Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Lady Musica
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melody. He makes every one in the house happy. He
was never cold nor tired. The sorrowful forgot their
grief when they saw him. Oh, what a kind heart he
had! How sympathetic he was with the weak and
poor! And what a genius he was! Yes, you should
have heard the old people talk of him.
But now Gösta Berling sat silent and sorrowful,
and in the midst of the music he burst into tears.
He thought life—all life—was so wretched. He
leaned his head on his hands and wept. The
cavaliers were terrified. These were not the quiet,
healing tears that music can call forth—he was sobbing
like one in despair. They put aside their instruments,
quite helpless. The Lady Musica was fain to
lose courage, till she suddenly remembered that she
had one more mighty champion.
It was the gentle Lövenborg, he who lost his
bride in the cruel river, and who was Gösta’s slave,
even more so than the others. He now stole to the
piano. He walked round it, touched it carefully,
and caressed the keys with gentle hand.
In the cavaliers’ wing Lövenborg had a wooden
table, on which he had painted a keyboard and
before which he had placed a music-stand. There he
sat for hours, and let his fingers play over its black
and white keys. There he practised both scales and
études, and there he played his Beethoven. He
never played anything but Beethoven.
But the old man never ventured upon anything
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