 Section 12 of Invisible Links 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. Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf, translated by Pauline Bancroft Flak. The Outlaws, Part 3 The autumn had come with a heavy storm. Tord went alone in the woods to see after the snares and traps. Bergresse sat at home to mend his clothes. Tord's way led in a broad path up a wooded height. Every gust carried the dry leaves in a rustling whirl up the path. Time after time Tord thought that someone went behind him. He often looked round. Sometimes he stopped to listen, but he understood that it was the leaves and the wind and went on. As soon as he started on again, he heard someone coming dancing on silken foot up the slope. Small feet came tripping, elves and fairies played behind him. When he turned round there was no one, always no one. He shook his fists at the rustling leaves and went on. They did not grow silent for that, but they took another tone. They began to hiss and to pant behind him. A big wiper came gliding. Its tongue dripping venom hung far out of its mouth and its bright body shone against the withered leaves. Beside the snake patted a wolf, a big gaunt monster who was ready to seize fast in his throat when the snake had twisted about his feet and bitten him in the heel. Sometimes they were both silent as if to approach him unperceived, but they soon betrayed themselves by hissing and panting and sometimes the wolves claws rang against the stone. Involuntarily Tord walked quicker and quicker but the creatures hastened after him. When he felt that they were only two steps distant and were preparing to strike he turned. There was nothing there and he had known it the whole time. He sat down on a stone to rest. Then the dry leaves played about his feet as if to amuse him. All the leaves of the forest were there. Small light yellow birch leaves, red-spickled mountain ash, the elm's dry dark brown leaves, the aspen's tough light red and the willow's yellow green. Transformed and withered, scarred and torn were they and much unlike the downy light green delicately shaped leaves which a few months ago had rolled out of their butts. Sinners said the boy. Sinners, nothing is pure in God's eyes. The flame of his wrath has already reached you. When he resumed his wandering he saw the forest under him bend before the storm like a heaving sea, but in the path it was calm, but he heard what he did not feel. The woods were full of voices. He heard whispering wailing songs, chorus threats, thundering earth. There was laughter and laments. There was the noise of many people that which hounded and pursued, which rustled and hissed, which seemed to be something and still was nothing, gave him wild thoughts. He felt again the anguish of death when he lay on the floor in his den and the peasants hunted him through the wood. He heard again the crashing of branches, the people's heavy tread, the ring of weapons, the resounding cries, the wild bloodthirsty noise which followed the crowd. But it was not only that which he heard in the storm. There was something else, something still more terrible, voices which he could not interpret, a confusion of voices which seemed to him to speak in foreign tongues. He had heard mightier storms than this whistle through the rigging, but never before had he heard the wind play on such a many-voiced harp. Each tree had its own voice. The pine did not murmur like the aspen, nor the poplar like the mountain ash. Every hole had its note, every cliff's sounding echo its own ring, and the noise of the brooks and the cry of foxes mingled with a marvellous forest storm. But all that he could interpret, there were other strange sounds. It was those which made him begin to scream and scoff and groan in emulation with the storm. He had always been afraid when he was alone in the darkness of the forest. He liked the open sea and the bare rocks, spirits and phantoms crept about among the trees. Suddenly he heard who it was who spoke in the storm. It was God, the great Avenger, the God of Justice. He was hunting him for the sake of his comrade. He demanded that he should deliver up the murder to his vengeance. Then Thor began to speak in the midst of the storm. He told God what he had wished to do, but had not been able. He had wished to speak to Burgresa and to beg him to make his peace with God, but he had been too shy. Bashfulness had made him dumb. When I heard that the earth was ruled by a just God, he cried. I understood that he was a lost man. I have lain and wept for my friend many long nights. I knew that God would find him out wherever he might hide, but I could not speak nor teach him to understand. I was speechless because I loved him so much. Ask not that I shall speak to him. Ask not that the sea shall rise up against the mountain. He was silent and in the storm the deep voice which had been the voice of God for him ceased. It was suddenly calm, with a sharp sun and a splashing as of oars and a gentle rustle as of stiff rushes. These sounds brought unsimage before him. The outlaw cannot have anything, not riches nor women nor the esteem of men. If he should betray Burg, he would be taken under the protection of the law. But un-must love Burg, after what he had done for her, there was no way out of it all. When the storm increased, he heard again steps behind him and sometimes a breathless panting. Now he did not dare to look back for he knew that the white monk went behind him. He came from the feast at Burg Reyes's house, drenched with blood, with a gaping axe wound in his forehead. And he whispered, denounce him, betray him, save his soul, leave his body to the pyre that his soul may be spared, leave him to the slow torture of the rack that his soul may have time to repent. Tord ran, all this fright of what was nothing in itself grew when it so continually played on the soul to an unspeakable terror. He wished to escape from it all. As he began to run, again thundered that deep terrible voice which was God's. God himself hunted him with alarms that he should give up the murderer, but Reyes's crime seemed more detestable than ever to him. An unarmed man had been murdered, a man of God pierced with shining steel. It was like a defiance of the Lord of the world and the murderer dared to live. He rejoiced in the sun's light and in the fruits of the earth as if the almighty's arm were too short to reach him. He stopped, clenched his fists, and howled out a threat. Then he ran like a madman from the wood, down to the valley. Tord hardly needed to tell his errand. Instantly ten peasants were ready to follow him. It was decided that Tord should go alone up to the cave so that Berg's suspicions should not be aroused, but where he went he should scatter peace so that the peasants could find the way. When Tord came to the cave, the outlaws sat on the stone bench and sued. The fire gave hardly any light and the work seemed to go badly. The boy's heart swelled with pity. The splendid Berg Reyes's seemed to him happy and unhappy, and the only thing he possessed his life should be taken from him. Tord began to weep. What is it? asked Berg. Are you ill? Have you been frightened? Then for the first time Tord spoke of his fear. It was terrible in the wood. I heard ghosts and raw specters. I saw white monks. God's death, boy! They crowded round me all the way up Broad Mountain. I ran, but they followed after and sang. Can I never be rid of the sound? What have I to do with them? I think that they could go to one who needed it more. Are you mad tonight, Tord? Tord talked, hardly knowing what words he used. He was free from all shyness. The words streamed from his lips. They are all white monks, white, palest death. They all have blood on their cloaks. They drag their hoods down over their brows. But still the wound shyness from under the big red gaping wound from the blow of the axe. The big red gaping wound from the blow of the axe? Is it I who perhaps have struck it? Why shall I see it? The saints only know Tord, said Bergerius, a pale and with terrible earnestness, what it means that you see a wound from an axe. I killed the monk with a couple of knife thrusts. Tord stood trembling before Berg and wrung his hands. They demand you of me. They want to force me to betray you. Who, the monks? They, yes, the monks. They show me visions. They show me her, Anne. They show me the shining sunny sea. They show me the fisherman's camping-ground. There is dancing and merry-making. I close my eyes, but still I see. Leave me in peace, I say. My friend has murdered, but he's not bad. Let me be, and I will talk to him, so that he repents and atones. He shall confess his sin and go to Christ's grave. We will both go together to the places which are so holy that all sin is taken away from him who draws near them. What do the monks answer? asked Berg. They want to have me saved. They want to have me on the rack and wheel. Shall I betray my dearest friend? I ask them, continued Tord. He is my world. He has saved me from the bear that had his paw on my throat. We have been cold together and suffered every want together. He has spread his bear skin over me when I was sick. I have carried wood and water for him. I have watched over him while he slept. I have fooled his enemies. Why do they think that I am one who will betray a friend? My friend