 Sektion 14 av The Story of Jösta Bärling Det är en LibriVox-rekord. Alla LibriVox-rekorder är i den publiska domen. För mer information eller till volantär, visst visst LibriVox.org. Riddning av Lars Rolander. The Story of Jösta Bärling av Selma Lagerlöv. Translated from the Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flack. Chapter 12 – Ebba Dornas Story The beautiful point of Löfven's eastern shore, about which the bay glides with lapping waves. The proud point where the manner of body lies, beware of approaching. Löfven never looks more glorious than from its summit. No one can know how lovely it is. The lake of my dreams. Until he has seen from Boris Point, the morning mist glide away from its smooth surface. Until he, from the windows of the little blue cabinet, where so many memories dwell, has seen it reflect a pink sunset. But I still say, go not dither, for perhaps you will be ceased with a desire to remain in that old manor's sorrowful halls. Perhaps you will make yourself the owner of those fair lands. And if you are young, rich and happy, you will make your home there with a young wife. No, it is better never to see the beautiful point, for at Boris, no one can live and be happy. No matter how rich, how happy you may be who move in there, those old-tier drenched floors would soon drink your tears as well, and those walls which could give back so many moons would also clean your size. An implacable fate is on this lovely spot. It is as if misfortune were buried there, but found no rest in its grave, and perpetually rose from it to terrify the living. If I were lord of boy, I would search through the ground, both in the park and under the cellar floor in the house, and in the fertile mould out in the meadows, until I had found the witch's worm-eaten corpse, and then I would give her a grave in consecrated earth in the Swartford churchyard. And at the burial I would not spare on the ringer's pay, but let the bell sound long and loud over her, and to the clergymen and sexton I should send rich gifts that they with redoubled strength might with speech and song consecrate her to everlasting rest. If that did not help, some stormy night I would set fire to the wooden walls and let it destroy everything, so that no one more might be tempted to live in the home of misfortune. Afterwards no one should be allowed to approach that doomed spot, only the church tower's black jack doors should build in the great chimney, which blackened and dreadful would raise itself over the deserted foundations. Still I should certainly mourn when I saw the flames close over the roof, when thick smoke reddened by the fire and flecked with sparks should roll out from the old manor house. In the crackling and the roaring I should fancy I heard the wails of homeless memories, on the blue points of the flames I should see disturbed spirits floating. I should think how sorrow beautifies, how misfortune adorns, and weep as if a temple to the old gods had been condemned to destruction. But why croak of unhappiness, as yet body lies and shines on its point, shaded by its park of mighty pines, and the snow-covered fields glitter in March's burning sun, as yet is heard within those walls the John Countess Elizabeth's gay laughter. Every Sunday she goes to church at Svartfö, which lies near Boy, and gathers together a few friends for dinner. The judge and his family from Mönkerud used to come and the oglas from Bärja, and even Sintram. If Jösta Bärling happens to be in Svartfö, wandering over Leven's eyes, she invites him to. Why should she not invite Jösta Bärling? She probably does not know that the gossips are beginning to whisper that Jösta comes very often over to the east shore to see her. Perhaps he also comes to drink and play cards with Sintram, but no one thinks so much of that. Everyone knows that his body is of steel, but it is another matter with his heart. No one believes that he can see a pair of shining eyes and fair hair which curls about a white prow without love. The John Countess is good to him, but there is nothing strange in that. She is good to all. She takes ragged beggar children on her knee, and when she drives by some poor old creature on the high road she has the coachman stop and takes the poor wanderer up into her sledge. Jösta used to sit in the little blue cabinet where there is such a glorious view over the lake and read poetry to her. There can be no harm in that. He does not forget that she is a Countess and he a homeless adventurer and it is good for him to be with someone whom he holds high and holy. He could just as well be in love with the Queen of Sheba as with her. He only asks to be allowed to wait on her as a page waits on his noble mistress to fasten her skates, to hold her skeins, to steer her sled. There cannot be any question of love between them. He is just the man to find his happiness in a romantic innocent adoration. The young Count is silent and serious and Jösta is playfully gay. He is just such a companion as the young Countess likes. No one who sees her fancies that she is hiding a forbidden love. She thinks of dancing, of dancing and merry making. She would like the earth to be quite flat without stones, without hills or seas so that she could dance everywhere. From the cradle to the grave she would like to dance in her small, thin-soled satin slippers. But rumor is not very merciful to young women. When the guests come to dinner at pori the men generally after the meal go into the Count's room to sleep and smoke. The old ladies sink down in the easy chairs in the drawing room and lean their venerable heads against the high backs. But the Countess and Anna Schärnhöck go into the blue cabinet and exchange endless confidences. The Sunday after the one when Anna Schärnhöck took Ulrika Dilner back to Bärja they are sitting there again. No one on earth is so unhappy as the young girl. All her gaiety is departed and gone is the glad defiance that is followed to everything and everybody who wish to come to near her. Everything which had happened to her that day has sank back into the twilight from which it was charmed. She has only one distinct impression left. Yes, one which is poisoning her soul. If it really was not God who did it she used to whisper to herself that it was not God who sent the wolves. She asks for a sign. She longs for a miracle. She searches heaven and earth but she sees no finger stretched from the sky to point out her way. As she sits now opposite the Countess in the blue cabinet her eyes fall on the little bundle of Hepaticus which the Countess holds in her white hand. Like a bolt it strikes her that she knows where the flowers have grown that she knows who has picked them. She does not need to ask where else in the whole countryside do Hepaticus bloom in the beginning of April except in the birch grove which lies on the slopes of Ekeby. She stares and stares at the little blue stars those happy ones who possesses all hearts those little prophets who beautiful in themselves are also glorified by the splendor of all the beauty which they herald of all the beauty which is coming. And as she watches them a storm of wrath rises in her soul rumbling like the thunder deadening like the lightning by what right she thinks has Countess Duna hold this bunch of Hepaticus picked by the shore at Ekeby. They were all tempters, syndrome, the Countess everybody wanted to allure just a bearing to what was evil but she would protect him against all would she protect him even if it would cost her heart's blood she would do it. She thinks that she must see those flowers torn out of the Countess's hand and thrown aside trampled, crushed before she leaves the little blue cabinet. She thinks that and she begins a struggle with the little blue stars. Out in the drawing room the old ladies lean their venerable heads against the chair backs and suspect nothing. The men smoke their pipes calm and quiet in the Count's room pieces everywhere only in the little blue cabinet rages a terrible struggle. Ah, how well they do who keep their hands from the sword who understand how to wait quietly to lay their hearts to rest and let God direct the restless heart always goes astray ill will makes the pain worse but Anna Scharnöck believes that at last she has seen a finger in the sky Anna, says the Countess tell me a story about what? Oh, says the Countess and caresses the flowers with her white hand do not you know something about love? something about loving? No, I know nothing of love How you talk is there not a place here which is called Ekibi a place full of pensioners? Yes, says Anna there is a place which is called Ekibi and there are men there who suck the marrow of the land who make us incapable of serious work who ruins growing youth and lead astray our geniuses Do you want to hear of them? Do you want to hear love stories of them? Yes, I like the pensioners So Anna Scharnöck speaks speaks in short sentences like an old him-book for she is nearly choking with stormy emotions suppressed suffering trembles in each word and the Countess was both frightened and interested to hear her What is a pensioners love? What is a pensioners faith? one sweet heart today another tomorrow one in the east another in the west nothing is too high for him nothing too low one day accounts daughter the next day a beggar girl nothing on earth is so capacious as his heart but alas alas for her who loves a pensioner she must seek him out where he lies drunk at the wayside she must silently look on while he at the car table plays away the home of her childhood she must bear to have him hang about other women oh Elizabeth if a pensioner asks an honorable woman for a dance she ought to