Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Cousin Kristoffer
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Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
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(historik)
but in the course of time they came to regard him
as one of Värmland’s cavaliers. Every one called
him Cousin Kristoffer, without knowing how he had
acquired the name.
It is not well, however, for a bird of prey to live in
a cage. One can understand that he has been
accustomed to something quite different from hopping
from perch to perch and eating out of a keeper’s
hand. His blood has been fired by the excitement
of battle and braving danger. Drowsy peace
sickens him.
True, the other cavaliers were not tame birds
either, though none fretted at captivity as did
Cousin Kristoffer. A bear hunt was the only thing that
could enliven his drooping spirits, a bear hunt or
a woman—one particular woman.
He had come to life some ten years before, when
he first met Countess Märta, who was even then a
widow—a woman as uncertain as war, as inciting
as danger, a brilliant, audacious creature; her he
loved.
And there he sat growing old and grey, unable
to ask her to be his wife. It was five years since he
had seen her, and he was withering and pining like
a caged eagle. Each year found him more shrunken
and hopeless—drawing farther into his pelt and
nearer to the fire.
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