome their fright one of them ran panting with hanging tongue and opened mouth up to the sledge then just I took Madame de Stals Corinne and threw it into his mouth once more they had breathing space for a time while the brutes tore their booty to pieces and then again they felt the dragging just the wolves seized the green plate and heard their panting breath they knew that they should not pass any human dwelling before barrier but worse than death it seemed to Justa to see those he had deceived but he knew that the horse would tire and what should become of them then they saw the house at barrier at the edge of the forest candles burnt in the windows and he knew too well for whose sake but now the wolves drew back fearing the neighborhood of man and Justa drew past barrier he came no further than to the place where the road once again buried itself in the wood there he saw a dark group before him the wolves were waiting for him let us turn back to the vicarage and say that we took a little pleasure trip in the starlight we can't go on they turned but in the next moment the sledge was surrounded by wolves gray forms brushed by them their white teeth glittered in gaping mouths and their glowing eyes shone they howled with hunger and thirst for blood the glittering teeth were ready to see the soft human flesh the wolves leaped up on Don Juan and hung on the saddle cloth Anna sat and wondered if they would eat them entirely up or if there would be something left so that people the next morning would find their mangled limbs on the trampled bloody snow it's a question of our lives she said and leaned down and seized tankred by the nape of the neck don't that will not help it's not for the dog's sake the wolves are out tonight their upon your stud row into the yard at Barria but the wolves hunted him up to the very steps he had to beat them off with a whip Anna he said as he drew up God would not have it keep a good countenance if you are the woman I take you for keep a good countenance they had heard the sleighmills in the house and came out he has her they cried he has her long live your stubborn and the newcomers were embraced by one after another few questions were asked the night was far advanced the travelers were agitated by their terrible drive and needed rest it was enough that Anna had come all was well only Corrine and the green played because prized gift were destroyed the whole house slept but just a rose dressed himself and stole out unnoticed he led Donch one out of the stable harnessed him to the sledge and meant to set out but Anna fan her came out from the house I heard you go out she said so I got up too I'm ready to go with you he went up to her and took her hand don't you understand it yet it cannot be God does not wish it listen now and try to understand I was here to dinner and saw their grief over your faithlessness I went to Bori to bring you back to Ferdinand but I have always been a good for nothing and will never be anything else I betrayed him and kept you for myself there is an old woman here who believes that I shall become a man I betrayed her and another poor old thing will freeze and starve here for the sake of dying among friends but I was ready to let the wicked syndrome take her home you were beautiful and sin is sweet it is so easy to tempt just a baling oh what a miserable wretch I am I know how they love their home all those in there but I was ready just now 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 will not keep you no I will not you could have made a man of me but I may not keep you oh my beloved he there above mocks at our desires we must bow under his chastising hand tell me that you from this day will take up your burden all of them rely upon you say that you will stay with them and be their prop and help if you love me if you will lighten my deep sorrow promise me this my beloved is your heart so great that you can conquer yourself and smile in doing it she accepted the renunciation in a sort of ecstasy I shall do as you wish sacrifice myself and smile and not hate my poor friends she smiles sadly as long as I love you I shall love them now for the first time I know what you are it is hard to leave you farewell Yasta go and God be with you my love shall not tempt you to sin she turned to go in he followed her will you soon forget me go Yasta we are only human he threw himself down in the sledge but then she came back again do you not think of the wolves just of them I am thinking but they have done their work from me they have nothing more to get this night once more he stretched his arms towards her but on Shuan became impatient and set off he did not take the reins he sat backwards and looked after her then he leaned against the seat and wept despairingly I have possessed happiness and driven her from me I myself drove her from me why did I not keep her ah just a bearing strongest and weakest of men en end of section 6 of the story of just a bearing read by Lars Rolander section 7 of the story of just a bearing this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org reading by Lars Rolander the story of just a bearing by Selma Lagerlöf translated from the Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Fluck part 1 chapter 