will soon of his own accord go to the priest and confess. Then we will go together to the land of Atonement. Berg listened earnestly, his eyes sharply searching Tord's face. You shall go to the priest and tell him the truth, he said. You need to be among people. Does that help me if I go alone? For your sin, death and all his spectres follow me. Do you not see how I shudder at you? You have lifted your hand against God himself. No crime is like yours. I think that I must rejoice when I see you on rack and wheel. It is well for him who can receive his punishment in this world and escapes the wrath to come. Why did you tell me of the just God? You compel me to betray you. Save me from that sin. Go to the priest. And he fell on his knees before Berg. The murderer laid his hand on his head and looked at him. He was measuring his sin against his friend's anguish and it grew big and terrible before his soul. He saw himself at variance with the will which rules the world. Repentance entered his heart. Woe to me that I have done what I have done, he said, that which awaits me is too hard to meet voluntarily. If I give myself up to the priest, they will torture me for hours. They will roast me with slow fires. And is not this life a misery which we lead in fear and want pens enough? Have I not lost lands and home? Do I not live parted from friends and everything which makes a man's happiness? What more is required when he spoke so toward sprang up wild with terror? Can you repent? he cried. Can my words move your heart? Then come instantly. How could I believe that? Let us escape. There is still time. Berg Racer sprang up. He too. You have done it then. Yes, yes, yes. I have betrayed you. But come quickly. Come as you can repent. They will let us go. We shall escape them. The murderer bent down to the floor where the battle axe of his ancestors lay at his feet. You son of a thief! he said. He sing out the words. I have trusted you and loved you. But when Tor saw him bend for the axe, he knew that it was now a question of his own life. He snatched his own axe from his belt and struck at Berg before he had time to raise himself. The edge cut through the whistling air and sank in the bent head. Berg Racer fell head foremost to the floor. His body rolled after. Blood and brains spouted out. The axe fell from the wound. In the matted hair Tor saw a big red gaping hole from the blow of an axe. The peasants came rushing in. They rejoiced and praised the deed. You will win by this, they said to Torred. Torred looked down at his hands as if he saw there the fetters with which he had been dragged forward to kill him he loved. They were forged from nothing. Of the rushes green light. Of the play of the shadows. Of the song of the storm. Of the rustling of the leaves. Of dreams where they created. And he said aloud, God is great. But again the old thought came to him. He fell on his knees beside the body and put his arm under his head. To him no harm he said. He repents. He's going to the Holy Sepulcher. He's not dead. He's but a prisoner. We were just ready to go when he fell. The white monk did not want him to repent. But God, the God of justice loves repentance. He lay beside the body, talked to it, wept and begged the dead man to awake. The peasants arranged a beer. They wished to carry the peasants body down to his house. They had respect for the dead and spoke softly in his presence. When they lifted him up on the beer, Tord rose, shook the hair back from his face, and said with a voice which shook with sobs, Say to Anne, who made burgheries a murderer, that he was killed by Tord the fisherman, whose father is a wrecker and whose mother is a witch, because he taught him that the foundation of the world is justice. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Lars Rolander Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöve Translated by Pauline Bancroft Flack The Legend of Rheor There was a man called Rheor. He was from Fublisher in the parish of Svarteborg and was considered the best shot in the county. He was baptized when King Olaf rooted out the old belief and was ever afterwards an eager Christian. He was freeborn but poor, handsome but not tall, strong but gentle. He tamed young horses with but a look and a word and could lure birds to him with a call. He dwelt mostly in the woods and nature had great power over him. The growing of the plants and the budding of the trees, the play of the hares in the forests, open places and the fish asleep in the calm lake at evening, the conflict of the seasons and the changes of the weather. These were the chief events of his life. Sorrow and joy he found in such things and not in that which happened among men. One day the skillful hunter met deep in the thickest forest an old bear and killed him with a single shot. The great arrow's sharp point pierced the mighty heart and he fell dead at the hunter's feet. It was summer and the bear's pelt was neither close nor even. Still the archer drew it off, rolled it together into a hard bundle and went on with the bear's skin on his back. He had not wandered far before he perceived an extraordinarily strong smell of honey. It came from the little flowering plants that covered the ground. They grew on slender stalks, had light green shiny leaves which were beautifully veined and at the top a little spike, thickly set with white flowers. Their petals were of the tiniest but from among them pushed up a little brush of stamens whose pollen-filled heads trembled of white filaments. Greer thought as he went among them that those flowers which stood alone and unnoticed in the darkness of the forest were sending out message after message, summons upon summons. The strong sweet fragrance of the honey was their cry. It spread the knowledge of their existence far away among trees and high up towards clouds. But there was something melancholy in the heavy perfume. The flowers had filled their cups and spread their table in expectation of their winged guests but none came. They pined to death in the deep loneliness of the dark windless forest thicket. They seemed to wish to cry out and lament that the beautiful butterflies did not come and visit them. Where the flowers grew thickest he thought that they sang together a monotonous song. Come, fair guests, come today for tomorrow we are dead, tomorrow we lie dead on the dried leaves. Reor was permitted to see the joyous close of the flower adventure. He felt behind him a flutter as of the lightest wind and saw a white butterfly flitting about in the dimness between the thick trunks. He flew hither and thither in an uneasy quest as if uncertain of the way. Nor was he alone. Butterfly after butterfly glimmered in the darkness until at last there was a host of white-winged honey seekers. But the first was the leader and he found the flowers guided by their fragrance. After him the whole butterfly host came storming. It threw itself down among the longing flowers as the conqueror throws himself on his booty. Like a snowfall of white wings it sank down over them and there was feasting and drinking on every flower cluster. The woods were full of silent rejoicing. Reor went on but now the honey-sweet fragrance seemed to follow him wherever he went and he felt that in the wood was hidden a longing stronger than that of the flowers that something there drew him to itself just as the flowers lured the butterflies. He went forward with a quiet joy in his heart as if he was expecting a great unknown happiness. His only fear was lest he should not be able to find the way to that which longed for him. In front of him on the narrow path crawled a white snake. He bent down to pick up the luck-bringing animal but the snake lighted out of his hands and up the path. There it coiled itself and lay still but when the huntsman again tried to catch it glided slippery as ice between his fingers. Reor now grew eager to possess the wisest of beasts. He ran after the snake but was not able to reach it and the latter lured him away from the path into the trackless forest. It was overgrown with pines and in such places one seldom finds grassy ground but now the dry moss and brown pine needles suddenly disappeared. The stiff cranberry bushes vanished and Reor felt underfoot well with like turf. Over the green carpet trembled flower clusters light as down on bending stems and between the long narrow leaves could be seen the half-open blossoms of the red chili flower. It was only a little spot and over it spread the gnarled red-brown branches of the lofty pines with bunches of close growing needles. Through these the sun rays could find many paths to the ground and there was suffocating heat. In the midst of the little meadow a cliff rose perpendicularly out of the ground. It lay in sharp sunshine and the mossy stones were plainly visible. And in the fresh fractures where the winter's frost had lost loosened some mighty blocks the long stalks of ferns clung with their brown roots in the earth filled cracks and on the inch-wide predictions a grass-green moss lifted on needle-like stems the little grey caps which concealed its spores. The cliff seemed in all ways like every other cliff but Rio noticed instantly that he had come upon the gable wall of a giant house and he discovered under the moss and leechen the great hinges on which the mountain's granite