Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Plaster Saints
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have felt that the man who threw them to destruction,
who drove them from God’s house and drowned
them in the cold, dissolving waves, was about to
be praised. The old saints wanted a word in the
matter. They did not love the monotonous wash of
the waves. They were accustomed to hymns and
prayers. They had been silent and let it pass, as
long as they believed it was for the glory of God.
But it was not the case now. There sat Count Dohna
in honor and glory in the choir, about to be extolled.
They could not bear that. So they rose from their
watery graves and marched into church and were
recognized by all the congregation. There went
St. Olaf with the crown on his helmet and St. Erik
with the yellow flowery cape and grey St. Göran
and St. Christopher; no more—the Queen of Sheba
and Judith had not come.
When the people recovered from their astonishment,
a loud whisper went through the church,
“The cavaliers!”
Yes, it was the cavaliers’ doing. They went up to
the Count, and, without saying a word, they lifted
his chair upon their shoulders, carried him out of
the church, and put him on the hill outside. They
said nothing and looked neither to right nor to left.
They simply carried Count Dohna out of the house
of God, and when that was done they took the
nearest path to the lake.
They challenged no one, and did not lose time
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