5 La Caciuccia war horse war horse old friend who now stand tethered in the posture do you remember your youth do you remember the day of the battle you sprang forward as if you had been born on wings your mane fluttered about you like waving flames on your black haunches shown drops of blood and frothy foam in harness of gold you bounded forward the ground thundered under you you trembled with joy ah how beautiful you were it is the grey hour of twilight in the pensioners wing in the big room the pensioners red painted chests stand against the walls and their holiday clothes hang on hooks in the corner the firelight plays on the whitewashed walls and on the yellow striped curtains which conceal the beds the pensioners wing is not a kingly dwelling no serralgio with cushioned avans and soft pillows but there lilyekrunats violin is heard he is playing the caciuccia in the dusk of the evening and he plays it over and over again cut the strings break his bow why does he play that cursed dance why does he play it when earn a clue the ensign is lying sick with the paints of goot so severe that he cannot move in his bed no throw the violin away and throw it against the wall if it will not stop la caciuccia is it for us master shall it be danced over the shaking floor of the pensioners wing between the narrow walls black with smoke and greasy with dirt under that low ceiling woe to you to play so la caciuccia is it for us for us pensioners without the snowstorm halls do you think to teach the snowflakes to dance in time are you playing for the light footed children of the storm maiden forms which tremble with the throbbing of hot blood small sooty hands which have thrown aside the pot to seize the castaniets bare feet under tucked up skirts quartz paved with marble slabs crouching gypsis with bagpipe and tambourine morish arcades moonlight and black eyes have you these master if not let the violin rest the pensioners are drying their wet clothes by the fire shall they swing in high boots with iron shod heels and inch thick soles through snow yards deep they have waited the whole day to reach the bare slayer do you think they will dance in wet reaking homesman clothes with shaggy brain as a partner an evening sky glittering with stars red roses in dark hair trouble's tenderness in the air untutut grace in their movements love rising from the ground raining from the sky floating in the air have you all that master if not why do you force us to long for such things most cruel of men are you summoning the tethered warhorse to the combat Rutger von Erneklu is lying in his bed a prisoner to the goot spare him the pain of tender memories master he too has worn som brero and bright coloured hair net he too has owned velvet jacket and belted ponjard spare old Erneklu master Matlilje Kruna plays the kachutcha always the kachutcha and Erneklu is tortured like the lover when he sees the swallow fly away to his beloved's distant dwelling like the heart when he is driven by the hurrying chase past the cooling spring Lilje Kruna takes the violin for a second from his chin Ensign do you remember Rosalie von Barrier Erneklu swears a solemn oath she was light as a candle flame she sparkled and danced like the diamond in the end of the fiddle bow you must remember her in the theatre at Karlstad we saw her when we were young do you remember and the ensign remembered she was small and ardent she was like a sparkling flame she could dance like a kachutcha she taught all the young men in Karlstad to dance kachutcha and to play the castanets at the governor's ball a pade død was danced by the ensign and Mademoiselle von Barrier dressed as Spaniards and he had danced as one dances under fig trees and magnolias like a Spaniard a real Spaniard no one in the whole of Wärmland could dance kachutcha like him no one could dance it so that it was worth speaking of it but he what a cavalier Wärmland lost when the good stiffened his legs and great lumps grew out on his joints what a cavalier he had been so slender so handsome so courtly the handsome Urna Klu he was called by those young girls who were ready to come to blows over a dance with him then Lillie Kruna begins the kachutcha again always the kachutcha and Urna Klu is taken back to old times there he stands and there she stands Rosalie von Barrier just now they were alone in the dressing room she was a Spaniard he too he was allowed to kiss her but carefully for she was afraid of his blackened moustache now they dance ah, as one dances under fig trees and magnolias she draws away, he follows he is bold, she proud he wounded, she conciliatory when he at the end falls on his knees and receives her in his outstretched arms a sigh goes through the ballroom a sigh of rapture he had been like a Spaniard a real Spaniard just at that stroke had he been so stretched his arms so and put out his foot to glide forward what grace he might have been you in marble he does not know how it happened but he has got his foot over the edge of the bed he stands upright, he bends he raises his arms, snaps his fingers and wishes to glide forward over the floor in the same way as long ago when he wore so tight patent leather shoes the stocking feet had to be cut away bravo, Ernest Clou