refuse it to him if he gives her a bunch of flowers she ought to throw the flowers on the ground and trample on them if she loves him she ought rather to die than to marry him there was one among the pensioners who was a dismissed priest he had lost his vestments for drunkenness he was drunk in the church he drank up the communion wine have you ever heard of him? no? after he had been dismissed he wanted about the country as a beggar he drank like a madman he would steal to get brandy what is his name? he is no longer at Ekeby the mages wife got hold of him gave him clothes and persuaded your mother-in-law Countess Donna to make him tutor to your husband young Count Henry a dismissed priest oh he was a young powerful man of good intelligence there was no harm in him if he daily did not drink Countess Marta was not particular it amused her to quarrel with the neighbouring clergyman still she ordered him to say nothing of his past life to her children for then her son would have lost respect for him and her daughter would not have endured him for she was a saint so he came here to borrow he always sat just inside the door on the very edge of his chair never said a word at the table and fled out into the park when any visitors came but there in the lonely walks he used to meet young Eva Donna she was not one who loved the noisy feasts which resounded in the halls at Bori after the Countess became a widow she was so gentle, so shy she was still although she was 17 nothing but a tender child but she was very lovely with her brown eyes and the faint delicate colour in her cheeks her thin slender body bent forward her little hand would creep into yours with a shy pressure her little mouth was the most silent a mouse and the most serious ah, her voice her sweet little voice which pronounced the word so slowly and so well but never rang with the freshness and warmth of youth its feeble tones were like a weary musician's last chord she was not as others her foot trod so lightly so softly as if she were a frightened fugitive she kept her eyelids lowered in order not to be disturbed in her contemplation of the visions of her soul it had turned from the earth when she was but a child when she was little her grandmother used to tell her stories and one evening they both sat by the fire but the stories had come to an end but still the little girl's hand lay on the old woman's dress and she gently stroked the seal that funny stuff which sounded like a little bird and this stroking was her prayer for she was one of those children who never begged in words then the old lady began to tell her of a little child in the land of Judah of a little child who was born to become a great king the angels had filled the earth with songs of praise when he was born the kings of the east came guided by the star of heaven and gave him gold and incense and old men and women foretold his glory this child grew up to greater beauty and wisdom than all other children already when he was 12 years old his wisdom was greater than that of the chief priests and the scribes then the old woman told her of the most beautiful thing the earth has ever seen of that child's life while he remained among men those wicked men who would not acknowledge him their king she told her how the child became a man but that the glory surrounded him still everything on the earth served him and loved him except mankind the fishes let themselves be caught in his net bread filled his baskets water changed itself to wine when he wished it but the people gave the great king no golden crown no shining throne he had no bowing courtiers about him they let him go among them like a beggar still he was so good to them the great king he cured their sicknesses gave back to the blind their sight and wait the dead but said the grandmother the people would not have the great king for their lord they sent their soldiers against him and took him prisoner they dressed him by way of mockery in crown and scepter and in a silken cloak and made him go out to the place of execution bearing a heavy cross oh my child the good king loved the high mountains at night he used to climb them to talk with those who dwelt in heaven and he liked by day to sit on the mountainside and talk to the listening people but now they led him up on a mountain to crucify him they drove nails through his hands and feet and hung the good king on a cross as if he had been a robber or a malafaktor and the people mocked at him only his mother and his friends wet that he should die before he had been a king oh how the dead things mourned his death the sun lost its light and the mountains trembled the curtain in the temple was rent asunder and the graves opened that the dead might rise up and show their grief the little one lay with her head on her grandmother's knee and sob as if her heart would break do not weep little one the good king rose from his grave and went up to his father in heaven grandmother sobbed the poor little thing did he ever get any kingdom he sits on God's right hand in heaven but that did not comfort her she wept helplessly and unrestrainedly as only a child can weep why were they so cruel to him her grandmother was almost frightened at her overwhelming sorrow say grandmother say that you have not told it right say that it did not end so say that they were not so cruel to the good king say that he got a kingdom on earth she threw her arms around the old woman and besieged her with the streaming tears child child said her grandmother to consoler there are some who believe that he will come again then he will put the earth under his power and direct it the beautiful earth will be a glorious kingdom it shall last a thousand years then the fierce animals will be gentle little children will play by the vipers nest and bears and cows will eat together no one shall injure or destroy the other the lawn shall be bent into skites and the sword forged into plows and everything shall be play and happiness for the good will possess the earth then the little ones face brightened behind her tears will the good king then get a throne grandmother a throne of gold and servants and courtiers and a golden crown yes will he come soon grandmother no one knows when he will come may I sit on a stool at his feet you may grandmother I am so happy says the little one evening after evening through many winters they both sat by the fire and talked of the good king and his kingdom the little one dreamt of the kingdom which should last a thousand years both by night and by day she never worried over dawning it with everything beautiful which she could think of a bad owner never dared to speak of it to anyone but from that evening she only lived for the lord's kingdom and to await his coming when the evening sun crimson the western sky she wondered if he would ever appear there glowing with a mild splendor followed by a host of millions of angels and marched by her allowing her to touch the hem of his garment she often thought too of those pious women who had hung a veil over their heads and never lifted their eyes from the ground but shut themselves in in the great cloisters calm in the darkness of little cells to always contemplate the glowing visions which appear from the night of the soul such had she grown up such she was when she and the new tutor met in the lonely pass of the park I will not speak more harshly of him than I must I will believe that he loved that child who soon choose him for companion in her lonely wanderings I think that his soul got back its wings when he walked by the side of that quiet girl who had never confided in any other I think that he felt himself a child again good, gentle, virtuous but if he really loved her why did he not remember that he could not give her a worse gift than his love he one of the world's outcasts what did he want what did he think of when he walked at the side of the Count's daughter what did the dismissed clergyman think when she confided to him her gentle dreams what did he want, who had been a drunkard and would be again when he got the chance at the side of her who dreamt of a bridegroom in heaven why did he not fly far, far away from her would he not have been better for him to wander begging and stealing about the land than to walk under the silent pines and again be good, gentle, virtuous when it could not change the life he had led nor make it right that Evadona should love him do not think that he looked like a drunkard with livid cheeks and red eyes he was always a splendid man handsome and unbroken in soul and body he had the bearing of a king and a body of steel which was not hurt by the wildest life is he still living? asks the Countess oh no, he must be dead now all that happened so long ago there is something in Anarshanhök which begins to tremble at what she is doing she begins to think that she will never tell the Countess who the man is of whom she speaks that she will let her believe that he is dead at that time he was still young and she begins her story again the joy of living was kindled in him he had the gift of eloquence and a fiery impulsive heart one evening he spoke to Evadona of love she did not answer she only told him what her grandmother had told her that winter evening and described to him the land of her dreams then she exacted a promise from him she made him swear that he would be a proclamer of the word of God one of those who would prepare the way for the Lord so that his coming might be hastened what could he do? he was a dismissed clergyman and no way was so close to him as that on which she wanted him to enter but he did not dare to tell her the truth he did not have the heart to grieve that gentle child whom he