door swung. He now believed that the snake had crept in in the grass to hide there until it could come in among the rocks unnoticed and he gave up all hope of catching it. He perceived now again the honey-sweet fragrance of the longing flowers and noticed that here under the cliff the heat was suffocating. It was also marvelously quiet not a bird mood, not a leaf played in the wind. It was as if everything held its breath waiting and listening in unspeakable tension. It was as if he had come into a room where he was not alone although he saw no one. He thought that someone was watching him. He felt as if he had been expected. He knew no alarm but was thrilled by a pleasant shiver as if he were soon to see something about the common beautiful. In that moment he again became aware of the snake. It had not hidden itself. It had instead crawled up on one of the blocks which the frost had broken from the cliff and just below the white snake he saw the bright body of a girl who lay asleep in the soft grass. She lay without any other covering than a light web-light veil just as if she had thrown herself down there after having taken part the whole night in some elfin dance. But the long blades of grass and the trembling flower clusters stood high over the sleeper so that Rior could scarcely catch a glimpse of the soft lines of her body. Nor did he go near in order to see better. He drew his good knife from its sheath and threw it between the girl and the cliff so that the steel-shide daughter of the giants should not be able to flee into the mountain when she awoke. Then he stood still in deep thought. One thing he knew that he wished to possess the maiden who lay there but as yet he had not quite made up his mind how he would behave towards her. He who knew the language of nature better than that of man listened to the great sullen forest and the stern mountain. See, they said, to you who love the wilderness we give our fair daughter. She will suit you better than the daughters of the plain. Rior, are you worthy of this most precious of gifts? Then he thanked in his heart the great kind nature and decided to make the maiden his wife and not merely a slave. He thought that since she had come to Christendom and human ways she would be confused at the thought that she had lain so uncovered so he loosened the bear's skin from his back, unfolded the stiff hide and threw the old bear's shaggy, grizzled pelt over her. And as he did so, a laugh which made the ground shake thundered behind the cliff. It did not sound like derision, but as if someone had sat in great fear and could not help laughing when suddenly relieved of it. The terrible silence and oppressive heat were also at an end. Over the grass floated a cooling wind and the pine branches began their murmuring song. The happy huntsman felt that the whole forest had held its breath, wondering how the daughter of the wilderness would be treated by the son of man. The snake now glided down into the high grass, but the sleeper lay bound in a magic sleep and did not move. Then Rheor wrapped her in the coarse bear's skin so that only her head showed about the shaggy fur. Although she certainly was a daughter of the old giant of the mountain, she was slender and delicately made, and the strong hunter lifted her on his arm and carried her away through the forest. After a while he felt that someone lifted his broad-sprimmed hat. He looked up and found that the giant's daughter was awake. She sat quiet on his arm, but she wished to see what the man looked like was carrying her. He let her do as she pleased. He went on with longer strides, but said nothing. Then she must have noticed the sun burnt on his head since she had taken off his hat. She held it out over his head like a parasol, but she did not put it back rather held it so that she could still look down into his face. Then it seemed to him that he did not need to ask or to speak. He carried her silently down to his mother's hut, but his whole being was filled with happiness, and when he stood on the threshold of his home, he saw the white snake, which gives good fortune, glide in under its foundation. End of The Legend of Rior from Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf Translated by Pauline Bancroft Flack Read by Lars Rolander Section 14 of Invisible Links 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 Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf Translated by Pauline Bancroft Flack Waldemar Atterdag The spring that Hellquists great picture Waldemar Atterdag levies a contribution on Visby was exhibited at the art league. I went in there one quiet morning, not knowing that the work of art was there. The big richly colored canvas with its many figures made at the first glance an extraordinary impression. I could not look at any other picture, but went straight to that one, took a chair and sank into silent contemplation. For half an hour I lived in the middle ages. Soon I was within the scene that was passing in the Visby marketplace. I saw the beer vats which began to be filled with the golden brew that King Waldemar had ordered and the groups which gathered around them. I saw the rich merchant with his page standing under his gold and silver dishes, the young burger who shakes his fist at the king, the monk with a sharp face who closely watches his majesty, the ragged beggar who offers his copper, the woman who has sunk down beside one of the vats, the king on his throne, the soldiers who come swarming out to the narrow streets, the high gables and the scattered groups of insolent guards and refractory people. But suddenly I noticed that the chief figure of the picture is not the king nor any of the burgers, but one of the king's steel-clad shield-bears, the one with a closed visor. Into that figure the artist has put a strange force. There is not a hair of him to be seen. He is steel and iron, the whole man. And yet he gives the impression of being the rightful master of the situation. I am violence, I am rapacity, he says. It is I who am living contribution on vispe. I am not a human being. I am merely steel and iron. My pleasure is in suffering and evil. Let them go on and torture one another. Today it is I who am lord of vispe. Look, he says to the beholder. Can you see that it is I who am master? As far as your eye can reach there is nothing here but people who are torturing one another. Groaning the conquered come and leave their gold. They hate and threaten, but they obey. And the desires of the victors grow wilder, the more gold they can extort. What are Denmark's king and his soldiers but my servants at least for this one day? Tomorrow they will go to church or sit in peaceful mirrors in their inns or also perhaps be good fathers in their own homes. But today they serve me. Today they are evil doers and ravishers. The longer one listens to him the better one understands what the picture is. Nothing but an illustration of the old story of how people can torture one another. There is not one redeeming feature only cruel violence and defiant hate and hopeless suffering. Those three beer vats who were to be filled that vispe should not be plundered and burnt. Why do they not come those handsaters with glowing enthusiasts? Why do the women not hasten with their ewells, the revelers with their cups, the priest with his relics, eager burning with enthusiasm for the sacrifice? For thee, for thee our beloved town it is needless to send soldiers for us when it concerns thee. Oh vispe, our mother, our honor take back what thou hast given us. But the painter has not wished to see them so and it was not so either. No enthusiasts, only constrained, only suppressed defiance, only bewailings. Gold is everything to them, women and men sigh over that gold which they have to give. Look at them, says the power that stands on the steps of the throne. It goes to their very hearts to offer it. May he who will feel sympathy for them, they are mean, avaricious, arrogant. They are no better than the covetous brigand whom I have sent against them. A woman has sank down on the ground by the vats. Does it cost her so much pain to give her gold? Or is she perhaps the guilty one? Is she the cause of the laments? Is it she who has betrayed the town? Yes, it is she who has been King Waldemar's mistress. It is Ung Hans's daughter. She knows well that she need give no gold. Her father's house will not be plundered. But she has collected what she possesses and brings it. In the marketplace she has been overcome by all the misery she has seen and has sank down in infinite despair. He had been active and merry, the John Goldsmith's apprentice who served the year before in her father's house. It had been glorious to stroll at his side through this same marketplace when the moon rose from behind the gables and loomed the beauties of Visby. She had been proud of him, proud of her father, proud of her town. And now she is lying there, broken with grief, innocent and yet guilty. He who is sitting cold and cruel on the throne and who has brought all this devastation on the town is he the same as the one who whispered sweet words to her? Was it to meet him that she crept when the night before she stole her father's keys and opened the town gate? And when she found her Goldsmith apprentice a knight with sword in hand and a steel-clad host behind him, what