bravo, Lily Cruna play life into him his foot gives way he cannot rise on his toe he kicks a couple of times with one leg he can do no more he falls back on the bed handsome senor you have grown old perhaps the senorita has too it is only under the plain trees of Granada that the kachucha is danced by eternally Jang Gitanas eternally Jang because like the roses each spring brings new ones so now the time has come to cut the strings no, play on Lily Cruna play the kachucha always the kachucha teach us that although we have got slow bodies and stiff joints in our feelings we are always the same always Spaniards war horse war horse say that you love the trumpet blast which decoys you into a gallop even if you also cut your foot to the bone on the stealing of the tether end of section 7 of the story of Jösta Bärling read by Lars Rolander section 8 of the story of Jösta Bärling this is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org reading by Lars Rolander the story of Jösta Bärling by Selma Lagerlöf translated from the Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flack part 1 chapter 6 the ball at Ekby ah women of the olden times to speak of you is to speak of the kingdom of heaven you were all beauties ever bright, ever young ever lovely and gentle as a mother's eye when she looks down on her child softest young squirrels you hung on your husband's neck your voice never trembled with anger no frowns ruffled your brow your white hands was never harsh and hard you sweet saints like adored images stood in the temple of home incense and prayers were offered you through you love worked its wonders and round your temple's poetry read its gold gleaming glory ah women of the past this is the story of how one of you gave Jösta Bärling her love two weeks after the ball at Borg there was one at Ekby what a feast it was old men and women become young again smile and rejoice only in speaking of it the pensioners were masters at Ekby at that time the major's wife went about the country with beggars wallet and crutch and the major lived at Schö he could not even be present at the ball for at first smallpox had broken out and he was afraid to spread the infection what pleasures those twelve hours contained from the pop of the first cork at the dinner table to the last whale of the violins long after midnight they have sunk into the background of time those crowned ours made magical by the most fairy wines by the most delicate food by the most inspiring music by the wittest of theatricals by the most beautiful tableau they have sunk away to sea with a deceased dance where are to be found such polished floors such courtly nights such lovely women ah women of the olden days you knew well how to adorn a ball streams of fire of genius and youthful vigor thrilled each and all who approached you it was worth wasting one's gold on wax candles to light up your loveliness on buying to instill gaiety into your hearts it was worth dancing souls to dust and rubbing stiff arms which had drawn the fiddle bow for your sakes ah women of the olden days it was you who owned the key to the door of paradise the halls of ikibi are crowded with the loveliest of your lovely throng there is the young countestona sparklingly gay and eager for game and dance has befits her twenty years there are the lovely daughter of the judge of munkerud and the lively young ladies from baria there is anarchanhök a thousand times more beautiful than ever before with that gentle dreaminess which had come over her ever since the night she had been hunted by wolves there are many more who are not yet forgotten but soon will be there is the beautiful Marianne Sinclair she the famed queen of beauty who had shown at royal courts who had travelled the land over and received homage everywhere she who lighted the spark of love wherever she showed herself she had deigned to come to the pensioners ball at that time varmlands glory was at its height born up by many proud names much had the beautiful lands happy children to be proud of but when they named their glories they never neglected to speak of Marianne Sinclair the tales over conquests filled the land they spoke of the coronets which had floated over her head of the millions which had been laid at her feet of the warriors swords and poets rest whose splendor had tempted her and she possessed not only beauty she was witty and learned the cleverest men of the day were glad to talk with her she was not an author herself but many of her ideas which she had put into the souls of her poet friends lived again in song in varmland in the land of the bear she seldom stayed her life was spent in perpetual journeys her father the rich Melchior Sinclair remained at home at Björne and let Marianne go to her noble friends in the large towns or at the great country seats he had his pleasure in telling of all the money she wasted and both the old people lived happy in the splendor of Marianne's glowing existence her life was a life of pleasure and homage the air about her was love love her light and lamp love her daily bread she too had often loved often often but never had that fire lasted long enough to forge the change which bind for life I wait for him the irresistible she used to say of love hither too