The Saga of Gosta Berling

by Selma Lagerlof

  Now Kevenhüller became a renowned man and made friends in the whole city. He was so proud of his wagon that he drove up to Stockholm to show it to the king. He did not need to wait for stagecoaches or quarrel with stage drivers. He did not need to shake on a gig or sleep on the wooden bench at the way station. He drove proudly in his own wagon and was there in a few hours.

  He drove right up to the palace, and the king came out with the court ladies and gentlemen and watched him ride. They could not praise him enough.

  Then the king said, “You can surely give me the wagon, Kevenhüller.” And although he answered no, the king was stubborn and wanted to have the wagon.

  Then Kevenhüller saw that in the king’s retinue stood a lady-in-waiting with light hair and green dress. He thought he recognized her, and he realized that it was she who had advised the king to ask him for his wagon. But he did not despair. He could not tolerate that someone else would own his wagon, but neither did he dare say no in the long run to the king. So he drove it with such speed against the palace wall that it burst into a thousand pieces.

  When he came back home to Karlstad, he tried to make a new wagon. But he could not. Then he became dismayed at the gift the wood nymph had given him. He had left a life of indolence at his father’s castle to become a benefactor for many, not to manufacture marvels that only one person could use. What good was it to him if he were to become a great master, yes, the greatest of all masters, if he could not multiply his marvels, so that they were of use for the thousands?

  And the learned, versatile man longed so for calm, collected labor that he became a stonecutter and mason. It was then he built the great stone tower down by the West Bridge based on the plan of the castle keep in his father’s knight’s castle, and his intention was no doubt to also build covered sheds, portals, court-yards, ramparts, and oriels, so that an entire knight’s castle would arise by the shores of the Klara River.

  And within it he would realize his childhood dream. Everything that went by the name of industry and workmanship would have its home in the halls of the castle. White-dusted miller’s hands and black-coated smiths, clockmakers with green shades before their strained eyes, dyers with dark hands, weavers, turners, filers, all would have their workshops in his castle.

  And all went well. From the stones he crushed himself he built his tower with his own hands. He set up mill sails on it—for the tower was to be a mill—and now he wanted to get to work on the smithy.

  So he stood one day observing how the light, strong sails turned before the wind. Then his old affliction came over him.

  To him it was as though the green-clad woman was looking at him again with her shining eyes, until his brain caught fire again. He closed himself up in his workshop, tasted no food, enjoyed no rest, and worked without ceasing. Thus in eight days he made a new marvel.

  One day he climbed up onto the roof of his tower and began to strap wings onto his shoulders.

  Two street urchins and a student, who were sitting on the caisson fishing for bleak, caught sight of him, and they let out a scream that was heard through the whole city. They took off, they ran panting up and down the street, knocking on every door and shouting as they ran, “Kevenhüller is going to fly! Kevenhüller is going to fly!”

  He stood calmly on the top of the tower, strapping on wings, and during that time groups of people came swarming forth from the narrow streets in old Karlstad.

  The maids left the boiling kettle and the rising dough. The old women let go of their knitting, put their eyeglasses on, and darted along the street. The councilors and mayor rose up from the magistrate’s table. The rector tossed his grammar book into the corner, the schoolboys swept out of their classes without asking permission. The whole city was on the run toward West Bridge.

  Soon the bridge was thick with people. The salt market was packed, and the entire riverbank all the way up to the bishop’s residence was teeming with people. There was a greater crowd than at the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul, there were more eager observers there than when King Gustav III came driving through the city, drawn by eight horses and at such a wild speed that the coach stood on two wheels on the turns.

  Kevenhüller finally got the wings on and set off. He took a few flaps with them, and then he was out in the open air. He was swimming in the sea of air, high above the earth.

