Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Ball at Ekeby
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and of youthful ardor touch all who approach you.
It was worth while to spend one’s gold on the
candles that lighted up your beauty, upon the wine
that awoke the gaiety in your hearts. It was worth
while to dance one’s shoes to dust, and to wield the
violin bow till the arm dropped with weariness.
Oh, women of the olden days! You held the keys
of Paradise; the halls of Ekeby were thronged by
the loveliest of your train.
There was the young Countess Dohna, excitedly
eager for dancing and all games, as was natural
for her twenty years; there were the lovely daughters
of the Judge of Munkerud and the girls from
Berga; there was Anna Stjärnhök, a thousand times
more beautiful than before, in the quiet melancholy
which had come over her since the night she had
been chased by wolves; there were many who are
not forgotten yet, but who soon will be; and there,
too, was the beautiful Marienne Sinclaire.
Even she, the loveliest of the lovely, a queen
among people, the goddess-like, the fascinating
Marienne Sinclaire, deigned to come. She, the
far-famed beauty, who had shone at court and at many
a ducal castle, the queen of beauty, who received
the homage of the whole country—she, who ignited
the fires of love wherever she showed herself—she
had deigned to appear at the ball given by the
cavaliers.
The honor of Värmland beamed afar in those
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