he has not climbed over several ramparts nor swum through several trenches he has come tämly without wildness in his eye and madness in his heart I wait for the conqueror who shall take me out of myself I will feel love so strong within me that I must tremble before him now I know only the love at which my good sense laughs her presence gave fire to talk life to the wine her glowing spirit set the fiddle-bows going and the dance floated in sweeter deediness than before over the floor which she had touched with her feet she was radiant in the tableau she gave genius to the comedy her lovely lips ah hush it was not her fault she never meant to do it it was the balcony it was the moonlight the lace veil the nightly dress the song which were to blame the poor young creatures were innocent all that which led to so much unhappiness was with the best intentions Master Julius, who could do anything had arranged a tableau especially that Marianne might shine in full glory in the theatre which was set up in the great drawing room at Ekeby sat the hundred guests and looked at the picture Spain's yellow moon wandering through a dark night sky Hans Juan came stewing along Sevillea Street and stopped under an ivy-clad balcony he was disguised as a monk but one could see an embroider cuff under the sleeve and a gleaming sword point under the mantles hem he raised his voice in song I kiss the lips of no fair maid nor wet mine with a foaming wine within the beaker's gold a cheek upon whose rose leaf shade mine eyes have lit a glow divine a look which shyly seeketh mine these leave me still and cold ah, come not in thy beauty's glow seniora through your terror store I fear when thou art nigh cope and stole my shoulder snow the virgin only I adore and water jugs whole comfort store for ease to them I fly as he finished Marianne came out on the balcony dressed in black velvet and lace veil she leaned over the balustrade and sang slowly and ironically why tarry thus thou holy man beneath my wind of late or long har I for my soul's wheel then suddenly warmly and eagerly a flea be gone while yet you can your gleaming sword sticks forth so long and plainly spite your holy song the spurs clank on your heel at these words the monk cast off his disguise and just a baling stood under the balcony in a night's dress of silk and gold he he did not the beauty's warning but climbed up one of the balcony's supports swang himself over the balustrade and just as master Julius had arranged it fell on his sneeze at the lovely Marianne's feet graciously she smiled on him and gave him her hand to kiss and while the two young people gazed at one another absorbed in their love the curtain fell and before her knelt just a baling with a face tender as a poet's and bold as a soldier's with deep eyes which glowed with wit and genius which implored and constrained supple and full of strength was he fiery and captivating while the curtain went up and down the two stood always in the same position just as eyes held the lovely Marianne fast they implored they constrained then the applause ceased the curtain hung quiet no one saw them then the beautiful Marianne bent down and kissed just a baling she did not know why she had to he stretched up his arms about her head and held her fast she kissed him again and again but it was the balcony it was the moonlight it was the lace veil the nightly dress, the song the applause which were to blame they had not wished it she had not thrust aside the crowns which had hovered over her head and spurned the millions which lay at her feet out of love for just a baling nor had he already forgotten on a fanherk no, they were blameless neither of them had wished it it was the gentle loven boy he with a fear in his eye and the smile on his lips who that day was curtain racer distracted by the memory of many sorrows he noticed little of the things of this world and had never learnt to look after them rightly when he now saw that just and Marianne had taken a new position he thought that it also belonged to the tableau and so he began to drag on the curtain string the two on the balcony observed nothing until a thunder of applause greeted them Marianne started back and wished to flee but just the held her fast whispering stand still they think it belongs to the tableau he felt how her body shook with shuddering and how the fire of her kisses died out on her lips do not be afraid he whispered lovely lips have a right to kiss they had to stand while the curtain went up and went down and each time the hundreds of eyes saw them hundreds of hands thundered out a stormy applause for it was beautiful to see two fair young people represent loves happiness no one could think that those kisses were anything but stage delusion no one guessed that the senora shook with embarrassment and the night with uneasiness no one could think that it did not all belong to the tableau at last Marianne just stood behind the scenes she pushed her hair back from her forehead I don't understand myself she said five for shame is Marianne said he grimacing and stretched out his hands to kiss just a bärling shame on you Marianne had to laugh everyone knows that just a bärling is irresistible my fault is no greater than others and they