Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Plaster Saints
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every one knew that his wife had left her home
because she was being tormented to death. It seemed
almost as if he wished to regain the mercy of God
and the respect of men by some good work when
he undertook the repair of Svartsjö church. He
had the whole interior whitewashed and the
paintings on the ceiling taken down, and he and his men
carried the plaster saints down to a boat and sunk
them in the depths of the Löfven.
How could he dare to lay hands on these mighty
ones of the Lord!
Oh, that the evil deed was permitted! The hand
that cut off the head of Holofernes—did it no longer
wield a sword? Had the Queen of Sheba forgotten
the secret knowledge that wounds more fatally
than a poisoned arrow? St. Olof, St. Olof, you old
viking! St. Göran, St. Göran, you old dragon-killer!
Then the noise of your exploits has died, and the
nimbus of your miracles has faded! But perhaps
the saints did not want to use their power against
the destroyer; since the Svartsjö peasants were no
longer willing to pay for paint for their coats and
gilding for their crowns, they suffered Count Dohna
to carry them out and sink them in the bottomless
depths of the Löfven. They did not want to stand
any longer as unsightly blemishes in the house of
God. Oh, the helpless ones! Did they remember
when prayers and kneelings were offered them?
I thought of that boat with its burden of saints
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