loved he promised everything she wished after that few words were needed it went without saying that some day she should be his wife it was not a love of kisses and caresses he hardly dared come near her she was as sensitive as a fragile flower but her brown eyes were sometimes raised from the ground to seek his moonlit evenings when they sat on the veranda she would creep close to him and then he would kiss her hair without her noticing it but you understand that his sin was in his forgetting both the past and the future that he was poor and humble he could forget but he ought always to have remembered that a day must come when in her soul love would rise against love earth against heaven when she would be obliged to choose between him and the glorious lord of the kingdom of the thousand years and she was not one who could endure such a struggle a summer went by an autumn, a winter when the spring came and the ice melted a badona fell ill it was thawing in the valleys there were streams down all the hills the ice was unsafe the roads almost impossible both for sledge and cart Countestona wanted to get a doctor from Karlstad there was none nearer but she commanded in vain she could not either with prayers or threats induce a servant to go she threw herself on her knees before the coachman but he refused she went into hysterics of grief over her daughter she was always immoderate in sorrow as in joy, Countess Marta the badona lay ill with Pneumonia and her life was in danger but no doctor could be got then the tutor drove to Karlstad to take that journey in the condition the roads were in was to play with his life but he did it he took him over bending ice and breakneck freshets sometimes he had to cut steps for the horse in the ice sometimes dragging him out of the deep clay in the road it was said that the doctor refused to go with him and that he with pistol in hand forced him to set out when he came back the Countess was ready to throw herself at his feet take everything, she said say what you want, what you desire my daughter, my lands, my money your daughter answered the tutor Anna Schanuck suddenly stops well what then, what then? Ask Countess Elizabeth that can be enough for now, answers Anna for she is one of those unhappy people who live in the anguish of doubt she has felt it a whole week she does not know what she wants what one moment seems right to her the next is wrong now she wishes that she had never begun this story I begin to think that you want to deceive me Anna do you not understand that I must hear the end of this story there is not much more to tell the hour of strife was come for a badona love raised itself against love earth against heaven Countess Martus told her of the wonderful journey which the young man had made for her sake and she said to her that she as a reward had given him her hand Eva was so much better that she lay dressed on a sofa she was weak and pale and even more silent than usual when she heard those words she lifted her brown eyes reproachfully to her mother and said to her Mama, have you given me to a dismissed priest to one who has forfitted his right to serve God to a man who has been a thief, a beggar a child who has told you that I thought you knew nothing of it I heard your guest speaking of him the day I was taken ill but child, remember that he has saved your life I remember that he has deceived me he should have told me who he was he says that you love him I have done so I cannot love one who has deceived me how has he deceived you you would not understand Mama she did not wish to speak to her mother of the kingdom of her dreams which her beloved should have helped her to realize Eva said the Countess if you love him you shall not ask what he has been but marry him the husband of a Countess Dona will be rich enough powerful enough to excuse all the follies of his youth I care nothing for his youthful follies Mama it is because he can never be what I want him to be that I cannot marry him Eva, remember that I have given him my promise the girl became as pale as death Mama, I tell you that if you marry me to him you part me from God I have decided to act for your happiness says the Countess I am certain that you will be happy with this man you have already succeeded in making a saint of him I have decided to overlook the claims of birth and to forget that he is poor and despised in order to give you a chance to raise him I feel that I am doing right you know that I scorn all old prejudices the young girl lay quiet on her sofa for a while the Countess had left her she was fighting her battle earth raised itself against heaven love against love but her childhood's love won the victory as she lay there on the sofa she saw the western sky glow in a magnificent sunset she thought that it was a greeting from the good king and as she could not be faithful to him if she lived she decided to die there was nothing else for her to do since her mother wished her to belong to one who never could be the good king's servant she went over to the window opened it and let the twilight's cold damp air chill her poor weak body it was easily done the illness was certain to begin again and it did no one but I knows that she sought death Elisabeth I found her at the window I heard her delirium she liked to have me at her side those last days it was I who saw her die who saw how she one evening stretched out her arms towards the glowing west and died smiling as if she had seen someone advance from the sunset's glory to meet her it was also I who had to take her last greeting to the man she loved I was to ask him to forgive her that she could not be his wife the good king would not permit it but I have never dared to say to that man that he was her murderer I have not dared to lay the weight of such pain on his shoulders and yet he who won her love by lies was he not her murderer was he not Elisabeth Countess Dona long ago had stopped caressing the blue flowers now she rises and the book falls to the floor Anna you are deceiving me you say that the story is old and that the man has been dead a long time but I know that it is scarcely five years since Ebba Dona died and you say that you yourself were there through it all you are not old tell me who the man is Anna Schanhög begins to laugh you wanted a love story now you have had one which has cost you both tears and pain do you mean that you have lied but romance and lies the whole thing you are too bad Anna maybe I'm not so happy either but the ladies are awake and the men are coming into the drawing room let us join them on the threshold she is stopped by Justa Balein who is looking for the young ladies you must have patience with me he says laughing I shall only torment you for ten minutes but you must hear my verses he tells them that in the night he had a dream more vivid than ever before he had dream that he had written verse he whom the world called poet although he had always been under serving of the title had got up in the middle of the night and half asleep half awake had begun to write it was a whole poem which he had found the next morning on his writing table he could never have believed it of himself now the ladies should hear it and he reads the moon rose and with her came the sweetest hour of the day from the clear blue lofty wall she flooded the leafy veranda with her light on the broad steps we were sitting both old and young silent at first to let the emotion sing the heart's old song in that tender hour from the minionet rose a sweet perfume and from dark thickets shadows crept over the dewy grass oh who can be safe from emotion when the night's shadows play when the minionet shreds its heavy perfume the last faded petal dropped from the rose although the offering was not sought by the wind so we thought will we give up our life vanished into space like a sound like autumn's yellowed leaf go without a moan death is the reward of life may we meet it quietly just as a rose lets its last faded petal fall on its fluttering wing a bat flew by us flew and was seen wherever the moon shone then the question arose in our oppressed hearts the question which none can answer the question heavy as sorrow old as pain oh wither go we what path shall we wonder when we no longer walk on earth's green pastures is there no one to show our spirits the way easier worry to show away to the bat who fluttered by us she laid her head on my shoulder her soft hair she who loved me and whispered softly think not that souls fly too far distant places when I am dead think not that I am far away into my beloved soul my homeless spirit will creep and I will come and live in thee oh what anguish with sorrow my heart will break was she to die die soon was this night to be her last did I press my last kiss on my beloved's waving hair years have gone by since then I still sit many times in the old place when the night is dark and silent but I tremble when the moon shines on the leafy veranda for her who alone knows how often I kissed my darling there for her who blended her quivering light with my tears which fell on my darling's hair alas for memories pain oh it is the grief of my poor sinful soul that it should be her home what punishment may he not await who has bound to himself a soul so pure so innocent just a huh says Anna justingly while her throat contracts with pain people say of you that you have lived through more poems than others have written who have not done anything else all their lives what do you know you will do best to compose poems your own way that was night work you are not kind to come and read such a thing on death and suffering you ought to be ashamed justa is not listening to her his eyes are