Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Plaster Saints
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I have hated him because of it as only a child can
hate. I have hated him as a hungry beggar hates
the stingy housewife who refuses him bread. I have
hated him as the poor fisherman hates the stupid
boy who disturbs his net or makes his boat spring
a leak. Was I not hungry and thirsty during those
long sermons? And he had taken away the bread
that should have nourished my spirit. Did I not
yearn for infinity, for heaven? And he had damaged
my ship and torn the net in which I should have
caught holy visions.
There is no room in the world of grown-up folk
for a real hatred. How could I hate such a
miserable little personage as that Count Dohna or such
a madman as Sintram or an enervated woman of
the world like Countess Märta? But when I was
a child—it was fortunate for them that they had
died so long ago.
The pastor was perhaps standing in the pulpit
speaking of peace and forgiveness, but to our
corner of the church his words never penetrated. Oh,
if I had had the old plaster saints there, they would
have preached to me so that I should have heard
and understood.
But now I generally sat thinking of how it happened
that they were destroyed.
When Count Dohna had declared his marriage
dissolved instead of seeking out his wife and
having it legalized, it aroused universal indignation, for
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