agree to put a good face on it so that no one should suspect the truth can I be sure that the truth will never come out her just she asked before they went out among the guests that you can gentlemen can hold their times I promise you that she dropped her eyes a strange smile curled her lips if the truth should come out what would people think of me her just they would not think anything they would know that it meant nothing they would think that we entered into our parts and were going on with the play yet another question with lowered lids and with the same forced smile but you yourself what do you think about it har justa I think that you are in love with me he just did think no such thing she smiled for then I must run you through with my stiletto to show you that you are wrong women's kisses are precious said justa does it cost one's life to be kissed by Marianne Sinclair a glance flashed on him from Marianne's eyes so sharp that it felt like a blow I could wish to see you dead just a bärling dead, dead these words revive the old longing in the poet's blood ah, he said would that those words were more than words that they were arrows which came whistling from some dark ambush that they were daggers of poison and had the power to destroy this wretched body and set my soul free she was calm and smiling now childishness she said and took his arm to join the guests they kept their costumes and their triumphs were renewed when they showed themselves in front of the scenes everyone complimented them, no one suspected anything the ball began again but justa escaped from the ballroom his heart ached from Marianne's glance as if it had been wounded by sharp steel he understood too well the meaning of her words it was a disgrace to love him it was a disgrace to be loved by him a shame worse than death he would never dance again he wished never to see them again those lovely women he knew it too well those beautiful eyes those red cheeks burned not for him not for him floated those light feet nor rang that low laugh yes, dance with him flirt with him that they could do but not one of them would be his in earnest the poet went into the smoking room to the old men and sat down by one of the card tables he happened to throw himself down by the same table where the powerful master of Björne sat and played bakarad and rolled in the bank with a great pile of silver in front of him the play was already high justa gave it an even greater impulse green bank notes appeared and always the pile of money grew in front of the powerful Melchior Sinclair but before justa also gathered both coins and notes and soon he was the only one out in the struggle against the great landowner at Björne soon the great pile of money changed over from Melchior Sinclair to justa Belling justa my boy cried the landowner laughing when he had played away everything he had in his pocketbook and purse what shall we do now I am bankrupt and I never play with borrowed money I promised my wife that he played away his watch and his beaver coat and was just going to stake his horse and sledge when Sintram checked him stake something to win on he advised him stake something to turn the luck what the devil have I got play your greatest heart's blood brother Melchior stake your daughter you would never venture that said justa laughing that price I would never get under my roof Melchior could not help laughing also he could not endure that Marianne's name should be mentioned at the card tables but this was so insanely ridiculous that he could not be angry to play away Marianne to justa yes that he certainly could venture that is to say he explained that if you can win her consent justa I will stake my blessing to the marriage on this card justa stake all his winnings and the play began he won and Sinclair stopped playing he could not fight against such bad luck he saw that the night slipped by it was past midnight the lovely women's cheeks began to grow pale curls hang straight ruffels were crumpled the old ladies rose up from the sofa corners and said that as they had been there twelve hours it was about time for them to be thinking of home and the beautiful ball should be over but then Liliacruna himself seized the fiddle and struck up the last polka the horses stood at the door the old ladies were dressed in their cloaks and shoals the old men wound their plates about them and buckled their galoshes but the young people could not tear themselves from the dance they danced in their outdoor raps and a mad dance it was as soon as a girl stopped dancing with one partner another came and dragged her away with him and even the sorrowful justa was dragged into the whirl he hoped to dance away grief and humiliation he wished to have the love of life in his blood again he longed to be gay, he as well as the others and he danced till the walls went round and he no longer knew what he was doing who was it he had got hold of in the crowd she was light and supple and he felt that streams of fire went from one to the other ah, Marianne while justa danced with Marianne Sintram sat in his sledge before the door and beside him stood Melchior Sinclair the great land owner was impatient at being forced to wait for Marianne he stamped in the snow with his