did she think? Did she go mad at the sight of that stream of steel surging in through the gate which she had opened? Too late to be moan, Maiden. Why did you love the enemy of your town? Visby is fallen. Its glory shall pass away. Why did you not throw yourself down before the gate and let the steel-shod heels trample you to death? Did you wish to live in order to see his thunderbolt strike the transgressor? Oh Maiden, at his side stands violence and protects him. He has violated holier things than a trusting Maiden. He does not even spare God's own temple. He breaks away the shining carbuncles from the church walls to fill the last vat. The bearing of all the figures in the picture changes. Blind terror fills everything living. The wildest soldier grows pale. The burgers turn their eyes towards heaven. All await God's punishment. All trembled except violence on the steps of the throne and the king who is his servant. I wish that the artist had lived long enough to take me down to the harbor of Visby and let me see those same burgers when they followed the departing fleet with their eyes. They cry curses out over the waves. Destroy them, they cry. Destroy them. Oh, see our friend, take back our treasures. Open thy choking depths under the ungodly, under the faithless. And the sea murmurs a faint ascent and violence who stands on the royal ship nods approvingly. That is right, he says, to persecute and to be persecuted. That is my law. May storm and sea destroy the pirate fleet and take to itself the treasures of my royal servant. So much the sooner it will be our lot to set out on new devastating expeditions. The burgers on the shore turn and look up at their town. Fire has raged there. Plunder has passed through it. Behind broken panes, gate-pillage dwellings. They see emptied streets, desecrated churches. Bloody corpses are lying in the narrow courts and women crazed by fright flee through the town. Shall they stand impotent before such things? Is there no one whom their vengeance can reach? No one whom they in their turn can torture and destroy? God in heaven see! The Goldsmith's house is not plundered nor burnt. What does it mean? Was he in league with the enemy? Had he not the key to one of the town gates in his keeping? Oh, you daughter of Ung Hansen! Answer! What does it mean? Far away on the Royal ship, violin stands and watches his royal servant smiling behind his visor. Listen to the storm, sire. Listen to the storm. The gold that you have ravished will soon lie on the bottom of the sea inaccessible to you. And look back at Visby, my noble lord. The woman whom you deceived is being led between the clergy and the soldiers to the town wall. Can you hear the crowd following her? Cursing, insulting? Look! The masons come with mortar and trowel. Look! The women come with stones. They are all bringing stones. All! All! O king, if you cannot see what is passing in Visby, may you yet hear and know what is happening there. You are not of steel and iron like violence at your side. When the gloomy days of old age come and you live under the shadow of death, the image of Ung Hans' daughter will rise in your memory. You shall see her pale as death sink under the contempt and scorn of her people. You shall see her dragged along between the priests and the soldiers through the ringing of bells and the singing of hymns. She is already dead in the eyes of the people. She feels herself dead in her heart, killed by what she has loved. You shall see her mount in the tower. See how the stones are inserted. Hear the scraping of the trolls and hear the people who hurry forward with their stones. O Mason, take mine, take mine. Use my stone for the work of vengeance. Let my stone help to shut Ung Hans' daughter in from light and air. Visby's fallen, the glorious Visby. God bless your hands, O Mason's. Let me help to complete the vengeance. Hymns' sound and bells ring as for Barrio. O Waldemar, king of Denmark, it will be your fate to meet death also. Then you will lie on your bed, hear and see much and suffer great pains. You shall hear that scraping of the trolls, those cries for vengeance. Where are the consecrated bells that drown the martyrdom of the soul? Where are they with their white bronze throats whose tongues cry out to God for grace for you? Where is that air trembling with harmony which bears the soul up to God's space? O help Esrom, help Soere, and you big bell of Lund. What a glowy story that picture told. It seemed curious and strange to come out into the park in glowing sunshine among living human beings. End of Waldemar Utterdog from Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf translated by Pauline Bancroft Flack read by Lars Rolander section 15 of Invisible Links 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 Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf translated by Pauline Bancroft Flack Mansel Fredrika it was Christmas night, a real Christmas night the goblins raised the mountain roofs on lofty gold pillars and celebrated the midwinter festival the brownies danced around the Christmas porridge in new red caps old gods wondered about the heavens in grey storm cloaks and in the Österhahn in a graveyard stood the horse of Hale that is the goddess of death he poured with his hoof on the frozen ground he was marking out the place for a new grave not very far away at the old manor of Orsta Mansel Fredrika was lying asleep Orsta is as everyone knows an old haunted castle but Mansel Fredrika slept a calm quiet sleep she was old now and tied out after many wary days of work and many long journeys she had almost travelled round the world therefore she had returned to the home of her childhood to find rest outside the castle sounded in the night a bolt from far death mounted on a grey charger had ridden up to the castle gate his wide scarlet cloak and his hats proud plumes fluttered in the night wind the stern knight sought to win an adoring heart therefore he appeared in unusual magnificence it is of no avail, Sir Knight of no avail the gate is closed and the lady of your heart asleep you must seek a better occasion and a more suitable hour watch for her when she goes to early mass stern Sir Knight watch for her on the church road old Mansel Fredrika sleeps quietly in her beloved home no one deserves more than she the sweetness of rest like a Christmas angel she sat but now in a circle of children and told them of Jesus and the shepherds told until her eyes shone and her withered face became transfigured now in her old age no one noticed what Mansel Fredrika looked like those who saw the little slender figure the tiny delicate hands and the kind clever face instantly longed to be able to preserve that sight in remembrance as the most beautiful of memories in Mansel Fredrika's big room among many relics and souvenirs there was a little dry bush it was a Jericho rose brought back by Mansel Fredrika from the far east now in the Christmas night it began to blossom quite of itself the dry twigs were covered with red buds which shone like sparks of fire and lighted the whole room by the light of the sparks one saw that a small and slender but quite elderly lady sat in the big arm chair and held her court Mansel Fredrika herself for she lay sleeping in quiet repose and yet it was she she sat there and held a reception for old memories the room was full of them people and homes and subjects and thoughts and discussions came flying memories of childhood and memories of youth love and tears homage and bitter scorn all came rushing towards the pale form that sat and looked at everything with a friendly smile she had words of jest or of sympathy for them all at night everything takes its right size and shape and just as then for the first time the stars of heaven are visible one also sees much on earth that one never sees by day now in the light of the red buds of the Jericho rose one could see a crowd of strange figures in Mansel Fredrika's drawing room the hard Mashaach Maher was there the good nature Bialta Bardock's log people from the east and the west the enthusiastic Nina the energetic struggling Herta in her white dress can anyone tell me why that person must always be dressed in white just did the little figure in the armchair when she caught sight of her all the memories spoke to the old woman and said you have seen and experienced so much you have worked and earned so much are you not tired will you not go to rest not yet answered the shadow in the Jell-O armchair I have still a book to write I cannot go to rest before it is finished thereupon the figures vanished the Jericho rose went out and the Jell-O armchair stood empty in the Osterhawninger church the dead were celebrating midnight mass one of them climbed up to the bell tower and rang in Christmas another went about and lighted the Christmas candles and a third began with bony fingers to play the organ through the open doors others came swarming in out of the night and their graves to the bright glowing house of the Lord just as they had been in life they came only a little paler they opened the pew doors with rattling keys and chatted and whispered as they walked up the ale they are the candles she has given the poor that are now shining in God's house we lie warm in our graves as long as she gives clothes and wood to the poor she has spoken so many noble