The Story of Gösta Berling

by Selma Lagerlöf

Then suddenly, warmly and eagerly:—

“Ah, flee, begone while yet you can!

Your gleaming sword sticks forth so long.

And plainly, spite your holy song,

The spurs clank on your heel.”

At these words the monk cast off his disguise, and Gösta Berling stood under the balcony in a knight’s dress of silk and gold. He heeded not the beauty’s warning, but climbed up one of the balcony supports, swung himself over the balustrade, and, just as Master Julius had arranged it, fell on his knees at the lovely Marianne’s feet.

Graciously she smiled on him, and gave him her hand to kiss, and while the two young people gazed at one another, absorbed in their love, the curtain fell.

And before her knelt Gösta Berling, with a face tender as a poet’s and bold as a soldier’s, with deep eyes, which glowed with wit and genius, which implored and constrained. Supple and full of strength was he, fiery and captivating.

While the curtain went up and down, the two stood always in the same position. Gösta’s eyes held the lovely Marianne fast; they implored; they constrained.