Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Ball at Ekeby
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
days, borne up by many a haughty name. There
was much which its joyous children prided
themselves upon. But ever when they talked of their
many splendors, they spoke of Marienne Sinclaire.
The story of her conquests filled the land. They
told you of many earls whose coronets might have
graced her head, of the many millions which had
been laid at her feet, of the brave swords and the
poet’s wreaths which had allured her.
And she possessed more than mere beauty. She
was talented and learned. The best men of the time
were happy to converse with her. She did not write,
but many of her thoughts given to the souls of her
friends have lived again in song.
To Värmland—to the bear-land—she came but
seldom. Her time was spent in constant visits. Her
father, the rich Melchior Sinclaire, lived with his
wife at Björne, and allowed Marienne to travel about
to her grand friends in the towns or to the great
estates. He took pleasure in relating how much
money she spent, and both the old people lived
happily in the reflected glory of Marienne’s
splendor.
Her life was one of pleasure and adoration. The
air about her was love. Love was her light and her
life, and love her daily bread. She had been in love
herself often—oh, so often!—but never had this
love lasted for a sufficiently long time that out of it
might be forged the chains that should bind for life.
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