words that have opened the hearts of men those words are the keys of our pews she has thought beautiful thoughts of God's love those thoughts raise us from our graves so they whispered and murmured before they sat down in the pews and bent their pale foreheads in prayer in their shrunken hands at Oshta someone came into Mamsel Fridrika's room and laid her hand gently on the sleeper's arm Up my Fridrika it is time to go to the early mass old Mamsel Fridrika opened her eyes and saw Agatte her beloved sister who was dead sitting by the bed with a candle in her hand she recognized her for she looked just as she had done on earth Mamsel Fridrika was not afraid she rejoiced only at seeing her loved one at whose side she longed to sleep the everlasting sleep she rose and dressed herself with all speed there was no time for conversation the carriage stood before the door the others must have gone already for no one but Mamsel Fridrika and her dead sister were moving in the house do you remember Fridrika said the sister as they sat in the carriage and drew quickly to the church do you remember how you always in the old days expected some night to carry you off on the road to church I'm still expecting it said old Mamsel Fridrika and laughed I never ride in this carriage without looking out for my night even though they hurried they came too late the priests stepped down from the pulpit as they entered the church and the closing hymn began never had Mamsel Fridrika heard such a beautiful song it was as if both earth and heaven joined in in the song as if every bench and stone and board had sung too she had never seen the church so crowded on the communion table and on the pulpit steps sat people they stood in the aisles they thronged in the pews and outside the whole road was packed with people who could not enter the sisters however found places for them the crowd moved aside Fridrika said her sister look at the people and Mamsel Fridrika looked and looked then she perceived that she like the woman in the saga had come to a mass of the dead she felt a cold shiver pass down her back but it happened as often before she felt more curious than frightened she saw now who were in the church there were none but women there gray bent forms with circular capes and faded mantillas with hats of faded splendor and turned or threadbare dresses she saw an unheard of number of wrinkled faces sunken mouths, dim eyes and shrivelled hands but not a single hand which wore a plain gold ring yes Mamsel Fridrika understood it now it was all the old maids who had passed away in the land of Sweden who were keeping midnight mass in the Österhåninge church her dead sister leaned towards her sister do you repent of what you have done for these your sisters no said Mamsel Fridrika what have I to be glad for if not that it has been bestowed upon me to work for them I once sacrificed my position as an authorist to them I'm glad that I knew what I sacrificed and yet did it then you may stay and hear more said the sister at the same moment someone was heard to speak far away in the choir a mild but distinct voice my sisters said the voice our pitiful race our ignorant and despised race will soon exist no more God has willed that we shall die out from the earth dear friends we shall soon be only a legend the old Mamsel's measure is full death thrives about on the road to the church to meet the last one of us before the next midnight mass she will be dead the last old Mamsel sisters sisters we are the lonely ones of the earth the neglected ones at the feast the unappreciated workers in the homes we are met with scorn and indifference our way is wary and our name is ridicule but God has had mercy upon us to one of us he gave power and genius to one of us he gave never-failing goodness to one of us he gave the glorious gift of eloquence she was everything we ought to have been she threw light on our dark fate she was the servant of the homes as we had been but she offered her gifts to a thousand homes she was the caretaker of the sick as we had been but she struggled with a terrible epidemic of habits of former days she told her stories to thousands of children she led her poor friends in every land she gave from fuller hands than we and with a warmer spirit in her heart well none of our bitterness for she has loved it away her glory has been that of a queen's she has been offered the treasures of gratitude by millions of hearts her word has weighed heavily in the great questions of mankind her name has sounded through the new and the old world and yet she's only an old mumsel she has transfigured our dark fate blessings on her name the dead joined in in a thousand-fold echo blessings on her name sister whispered mumsel Fredrika can you not forbid them to make me poor, sinful, being proud but sisters, sisters continued the voice she has turned against our race with all her great power at her cry for freedom and work for all the old despised livers on charity have died out she has broken down the tyranny that fenced in childhood she has stirred young girls towards the wide activity of life she has put an end to loneliness, to ignorance, to joylessness no unhappy despised old mumsel without aim or purpose in life will ever exist again none such as we have been again resounded the echo of the shades merry as a hunting song in the wood which is sung by a happy throng of children blessed be her memory there upon the dead swarmed out of the church and mumsel Fredrika wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye I will not go home with you, said her dead sister will you not stop here now also I should like to, but I cannot there is a book which I must make ready first well, good night then and beware of the night of the church road said her dead sister and smiled ruthlessly in her old way then mumsel Fredrika drove home all Orshta still slept and she went quietly to her room lay down and slept again a few hours later she drove to the real early mass she drove in a closed carriage but she let down the window to look at the stars it is possible too that she as of old was looking for her night and there he was he sprang forward to the window of the carriage he sat his prancing charger magnificently his scarlet cloak fluttered in the wind his pale face was stern but beautiful will you be mine he whispered she was transported in her old heart by the lofty figure with the waving plumes she forgot that she needed to live a year yet I am ready she whispered then I will come and fetch you in a week at your father's house he bent down and kissed her and then he vanished she began to shiver and tremble under death's kiss a little later mumsel Fredrika sat in the church in the same place where she had sat as a child here she forgot both the night and the ghosts and sat smiling in quiet delight at the thought of the revelation of the glory of God but either she was tired because she had not slept the whole night or the warmth and the smell of the candles had a soporific effect on her as on many another she fell asleep only for a second she absolutely could not help it perhaps too God wished to open to her the gates of the land of dreams in that single second when she slept she saw her stern father her lovely beautifully dressed mother the ugly little Petria sitting in the church and the soul of the child was compressed by an anguish greater than has ever been felt by a grown person the priest stood in the pulpit and spoke of the stern avenging God and the child sat pale and trembling as if the words had been exposed and had gone through its heart oh what a God what a terrible God in the next second she was awake but she trembled and shuddered as after the kiss of death on the church road her heart was once more caught in the wild grief of her childhood she wished to hurry from the church she must go home and write her book her glorious book on the God of peace and love nothing else that can be deemed worth mentioning happened to Manself Rodriguez before New Year's night life and death like day and night reigned in quiet concord over the earth during the last week of the year but when New Year's night came death took his scepter and announced that now old Manself Rodriguez should belong to him had they but known it all the people of Sweden would certainly have prayed a common prayer to God to be allowed to keep their pure spirit their warmest heart many homes in many lands where she had left loving hearts would have watched with despair and grief the poor, the sick and the needy would have forgotten their own wants to remember hers and all the children who had grown up blessing her work would have clasped their hands to pray for one more year for their best friend one year that she might make all fully clear and put the finishing touch of her life's work for death was too prompt for Manself Rodriguez there was a storm outside on that New Year's night there was a storm within her soul she felt all the agony of life and death coming to a crisis anguish, she sighed anguish but the anguish gave way and peace came and she whispered softly the love of Christ the best love the peace of God the everlasting light yes, that was what she would have written in her book and perhaps much else as beautiful and wonderful who knows only one thing we know that books are forgotten but such a life as hers never is