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the courage to drink to the thirteenth! Who is it
that is afraid to die?”
“But, Gösta,” they screamed, “when we are only
twelve, how can we drink to the thirteenth?”
Despair was painted on Gösta’s face.
“Are we only twelve?” he cried. “Why, must
we then die out of the land? Shall we be but eleven
next year, and ten the year after? Shall our names
become a legend and our company be annihilated?
I call upon him, the thirteenth, for I am here to
drink his health. From the deep of the sea, from
the bowels of the earth, from heaven or from hell,
I call upon him who is to keep up the number of
the cavaliers!”
And there was a rustling in the chimney, the door
of the smelting-furnace was thrown open, and the
thirteenth appeared. He came in hairy hide, with
tail and hoofs and horns and pointed beard, and at
sight of him the cavaliers sprang up with a shout.
But in unrestrained glee, Gosta screamed, “Behold
the thirteenth, hurrah!”
And thus he appeared, man’s ancient enemy,
appeared to the foolhardy who were disturbing the
peace of the Christmas Eve. The friend of the
witches who have signed away their souls in blood
on coal-black paper had come—he who had danced
with the Countess of Tvarsnäs for seven days and
could not be exorcised by seven priests.
A multitude of thoughts stormed through the
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