Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Margarita Celsing
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write their letters to their absent sons—and that
will be my work. But I must be poor.”
“It will be a gloomy life for you, Gösta!”
“"Oh, no, my lady, it won’t, if there are two of
US who uphold each other. The rich and gay will
probably come to us as well as the poor. We shall
have sufficient happiness in our crofter’s hut. The
guests will not mind very much if the food is prepared
before their eyes, nor feel shocked if two must
eat at every plate.”
“And what good will it all do, Gösta? What
praise will you gain?”
“Great will be my fame if the poor care to
remember me a few years after my death. I shall have
done sufficient good if I have planted a couple of
apple trees at the house-corners, if I have taught
the village fiddlers a few of the old master’s
melodies, and if the shepherd boy learns a few new songs
to sing in the forest paths. You must believe me,
dear lady, I am the same crazy Gösta Berling I have
always been. A village fiddler is all I can be, but
that is enough. I have many sins to make good, but
tears and grieving are not for me. I will give joy to
the poor—that shall be my penance.”
“Gösta,” said the Major’s wife, “that would be
too humble a life for a man of your capacities. I
will leave Ekeby to you.”
“Oh,” he exclaimed in fear, “do not make me
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