fixed on the young countess she sits quite stiff motionless as a statue he thinks she's going to faint but with infinite difficulty her lips form one word go she says who shall go shall I go the priest shall go she stammers out the drunken priest shall leave my house Anna Anna justa asks what does she mean you had better go justa why shall I go what does all this mean Anna says Countess Elizabeth tell him tell him no countess tell him yourself the countess sets her teeth and masters her emotion her barreling she says and goes up to him you have a wonderful power of making people forget who you are I did not know it till today I have just heard the story of a badona's death and that it was the discovery that she loved one who was unworthy which killed her your poem has made me understand that you are that man I cannot understand how anyone with your antecedents can show himself in the presence of an honorable woman I cannot understand it her barreling do I speak plainly enough you do Countess I will only say one word in my defense I was convinced I thought the whole time that you knew everything about me I have never tried to hide anything but it is not so pleasant to cry out one's life's bitterest sorrow on the highways he goes and in the same instant Countess Dona sets her little foot on the bunch of blue stars you have now done what I wished says Anasha and externally to the countess but it is also the end of our friendship you need not think that I can forgive your having been cruel to him you have turned him away scorned and wounded him and I I will follow him into captivity to the scaffold if need be I will watch over him protect him you have done what I wished but I shall never forgive you but Anna Anna because I told you all that do you think that I did it with a glad spirit have I not sat here by big torn my heart out of my breast why did you do it why? because I did not wish that he should be a married woman's lover end of section 14 of the story of Jösta Berling redd by Lars Rolander section 15 of the story of Jösta Berling 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 Jösta Berling by Selma Lagerlöv translated from the Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flack part 1 chapter 13 Mamsel Marie there is a buzzing over my head it must be a bumblebee and such a perfume as true as I live it is sweet majorum and lavender and hawthorn and liljax and easter lilies it is glorious to feel it on a grey autumn evening in the midst of the town I only have to think of that little blessed corner of the earth to have it immediately begin to hum and smell fragrant about me and I am transported to a little square rose garden filled with flowers and protected by a privet hedge in the corners are liljak arbers with small wooden benches and round about the flower beds which are in the shapes of hearts and stars while narrow paths strued with white sea sand on three sides of the rose garden stands the forest silent and dark on the fourth side lies a little grey cottage the rose garden of which I am thinking was owned 60 years ago by an old madame Moreus in Swartfjö who made her living by knitting blankets for the peasants and cooking their feasts old madame Moreus was in her day the processor of many things she had three lively and industrious daughters and a little cottage by the roadside she had a store of pennies at the bottom of a chest stiff silk shores straight back chairs and could turn her hand to everything which is useful for one who must earn her bread but the best that she had was the rose garden which gave her joy as long as the summer lasted in madame Moreus little cottage there was a border a little dry old maid about 40 years of age who lived in a Gabriel room in the attic Mamsel Marie as she was always called had her own ideas on many things as one always does who sits much alone and lets her thoughts dwell on what her eyes have seen Mamsel Marie thought that love was the root and origin of all evil in this sorrowful world every evening before she fell asleep she used to clasp her hands and say her evening prayers after she had said our father and the Lord bless us she always ended by praying that God would preserve her from love it causes only misery she said I am old and ugly and poor no, may I never be in love she sat day after day in her attic room in madame Moreus little cottage and knitted curtains and table covers all these she afterwards sold to the peasants and the gentry she had almost knitted together a little cottage of her own for a little cottage on the side of the hill opposite Svartføy church was what she wanted to have but love she would never hear of when on summer evenings she heard the violin sounded from the crossroads where the fiddler sat on the style and the young people swung in the polka till the dust world she went a long way round through the wood to avoid hearing and seeing the day after Christmas when the peasants prides five or six of them to be dressed by madame Moreus and her daughters when they were adorned with wreaths and high crowns of silk and glass beads with gorgeous silk sashes and bunches of artificial roses and skirts edged with garlands of taffeta flowers she stayed up in her room to avoid seeing how they were being decked out in love's honor but she knew love's missteeds and of them she could tell she wondered that he dared to show himself on earth that he was not frightened away by the moans of the forsaken by the curses of those of whom he had made criminals by the lamentations of those whom he had thrown into hateful chains she wondered that his wings could bear him so easily and lightly that he did not weigh down by pain and shame sink into nameless steps no, of course she had been young she like others but she had never loved she had never let herself be tempted by dancing and caresses her mother's guitar hung dusty and unstrung in the attic she never struck it to sentimental love-deities her mother's rose bushes stood in her window she gave them scarcely any water she did not love flowers those children of love spiders played among the branches and the buds never opened there came a time when the Svartfjö congregation had an organ put into their church it was the summer before the year when the pensioners rained a young organ builder came there he too became a border at madame morios that the young organ builder was a master of his profession maybe a matter of doubt but he was a gay young blade with sunshine in his eyes he had a friendly word for everyone for rich and poor for old and young when he came home from his work in the evening he held madame morios skeins and worked at the side of young girls in the rose garden then he declaimed axel and sang fritjö he picked up mamsel maris ball of thread as often as she dropped it and put her clock to rights he never left any ball until he had danced with everybody from the oldest woman to the youngest girl and if an adversity befell him he sat himself down by the side of the first woman he met and made her his confident he was such a man as women great in their dreams it could not be said of him that he spoke of love to anyone but when he had lived a few weeks in madame morios gable room all the girls were in love with him and poor mamsel maris knew that she had prayed her prayers in vain that was a time of sorrow and a time of joy in the evening a pale dreamer often sat in the lilyak arbor and up in mamsel maris little girl and up in mamsel maris little room the newly strung guitar twanged to old love songs which she had learned from her mother the young organ builder was just as careless and gay as ever and doled out smiles and services to all these languishing women who quarrelled over him when he was away at his work and at last the day came when he had to leave the carriage stood before the door his bag had been tied on behind and the young man said farewell he kissed madame morios hand and took the weeping girls in his arms and kissed them on the cheek he wept himself at being obliged to go for he had had a pleasant summer in the little grey cottage at the last he looked around for mamsel maris she came down the narrow attic stairs in her best array the guitar hung about her neck on a broad green silk ribbon and in her hand she held a bunch of damask roses for this year her mother's roses had blossomed she stood before the young man struck the guitar and sang thou ghost far from us are welcome again hear the voice of my friendship which greets thee be happy forget not a true loving friend who in varmlands forests awaits thee thereupon she put the flowers in his buttonhole and kissed him square on the mouth yes and then she vanished up the attic stairs again the old apparition love had revenge himself on her and made her a spectacle for all men but she never again she never laid away the guitar and never forgot to water her mother's rose bushes she had learned to cherish love with all his pain his tears, his longing better to be sorrowful with him than happy without him she said the time passed the major's wife at ikvy was driven out the pensioners came to power it so happened as has been described that just a bailing one Sunday evening read a poem allowed to the countess at borre and afterwards was forbidden by her to show himself in her house it is said that when just I shut the hall door after him he saw several sledges driving up to borre he cast a glance on the little lady who sat in the first sledge gloomy as the hour was for him it became still more gloomy at the sight he hurred away not to be recognized but forebodings of disaster filled his soul had the conversation in there conjured up this woman one misfortune always brings another but the servants