the old prophetess's eyes closed and she sank into visions her body struggled with death but she did not know it her family sat weeping about her deathbed but she did not see them her spirit had begun its flight dreams became reality to her and reality dreams now she stood as she had already seen herself in the vision of her youth waiting at the gates of heaven with innumerable hosts of the dead round about her and heaven opened he the only one the savior stood in its open gates and his infinite love woke in the waiting spirits and in her a longing to fly to his embrace and their longing lifted them and her and they floated as if on wings upwards, upwards the next day there was morning in the land morning in wide parts of the earth Friedrich Bremer was dead end of Mamsel Friedrika from Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf translated by Pauline Bancroft Flack read by Lars Rolander section 16 of Invisible Links 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 Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf translated by Pauline Bancroft Flack the romance of a fisherman's wife on the outer edge of the fishing village stood a little cottage on a low mound of white sea sand it was not built in line with the even neat conventional houses that enclosed the wide green place where the brown fish nets were dried but seemed as if forced out of the row and pushed on one side to the sand hills the poor widow who had erected it had been her own builder and she had made the walls of her cottage lower than those of all the other cottages and its steep, thatched roof higher than any other roof in the fishing village the floor lay deep down in the ground the window was neither high nor wide but nevertheless it reached from the conness to the level of the earth there had been no space for a chimney breast in the one narrow room and she had been obliged to add a small square projection the cottage had not, like the other cottages its fenced in garden with gooseberry bushes and twining morning glories and elder bushes half suffocated by birdocks of all the vegetation of the fishing village only the birdocks had followed the cottage to the sand hill they were fine enough in summer with their fresh dark green leaves and prickly baskets filled with bright red flowers but towards the autumn when the prickles had hardened and the seeds had ripened they grew careless about their looks and stood hideously ugly and dry with their torn leaves wrapped in a melancholy shroud of dusty cob verbes the cottage never had more than two owners for it could not hold up that heavy roof on its walls of reeds and clay for more than two generations but as long as it stood it was owned by poor widows the second widow who lived there delighted in watching the birdocks especially in the autumn when they were dried and broken they recalled her who had built the cottage she too had been shriveled and dry and had had the power to cling fast and add her and all her strength had been used for her child whom she had needed to help on in the world she who now sat there alone wished both to weep and to laugh at the thought of it if the old woman had not had a burl-like nature how different everything would have been but who knows if it would have been better the lonely woman often sat musing on a fate which had brought her to this spot of the coast of Skorne to the narrow inlet and among these quiet people for she was born in a Norwegian seaport which lay on a narrow strip of land between rushing falls and the open sea and although her means were small after the death of her father a merchant who left his family in poverty still she was used to life and progress she used to tell her story to herself over and over again just as one often reads through an obscure book in order to try to discover its meaning the first thing of note which had happened to her was when one evening on the way home from the dressmaker with whom she worked she had been attacked by two sailors and rescued by a third the latter fought for her at peril of his life and afterwards went home with her she took him into her mother and sisters and told them excitedly what he had done it was as if life had acquired a new value for her because another had dared so much to defend it he had been immediately well received by her family and asked to come again as soon and as often as he could his name was Börje Nilsson and he was a sailor on the Swedish lager Albertina as long as the boat lay in the harbor he came almost every day to her home and they could soon no longer believe that he was only a common sailor he shone always in a clean turned down collar and wore a sailor suit of fine cloth natural and frank he showed himself among them as if he had been used to move in the same class as they without his ever having said it in so many words they got the impression that he was from a respectable home the only son of a rich widow but that his unconquerable love for a sailor's profession had made him take a place before the mast so that his mother should see that he was in earnest when he had passed his examination she would certainly get him his own ship the lonely family who had drawn away from all their former friends received him without the slightest suspicion and he described with a light heart and flew and tongue his home with its high pointed roof the great open fireplace in the dining room and the little leaded glass paints he also painted the silent streets of his native town and the long rows of even houses built in the same style against which his home with its irregular buttresses and terraces made a pleasant contrast and his listeners believed that he had come from one of those own burger houses with carved gables and with overhanging second stories which give such a strong impression of wealth and venerable age soon enough she saw that he cared for her and that gave her mother and sisters great joy the young rich swede came as if to raise them all up from their poverty even if she had not loved him which she did she would never have had a thought of saying no to his proposal if she had had a father or a grown-up brother he could have found out about strangers' extraction and position but neither she nor her mother thought of making any inquiries afterwards she saw how they had actually forced him to lie in the beginning he had let them imagine great ideas about his wealth without any evil intention but when he understood how glad they were over it he had not dared to speak the truth for fear of losing her before he left they were betrothed and when the lager came again they were married it was a disappointment for her that he also on his return appeared as a sailor but he had been bound by his contract he had no greetings either from his mother she had expected him to make another choice but she would be so glad he said if she would once see Astrid in spite of all his lies it would have been an easy matter to see that he was a poor man if they had only chosen to use their eyes the captain offered her his cabin if she would like to make the journey in his vessel and the offer was accepted with delight Burya was almost exempt from all work and sat most of the time on the deck talking to his wife and now he gave her the happiness of fancy such as he himself had lived on all his life the more he thought of that little house which lay half buried in the sand so much the higher he raced that palace which he would have liked to offer her he let her in thought glide into a harbor which was adorned with flags and flowers in honor of Burya Nilsson's bride he let her hear the mayor's speech of greeting he let her drive under a triumphal arch while the eyes of men followed her and the women grew pale with envy and he led her into the stately home where bowing silvery-haired servants to drone up along the side of the broad stairway and where the table laden for the feast groaned under the old family silver when she discovered the truth she supposed at first that the captain had been in league with Burya to deceive her but afterwards she found that it was not so they were accustomed on board the boat to speak of Burya as of a great man it was their greatest joke to talk quite seriously about his riches and his fine family they thought that Burya had told her the truth but that she joked with him as they all did when she talked about his big house so it happened that when the lager cast anchor in the harbor which lay nearest to Burya's home she still did not know but that she was the wife of a rich man Burya got a day's leave to conduct his wife to her future home and to start her in her new life when they were landed on the key where the flags were to have fluttered and the crowds to have rejoiced in honour of the newly married couple only emptiness and calm reigned there and Burya noticed that his wife looked about her with a certain disappointment we have come too soon he said the journey was such an unusually quick one it's fine weather so we have no carriage here either and we have far to go for the house lies outside the town that makes no difference Burya she had answered it will do us good to walk after having been quite so long on board and so they began their walk that walk of horror of which she could not think even in her old age without moaning in agony and wringing her hands in pain they