Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Broby Parson
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child starve and torture his wife for this same
miserable gold? Impossible! it could not be; he was
a man as others were; he was no monster! Was it
by the side of a shameless wretch, unworthy of his
chosen profession, that his love walked that night?
Oh, no, is not Eros all-conquering?
He was not the Broby parson that night, nor the
next day, nor the next.
On the third day the gate had been lifted off
its hinges and the calash rolled away as quickly as
the horses, fresh after their three days’ rest, could
carry it.
What a dream it had been, what a beautiful dream!
No, nothing could have spoiled the peace of those
three days!
Smiling, she returned home to her castle and her
memories. She never heard his name again, never
asked any questions about him. She duly dreamed
her dream as long as she lived.
The parson sat in his lonely house and wept like
a man in despair. She had brought back his youth.
Must he grow old again? Would the evil spirit
return again, and would he become as despicable as he
had been before?
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