Short Fiction Selma Lagerlöf (best book club books of all time .txt) 📖

Then the young Princess’s face lit up, as does the face of a man when he reaches the mountain-top and discovers the ocean. Without hesitation she replied at once:

“If he be such a King and such a Christian as thou sayest, Hjalte, then I consider it would be a great happiness.”

But scarcely had she said this before the light faded from her eyes. It was as if a cloud rose between her and the beautiful far-off vision.

“Oh, Hjalte,” she said, “thou forgettest one thing. King Olaf is our enemy. It is war and not wooing we may expect from him.”

“Do not let that trouble thee,” said Hjalte. “If thou only wilt, all is well. I know King Olaf’s mind in this matter.”

The Bard was so glad that he laughed when he said this; but the Princess grew more and more sorrowful.

“No,” she said, “neither upon me nor King Olaf does it depend, but upon my father, Oluf Skötkonung, and you know that he hates Olaf Haraldsson, and cannot bear that anyone should even mention his name. Never will he let me leave my father’s house with an enemy; never will he give his daughter to Olaf Haraldsson.”

When the Princess had said this, she laid aside all her pride and began to lament her fate.

“Of what good is it that I have now learnt to know Olaf Haraldsson,” she said, “that I dream of him every night, and long for him every day? Would it not have been better if thou hadst never come hither and told me about him?”

When the Princess had spoken these words, her eyes filled with tears; but when Hjalte saw her tears, he lifted his hand fervent and eager.

“God wills it,” he cried. “Ye belong to one another. Strife must exchange its red mantle for the white robe of peace, that your happiness may give joy unto the earth.”

When Hjalte had said this, the Princess bowed her head before God’s holy name, and when she raised it, it was with a newly awakened hope.

When old Hjalte stepped through the low door of the Ladies’ Bower, and went down the narrow open corridor, Astrid followed him.

“Hjalte,” she cried, “why dost thou not ask me what I would answer if Olaf Haraldsson asked for my hand?”

It was the first time Astrid had spoken to Hjalte; but Hjalte only cast a hurried glance at the fair bondwoman, whose golden hair curled on her temples and neck, who had the broadest bracelets and the heaviest earrings, whose dress was fastened with silken cords, and whose bodice was so embroidered with pearls that it was as stiff as armour, and went on without answering.

“Why dost thou only ask Princess Ingegerd?” continued Astrid. “Why dost thou not also ask me? Dost thou not know that I, too, am the Svea-King’s daughter? Dost thou not know,” she continued, when Hjalte did not answer, “that although my mother was a bondwoman, she was the bride of the King’s youth? Dost thou not know that whilst she lived no one dared to remind her of her birth? Oh, Hjalte, dost thou not know that it was only after she was dead, when the King had taken to himself a Queen, that everyone remembered that she was a bondwoman? It was first after I had a stepmother that the King began to think I was not of free birth. But am I not a King’s daughter, Hjalte, even if my father counts me for so little, that he has allowed me to fall into bondage? Am I not a King’s daughter, even if my stepmother allowed me to go in rags, whilst my sister went in cloth of gold? Am I not a King’s daughter, even if my stepmother has allowed me to tend the geese and taste the whip of the slave? And if I am a King’s daughter, why dost thou not ask me whether I will wed Olaf Haraldsson? See, I have golden hair that shines round my head like the sun. See, I have sparkling eyes; I have roses in my cheeks. Why should not King Olaf woo me?”

She followed Hjalte across the courtyard all the way to the King’s Hall; but Hjalte took no more heed of her words than a warrior clad in armour heeds a boy throwing stones. He took no more notice of her words than if she had been a chattering magpie in the top of a tree.

No one must think that Hjalte contented himself with having won Ingegerd for his King. The next day the old Icelander summoned up his courage and spoke to Oluf Skötkonung about Olaf Haraldsson. But he hardly had time to say a word; the King interrupted him as soon as he mentioned the name of his foe. Hjalte saw that the Princess was right. He thought he had never before seen such bitter hatred.

“But that marriage will take place all the same,” said Hjalte. “It is the will of God⁠—the will of God.”

And it really seemed as if Hjalte were right. Two or three days later a messenger came from King Olaf of Norway to make peace with the Swedes. Hjalte sought the messenger, and told him that peace between the two countries could be most firmly established by a marriage taking place between Princess Ingegerd and Olaf Haraldsson.

The King’s messenger hardly thought that old Hjalte was the man to incline a young maiden’s heart to a stranger; but he thought, all the same, that the plan was a good one; and he promised Hjalte that he would lay the proposal of the marriage before King Oluf Skötkonung at the great Winter Ting.

Immediately afterwards Hjalte left Upsala. He went from farm to farm on the great plain; he went far into the forests; he went even to the borders of the sea. He never met either man or woman without speaking to them about Olaf Haraldsson and Princess Ingegerd. “Hast thou ever heard of a greater man or