hurred out the shawls and first were thrown one side who had come who was the little lady who stood up in the sledge ah, it is really she herself matadona the farfane countess she was the gaste and most foolish of women joy had lifted her on high on his throne and made her his queen games and laughter were her subjects music and dancing and adventure had been her share when the lottery of life was drawn she was not far now from her fiftieth year but she was one of the wise who do not count the years he whose foot is not ready to dance or mouth to laugh she said he is old he knows the terrible weight of years not I pleasure had no undisturbed throne in the days of her youth but change and uncertainty only increased the delight of his glad presence his majesty of the butterfly wings one day had afternoon tea in the court ladies rooms at the palace in Stockholm and danced the next in Paris he visited Napoleon's camps he went on board Nelson's fleet in the blue Mediterranean he looked in on a congress at Vienna he risked his life at Brussels at a ball the night before a famous battle and wherever pleasure was there too was Marta Dona his chosen queen dancing, playing, jesting, Countess Marta hurrid the whole world drowned what had she not seen what had she not lived through she danced over thrones played six card six on the fate of princes caused devastating wars by her jests gaiety and folly had filled her life and would always do so her body was not too old for dancing nor her heart for love when did she wary of masquerades and comedies of merry stories and plaintive ballads when pleasure sometimes could find no home out in the struggling world she would drive up to the old manor by loven's shores just as she had come there when the princes and their court had become too gloomy for her in the time of the holy alliance it was then she had thought best to make just a bärling her son's tutor she always enjoyed it there never had pleasure a pleasanter kingdom their song was to be found and card playing men who loved adventure and gay lovely women she did not lack for dances and balls nor boating parties of a moonlit seas nor sledging through dark forests nor appalling adventures and love sorrow and pain but after her daughter's death she had ceased to come to Bori she had not been there for five years now she had come to see how her daughter-in-law bore the life up among the pine forests the bears and the snowdrifts she thought it her duty to come and see if the stupid Henrik had not bored her to death with his tediousness she meant to be the gentle angel of domestic peace sunshine and happiness were packed in her 40 leather trunks Geeti was her waiting maid jester coachman play her companion and when she ran up the steps she was met with open arms her old rooms on the lower floor were in order for her her mans servant her lady companion and maid her 40 leather trunks her 30 hat boxes her bags and shawls and furs everything was brought by degrees into the house there was bustle and noise everywhere there was a slamming of doors and a running on the stairs it was plain enough that Countess Marta had come it was a spring evening a really beautiful spring evening although it was only april and the ice had not broken up Mamsel Marie had opened her window she sat in her room played on the guitar and sang she was so engrossed in her guitar and her memories that she did not hear that a carriage came driving up the road and stopped at the cottage in the carriage Countess Marta sat and it amused her to see Mamsel Marie who sat at the window with her guitar on her lap and with eyes turned towards heaven sang old forgotten love songs at last the Countess got out of the carriage and went into the cottage sitting at their work she was never haughty the wind of revolution had whistled over her and blown fresh air into her lungs it was not her fault that she was a Countess she used to say but she wanted at all events to live the life she liked best she enjoyed herself just as much at peasant weddings as at court balls she acted for her mates when there was no other spectator to be had and she brought joy with her in all the places where she showed herself with her beautiful little face and her overflowing love of life she ordered a blanket of Madame Maurieus and praised the girls she looked about the rose garden and told of her adventures on the journey she always was having adventures and at the last she ventured up to the poetic stairs which were dreadfully steep and narrow and sought out Mamsel Marie in her gable room she bought curtains of her she could not live without having knitted curtains for all her windows and on every table should she have Mamsel Marie's table covers she borrowed her guitar and sang to her of pleasure and love and she told her stories out into the gay rushing world and the countess's laughter made such music that the frozen birds in the rose garden began to sing when they heard it and her face which was hardly pretty now for her complexion was ruined by paint and there was such an expression of sensuality about the mouth seemed to Mamsel Marie so lovely that she wondered how the little mirror could let it vanish when it had once caught it on its shining surface when she left she kissed Mamsel Marie and asked her to come to boy Mamsel Marie's heart was as empty as the swallow's nest at Christmas she was free but she sighed for chains like a slave freed in his old age now there began again for Mamsel Marie a time of joy and a time of sorrow but it did not last long only one short week the countess sent for her continually to come to boy she played her comedy for her and told about all her lovers and Mamsel Marie laughed as she had never laughed before they became the best of friends the countess soon knew all about the young organ builder and about the parting and in the twilight she made Mamsel Marie sit on the window seat in the little blue cabinet then she hung the guitar ribbon round her neck and got her to sing love songs and the countess sat and watched how the old maids dry thin figure and little plain head were outlined against the red inning sky and she said that the poor old Mamsel was like a languishing maiden of the middle ages all the songs were of tender shepherds and cruel shepherdises and Mamsel Marie's voice was the thinnest voice in the world and it is easy to understand how the countess was amused at such a comedy there was a part yet boring as was natural when the count's mother had come home and it was gay as always there were not so many there only the members of the parish being invited the dining room was on the lower floor and after supper it so happened that the guests did not go upstairs again but sat in Countess Matta's room which lay beyond the countess got hold of Mamsel Marie's guitar and began to sing for the company she was a merry person Countess Matta and she could mimic anyone she now had the idea to mimic Mamsel Marie she turned up her eyes to heaven and sang in a thin shrill child's voice oh no oh no countess beg Mamsel Marie but the countess was enjoying herself and no one could help laughing although they all thought that it was hard on Mamsel Marie the countess took a handful of dried rose leaves out of a potpourri jar went with tragic gestures up to Mamsel Marie sang with deep emotion Thou ghost far from us I welcome again hear the voice of my friendship which greets thee be happy forget not a true loving friend who in vermlands forests awaits thee then she strewed the rose leaves over her head everybody laughed but Mamsel Marie was wild with rage she looked as if she could have torn out the countess eyes you are a bad woman Martadona she said no decent woman ought to speak to you countess matta lost her temper too out with you Mamsel she said I have had enough of your folly yes I shall go said Mamsel Marie but first I will be paid for my covers and curtains which you have put up here these old rags cried the countess do you want to be paid for such rags take them away with you I never want to see them again take them away immediately thereupon the countess threw the table covers at her and tore down the curtains for she was beside herself the next day the young countess begged her mother-in-law to make her peace with Mamsel Marie but the countess would not she was tired of her countess Elisabeth then bought of Mamsel Marie the whole set of curtains and put them up in the upper floor whereupon Mamsel Marie felt herself redressed countess Matta made fun of her daughter-in-law for her love of knitted curtains she too could conceal her anger preserve it fresh and new for years she was a richly gifted person end of section 15 of the story of Jösta Bärling redd by Lars Rolander section 16 of the story of Jösta Bärling 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 Jösta Bärling by Selma Lagerlö translated from the Swedish by Paulin Bankröft Flack part 2 chapter 1 Kassin Kristoffer they had an old bird of prey up in the pensioners wing he always sat in the corner by the fire and saw that it did not go out he was rough and gray his little head with the big nose and the sunken eyes hung sorrowfully on the long thin neck which stuck up out of the fluffy fur color for the bird of prey were first both winter and summer once he had belonged to the swarm who in the great emperors train swept over Europe but what name and title he bore no one now can say in Wärmland they only knew that he had taken part in the great wars that he had risen to might and power in the thundering struggle and that after 1815 he had taken flight from an ungrateful fatherland he found a refuge with the Swedish crown prince and the latter advised him to disappear