went along the broad empty streets which she instantly recognised from his description she felt as if she met with old friends both in the dark church and in the even houses of timber and brick but where were the carved gables and marble steps with the high railing Burya had nodded to her as if he had guest her thoughts it is a long way still he had said if he had only been merciful and at once killed her hope she loved him so then if he of his own accord had told her everything there would never have been any sting in her soul against him but when he saw her pain at being deceived and yet went on misleading her that had hurt her too bitterly she had never really forgiven him that she could of course say to herself that he had wanted to take her with him as far as possible so that she would not be able to run away from him but his deceit created such a deadly coldness in her that no love could entirely thaw it they went through the town and came out on the adjoining plane there stretched several rows of dark motes and high green ramparts remains from the time when the town had been fortified and at the point where they all gathered around a fort she saw some ancient buildings and big round towers she cast a shy look towards them but Burrier turned off to the mounds which followed the shore this is her shorter way he said for she seemed to be surprised that there was only a narrow path to follow he had become very taciturn she understood afterwards that he had not found it so merry as he had fancied to come with a wife to the miserable little house in the fishing village it did not seem so fine now to bring home a better man's child he was anxious about what she would do when she should know the truth Burrier she said at last when they had followed the shelving sandy hillocks for a long while where are we going? he lifted his hand and pointed towards the fishing village where his mother lived in the house on the sand hill but she believed that he meant one of the beautiful country seats which lay on the edge of the plain and was again glad they climbed down into the empty cow pastures and there all her uneasiness returned there where every tuft if one can only see it is clothed with beauty and variety she saw merely an ugly field and the wind which is ever shifting there swept whistling by them and whispered of misfortune and treachery Burrier walked faster and faster and at last they reached the end of the pasture and entered the fishing village she who at the last had not dared to ask herself any questions took courage again here again was a uniform row of houses and this one she recognized even better than in the town perhaps perhaps he had not lied her expectations were so reduced that she would have been glad from the heart if she could have stopped at any of the neat little houses where flowers and white curtains showed behind shining windowpains she grieved that she had to go by them then she saw suddenly just at the outer edge of the fishing village one of the most wretched of howls and it seemed to her as if she had already seen it with her mind's eye before she actually had a glimpse of it is it here she said and stopped just at the foot of the little sand hill he bent his head imperceptibly and went on towards the little cottage wait! she called after him we must talk this over before I go into your home you have lied she went on threateningly when he turned to her you have deceived me worse than if you were my worst enemy why have you done it? I wanted you for my wife he answered with a low trembling voice if you had only deceived me within bounds why did you make everything so fine and rich what did you have to do with man's servants and triumphal arches and all the other magnificence did you think that I was so devoted to money? did you not see that I cared enough for you to go anywhere with you that you could believe that you needed to deceive me that you could have the heart to keep up your lies to the very last will you not come in and speak to my mother he said helplessly I do not intend to go in there are you going home? how can I go home? how could I cause them there at home such sorrow as to return when they believe me happy and rich but with you I will not stay either for one who is willing to work there is always a livelihood stop he begged I did it only to win you if you had told me the truth I would have stayed if I had been a rich man who had pretended to be poor then you would have stayed she shrugged her shoulders and turned to go when the door of the cottage opened and various mother came out she was a little dried up old woman with few teeth and many wrinkles but not so old in the ears or in feelings as in looks she had heard apart and guessed apart for she knew what they were quarrelling about well she said that is a fine daughter-in-law you have got me Burrier and you have been deceiving again I can hear but to Astrid she came and patted her kindly on the cheek come in with me you poor child I know that you are tired and worn out this is my house he is not allowed to come in here but you come now you are my daughter and I cannot let you go to strangers do you understand? she caressed her daughter-in-law and chatted to her and drew and pushed her quite imperceptibly forward to the door step by step she lured her on and at last got her inside the house but Burrier she shut out and there within the old woman began to ask who she was and how it had all happened and she wept over her and made her weep over herself the old woman was merciless about her son she Astrid did right she could not stay with such a man it was true that he was in the habit of lying it was really true she had told her how it had been with her son he had been so fair in face and limbs even when he was small that she had always marveled that he was a poor man's child he was like a little prince gone astray and ever after it had always seemed as if he had not been in his right place he saw everything on such a large scale he could not see things as they were when it concerned himself his mother had wept many a time on that account but never before had he done any harm with the slice here where he was known they only laughed at him but now he must have been so terribly tempted did she really not think she Astrid that it was wonderful how the Fisher boy had been able to deceive them he had always known so much about wealth as if he had been born to it it must be that he had come into the world in the wrong place see that was another proof he had never thought of choosing a wife in his own station where will he sleep tonight asked Astrid suddenly I imagine he will lie outside on the sand he will be too anxious to go away from here I suppose it is best for him to come in said Astrid dearest child you cannot want to see him he can get along out there if I give him a blanket she let him actually sleep out on the sand that night thinking it best for Astrid not to see him and with her she talked and talked and kept her not by force but by cleverness not by persuasion but by real goodness but when she had at last succeeded in keeping her daughter in law for her son and had got the young people reconciled and had taught Astrid that her vocation in life was just to be Burya Nielsen's wife and to make him as happy as she could and that had not been the work of one evening but of many days then the old woman had laid herself down to die and in that life with its faithful solicitude for her son there was some meaning thought Burya Nielsen's wife but in her own life she saw no meaning her husband was drowned after a few years of married life and her one child died young she had not been able to make any change in her husband she had not been able to teach him earnestness and truth it was rather in her the change showed after she had been more and more with the fishing people she would never see any of her own family for she was ashamed that she now resembled in everything a fisherman's wife if it had only been of any use if she who lived by mending the fisherman's nets knew why she clung to life if she had made anyone happy or had improved anybody it never occurred to her to think that she who considers her life a failure because she has done no good to others perhaps by that thought of humility has saved her own soul end of the romance of a fisherman's wife from Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf translated by Pauline Bancroft-Flock read by Lars Rolander section 17 of Invisible Links 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 Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf translated by Pauline Bancroft-Flock his mother's portrait in one of the hundred houses of the fishing village where each is exactly like the other in size and shape where all have just as many windows and as high chimneys lived old Matson the pilot in all the rooms of the fishing village there is the same sort of furniture on all the windowsills stand the same kinds of flowers in all the corner cupboards are the same collections of seashells and coral on all the walls hang the same pictures and it is a fixed old custom that all the inhabitants of the fishing village live the same life since Matson the pilot had grown old he had conformed carefully to the conditions and customs his house, his rooms and his mode of living were like everybody else's on the