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one of the chief cavaliers, and so was Kristian
Bergh, the strong captain, who was a doughty hero,
but as easily deceived as the giant in the fairy tales.
In the company of these two you often saw the
little round Squire Julius. He was clever, amusing,
and talented; artist, orator, and ballad singer, and
a good story teller; and he was ever ready with a
joke at the expense of the gouty little ensign or
the stupid giant.
There was also the great German, Kevenhüller,
the inventor of the self-propelling carriage and the
flying machine, he whose name still echoes in those
murmuring forests. He was a nobleman by birth
and appearance, with a high twisted moustache,
pointed beard, eagle nose, and small, squinting eyes
set in a network of wrinkles. Here sat also the great
warrior, Cousin Kristoffer, who never went beyond
the walls of the cavaliers’ wing, unless a bear hunt or
a specially foolhardy adventure was “on the tapis;”
and near him sat Uncle Eberhard, the philosopher,
who had not come to Ekeby to spend his life in
amusement, but that, exempt from the necessity of
earning his bread, he might devote himself wholly
to completing his great work on the Science of
Sciences.
Lastly, I name the best of the troop, the gentle
Lövenborg, the man too good for this world, and
who understood little of its ways; and Lilliecrona,
the great musician, who had a good home of his
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