great snow boats and beat with his arms for it was bitter cold perhaps he ought not to have played Marianne away to justa said Sintram what do you mean? Sintram arranged his reins and lifted his whip before he answered it did not belong to the tableau that kissing the powerful land owner raised his arm for a death blow but Sintram was already gone he drew away whipping the horse to a wild gallop without daring to look back for Melchior Sinclair had a heavy hand and short patience he went now into the dancing room to look for his daughter and saw how justa and Marianne were dancing wild and giddy was that last polka some of the couples were pale others glowing red dust lay like smoke over the hall the wax candles gleamed burned down to the sockets and in the midst of all the ghostly ruin they flew on justa and Marianne royal in their tireless strength no blemish on their beauty happy in the glorious motion Melchior Sinclair watched them for a while but then he went and left Marianne to dance he slammed the door trammed down the stairs and placed himself in the sledge where his wife already waited and drew home when Marianne stopped dancing and asked after her parents they were gone when she was certain of this she showed no surprise she dressed herself quietly and went out in the yard the ladies in the dressing room thought that she drew in her own sledge she hurried in her thin satin shoes along the road without telling anyone of her distress in the darkness no one recognized her as she went by the edge of the road no one could think that this slate wanderer who was driven up into the high drifts by the passing sledges was the beautiful Marianne when she could go in the middle of the road she began to run she ran as long as she was able then walked for a while then ran again a hideous torturing fear drew her on from Ekeby to Björni she was not be farther than at most two miles Marianne was soon at home but she thought almost she had come the wrong way when she reached the house all the doors were closed all the lights out she wondered if her parents had not come home she went forward and twice knocked loudly on the front door she seized the door handle and shook it till the noise resounded through the whole house no one came and opened but when she let the iron go which she had grasped with her bare hands the fast frozen skin was torn from them Melchier Sinclair had driven home in order to shut his door on his only child he was drunk with much drinking wild with rage he hated his daughter because she liked just a balling he had shut the servants into the kitchen and his wife in the bedroom with solemn oaths he told them that the one who let Marianne in he would beat to a jelly and they knew that he would keep his word no one had ever seen him so angry such a grief had never come to him before had his daughter come into his presence he would perhaps have killed her Golden ornament, silken dresses had he given her wit and learning had been instilled in her she had been his pride, his glory he had been as proud of her as if she had worn a crown oh, his queen, his goddess his honored beautiful proud Marianne had he ever denied her anything had he not always considered himself too common to be her father oh, Marianne, Marianne ought he not to hate her when she is in love with just a balling and kisses him should he not cast her out shut his door against her when she will disgrace her greatness by loving such a man let her stay at Ichby let her run to the neighbors for shelter let her sleep in the snowdrifts it's all the same she has already been dragged in the dirt the lovely Marianne the bloom is gone the luster of her life is gone he lies there in his bed and hears how she beats on the door what does that matter to him he's asleep outside stands one who will marry a dismissed priest he has no home for such a one if he had loved her less if he had been less proud of her he could have let her come in yes, his blessing he could not refuse them he had played it away but to open the door for her that he would not do ah, Marianne the beautiful young woman still stood outside the door of her home one minute she shook the lock in powerless rage the next she fell on her knees clashed her mangled hands and begged for forgiveness but no one heard her no one answered no one opened to her oh, was it not terrible I am filled with horror as I tell of it she came from a ball whose queen she had been she had been proud, rich, happy and in one minute she was cast into such an endless misery shut out from her home exposed to the cold not scorned, not beaten, not cursed but shut out with cold immovable lovelessness think of the cold starlit night which spread its arch above her the great wide night with the empty desolate snow fields silent woods everything slept everything was sunk in painlessly only one living point in all that sleeping whiteness all sorrow and pain and horror which otherwise had been spread over the world crept forward towards that one lonely point oh God, to suffer in the midst of this sleeping, eye-spunged world for the first time in her life she met with unmercifulness and hardness her mother would not take the trouble to leave her bed to save her the old servants who had guided her