IX THE BROBY CLERGYMAN 315 X PATRON JULIUS 321 XI THE PLASTER SAINTS 329 XII GOD’S WAYFARER 337 XIII THE CHURCHYARD 350 XIV OLD SONGS 355 XV DEATH, THE DELIVERER 367 XVI THE DROUGHT 374 XVII THE CHILD’S MOTHER 386 XVIII AMOR VINCIT OMNIA 396 XIX THE BROOM-GIRL 403 XX KEVENHÜLLER 417 XXI THE BROBY FAIR 429 XXII THE FOREST COTTAGE 438 XXIII MARGARETA CELSING 456 The Story of Gösta Berling INTRODUCTION I THE PRIEST At last the minister stood in the pulpit. The heads of the congregation were lifted. Well, there he finally was. There would be no default this Sunday, as on the last and on many other Sundays before. The minister was young, tall, slender, and strikingly handsome. With a helmet on his head, and girt with sword and shirt of mail, he could have been cut in marble and taken for an ideal of Grecian beauty. He had a poet’s deep eyes, and a general’s firm, rounded chin; everything about him was beautiful, noble, full of feeling, glowing with genius and spiritual life. The people in the church felt themselves strangely subdued to see him so. They were more used to see him come reeling out of the public house with his good friends, Beerencreutz, the Colonel with the thick, white moustaches, and the stalwart Captain Christian Bergh. He had drunk so deeply that he had not been able to attend to his duties for many weeks, and the congregation had been obliged to complain, first to the dean, and then to the bishop and the chapters. Now the bishop had come to the parish to make a strict inquiry. He sat in the choir with the gold cross on his breast; the clergymen of the neighboring parishes sat round about him. There was no doubt that the minister’s conduct had gone beyond the permissible limit. At that time, in the twenties, much in the matter of drinking was overlooked, but this man had deserted his post for the sake of drink, and now must lose it. He stood in the pulpit and waited while the last verse of the psalm was sung. A feeling came over him as he stood there, that he had only enemies in the church, enemies in all the seats. Among the gentry in the pews, among the peasants in the farther seats, among the little boys in the choir, he had enemies, none but enemies. It was an enemy who worked the organ-bellows, an enemy who played. In the churchwardens’ pews he had enemies. They all hated him, every one,—from the children in arms, who were carried into the church, to the sexton, a formal and stiff old soldier, who had been at Leipsic. He longed to throw himself on his knees and to beg for mercy.