from Astray
by Hjalmar Söderberg
translated and introduced by Tom Ellett
One of the lewdest products of a Swedish pen that has snuck its way into the current book market without a sealed envelope.
That was how the literary critic Harald Molander of Aftonbladet described Hjalmar Söderberg’s debut novel Förvillelser (Astray) on its publication in 1895 (the ‘sealed envelope’ is a reference to contemporary rules on the sale of pornography). Today’s readers might struggle to see what Molander found so offensive about this tale of a privileged young man’s amorous adventures and idle meanderings through the streets and parks of fin-de-siècle Stockholm. What truly irked Molander and the cultural establishment was likely the implicit criticism, never far beneath the surface in Söderberg, of the prevailing double standards that permitted the protagonist, Tomas Weber, to seduce the shopgirl Ellen in order to keep his relationship with a girl of good family on a platonic level, at least for the time being.
Förvillelser is very much a product of its time in terms of manners and attitudes, but it is also timeless in its descriptions of nature and its references to many real buildings and locations that still exist today. Söderberg is the quintessential Stockholm writer of his era, and it could be said that the city itself is a recurring character in his writing. The excerpt translated here, chapter three of the novel, is a lyrical account of a trip out to Djurgården, a largely wooded island and popular recreational area close to the city centre. Tomas and Ellen visit the zoo at Skansen, the open-air museum established just four years before the novel was published.
Although Förvillelser has never been as highly regarded as Söderberg’s later novel Doktor Glas or his short-story collection Historietter, it has stood the test of time remarkably well. Thirty-two years after Molander’s scathing review, the literary scholar Fredrik Böök struck a very different tone in his introduction to the 1927 edition:
Förvillelser has a charm all of its own that has not diminished over the years. […] With amiable wit and economical but elegant and authentic lyricism, [Söderberg’s] little novel portrays the Stockholm of the 1890s.
from Astray
Tomas was broke.
He had burned through the money his father had given him on graduation rather too quickly, and didn’t dare ask for more. Besides, his father had been rather reserved lately whenever the conversation turned to money. He gambled a lot and usually lost, although he wouldn’t admit it; his clean-shaven, childishly innocent face always beamed with the quiet satisfaction of a winner.
Should he ask his mother? That would just cause her unnecessary worry.
But neither could you walk around with an empty wallet on radiant spring days like this. Tomas borrowed thirty kronor from Hall.
Yes, the springtime…
The ships down at Nybrohamn were swaying gently and dreamily, with their dark grey sails unfurled, since it had rained overnight. The clock of Östermalm church struck nine. Tomas was already out and about. At a greengrocer’s on Hamngatan he bought a bag of German pears, intending to consume them in the shade of an ancient oak somewhere on Djurgården.
An empty streetcar trundled by, and Tomas hopped aboard. A young woman in a plain grey spring coat came running full pelt. She was clearly aiming for one of the seats just in front of Tomas, but had failed to take the speed of the car into account and instead landed in the seat immediately behind him. It was Ellen; Tomas recognised her immediately. What should he do? Sit there like a great lump with his back to her for the entire journey? He cast a quick look around: the conductor was otherwise occupied. Then he calmly stood up, reversed the backrest on his seat, moved to the other side and sat down opposite her.
'Excuse me, miss, may I offer you a German pear?' he inquired politely but bashfully.
At first the girl, wide-eyed with surprise, refused to have anything to do with his pears, but within a short time she had eaten two of them. Tomas respectfully handed her his business card, on which it said 'Bachelor of Medical Philosophy' under his name.
She revealed that she was going to one of the mansions on Djurgården on an errand.
The sun was sharply illuminating Bünsowska huset, a chivalric epic in stone, standing defiant and brilliant. Tomas never ceased to admire its facade, built only yesterday, but which looked as though it had withstood centuries of rain and wind, thanks to the masterful use of irregular, barely perceptible variations in the colour of the bricks.
Tomas attempted to strike up an intelligent conversation, but received only brief, embarrassed responses. Meanwhile, her wide-awake brown eyes strayed from his face to his cravat, and from his cravat to the riders on the avenue.
They had reached the streetcar terminus below Hasselbacken. Tomas accompanied her for a short distance towards the park. Suddenly she stopped and said in a shy but ladylike manner:
'I’m sorry, but you mustn’t accompany me any further. It wouldn’t do for someone to see me in the company of a gentleman.'
Tomas blushed and said a brief goodbye. His eyes followed her until she disappeared behind a green garden gate in the distance. Then he sat down on a bench and smoked a cigarette.
The entertainment venues surrounding the park lay silent and deserted in the crystal clear light of the May morning. Tomas sat contemplating what to wear that evening; he had given his sister Greta’s homework assignment 'On the Means of Grace' his best shot, and so had been duly invited along to the girls’ night at Märta’s. Should he go with a plain white shirt front or a colourful cravat?
A closed carriage stopped at the entrance to Hasselbacken, and a lady and a gentleman alighted. Recognizing them, Tomas chuckled: it was Mrs Grenholm and Dr Rehn, a prominent physician. The spring sun smiled down on the two elderly lovers.
