Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Beggar
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
The beggar sitting at the door listened, and her
words drowned for a moment the tempting murmur
of the everlasting forest. This imperious woman
made herself his equal in sin, his sister in perdition,
to give him the courage to take up his life again. He
was to learn that sorrow and reproach rested on
other hearts than his alone.
He rose and approached her.
“Won’t you live your life, Gosta Berling?” she
asked in a voice that broke into tears. “Why
should you die? You may have been a good preacher,
but the Gösta Berling you drowned in drink could
not have been as blameless as the Margarita Celsing
I killed in hatred.”
Gösta kneeled before her. “Forgive me—I cannot,”
he answered.
“I am an old woman,” she said, “hardened by
troubles, and yet I sit here and give myself to the
mercy of a beggar, whom I found in a snowdrift.
It serves me right—at any rate, if you kill yourself,
you can’t tell anybody what a fool I’ve been.”
“I am doomed. Don’t make the fight too hard
for me. I cannot live. My body has mastered my
soul. I must set it free and let it return to God.”
“Oh, indeed you think it will go there?”
“Farewell—and thank you.”
“Farewell, Gösta Berling.”
The beggar rose and went with bowed head to
the door. The woman made the way hard for him.
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