  He breathed in air in full drafts; it was strong and pure. His chest expanded, and the old knightly blood began to seethe within him. He tumbled like a dove, he floated like a hawk, his wings were quick as the swallow’s, he steered his way as surely as the falcon. And he looked down at the whole earthbound crowd, which was peering up at him, who was swimming in the air. If he had only been able to produce a pair of similar wings for each and every one of them! If he had only been able to give each of them the power to rise up into this fresh air! Think what people they would become! The memory of his life’s misery did not leave him even in the moment of triumph. He could not enjoy simply for his own sake. That wood nymph, if only he could see her!

  Then he saw with eyes almost blinded by the sharp sunlight and the shimmering air, how someone came flying right toward him. He saw great wings moving, just like his own, and between the wings a human body was swimming. Yellow hair fluttered, green silk billowed, wild eyes shone. There she was, there she was!

  Kevenhüller did not hesitate. At a wild speed he hurled himself at the monster, to kiss her or strike her—he did not really know which—but in any case to force her to lift the curse from his existence. At this wild speed his senses deserted him. He did not see where he was heading, he noticed only the flying hair and the wild eyes. He came right up to her and stretched out his arms to grasp her. Then his wings got caught in hers, and hers were stronger. His wings tore and were destroyed; he was swung around and plummeted down, he knew not where.

  When he regained his senses, he was lying on the roof of his own tower with the crushed flying machine at his side. He had flown right into his own windmill: the sails had seized him, swung him around a few turns, and thereupon hurled him down onto the tower roof.

  That was how that game ended.

  Kevenhüller was once again a desperate man. Honorable work bored him, and he dared not use his miracle arts. If he nonetheless did make a marvel and came to destroy it, then his heart would burst from sorrow. And if he did not destroy it, he would go mad at the thought that it could be of no use to others.

  He dug out his journeyman’s knapsack and knobbed stick, let the mill stand where it was, and decided to go out in search of the wood nymph.

  He acquired a horse and carriage, for he was no longer young and light on his feet. And it is told that when he came to a forest, he got out of the carriage and went in there and called to the green-clad woman in the thicket.

  “Wood nymph, wood nymph, it is I, Kevenhüller, Kevenhüller! Come, come!” But she did not come.

  On these journeys he came to Ekeby, a few years before the majoress was driven away. There he was well received, and there he stayed. And the band in the cavaliers’ wing was augmented by one tall, strong knightly character, a bold gentleman, who could hold his own at a beer tankard and in a hunting party. His childhood memories returned: he allowed them to call him “count,” and he acquired more and more the appearance of an old German robber baron, with his large aquiline nose, his stern eyebrows, and his full beard, which was pointed under his chin and pluckily curled up above his lips.

  He then became a cavalier among the cavaliers and was no better than any other in that crowd, which people believed that the majoress made ready for the foul fiend. His hair turned gray, and his brain slumbered. He was so old that he could no longer believe in the exploits of his youth. He was not the man with the miraculous powers. It was not he who had made the self-propelled wagon and the flying machine. Oh, no, tales, tales!

  But then it happened that the majoress was driven out of Ekeby, and the cavaliers became masters at the great estate. Then a way of life began
there, which had never been worse. A storm passed over the land: all old folly broke out in the delirium of youth, all that was evil started moving, all good trembled, the people fought on the earth and the spirits in the heavens. Wolves came from Dovre with troll hags on their backs, natural forces were set free, and the wood nymph came to Ekeby.

  The cavaliers did not know her. They thought she was a poor, distressed woman, whom a cruel mother-in-law had pursued into despair. So they gave her shelter, revered her like a queen, and loved her like a child.

  Kevenhüller alone saw who she was. To begin with he was probably blinded like all the others. But one day she wore a dress of green, rustling silk, and when she had it on, Kevenhüller recognized her.

  There she sat, bedded on silk, on the best sofa at Ekeby, and all the old men made fools of themselves to serve her. One was a cook and another a chamberlain, one a reader, one a court musician, one a shoemaker: they had each taken a task.

  She was supposedly sick, that evil troll, but Kevenhüller knew how things were with that sick person. She was making fools of them, all of them, she was.

  He warned the cavaliers about her. “Look at those little sharp teeth,” he said, “and the wild shining eyes! She is the wood nymph, all evil is on the move in this terrible time. I say to you, she is the wood nymph, come here to our ruin. I have seen her before.”

