The Story of Gösta Berling. Selma Lagerlöf

fate had mastered them: no one can resist fate.

      If the stars had been the candles which had been lighted for her wedding, if Don Juan’s bells had been the church chimes, calling the people to witness her marriage to old Dahlberg, still she must have fled with Gösta Berling. So powerful is fate.

      They had passed the vicarage and Munkerud. They had three miles to Berga and three miles more to Ekeby. The road skirted the edge of the wood; on their right lay dark hills, on their left a long, white valley.

      Tancred came rushing. He ran so fast that he seemed to lie along the ground. Howling with fright, he sprang up in the sledge and crept under Anna’s feet.

      Don Juan shied and bolted.

      “Wolves!” said Gösta Berling.

      They saw a long, gray line running by the fence. There were at least a dozen of them.

      Anna was not afraid. The day had been richly blessed with adventure, and the night promised to be equally so. It was life—to speed over the sparkling snow, defying wild beasts and men.

      Gösta uttered an oath, leaned forward, and struck Don Juan a heavy blow with the whip.

      “Are you afraid?” he asked. “They mean to cut us off there, where the road turns.”

      Don Juan ran, racing with the wild beasts of the forest, and Tancred howled in rage and terror. They reached the turn of the road at the same time as the wolves, and Gösta drove back the foremost with the whip.

      “Ah, Don Juan, my boy, how easily you could get away from twelve wolves, if you did not have us to drag.”

      They tied the green plaid behind them. The wolves were afraid of it, and fell back for a while. But when they had overcome their fright, one of them ran, panting, with hanging tongue and open mouth up to the sledge. Then Gösta took Madame de Staël’s “Corinne” and threw it into his mouth.

      Once more they had breathing-space for a time, while the brutes tore their booty to pieces, and then again they felt the dragging as the wolves seized the green plaid, and heard their panting breath. They knew that they should not pass any human dwelling before Berga, but worse than death it seemed to Gösta to see those he had deceived. But he knew that the horse would tire, and what should become of them then?

      They saw the house at Berga at the edge of the forest. Candles burned in the windows. Gösta knew too well for whose sake.

      But now the wolves drew back, fearing the neighborhood of man, and Gösta drove past Berga. He came no further than to the place where the road once again buried itself in the wood; there he saw a dark group before him—the wolves were waiting for him.

      “Let us turn back to the vicarage and say that we took a little pleasure trip in the starlight. We can’t go on.”

      They turned, but in the next moment the sledge was surrounded by wolves. Gray forms brushed by them, their white teeth glittered in gaping mouths, and their glowing eyes shone. They howled with hunger and thirst for blood. The glittering teeth were ready to seize the soft human flesh. The wolves leaped up on Don Juan, and hung on the saddle-cloth. Anna sat and wondered if they would eat them entirely up, or if there would be something left, so that people the next morning would find their mangled limbs on the trampled, bloody snow.

      “It’s a question of our lives,” she said, and leaned down and seized Tancred by the nape of the neck.

      “Don’t—that will not help! It is not for the dog’s sake the wolves are out to-night.”

      Thereupon Gösta drove into the yard at Berga, but the wolves hunted him up to the very steps. He had to beat them off with the whip.

      “Anna,” he said, as they drew up, “God would not have it. Keep a good countenance; if you are the woman I take you for, keep a good countenance!”

      They had heard the sleigh-bells in the house, and came out.

      “He has her!” they cried, “he has her! Long live Gösta Berling!” and the new-comers were embraced by one after another.

      Few questions were asked. The night was far advanced, the travellers were agitated by their terrible drive and needed rest. It was enough that Anna had come.

      All was well. Only “Corinne” and the green plaid, Mamselle Ulrika’s prized gift, were destroyed.

      The whole house slept. But Gösta rose, dressed himself, and stole out. Unnoticed he led Don Juan out of the stable, harnessed him to the sledge, and meant to set out. But Anna Stjärnhök came out from the house.

      “I heard you go out,” she said. “So I got up, too. I am ready to go with you.”

      He went up to her and took her hand.

      “Don’t you understand it yet? It cannot be. God does not wish it. Listen now and try to understand. I was here to dinner and saw their grief over your faithlessness. I went to Borg to bring you back to Ferdinand. But I have always been a good-for-nothing, and will never be anything else. I betrayed him, and kept you for myself. There is an old woman here who believes that I shall become a man. I betrayed her. And another poor old thing will freeze and starve here for the sake of dying among friends, but I was ready to let the wicked Sintram take her home. You were beautiful, and sin is sweet. It is so easy to tempt Gösta Berling. Oh, what a miserable wretch I am! I know how they love their home, all those in there, but I was ready just now to leave it to be pillaged. I forgot everything for your sake, you were so sweet in your love. But now, Anna, now since I have seen their joy, I will not keep you; no, I will not. You could have made a man of me, but I may not keep you. Oh, my beloved! He there above mocks at our desires. We must bow under His chastising hand. Tell me that you from this day will take up your burden! All of them rely upon you. Say that you will stay with them and be their prop and help! If you love me, if you will lighten my deep sorrow, promise me this! My beloved, is your heart so great that you can conquer yourself, and smile in doing it?”

      She accepted the renunciation in a sort of ecstasy.

      “I shall do as you wish—sacrifice myself and smile.”

      “And not hate my poor friends?”

      She smiled sadly.

      “As long as I love you, I shall love them.”

      “Now for the first time I know what you are. It is hard to leave you.”

      “Farewell, Gösta! Go, and God be with you! My love shall not tempt you to sin.”

      She turned to go in. He followed her.

      “Will you soon forget me?”