wall over the bed old Matson had a picture of his mother one night he dreamt that the portrait stepped down from its frame placed itself in front of him and said with a loud voice you must marry Matson old Matson then began to make clear to his mother that it was impossible he was 70 years old but his mother's portrait merely repeated with even greater emphasis you must marry Matson old Matson had great respect for his mother's portrait it had been his advisor on many debatable occasions and he had always done well by obeying it but this time he did not quite understand its behaviour it seemed to him as if the picture was acting in opposition to its already acknowledged opinions although he was lying there and dreaming he remembered distinctly and clearly what had happened the first time he wished to be married just as he was dressing as a bridegroom the nail gave way on which the picture hung and it fell to the floor he understood then that the portrait wished to warn him against the marriage but he did not obey it he soon found that a portrait had been right his short married life was very unhappy the second time he dressed as a bridegroom the same thing happened the portrait fell to the ground as before and he did not dare again to disobey it he ran away from bride and wedding and travelled round the world several times before he dared come home again and now the picture stepped down from the wall and commanded him to marry however good and obedient he was he allowed himself to think that he was making a fool of him but his mother's portrait which looked out with the grimest face that sharp winds and salt sea foam could carve stood solemnly as before and with a voice which had been exercised and strengthened for many years by offering fish in the town marketplace it repeated you must marry Mattson old Mattson then asked his mother's portrait to consider what kind of community it was they lived in all the hundred houses of the fishing village had pointed roofs and whitewashed walls all the boats of the fishing village were of the same build and rig no one there ever did anything unusual his mother would have been the first to oppose such a marriage if she had been alive his mother had held by habits and customs and it was not the habit and customer of the fishing village for old men of 70 years to marry his mother's pictures stretched out her brined hand and positively commanded him to obey there had always been something excessively awe-inspiring in his mother when she came in her black silk dress with many flounces the big shining gold brooch the heavy rattling gold chain had always frightened him if she had worn her market clothes in a striped head cloth and with an oil cloth apron covered with fish scales and fish eyes he would not have been quite so over-aved by her the end of it was that he promised to get married and then his mother's portrait crept up into the frame again the next morning old Mattson woke in great trouble it never occurred to him to disobey his mother's portrait it knew of course what was best for him but he shuddered nevertheless at the time that was now coming the same day he made an offer of marriage to the plainest daughter of the poorest fisherman a little creature whose head was drawn down between her shoulders and who had a projecting under jaw the parents said yes and the day when he was go to the town he published the bands also pointed the road from the fishing village to the town passes over windy marshes and swampy cow pastures it is two miles long and there is a tradition that the inhabitants of the fishing village are so rich that they could pave it with shining silver coins it would give the road a strange attraction glimmering like a fish's belly blind with its wide scales through clumps of sedge and pools filled with water bugs and melancholy bullfrogs the daisies and almond blossoms which adorn that forsaken ground would be mirrored in the shining silver coins thestrels would stretch out protecting at thorns over them and the wind would find a ringing sounding board when it played on the thatch roof of the cow barns and on telephone wires perhaps old Mattson would have found some comfort if he could have set his heavy sea boots on ringing silver for it is certain that he for a time had to go that way oftener than he liked he had not had clean papers the bands could not be published it came from his having run away from his bride the last time some time passed before the clergyman could write to the consistory about him and get permission for him to contract a new marriage as long as this time of waiting lasted old Mattson came to the town every week he sat by the door of the pastor's room and remained there in silent expectation until all had spoken in turn then he rose and asked if the clergyman had anything for him no he had nothing the pastor was amazed at the power that all conquering love had acquired of that old man there he sat in a thick knitted jersey high sea boots and weather-beating sequester with a sharp clever face and long grey hair and waited for permission to get married the clergyman thought it strange that the old fisherman should have been seized by so eager a longing you are in a hurry with this marriage Mattson said the clergyman oh yes it is best to get it done soon could you not just as well give up the whole thing you are no longer young Mattson the clergyman must not be too surprised he knew well enough that he was too old but he was obliged to be married there was no help for it so he came again week after week for a half year until at last the permission came during all that time old Mattson was a persecuted man round the green drying place where the brown fishnets were hung out along the cemented walls by the harbor at the fish tables in the market where cod and crabs were sown and far out in the sound among the shoals of herring raged a storm of wonder and laughter so he is going to be married he Mattson who ran away from his own wedding neither bride nor groom were spared but the worst thing for him was that no one could laugh more at the whole thing than he himself no one could find it more ridiculous his mother's portrait was driving him mad it was the afternoon of the first time of asking old Mattson still pursued by talk and wanderings went out on the long breakwater as far as the whitewashed lighthouse in order to be alone he found his petrothed there she sat and wept he asked her whether she would have liked someone else better she sat and pried little bits of mortar from the lighthouse wall and threw them into the water answering nothing at first was there nobody you like? oh no, of course not it is very beautiful out by the lighthouse the clear water of the sound laps about it the low lying shore the little uniform houses of the fishing village the distant town are all shining in wonderful beauty out of the soft mist that hoovers on the western horizon a fishing boat comes gliding now and again hacking boldly it steers towards the harbour the water roars gaily past its bow as it shoots in through the narrow harbour entrance the sail drops silently at the same moment the fishermen swing their hats in joyous greeting and on the bottom of the boat lies the glittering spoil a boat came into the harbour while old Matson stood out by the lighthouse a young man was sitting at the tiller, lifted his hat and nodded to the girl the old man saw that her eyes were shining well, he thought you have fallen in love with the handsome young fellow in the fishing village yes, you will never get him you may just as well marry me as wait for him he saw that he could not escape his mother's picture if the girl had cared for anyone whom there was any possibility of getting he would have had a good motive to be rid of the whole business but now it was useless to set her free a fortnight later was the wedding and a few days after came the big November Gale one of the boats of the fishing village was swept out into the sound it had neither rudder nor masts so that it was quite unmanageable old Matson and five others were on board and they drifted about without food for two days when they were rescued they were in a state of exhaustion from hunger and cold everything in the boat was covered with ice and their wet clothes were stiff old Matson was so chilled that he never was well again he lay ill for two years then death came many thought that it was strange that his idea of marrying came just before the unlucky adventure for the little woman he had got took good care of him what would he have done if he had been alone when lying so helpless the whole fishing village acknowledged that he had never done anything more sensible than marrying and the little woman won great consideration for the tenderness with which she took care of her husband she will have no trouble in marrying again, people said old Matson told his wife every day while he lay ill the story of the portrait you must take it when I am dead just as you must take everything of mine, he said do not speak of such things and you must listen to my mother's portrait when the young men propose to you truly there is no one in the whole fishing village who understands getting married better than the picture end of his mother's portrait from Invisible Links by Selma Lagerlöf translated by Pauline Bancroft Flak read by Lars Rolander