Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Christmas Eve
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own, and always longed to be there, but who was
forever chained to Ekeby, for his temperament
required splendor and change to be able to endure
life.
All these eleven men had left youth behind them,
and some of them had passed middle age; but
among them was one but thirty years old, in the
full power of body and mind. This was Gösta
Berling, the cavalier of cavaliers, who in himself was
a greater orator, singer, musician, drinking champion,
hunter, and gamester than all the others. He
had every cavalierly virtue. What a man the Lady
of the manor had made of him!
Look at him mounted on the speaker’s chair!
The darkness hangs from the ceiling behind him
in heavy folds. His fair head shines out of it like
the head of a young god—the youthful lightbearer
who kindled chaos. He stands there, slight and
beautiful, on fire with the love of adventure. But
he speaks with great seriousness.
“Brother cavaliers, it draws toward midnight,
our festivity is well on its way; it is time for us to
drink the health of the thirteenth at table!”
“Dear Gösta,” cried Squire Julius, “there is no
thirteenth, there are only twelve of us.”
“Every year one man dies at Ekeby,” continued
Gösta with increasing solemnity. “One of the guests
of the cavaliers’ wing dies—one of the joyous,
careless, ever youthful men die. Well, what does it
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