first steps heard her and did not move a finger for her sake for what crime was she punished where should she find compassion if not at this door if she had been a murderess she would still have knocked on it knowing that they would forgive her if she had sunk to being the most miserable of creatures come wasted and in rags she would still confidently have gone up to that door and expected a loving welcome that door was the entrance to her home and behind it she could only meet with love had not her father tried her enough would they not soon open to her father, father she called let me come in I freeze, I tremble it is terrible out here mother, mother you who have gone so many steps to serve me you who have watched so many nights over me why do you sleep now mother, mother wake just this one night and I will never give you pain again she calls and falls into breathless silence to listen for an answer but no one heard her no one obeyed her no one answered then she rings her hands in despair but there are no tears in her eyes the long dark house with its closed doors and darkened windows lay awful and motionless in the night what would become of her who was homeless branded and dishonored was she as long as she encumbered the earth and her father himself pressed the red hot iron deeper into her shoulders father, she called once more what will become of me people will believe the worst of me she wept and suffered her body was stiff with cold alas that such misery can reach one who but lately stood so high it is so easy to be plunged into the deepest suffering should we not fear life who sails in a safe craft round about to swell sorrows like a heaving ocean see how the hungry waves lick the ship's sides see how they rage up over her ah, no safe anchorage no solid ground no steady ship as far as the eye can see only an unknown sky over an ocean of sorrow but hush, at last, at last a light step comes through the hole is it mother? asked Marianne yes, my child may I come in now? father will not let you come in I have run in the snowdrifts in my thin shoes all the way from Ikeby I have stood here an hour and knocked and called I'm freezing to death out here why did you drive away and leave me? my child, my child why did you kiss Yosta berling? but father must have seen that I do not like him for that it was in fun does he think that I will marry Yosta? go to the gardener's house Marianne and beg that you pass the night there your father is drunk he will not listen to reason he has kept me a prisoner up there I crept out when I thought he was asleep he will kill me if you come in mother, mother shall I go to strangers when I have a home? are you as hard as father? how can you allow me to be shut out? I will lay myself in the drift out here if you do not let me in then Marianne's mother laid her hand on the lock to open the door but at the same moment a heavy step was heard on the stair and a harsh voice called her Marianne listened her mother hurred away the harsh voice cursed her and then Marianne heard something terrible she could hear every sound in the silent house she heard the thud of a blow a blow with a stick or a box on the air then she heard a faint noise and then again a blow he struck her mother the terrible brutal milkier Sinclair struck his wife and in pale horror Marianne threw herself down on the threshold and writh in anguish now she wept and tears froze to eyes on the threshold of her home Grace pity open open that she might bend her own back under the blows oh that he could strike her mother strike her because she did not wish to see her daughter the next day lying dead in the snowdrift because she had wished to come for her child great humiliation had come to Marianne that night she had fancied herself a queen and she lay there a little better than a witch slave but she rose up in cold rage once more she struck the door with her bloody hand and called hear what I say to you you who beat my mother you shall weep for this milkier Sinclair weep then she went and laid herself to rest in the snowdrift she threw off her cloak and lay in her black velvet dress easily distinguishable against the white snow she lay and thought how her father would come out the next day on his early morning tour of inspection and find her there she only hoped that he himself might find her oh death pale friend is it as true as it is consoling that I never can escape meeting you even to me the lowest of earth's workers will you come to loosen the torn leather shoes from my feet to take the spade and the barrel from my hand to take the working dress from my body with gentle force you lay me out on a lay stream bed you adorn me with draped linen sheets my feet need no more shoes my hands are clad in snow white gloves which no more work shall soil consecrated by thee to the sweetness of rest I shall sleep a sleep of a thousand years oh deliverer the lowest of earth's laborers am I and I dream with a thrill of pleasure of the hour when I shall be received into your kingdom pale friend on me you can easily try your strength but I tell you that the fight was harder against those women of the olden days life's strength was mighty in their slender bodies no cold could cool their hot blood you had laid Marianne