Thy Soul Shall Bear Witness (Historical Novel). Selma Lagerlöf
on the cheeks, and his eyes are as sombre as broken mirrors. He is clad in a long black stained monkish habit, with a cowl which he pulls down over his face, and in his hand he holds a blunt and rusty scythe in a long handle. And, mark you, the man who sits driving, with those reins tied together, is no ordinary driver, but is in the service of a grim master whose name is Death. Night and day he needs must fare on his master's errands. Directly anyone is doomed to die—understand that, friends—it is his duty to be on the spot. He comes rattling along in his creaking old cart, as fast as the lame horse can drag him."
The narrator paused, and tried to get a glimpse of his companions' faces. When he discovered that they were as attentive as he could possibly desire he, went on with his story.
"You have possibly seen some picture or other of Death, and you have perhaps noticed that, for the most part, he goes on foot. That is not Death himself, but only his driver. Look you, one might think that, so high and mighty a lord maybe' will garner none but the very finest crops, and will leave to his driver the care of the poor little straws and weeds that grow by the wayside. But now you must pay attention to the most curious thing in this story. Well, the legend is that, though there is always the same cart and the same horse to make the rounds in this particular business, yet it is not always the same driver. That grim figure will be the last man or woman who dies during the year—the one who gives up the ghost just as the clock strikes twelve on New Year's Eve—and is foredoomed to. become Death's driver. His corpse will be buried like all other corpses, but his wraith must don the monk's habit, grasp the scythe, and journey round from one house of death to another for a whole year, till he or she is released on the next New Year's Eve.
He ended his story, and gazed at his undersized companions with a look of crafty expectation. He noticed that they were looking in a fruitless effort to see what time the church clock was pointing to.
"The clock has just struck a quarter to twelve," he informed them, "so you need not have the slightest doubt that the fateful hour has come. Now perhaps you understand what it was that my friend dreaded—nothing except that he might die just when the clock struck twelve on New Year's Eve, and that he might be compelled to become the ghastly driver I have told you about. All that day, I believe, he used to sit and imagine that he could hear, the death-cart creaking and rattling. And, mark you, gentlemen, the curious part of it is that he is said to have died last year on that very same New Year's Eve."
"Did he die immediately before the New Year was ushered in ? "
"All I know is that he died on New Year's Eve, but I've never found out the exact time. Well, well, I might have predicted that he would die at that very hour, because he sat worrying himself about it. If you two got that idea into your heads, likely enough the same fate would overtake you."
The two puny fellows, as if by mutual agreement, each clutched the neck of a bottle and took a long pull, after which they began slowly and awkwardly to stagger to their feet.
"But, friends, surely you would never dream of going your ways before the stroke, of midnight?" cried the narrator, when he saw that he had succeeded all too well in frightening them. " I can never really believe that you attach the least importance to such an old wife's story as.this. Bear in mind that my friend was rather a weakling—not like us, of good, sound old Swedish stock. Come now, will you take a drink and sit down again ? It will, I think, be just as we'll," he went on, when he had got them down on the grass, " for us to keep our seats. This is the first place where I've had a rest since morning. Everywhere else I was attacked by the Salvation Army people, who want me to go to Sister Edith, who, "so they say, is dying. But I made excuses. Nobody for choice would let himself in for such a beastly sermonising as I should get."
The two tramps, their brains clouded by their last heavy pull at the Schnapps bottle, both bounced up at hearing Sister Edith's name mentioned, and asked if she was the one who was managing the Slum Rescue in that town.
"Yes, right enough, she's the one! replied the younger man. "She has been honouring me with her special attentions all this year. I hope she isn't one of your intimate acquaintances, in which case your grief would be terrible." It was not unlikely that the two tramps retained , some "recollection of a kindness Sister Edith had shown them. " They asserted with dogged determination that, according to their view of the matter, if Sister Edith wanted to meet somebody, no matter who he or she might be, it was that person's plain duty to go to her at once.
"Ha! that's your opinion, is it ? " said their companion. " Well, I will go, if you, whose acquaintance with me is somewhat slight, can tell me what pleasure it would give Sister Edith to meet me."
Neither of the two vagabonds condescended to answer" his question; all they did was to insist on his taking himself off, and, when he repeatedly refused to do so and got irritated with them, they flew into such a violent rage as to declare that, if he would not go of his own accord, they would give him a sound thrashing. Thereupon they got on their feet and rolled up their coat-sleeves to attack him.
Their adversary, who was quite aware that he was the biggest and strongest man in the whole town, was moved with a sudden sympathy for the wretched weaklings.
"If you must needs have it that way," he cried. "of course I am ready whenever you please; but I venture to say that I think, gentlemen, that we might as well make up this quarrel, especially if you bear in mind what I have just told you."
The tipsy fellows hardly knew what had upset their tempers, but their lust for battle was whetted, and they hurled themselves on their companion with clenched fists. So confident-was he of his superiority that he did not trouble to stand up, but remained sitting on the ground. He merely stretched out his arms and warded off his adversaries right and left; as if they had been a pair of puppies. But, like puppies, they returned to the attack, and one of them managed to deal the big man a doughty blow on the chest. The moment afterwards the latter felt something hot rising.in his throat and filling his mouth. As he was aware that one of his lungs was gone, he suspected this to be the starting of a hemorrhage. He stopped fighting and threw himself on the ground, a stream of blood gushed over his lips.
This was of itself a grave misfortune, but what rendered it almost irretrievable was that his companions, when they felt the warm blood spraying over their hands and saw him sinking down, on the ground, believed that they had murdered him, and took to flight. He was left deserted! The hemorrhage, it is true, gradually ceased, but directly he made the slightest effort to rise the blood welled forth again.
It was not a particularly cold night, but the dampness and chill began to torture him as he lay prostrate on the ground. He had a feeling that he was likely to perish unless someone came to his rescue and took him to a place of shelter. To all intents and purposes he was lying in the very heart of the town, and, as it was New Year's Eve, there were multitudes of people up, and he could hear them walking about the streets that ran round the shrubbery—but not a soul entered it. He could even hear the murmur of their voices! It was hard, he thought, that he should perish for lack of help, when help was so near at hand.
He lay waiting for a while, but the cold tortured him worse and worse, and, when he realised that it was impossible for him to^get on his feet, be determined at any rate, to shout for assistance.
Just as he was uttering his cry for help the clock in the tower above him began striking!
The human voice was so completely stifled in that loud metallic clang that nobody noticed his cry of distress. The hemorrhage started afresh, and it was now so extremely violent that he could hardly help thinking that all the'blood in bis body was about to leave it—if it had not, as it seemed, already done so.
"It can't really be possible, that I am to die now, while the clock is actually striking midnight! " he thought, but he had a feeling that he was going out like a burnt-out candle.
He sank down into darkness, and unconsciousness at the very moment that the last booming stroke of the clock died away—heralding the birth of the New Year.
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