A troupe of entertainers of various ethnicities and nationalities went by, cheerfully chattering in three or four different languages. Their clownish faces, grown jaded from greasepaint and late nights, their piercing voices, and the trashy elegance of their gaudy outfits all combined to strike a false, gleefully discordant note that lingered in the air for a few seconds before fading away.
The park lay sun-drenched and still once again.
Tomas stood up and walked a few paces. In the distance, the garden gate opened and someone emerged.
Was it Ellen?
Yes, it was. His heart racing, Tomas walked slowly towards her.
A flash of recognition crossed her eyes when she saw he was still there, and she blushed slightly.
'Forgive me, miss,' he said, his frank blue eyes meeting her gaze, 'but would you care to come for a walk with me at Skansen? If you have time.'
'Oh,' she said evasively, 'I don’t know…'
Suddenly she remembered the bear cubs, which she adored.
'Yes, I’m free till twelve o’clock today,' she replied.
Together they walked up the road to Skansen, their sunlit path tinged with green from the newly sprouted leaves on the trees.
They talked about their respective situations. Her name was Ellen Karlsson. Her late father had been employed at the royal palace, and her mother lived on a small widow’s pension. She had a seventeen-year-old brother, who was going to sit his school leaving examination next spring. He had a good head on his shoulders and badly wanted to become a doctor.
As they walked, Tomas was wondering whether he might dare to kiss her soon.
They had reached one of the green-fringed paths leading up to the Bredablick lookout tower.
No, it was still too soon, but give it a quarter of an hour and by then he might have kissed her. What should he do after that? Could he invite her out to dinner one evening?
The bear cubs were playing like puppies in their cage. The keeper was just bringing them their breakfast: two large bread rolls each. Slung over his arm was a trough of meat to feed the adult bears further away. The eldest cub could smell the meat and, when the keeper departed with the trough, began to cry with an expression of such harrowing despair that Ellen was brought to the verge of tears. There was something of the secret sorrow of the wildwoods in his lamentations. He ignored his bread while he could still catch a glimpse between the tree trunks of the keeper with the meat. His brother, as yet uncorrupted and by nature more contented, had meanwhile scoffed down his own bread and moved straight on to the other portion. He would have been better to leave it alone, as he immediately received a smack about the ears that sent him tumbling over and over. Defeated and dejected, he retreated to the far end of the cage, while the elder cub, stifling his rage, began munching on the bread. Halfway through his meal, he remembered his despair again and let out a howl that shook the whole of his shaggy body before gradually fading into quiet sobbing.
Ellen and Tomas stared at the animals, captivated. Then their eyes met. There was not another soul in sight. The hush of the forest stretched around them, and the wind was murmuring in the branches overhead.
Was now the moment?
She seemed to have guessed what he was thinking, as her big auburn eyes began darting around with a frightened expression, as if looking for help.
'Let’s go,' she whispered.
Tomas abandoned all hope for the day.
They headed downhill on Bellmansrovägen. He picked a bunch of anemones at the wayside and fastened it to her bosom. He was glad to have come up with the idea, although it was nothing out of the ordinary, as the forest air was making him light-headed and unsure of what to say or do next.
Suddenly a new idea occurred to him, which was even better than the first.
'Are you hungry, by any chance?' he asked. 'I am!'
She wasn’t hungry, but he still managed to persuade her to join him for coffee and pastries at Bellmansro.
They agreed not to sit outside, where they might be seen, and took their seats in a small sideroom, furnished in green, containing a shabby sofa, a table and a couple of chairs. The air in the room was suffocating. He helped her off with her hat and coat, after the waitress had served them and left.
They finished the coffee. A wasp was buzzing at the window.
Tomas noticed that she still had a fine, reddish streak on her neck from the cat scratch. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her arms. Those arms, naked, white…
'What time is it?' asked Ellen.
He wasn’t listening. He nestled in close to her and whispered pleadingly in her ear:
“Your arms – I want to see your arms…'
Tomas could not believe his eyes. She sat there for a few seconds, as if petrified, but eventually, with the serenity of a sleepwalker, took off her bodice and placed it on a chair. Then she covered her face with her hands, turning deep red with shame. He pulled her in close and kissed her all over, on her neck, her breast, her corset. She sat there, seemingly paralysed. All resistance had subsided in her young, white limbs, and her shy red squirrel eyes wandered wildly hither and thither, in fear, in panic. Suddenly, she lost all composure and flung her arms around his neck with a little squeal.
Förvillelser
Albert Bonniers Förlag, 1895, 208 pages.
Hjalmar Söderberg (1869-1941) is one of the foremost writers of Swedish literature. His works, including Doktor Glas, Historietter and Den alvarsamma leken, have been translated into some twenty languages.
Tom Ellett is a British-Canadian translator from Swedish and Norwegian living in Perth, Scotland. He first encountered the works of Hjalmar Söderberg in first-year Swedish class at university and has been a fan ever since. His translation of Söderberg's second novel, Martin Birck's Youth, was published in 2004 by Norvik Press. Smirr, his Scots rendition of Söderberg's short story Duggregnet, won first prize in the Scots Language Society's annual translation competition in 2024.