  But as soon as Kevenhüller had seen the wood nymph and recognized her, the desire to work came over him. His brain started to burn and seethe, his fingers ached with the desire to curl themselves around hammer and file, he could not fight with himself. With a bitter heart he put on his work coat and shut himself up in an old blacksmith shop, which would be his workshop.

  Then a cry went out from Ekeby across all of Värmland: “Kevenhüller has started to work!”

  And they listened breathlessly for hammer strokes from the closed workshop, for the rasping of files and the moaning of bellows.

  A new marvel would see the light of day. What might it be? Would he now teach us to walk on water or raise a ladder up to the Seven Sisters?

  Nothing is impossible for such a man. With our own eyes we have seen him carried through the air on wings. We have seen his wagon careen through the streets. He has the wood nymph’s gift: nothing is impossible for him.

  One night, the first or second of October, he had the marvel ready. He came out of the workshop and had it in his hand. It was a wheel that would go round without stopping. As it turned, the spokes shone like fire, and heat and light came out of it. Kevenhüller had made a sun. When he came out of the workshop with it, the night became so light that sparrows started chirping and the clouds started to burn in morning redness.

  It was the most magnificent invention. On earth there would no longer be darkness or cold. His head became dizzy when that thought came to him. The sun of the day would continue to go up and down, but when it vanished, thousands and again thousands of his fire wheels would flame across the countryside, and the air would quiver with heat as if on the hottest summer day. Then ripe harvests could be brought in under the starry midwinter sky, wild strawberries and lingonberries would adorn the forest hills year-round, ice would never bind the water.

  Now that the invention was finished, it would create a new earth. His fire wheel would be a fur coat for the poor and the mine worker’s sun. It would be propulsion for the factories, life to nature, a new, rich and happy existence for humankind. But at the same moment he knew well that these were all dreams, and that the wood nymph would never allow him to multiply his fire wheel. And in his wrath and desire for revenge, he thought he wanted to kill her, and then he hardly knew what he was doing anymore.

  He went up to the manor house, and in the vestibule right under the staircase he set down the fire wheel. It was his intention that the house would catch fire and the troll burn inside.

  Then he went back into his workshop and sat there silently, listening.

  There was shouting and screaming in the yard. Now it began to be noticed that a great deed had been done.

  Yes, run, scream, climb! Now she is burning inside anyway, the wood nymph, whom you bedded on silk!

  Is she writhing in torment, is she fleeing the flames from room to room? Ah, how that green silk will catch fire, and how the flames will play in the flowing hair! Cheer up, flames, cheer up, catch her, set fire to her! Witches burn! Fear not her magic words, flames! Let her burn! There is someone who for her sake has had to burn throughout his life.

  Bells rang, wagons rattled, hoses were dragged out, water passed from hand to hand up from the lake, and people stormed in from all the villages. There were screams and wailing and orders, there were roofs caving in, there was a terrible crackling and thunder of conflagration. But nothing disturbed Kevenhüller. He sat on the chopping block, wringing his hands.

  Then he heard a crash as if the sky fallen in, and he rose up in jubilation. “Now it is done!” he exclaimed. “Now she cannot escape, now she is crushed under the beams or burned by the flames. Now it is done!”

  And he thought about the glory and power of Ekeby, which must be sacrificed in order to get her out of the world. The magnificent halls, where so much joy had dwelled, the rooms that had resounded with the delight of memories, the tables that had groaned under delicious dishes, the valuable old furniture, silver, and porcelain, which could not be replaced . . .

  And then he leaped up with a shriek. His fire wheel, his sun, the model on which everything depended, had he not placed it under the stairway in order to cause the conflagration?

  Kevenhüller looked down at himself, petrified with horror.

  “Am I crazy?” he said. “How could I do such a thing?”

  At the same moment the well-closed door of the workshop was opened, and the green-clad woman stepped in.