on your bed oh death and you sat by her side as an old nurse sits by the cradle to lull the child to sleep you faithful old nurse who know what is good for the children of men how angry you must be when playmates come who with noise and romping wake your sleeping child how vexed you must have been when the pensioners lifted the lovely Marianne out of the bed when a man laid her against his breast and warm tears fell from his eyes on to her face at ekibi all lights were out and all the guests had gone the pensioners stood alone in the bachelor's wing about the last half emptied punch bowl then just a rang on the edge of the bowl and made a speech for you women of the olden days to speak of you he said was to speak of the kingdom of heaven you were all beauties ever bright, ever young ever lovely and gentle as a mother's eyes when she looks down on her child softest young squirrels you hung on your husband's neck your voice never trembled with anger no frowns ruffled your brow your white hands were never harsh and hard sweet saints you were adored images in the temple of home men lay at your feet offering you incense and prayers through you love worked its wonders and round your temples poetry read its gold gleaming glory and the pensioners sprang up wild with wine wild with his words with their blood raging old eberhardt and the lazy christopher drew back from the sport in the wildest haste the pensioners harnessed horses to sledges and hurried out in the cold night to pay homage to those who never could be honored enough to sing a serenade to each and all of them who possessed the rosy cheeks and bright eyes which had just lighted up ekeby halls but the pensioners did not go far on their happy way for when they came to björne they found marjan laying in the snowdrift just by the door of her home they trembled and raged to see her there it was like finding a worshipped saint lying mangled and stripped outside the church door just the chokis clenched hand at the dark house you children of hate he cried you hailstorms your ravagers of god's pleasure house berenkreutz lighted his horn lantern and let it shine down on the livid face then the pensioners saw marjan's mangled hands and the tears which had frozen to eyes on her eyelashes and they wailed like women for she was not merely a saintly image but a beautiful woman who had been a joy to their old hearts just a bärling threw himself on his knees beside her she's lying here, my bride, he said she gave me the betrother kiss a few hours ago and her father has promised me his blessing she lies and waits for me to come and share her white bed and just I lifted up the lifeless form in his strong arms home to ick be with her, he cried now she's mine in the snowdrift I have found her no one shall take her from me we will not wake them in there what has she to do behind those doors against which she has beaten her hands into blood he was allowed to do as he wished he laid marjan in the form of sledge and sat down at her side berenkreutz sat behind and took the reins picked snow and rubbed her just on he commanded the cold had paralyzed her limbs nothing more the wildly agitated heart still beat she had not even lost consciousness she knew all about the pensioners and how they had found her but she could not move so she lay stiff and stark in the sledge while just a bärling rubbed her with snow and alternately wept and kissed and she felt an infinite longing to be able only to lift a hand that she might give a caress in return she remembered everything she lay there stiff and motionless and thought more clearly than ever before was she in love with just a bärling yes she was was it merely a whim of the moment no it had been for many years she compared herself with him and the other people in varmland they were all just like children they followed whatever impulse came to them they only lived the outer life had never looked deep into their souls but she had become what one grows to be by living in the world she could never really lose herself in anything if she loved yes whatever she did one half of her stood and looked on with a cold scorn she had longed for a passion which should carry her away in wild heedlessness and now it had come when she kissed just a bärling on the balcony for the first time she had forgotten herself and now the passion came over her again her heart throbbed so that she heard it beat should she not soon be mistress of her limbs she felt a wide joy that she had been thrust out from her home now she could be just us without hesitation how stupid she had been to have subdued her love so many years ah it is so sweet to yield to love but shall she never, never be free from these icy chains she has been ice within fire on the surface now it is the opposite a soul of fire in a body of ice then justa feels how two arms gently are raised about his neck in a weak feeble pressure he could only just feel them but Marianne thought that she gave expression to the suppressed passion in her by a suffocating embrace but when Berenkreuz saw it he let the horse go as it would along the familiar road he raised his eyes and looked obstinately and unceasingly at the plejards End of section 8 of the story of justa bärling read by Lars Rolander