in far away Wärmland and so it happened that one whose name had caused the world to tremble was now glad that no one even knew that once dreaded name he had given the crown prince his word of honor not to leave Wärmland and not to make known who he was and he had been sent to Ekeby with a private letter to the major from the crown prince who had given him the best of recommendations it was then the pensioners wing opened its doors to him in the beginning people wondered much who he was who concealed his identity under an assumed name but gradually he was transformed into a pensioner everybody called him Cussing Christoffer without knowing exactly how he had acquired the name but it is not good for a bird of prey to live in a cage one can understand that he is accustomed to something different than hopping from perch to perch and taking food from his keepers hand the excitement of the battle and of the danger of death spals on fire drowsy peace disgusts him it is true that none of the pensioners were exactly tame birds but in none of them the blood burned so hot as in Cussing Christoffer a bear hunt was the only thing which could put life into him a bear hunt or a woman one single woman he had come to life when he ten years ago for the first time so Countess Matta who was already then a widow a woman as changeable as war as inciting as danger a startling or dashes creature he loved her and now he sat there and grew old and gray without being able to ask her to be his wife he had not seen her for five years he was withering and dying by degrees as caged eagles do every year he became more dried and frozen he had to creep down deeper into his first and move nearer the fire so there he is sitting shivering, shaggy and gray the morning of the day on the evening of which the easter bullets should be shot off and the easter which burned the pensioners have all gone out but he sits in the corner by the fire oh cousin Christoffer cousin Christoffer do you not know smiling she has come the enchanting spring nature up starts from drowsy sleep and in the blue sky butterfly wings spirits tumble in wild play closest roses on the sweet prior their faces shine between the clouds earth the great mother begins to live romping like a child she rises from her bath in the spring floods from her dush in the spring rain but cousin Christoffer sits quiet and does not understand he leans his head on his stiffened fingers and dreams of showers of bullets and of honors won on the field of battle one pit is the lonely old warrior who sits there by the fire without a people without a country he who never hears the sound of his native language he who will have a nameless grave in the bro churchyard is it his fault that he is an eagle and was born to persecute and to kill oh cousin Christoffer you have sat and dreamt long enough in the pensioners wing up and drink the sparkling wine of life you must know cousin Christoffer that a letter has come to the major this day a royal letter adorned with a seal of Sweden it is addressed to the major but the contents concern you it is strange to see you when you read the letter old eagle your eye regains its brightness and you lift your head you see the cage door open and space for your longing wings cousin Christoffer is burrowing deep down to the bottom of his chest he drags out the carefully laid away gold laced uniform and dresses himself in it he presses the plumed hat on his head and he is soon hastning away from Ikeby riding his excellent white horse this is another life than to sit shivering by the fire he too now sees that spring has come he straightens himself up in his saddle and sets off at a gallop the fur line dolman flutters the plumes on his hat wave the man has grown young like the earth itself he has awaked from a long winter the old gold can still shine the bold warrior face under the cocked hat is a proud sight it is a wonderful ride brooks kush from the ground and flowers shoot forth as he rides by the birds sing and warble about the freed prisoner all nature shares in his joy he is like a victor spring rides before on a floating cloud and round about cussing christopher rides a staff of old brothers in arms there is happiness who stands on tiptoe in the saddle and honor on his stately charger and love on his fiery arab the ride is wonderful wonderful is the rider the thrush calls to him kussing christopher kussing christopher wither are you riding wither are you riding to bori to offer myself to bori to offer myself answers kussing christopher do not go to bori do not go to bori an unmarred man has no sorrow screams the thrush after him but he does not listen to the warning up the hills and down the hills he rides until at last he is there he leaves from the saddle and is shown in to the countess everything goes well the countess is gracious to him kussing christopher feels sure that she will not refuse to bear his glorious name or to reign in his palace he sits and puts off the moment of rapture when he shall show her the royal letter he enjoys the waiting she talks and entertains him with a thousand stories he laughs at everything enjoys everything but as they are sitting in one of the rooms where Countess Elisabeth has hung up Mamsel Marie's curtains the countess begins to tell the story of them and sees it as funny as she can see she says at last see how bad I am here hang the curtains now that I may think daily and hourly of my sin it is a penance without equal oh those dreadful knitted curtains the great warrior kussing christopher looks at her with burning eyes I am too old and poor he says and I have sat for ten years by the fire and longed for my mistress do you laugh at that too Countess oh that is another matter Christ the Countess God has taken from me happiness and my fatherland and forced me to eat the bread of others says kussing christopher earnestly I have learned to have bread for poverty you too christ the Countess and holds up her hands how virtuous everyone is getting yes he says and no Countess that if God someday in the future should give me back riches and power I would make a better use of them than to share them with such a worldly woman such a painted heartless monkey who makes fun of poverty you would do quite right kussing christopher and then kussing christopher marches out of the room and rides home to ekibü again but the spirits do not follow him the thrush does not call to him and he no longer sees the smiling spring he came to ekibü just as the easter which was to be burned she is a big doll full of straw with a rag face on which eyes, nose and mouth are drawn with charcoal she is dressed in old cast off clothes the long handled oven rake and broom are placed beside her and she has a horn of oil hung round her neck she is quite ready for the journey to hell major fox loads his gun and shoots it off into the air after time a pile of dried branches is slighted the witch is thrown on it and is soon burning gaily the pensioners do all they can according to the old tried customs to destroy the power of the evil one kussing christopher stands and looks on with gloomy mean suddenly he drags the great royal letter from his cuff and throws it on the fire god alone knows what he thought perhaps he imagined that it was countless matter herself was burning there on the pile perhaps he thought that as that woman when all was said consisted only of rags and straw there was nothing worth anything anymore on earth he goes once more into the pensioners wing lights the fire and puts away his uniform again he sits down at the fire and everyday he gets more rough and more gray he is dying by degrees as old eagles do in captivity he is no longer a prisoner but he does not care to make use of his freedom the world stands open to him the battlefield honor life await him but he has not the strength to spread his wings in flight end of section 16 of the story of justa bärling read by Lars Rolander section 17 of the story of justa bärling 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 justa bärling by Selma Lagerlö translated from the Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flack part 2 chapter 2 the path of life where are the ways which men have to follow here on earth path through the desert path through the marshes path over the mountains why is so much sorrow allowed to go undisturbed until it loses itself in the desert or sinks in the bog or falls on the mountain where are the little flower pickers where are the little princesses of the fairy tale about whose feet roses grow where are they who should throw flowers on the weary ways justa bärling has decided to get married he is searching for a bride who is poor enough humble enough for a mad priest beautiful and high born women have loved him but they may not compete for his hand the outcast chooses from among outcasts whom shall he choose whom shall he seek out to ekibi a poor girl sometimes comes from a lonely forest hamlet far away among the mountains and sells brooms in that hamlet where poverty and great misery exist there are many who are not in possession of their full intellect and the girl with the brooms is one of them but she is beautiful her masses of black hair make such thick braids that they scarcely find room on her head her cheeks are delicately rounded her nose straight and not too large her eyes blue she is of a melancholy Madonna-like type such as is still found among the lovely girls by the shores of Leuven's long lake well justa has found his sweetheart a half crazy broom girl is just the wife for a mad priest nothing can be more suitable all he needs to do is to go to Karlsdag for the rings and then they can once more have a merry day by Leuven's