  The wood nymph stood there on the threshold, smiling and fair. Her green dress had no blemish or stain, no smoke was clinging to her flowing hair. She was the way he had seen her on the square in Karlstad in his youth, the wild animal tail trailing between her feet, and she had all the wildness and aroma of the forest with her.

  “Now Ekeby is burning!” she said, laughing.

  Kevenhüller lifted the sledge and intended to cast it onto her head, but then he saw that she was carrying his fire wheel in her hand.

  “Look what I’ve rescued for you!” she said.

  Kevenhüller threw himself on his knees before her. “You have wrecked my wagon, you have crushed my wings, and you have destroyed my life. Have mercy, have pity on me!”

  She climbed up on the planing bench and sat there, still as young and mischievous as when he saw her for the first time on the square in Karlstad.

  “I see that you know who I am,” she said.

  “I know you, and I have always known you,” said the poor man. “You are genius. But let me free now! Take my gift from me! Take the miracle gifts from me! Let me be an ordinary person! Why do you persecute me? Why do you persecute me?”

  “Madman!” said the wood nymph. “I have never wished you any ill. I gave you a great reward, but I can also take it from you, if it does not please you. But consider well! You are going to regret it.”

  “No, no,” he exclaimed, “take the miracle powers from me!”

  “First you have to destroy this,” she said, throwing the fire wheel before him on the floor.

  He did not hesitate. He swung the sledge over the glittering fire sun, which was only a wicked piece of wizardry, as it could not be used for the benefit of the many. The sparks flew around the room, shards and flames danced around him, and then his final marvel too was lying in splinters.

  “Yes, now I take my gift from you,” said the wood nymph.

  As she stood in the door to leave and the glow of the conflagration outside streamed over her, he looked after her for the last time.

  Lovelier than ever she seemed to him, and no longer malicious, only stern and proud.

  “Madman!” she said. “Did I ever forbid you to l
et others emulate your work? What did I want, other than to protect the man of genius from the work of the craftsman?”

  With that she left. Kevenhüller was insane for a few days. After that he became an ordinary person again.

  But during his madness he had burned down Ekeby. No one was harmed, however. Nonetheless it was a great sorrow for the cavaliers, that the hospitable home where they had enjoyed so much good, should suffer so much damage during their time.

  Ah, latter-day children, if it had been you or I who had met the wood nymph on the square in Karlstad! Don’t you think that I would have gone into the forest and cried, “Wood nymph, wood nymph, it is I, Kevenhüller, Kevenhüller!” But who sees her nowadays? Who complains, in our time, about having received too much of her gifts?

  CHAPTER 34

  BROBY MARKET

  On the first Friday in October begins the great Broby market, which lasts for eight days. It is autumn’s great festival. It is preceded by butchering and baking in every cottage, the new winter clothes are ready to be worn for the first time, the holiday dishes, such as klengås and ostkaka, are on the table all day long, the liquor rations are doubled, work is set aside. It is a festival at every farm. Servants and laborers are given their wages then and hold long deliberations over what they should buy at the market. People from far away come wandering along the road in small flocks with knapsacks on their backs and staff in hand. Many drive their livestock to market. Small, stubborn young bulls and goats, standing still with forelegs firmly set in the ground, create a great nuisance for the owner and much delight for the observer. The guest rooms at the estates are filled with dear guests: news is exchanged, and prices of cattle and goods are discussed. The children dream about market gifts and market coins.

  And on the first market day—what a throng is moving then up the Broby hills and across the wide market field! Stands are erected where merchants from the cities have spread out their wares, while Dalecarlians and västgötar, visitors from the neighboring provinces of Dalarna and Västergötland, have piled up their goods on endless rows of “counters” over which white cloth canopies flutter. There are plenty of tightrope walkers, barrel organs, and blind fiddle players there, likewise fortune-tellers, sweets sellers, and makeshift taverns. Beyond the stands, wooden and stone containers are lined up. Onions and horseradish, apples and pears are offered by gardeners from the large farms. Extensive squares of ground are taken up by brick red copper containers with shiny tin plating.