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Updated: June 26, 2025
Unmindful of the anachronism, youth gloried in the noble disinterestedness of Frithiof, in his generosity to his rival, his melancholy philosophising and his high-minded love, as well as in his daring and his love of adventure. Manly breasts heaved in sympathy with him, and women's tears flowed at the story of Ingeborg's love. As the poet Snolisky has said
From the highest to the lowest throughout the land The poet had created a bond of union. In every home, within every school door, His verses were read and conned and loved, And Sweden's youth felt its cheek glow At Frithiof's courage and manly mood. While Ingeborg's love to the maiden's dream Gave life and thoughts to her weaving and sewing.
Ingeborg, in her usual morning dress, was seated at the sewing-table. He waited until towards twelve o'clock, calculating that two hours was the least she needed in which to dress and drive to town. The long hand threatened to touch the short hand at the number twelve, without any appearance of Ingeborg's noticing it.
The familiar tutoiement, the Christian name these, perhaps, he had a right to use; but nothing could justify the contempt of his tone. It reminded me disagreeably of the ugliness I had nigh forgotten. I felt Ingeborg's arm tremble in mine. "'Yes, it is I, Herr Larson, she said, with her wonted gentleness, and almost apologetically.
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