shore let them laugh at justa bärling when he betrotts himself to the broom girl when he celebrates his wedding with her let them laugh has he ever had a merrier idea must not the outcast go of the outcasts the way of anger the way of sorrow the way of unhappiness what does it matter if he falls if he's ruined is there anyone to stop him is there anyone who would reach him a helping hand or offer him a cooling drink where are the little flower pickers where are the little princesses of the fairy tale where are they who should strew roses on the stony ways no, no the gentle young countess at body will not interfere with justa bärlings plans she must think of her reputation she must think of her husband's anger and her mother-in-law's hate she must not do anything to keep him back all through the long service in the svatsche church she must bend her head fold her hands and only pray for him during sleepless nights she can weep and grieve over him but she has no flowers to strew on the way of the outcasts not a drop of water to give one who is thirsting she does not stretch out her hand back from the edge of the precipice justa bärling does not care to clothe his chosen bride in silk and jewels he lets her go from farm to farm with brooms as her habit is but when he has gathered together all the chief men and women of the place at a great feast at ilkeby he will make his betrothel known he will call her in from the kitchen just as she has come from her long wanderings with the dust and dirt of the road on her clothes perhaps ragged perhaps with disheveled hair with wild eyes with an incoherent stream of words on her lips and he will ask the guests if he has not chosen a suitable bride if the mad priest ought not to be proud of such a lovely sweetheart of that gentle Madonna face of those blue dreamy eyes he intended that no one should know anything beforehand but he did not succeed in keeping the secret and one of those who heard it was the young Countess Dona but what can she do to stop him it is the engagement day the eleventh hour has come the Countess stands at the window in the blue cabinet and looks out towards the north she almost thinks that she can see Ikeby although her eyes are dim with tears she can see how the great three-storied house shines with three rows of lighted windows she thinks how the champagne flows in the glasses how the toast resounds and how your stabalin proclaims engagement to the broom girl if she were only near him and quite gently could lay her hand on his arm or only give him a friendly look would he not turn back from the evil way if a word from her had driven him to such a desperate deed would not also a word from her check him she shudders at the sin he's going to commit against that poor half-witted child she shudders at his sin against the unfortunate creature who shall be one to love him perhaps only for the just of a single day perhaps two and then she shudders even more at the sin he's committing against himself to chain fast to his life such a galling burden which would always take from his spirit the strength to reach the highest and the fault was chiefly hers she had with a word of condemnation driven him on the evil way she who had come to bless to alleviate why had she twisted one more thorn into the sinner's crown yes, now she knows what she will do she will have the black horses harnessed into the sledge hasten over the loven and to ekiby bless herself opposite to your stabbiling and tell him that she does not despise him that she did not know what she was saying when she drove him from her house no she could never do such a thing she would be ashamed and would not dare to say a word now that she was married she must take care there would be such a scandal if she did such a thing but if she did not do it how would it go with him she must go then she remembers that such a plan is impossible no horse can go again this year over the ice the ice is melting it has already broken away from the land it is broken, cracked terrible to see water bubbles up through it in some places it has gathered in black pools in other places the ice is dazzlingly white it is mostly grey dirty with melting snow and the roads look like long black streaks on its surface how can she think of going old Countess Matta her mother-in-law would never permit such a thing she must sit beside her the whole evening in the drawing room and listen to those old stories which are the older woman's delight at last the night comes and her husband is away she is free she cannot drive she does not dare to call the servants but her anxiety drives her out of her home there is nothing else for her to do weary are the ways men wander on earth but that way by night of a melting ice to watch a light compare it is it not the way which the little flower pickers have to go an uncertain shaking slippery way the way of those who wish to make amends the way of the light foot the quick eye and the brave loving heart it was past midnight when the Countess reached the shores of Ikeby she had fallen on the ice she had leaped over white fissures she had hurrid across places where her footprints were filled with bubbling water she had slipped she had crept on all fours it had been a weary wandering she had wept as she had walked she was wet and tired and out there on the ice the darkness and the loneliness had given her terrible thoughts at the last she had had to wade in water over her ankles to reach land and when she had come to the shore she had not had the courage to do more than sit down on a rock and weep from fatigu and helplessness this young highborn lady was however a brave little heroine she had never gone such ways in her bright mother country she may well sit by the edge of that terrible lake wet tired unhappy as she is and think of the fair flowery pass of her southern fatherland ah for her it is not a question of south or north she is not weeping from homesickness she is weeping because she is so tired because she will not come in time she thinks that she has come too late then people come running along the shore they hurry by her without seeing her but she hears what they say if the dam gives way the smitty goes one says and the mill and the workshops and the smith's house adds another then she gets new courage, rises and follows them ekibi mill and smithy lay on a narrow point past which the Björk Sjö river rushes it comes roaring down towards the point with white in the mighty falls above and to protect the land a great breakwater was built before that point but the dam was old now and the pensioners were in power in their day the dance filled all their thoughts and no one took the trouble to see how the current and the cold and time had worn the old stone dam now with the spring floods the dam begins to yield the falls at ekibi are like mighty granite stairs on which the waves come rushing giddy with the speed they tumble over one another and rush together they rise up in anger and dash in spray over one another fall again over a rock over a log and rise up again again to fall again and again foaming hissing roaring and now these wild raging waves drunken with the spring air dissi with their newly born freedom storm against the old stone wall they come hissing and tearing high up onto it and then fall back again as if they had hit their white heads they use logs as battering rams they strain they beat they rush against that poor wall until suddenly just as if someone had called to them look out they rush backwards and after them comes a big stone which has broken away from the dam and sinks thundering down in the stream but why are these wild waves allowed to rage without meeting any resistance is everyone dead at ekibi no, there are people enough there a wild perplexed helpless crowd of people the night is dark they cannot see one another nor see where they are going loud roars the falls terrible is the din of the breaking eyes and the pounding logs they cannot hear their own voices they have not a thought nor an idea they feel that the end is coming the dam is trembling the smitty is in danger the mill is in danger and their own poor houses beloved in all their loneliness message after message is sent up to the house to the pensioners are they in a mood to think of smitty or mill the hundred guests are gathered in the wide walls the broom girl is waiting in the kitchen the hour has come the champagne bubbles in the glasses Julius rises to make the speech all old adventures at ekibi are rejoicing at the petrifying amazement which will fall upon the assembly out on the ice the young counterstårna is wandering a terrible perilous way in order to whisper a word of warning to just a bearing down at the waterfall the waves are storming the honour and might of ekibi but in the wide halls only joy and eager expectation rain wax candles are shining wine is flowing no one thinks of what is happening in the dark stormy spring night now has the moment come just arises and goes out to bring in his sweet heart he has to go through the hall and its great doors are standing open he stops, he looks out into the pitch dark night and he hears he hears he hears the bells ringing the falls roaring he hears the thunder of the breaking ice the noise of the pounding logs the rebellious waves rushing and threatening boys he hases out into the night forgetting everything let them inside stand with lifted glasses till the world's last day he cares nothing for them the broom girl can wait Julius' speech may die on his lips there would be no rings exchange that night no paralyzing amazement would fall upon the shining assembly now the waves must in truth fight for their freedom for just a bärling has come