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

cottage. In the carriage Countess Märta sat, and it amused her to see Mamselle 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, where the girls were 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 maids 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 Moreus 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 the attic stairs, which were dreadfully steep and narrow, and sought out Mamselle 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 Mamselle Marie’s table-covers.

She borrowed her guitar and sang to her of pleasure and love. And she told her stories, so that Mamselle Marie found herself transported 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 Mamselle 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 Mamselle Marie and asked her to come to Borg.

Mamselle 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 Mamselle 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 Borg. She played her comedy for her and told about all her lovers, and Mamselle 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 Mamselle 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 maid’s dry, thin figure and little plain head were outlined against the red evening sky, and she said that the poor old Mamselle was like a languishing maiden of the Middle Ages. All the songs were of tender shepherds and cruel shepherdesses, and Mamselle 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 party at Borg, 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 Märta’s room, which lay beyond. The countess got hold of Mamselle Marie’s guitar and began to sing for the company. She was a merry person, Countess Märta, and she could mimic anyone. She now had the idea to mimic Mamselle Marie. She turned up her eyes to heaven and sang in a thin, shrill, child’s voice.

“Oh no, oh no, countess!” begged Mamselle Marie.

But the countess was enjoying herself, and no one could help laughing, although they all thought that it was hard on Mamselle Marie.

The countess took a handful of dried rose-leaves out of a potpourri jar, went with tragic gestures up to Mamselle Marie, and sang with deep emotion:⁠—

“Thou goest far from us. Ah! welcome again!
Hear the voice of my friendship, which greets thee.
Be happy: forget not a true, loving friend
Who in Värmland’s forests awaits thee!”

Then she strewed the rose-leaves over her head. Everybody laughed; but Mamselle Marie was wild with rage. She looked as if she could have torn out the countess’s eyes.

“You are a bad woman, Märta Dohna,” she said. “No decent woman ought to speak to you.”

Countess Märta lost her temper too.

“Out with you, mamselle!” she said. “I have had enough of your folly.”

“Yes, I shall go,” said Mamselle Marie; “but first I will be paid for my covers and curtains which you have put up here.”

“The 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 Mamselle Marie; but the countess would not. She was tired of her.

Countess Elizabeth then bought of Mamselle Marie the whole set of curtains and put them up in the upper floor. Whereupon Mamselle Marie felt herself redressed.

Countess Märta 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.

Part II I Cousin Christopher

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