Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Young Countess
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celebrated his birthday, and there were many who
drove up Broby Hill that day. From east and west,
known and unknown, the invited and uninvited
guests came on that occasion to the official residence.
All were welcome. There was meat and drink for all,
and in the dancing-hall there was room enough for
the dancers from seven parishes.
The young Countess was there too, as she was
everywhere where you could expect dancing and
amusement. But she was not gay when she arrived,
it almost seemed as though she had a presentiment
that it was now her turn to be involved in the wild
wave of adventure.
She sat and watched the setting sun while driving
to the assembly. It sank from a cloudless sky, and
left no golden-edged cloudlets after it. Pale grey
twilight pierced by gusts of chilly wind covered all
the country.
She saw the strife of day and night, and how
everything living seemed to fear it. Horses hurried
forward the last load to gain their stables as quickly
as possible. The wood-cutters hurried home from
the forest, the dairymaids from the farmyard. Wild
beasts howled in the forest clearing. Day, the beloved
of mankind, was conquered.
Colors faded, the light disappeared. Cold and
ugliness was all she saw. All she hoped, all she loved,
all she had ever done seemed wrapped in the
twilight’s grey coverlet. It was an hour of weariness,
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