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- The Broby Parson
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The Broby Parson
Eros, thou all-conquering god, thou knowest
full well that it sometimes seems as though
one of thy slaves had freed himself from thy power.
Dead are all the kindly feelings which unite the
children of men; madness would claim him, till thou
comest in thy might, thou protector of life, and
makest the wretched heart to blossom again like the
rod of Aaron.
No one could be more miserly than the Broby
parson; no one, by cruelty and wickedness, could
have deviated further from the path of his
fellow-men. His room was never heated in the winter;
he sat on an unpainted bench; he dressed in rags,
lived on dry bread, and raged if a beggar crossed
his doorstep. He sold his hay and let his horse
starve in the stable; his cows fed on the wayside
grass and the moss growing on the walls of his
house; the bleating of his hungry sheep was heard
even on the highway. The peasants threw him bread
that their dogs refused to eat and clothes that
beggars scorned. His hand was outstretched to beg,
his back bent in thanks. He asked alms from the
rich; he loaned to the poor; if he saw a coin, his
heart ached with anxiety till he had it in his pocket.
Unhappy was he who was his debtor when the day
of payment came.
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Project Runeberg, Sun Dec 10 03:55:33 2023
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