the people have found a leader terrified hearts take courage a terrible struggle begins hear how he calls to the people he commands, he sets all to work we must have light light first of all the miller's horn lantern is not enough see all those piles of branches carry them up on the cliff and set fire to them that is work for the women and children only be quick build up a great flaming brush pile and set fire to it that will light up our work that will be seen far and wide and bring more to help us and let it never go out bring straw, bring branches let the flames stream up to the sky look, look, you men here is work for you here is timber, here are planks make a temporary dam which we can sink in front of this breaking wall quick, quick to work make it firm and solid get ready stones and sandbags to sink it with quick, swing your axis to work, to work and where are the boys get pools, get boat hooks and come out here in the midst of the struggle out on the dam with you boys right in the waves keep off, weaken, drive back their attacks before which the walls are tracking push aside the logs and pieces of ice throw yourselves down if nothing else helps and hold the loosening stones with your hands bite into them, seize them with claws of iron out on the wall boys we shall fight for every inch of land justa himself takes his stand farthest out on the dam and stands there covered with spray the ground shakes under him the waves thunder and rage but his wild heart rejoices at the danger the anxiety, the struggle he laughs he jokes with the boys about him on the dam he has never had a merrier night the work of rescue goes quickly forward the fire flames the axis resound and the dam stands the other pensioners and the hundred guests have come down to the waterfall people come running from near and far all are working at the fires at the temporary dam at the sandbags out on the tottering trembling stone wall now the temporary dam is ready and shall be sunk in front of the yielding breakwater have the stones and sandbags ready and boat hooks and rope that it may not be carried away that the victory may be for the people and the cow waves return to their bondage it so happens that just before the decisive moment just a catchy sight of the woman who is sitting on a stone at the water's edge the flames from the bonfire light her up where she sits staring out over the waves he cannot see her clearly and distinctly through the mist and spray but his eyes are continually drawn to her again and again he has to look at her he feels as if that woman had a special errand to him among all these hundreds who are working and busy she's the only one who sits still and to her his eyes keep turning he can see nothing else she's sitting so far out that the waves break at her feet and the spray dashes over her she must be dripping wet her dress is dark she has a black shawl over her head she sits strung together her chin on her hand and stares persistently at him out on the dam he feels as if those staring eyes were drawing and calling although he cannot even distinguish her face he thinks of nothing but the woman who sits on the shore by the white waves it is the scene him from the loven who has come up the river to lure me to destruction he thinks she sits there and calls and calls I must go and drive her away all these waves with their white heads and to him the black woman's hair it was she who set them on who led the attack against him I really must drive her away he says he ceases a boat hook runs to the shore and hurrs away to the woman he leaves his place on the end of the dam to drive the scene him away he felt in that moment of excitement as if the evil powers of the deep were fighting against him he did not know what he thought, what he believed but he must drive that black thing away from the stone by the river's edge allas justa why is your place empty in the decisive moment they are coming with a temporary dam a long row of men station themselves on the breakwater they have ropes and stones and sandbags ready to wave down and hold it in place they stand ready they wait, they listen where is their leader is there no voice to command no justa bärling is chasing the scene him his voice is silent his commands lead no one so the temporary dam has to be sunk without him the waves rush back it sinks into the water and after it the stones and sandbags but how is the work carried out without a leader no care, no order the waves dash up again they break with renewed rage against this new obstacle they begin to roll the sandbags over, tear the ropes loosen the stones and they succeed they succeed threatening rejoicing dam on their strong shoulders tear and drag on it and then they have it in their power away with the miserable defense down to the loven with it and then on once more against the tottering helpless stone wall but justa is chasing the scene him she saw him as he came towards her swinging the boat hook she was frightened it looked as if she was going to throw herself in to the water but she changed her mind and ran to the land see nymph cries justa and brandishes the boat hook she runs in among the older bushes gets entangled in their thick branches and stops then justa throws away the boat hook goes forward and lays his hand on her shoulder you are out late tonight counters elisabeth he says let me alone her darling let me go home he obeys instantly and turns away from her but since she is not only a high born lady but a really kind little woman who cannot bear the thought that she has driven anyone to despair since she is a little flower picker who always has roses enough in her basket to adorn the barenest way she repents goes after him and sees his hand i came she says and stammers i came to oh her darling you have not done it say that you have not done it i was so frightened when you came running after me but it was you i wanted to meet i wanted to ask you to think of what i said the other day and to come to see me as usual how have you come here counters she laughs nervously i knew that i should come too late what i did not like to tell anyone that i was going and besides you know it is impossible to drive over the ice now have you walked across the lake counters yes yes of course but her darling tell me are you engaged you understand i wish so you were not it is so wrong you see and i felt as if the whole thing was my fault you should not have minded a word from me so much i am a stranger who does not know the customs of the country it is so dullet boy since you do not come anymore her darling just a balling as he stands among the wet older bushes on the marshy ground as if someone were throwing over him armfuls of roses he wades in roses up to his knees they shine before his eyes in the darkness he eagerly drinks in their fragrance have you done that she repeats he must make up his mind to answer her and to put an end to her anxiety although his joy is so great over it it grows so warm in him and so bright when he thinks what a way she has wondered how wet she is how frozen, how frightened she must have been how broken with weeping her voice sounds no he says i am not engaged then she takes his hand again and strokes it i am so glad she says and her voice is shaken with sobs there are flowers enough now on the poet's way everything dark evil and hateful melts from his heart how good you are how good you are he says at their side the waves are rushing against all ekibis honor and glory the people have no leader no one to instill courage and hope into their hearts the dam gives way the waves close over it and then rush triumphant forward to the point where the mill and smittistan no one tries any longer to resist the waves no one thinks of anything but of saving life and property it seems quite natural to both the young people that just i should escort the countess home he cannot leave her alone in this dark night nor let her again wonder alone of the melting eyes they never think that he's needed up at the smithy they are so happy that they are friends again one might easily believe that these young people cherish a warm love for one another but who can be sure in broken fragments of the flowing adventures of their lives have come to me i no nothing or next to nothing what was in their innermost souls what can i say of the motives of their actions i only know that that night a beautiful young woman risked her life her honor her reputation her health to bring back a poor wretch to the right way i only know that night just a balling left the beloved eke before to follow her who for his sake had conquered the fear of death the fear of shame the fear of punishment often in my thoughts i have followed them over the eyes that terrible night which ended so well for them i do not think that there was anything hidden or forbidden in their hearts as they wondered over the eyes gay and chatting of everything which had happened during their separation he's once more her slave her page who lies at her feet and she is his lady they are only happy only joyous neither of them speaks a word which can denote love laughing they splash through the water they laugh when they find the path they lose it when they slip when they fall when they are up again they only laugh this blessed life is once more a merry play and they are children who have been cross and have quarrelled oh how good it is to make up and begin to play again rumor came and rumor went in time the story of the county's and her i see she said that god has not one string only to his bow i can rest and stay where i am needed he can make a man of just a barling without my help end of section 17 of the story of just a barling read by Lars Rolander