Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - The Midsummer Festival in Lacksand.
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Beautiful Christian, scriptural language, verses
certainly taken from the psalm-book, were read
on the graves; they were all read, for the
service lasted several hours. This, however,
can never be good for devotion.
The crowd at length streamed from the
church; the fiery-red and grass-green aprons
glittered; but the mass of human beings
became thicker, and closer, and pressed forward.
The white head-dresses, the white band over
the forehead, and the white sleeves, were the
prevailing colours – it looked like a long
procession in Catholic countries. There was again
life and motion on the road; the over-filled
boats again rowed away; one waggon drove off
after the other; but yet there were people left
behind. Married and unmarried men stood in
groups in the broad street of Lacksand, from
the church up to the inn. I was staying there,
and I must acknowledge that my Danish
tongue sounded quite foreign to them all. I
then tried the Swedish, and the girl at the inn
assured me that she understood me better than
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