Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Christmas Eve
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cavaliers both day and night. They have not lived a life
of ease as sleepy gentlemen on their own estates,
but they are wayfarers, happy-go-lucky men, the
heroes of a thousand adventures.
The cavaliers’ wing has stood empty now for
many years, and Ekeby is no longer the chosen
refuge of homeless adventurers. Penniless noblemen
and pensioned officers no longer traverse Värmland
in their one-horse shays: but let the dead live
again, let the joyous, careless, ever youthful men
rise once again!
They could all play one musical instrument, some
of them several. They were all as full of peculiarities
and sayings and fancies and songs as an ant-hill
is full of ants; but each had his special attribute, his
highly prized cavalierly merit, which distinguished
him from his companions. First of all I must mention
Beerencreutz, the Colonel with the thick white
moustache, the famous camphio-player and singer
of Bellman’s songs, and with him his friend and
comrade in the wars, the silent Major Anders
Fuchs, the great bear hunter. The third in the
company would be little Ruster, the drum-major, who
for years had been the Colonel’s orderly, but his
talent for brewing punch and for singing double-bass
had raised him to the rank of cavalier. After
him came the old ensign, Rutger von Örneclou,
a lady killer, wearing a stock and wig and finely
starched frill, and painted like a woman. He was
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