The Story of Gösta Berling Selma Lagerlöf (freda ebook reader .txt) 📖

innocence which was hidden in her. He was almost ready to laugh at her, because she looked so angry and stood with flushed cheeks and frowning brows.

“You do not know how gentle and good you are,” he thought.

The side of her being which was turned towards the outside world would never do her inner personality justice, he thought. But Gösta Berling from that hour must be her servant, as one must serve everything beautiful and godlike. Yes, there was nothing to be sorry for that he had just been so violent with her. If she had not been so afraid, if she had not thrust him from her so angrily, if he had not felt how her whole being was shaken by his roughness, he would never have known what a fine and noble soul dwelt within her.

He had not thought it before. She had only cared for pleasure-seeking and amusement. And she had married that stupid Count Henrik.

Yes, now he would be her slave till death; dog and slave as Captain Bergh used to say, and nothing more.

He sat by the door, Gösta Berling, and held with clasped hands a sort of service. Since the day when he for the first time felt the flame of inspiration burn in him, he had not known such a holiness in his soul. He did not move, even when Count Dohna came in with a crowd of people, who swore and lamented over the pensioners’ mad performance.

He let Beerencreutz receive the storm. With indolent calm, tried by many adventures, the latter stood by the fireplace. He had put one foot up on the fender, rested his elbow on his knee, and his chin on his hand, and looked at the excited company.

“What is the meaning of all this?” roared the little count at him.

“The meaning is,” he said, “that as long as there are women on earth, there will be fools to dance after their piping.”

The young count’s face grew red.

“I ask what that means!” he repeated.

“I ask that too,” sneered Beerencreutz. “I ask what it means when Henrik Dohna’s countess will not dance with Gösta Berling.”

The count turned questioning to his wife.

“I could not, Henrik,” she cried. “I could not dance with him or any of them. I thought of the major’s wife, whom they allowed to languish in prison.”

The little count straightened his stiff body and stretched up his old-man’s head.

“We pensioners,” said Beerencreutz, “permit no one to insult us. She who will not dance with us must drive with us. No harm has come to the countess, and there can be an end of the matter.”

“No,” said the count. “It cannot be the end. It is I who am responsible for my wife’s acts. Now I ask why Gösta Berling did not turn to me to get satisfaction when my wife had insulted him.”

Beerencreutz smiled.

“I ask that,” repeated the count.

“One does not ask leave of the fox to take his skin from him,” said Beerencreutz.

The count laid his hand on his narrow chest.

“I am known to be a just man,” he cried. “I can pass sentence on my servants. Why should I not be able to pass sentence on my wife? The pensioners have no right to judge her. The punishment they have given her, I wipe out. It has never been, do you understand, gentlemen. It has never existed.”

The count screamed out the words in a high falsetto. Beerencreutz cast a swift glance about the assembly. There was not one of those present⁠—Sintram and Daniel Bendix and Dahlberg and all the others who had followed in⁠—who did not stand and smile at the way he outwitted stupid Henrik Dohna.

The young countess did not understand at first. What was it which should not be considered? Her anguish, the pensioner’s hard grip on her tender body, the wild song, the wild words, the wild kisses, did they not exist? Had that evening never been, over which the goddess of the gray twilight had reigned?

“But, Henrik⁠—”

“Silence!” he said. And he drew himself up to chide her. “Woe to you, that you, who are a woman, have wished to set yourself up as a judge of men,” he says. “Woe to you, that you, who are my wife, dare to insult one whose hand I gladly press. What is it to you if the pensioners have put the major’s wife in prison? Were they not right? You can never know how angry a man is to the bottom of his soul when he hears of a woman’s infidelity. Do you also mean to go that evil way, that you take such a woman’s part?”

“But, Henrik⁠—”

She wailed like a child, and stretched out her arms to ward off the angry words. She had never before heard such hard words addressed to her. She was so helpless among these hard men, and now her only defender turned against her. Never again would her heart have power to light up the world.

“But, Henrik, it is you who ought to protect me.”

Gösta Berling was observant now, when it was too late. He did not know what to do. He wished her so well. But he did not dare to thrust himself between man and wife.

“Where is Gösta Berling?” asked the count.

“Here,” said Gösta. And he made a pitiable attempt to make a jest of the matter. “You were making a speech, I think, count, and I fell asleep. What do you say to letting us go home and letting you all go to bed?”

“Gösta Berling, since my countess has refused to dance with you, I command her to kiss your hand and to ask you for forgiveness.”

“My dear Count Henrik,” says Gösta, smiling, “it is not a fit hand for a young woman to kiss. Yesterday it was red with blood from killing an elk, today black with soot from a fight with a charcoal-burner. You have given a noble and high-minded sentence. That is satisfaction enough. Come, Beerencreutz!”

The count placed himself in his way.

“Do not