Book: The Emperor of Portugalia

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THE EMPEROR OF PORTUGALIA

by

SELMA LAGERLOEF

Translated from the Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard







CONTENTS

BOOK ONE
The Beating Heart
Glory Goldie Sunnycastle
The Christening
The Vaccination Bee
The Birthday
Christmas Morn
Glory Goldie's Illness
Calling on Relatives
The School Examination
The Contest
Fishing
Agrippa
Forbidden Fruit

BOOK TWO
Lars Gunnarson
The Red Dress
The New Master
On the Mountain-top
The Eve of Departure
At the Pier
The Letter
August Daer Nol
October the First
The Dream Begins
Heirlooms
Clothed in Satin
Stars
Waiting
The Empress
The Emperor

BOOK THREE
The Emperor's Song
The Seventeenth of August
Katrina and Jan
Bjoern Hindrickson's Funeral
The Dying Heart
Deposed
The Catechetical Meeting
An Old Troll
The Sunday after Midsummer
Summernight
The Emperor's Consort

BOOK FOUR
The Welcome Greeting
The Flight
Held!
Jan's Last Words
The Passing of Katrina
The Burial of the Emperor



BOOK ONE


THE BEATING HEART

Jan of Ruffluck Croft never tired of telling about the day when his
little girl came into the world. In the early morning he had been
to fetch the midwife, and other helpers; all the forenoon and a
good part of the afternoon he had sat on the chopping-block, in the
woodshed, with nothing to do but to wait.

Outside it rained in torrents and he came in for his share of the
downpour, although he was said to be under cover. The rain reached
him in the guise of dampness through cracks in the walls and as
drops from a leaky roof, then all at once, through the doorless
opening of the shed, the wind swept a regular deluge in upon him.

"I just wonder if anybody thinks I'm glad to have that young one
coming?" he muttered, impatiently kicking at a small stick of wood
and sending it flying across the yard. "This is about the worst
luck that could come to me! When we got married, Katrina and I, it
was because we were tired of drudging as hired girl and farmhand
for Eric of Falla, and wanted to plant our feet under our own
table; but certainly not to raise children!"

He buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily. It was plain
that the chilly dampness and the long dreary wait had somewhat to
do with putting him in a bad humour, but they were by no means the
only cause. The real reason for his lament was something far more
serious.

"I've got to work every day," he reminded himself, "work from early
morning till late in the evening; but so far I've at least had some
peace nights. Now I suppose that young one will be squalling the
whole night long, and I'll get no rest then, either."

Whereupon an even worse fear seized him. Taking his hands from
before his face he wrung them so hard that the knuckles fairly
cracked. "Up to this we've managed to scratch along pretty well,
because Katrina, has been free to go out and work, the same as
myself, but now she'll have to sit at home and take care of that
young one."

He sat staring in front of him as hopelessly as if he had beheld
Famine itself stalking across the yard and making straight for
his hut.

"Well!" said he, bringing his two fists down on the chopping-block
by way of emphasis. "I just want to say that if I'd only known at
the time when Eric of Falla came to me and offered to let me build
on his ground, and gave me some old timber for a little shack, if I
had only known then that this would happen, I'd have said no to the
whole business, and gone on living in the stable-loft at Falla for
the rest of my days."

He knew these were strong words, but felt no inclination to take
them back.

"Supposing something were to happen--?" he began--for by that time
matters had reached such a pass with him he would not have minded
it if the child had met with some mishap before coming into the
world--but he never finished what he wished to say as he was
interrupted by a faint cry from the other side of the wall.

The woodshed was attached to the house itself. As he listened, he
heard one peep after the other from within, and knew, of course,
what that meant. Then, for a long while he sat very still, feeling
neither glad nor sorry. Finally he said, with a little shrug:

"So it's here at last! And now, for the love of God, they might let
me slip in to warm myself!"

But that comfort was not to be his so soon! There were more hours
of waiting ahead of him.

The rain still came down in sheets and the wind increased. Though
only the latter part of August, it was as disagreeable as a
November day. To cap the climax, he fell to brooding over something
that made him even more wretched. He felt that he was being
slighted and set aside.

"There are three womenfolk, beside the midwife, in there with
Katrina," he murmured. "One of them, at least, might have taken the
trouble to come and tell me whether it's a boy or a girl."

He could hear them bustling about, as they made up a fire, and saw
them run out to the well to fetch water, but of his existence no
one seemed to be aware.

Of a sudden he clapped his hands to his eyes and began to rock
himself backward and forward. "My dear Jan Anderson," he said in
his mind, "what's wrong with you? Why does everything go against
you? Why must you always have such a dull time of it? And why
couldn't you have married some good-looking young girl, instead of
that ugly old Katrina from Falla?"

He was so unspeakably wretched! Even a few tears trickled down
between his fingers. "Why are you made so little of in the parish,
my good Jan Anderson? Why should you always be pushed back for
others? You know there are those who are just as poor as yourself
and whose work is no better than yours; but no one gets put down
the way you do. What can be the matter with you, my dear Jan
Anderson?"

These were queries he had often put to himself, though in vain, and
he had no hope of finding the answer to them now, either. After
all, perhaps there was nothing wrong with him? Perhaps the only
explanation was that both God and his fellowmen were unfair to him?

When that thought came to him, he took his hands from before his
eyes and tried to put on a bold face.

"If you're ever again allowed inside your own house, my good Jan
Anderson, you mustn't so much as glance toward the young one, but
march yourself straight over to the fireplace and sit down, without
saying a word. Or, suppose you get right up and walk away! You
don't have to sit here any longer now that you know it's over with.
Suppose you show Katrina and the rest of the womenfolk that you're
not a man to be trifled with. ... "

He was just on the point of rising, when the mistress of Falla
appeared in the doorway of the woodshed, and, with a charming
curtsy, bade him come inside to have a peep at the infant.

Had it been any one else than the mistress of Falla herself that
had invited him in, it is doubtful whether he would have gone at
all, angry as he was. Her he had to follow, of course, but he took
his own time about it. He tried to assume the air and bearing of
Eric of Falla, when the latter strode across the floor of the town
hall to deposit his vote in the ballot-box, and succeeded
remarkably well in looking quite as solemn and important.

"Please walk in," said the mistress of Falla, opening the door
for him, then stepping aside to let him go first.

One glance at the room told him that everything had been cleaned
and tidied up in there. The coffeepot, newly polished and full and
steaming, stood at the edge of the hearth, to cool; the table, over
by the window, was spread with a snow-white cover, on which were
arranged dainty flowered cups and saucers belonging to the mistress
of Falla. Katrina lay on the bed and two of the women, who had come
to lend a hand, stood pressed against the wall so that he should
have a free and unobstructed view of all the preparations. Directly
in front of the table stood the midwife, with a bundle on her arm.

Jan could not help thinking that for once in his life he appeared
to be the centre of attraction. Katrina glanced up at him
appealingly, as if wanting to ask whether he was pleased with her.
The other women, too, all turned their eyes toward him, expectantly
waiting for some word of praise from him for all the trouble they
had been to on his account.

However, it is not so easy to appear jubilant when one has been
half frozen and out of sorts all day! Jan could not clear his face
of that Eric-of-Falla expression, and stood there without saying a
word.

Then the midwife took a step forward. The hut was so tiny that that
one stride put her square in front of him, so that she could place
the child in his arms.

"Now Jan shall have a peek at the li'l' lassie She's what I'd call
a _real baby_!" said the midwife.

And there stood Jan, holding in his two hands something soft and
warm done up in a big shawl, a corner of which had been turned back
that he might see the little wrinkled face and the tiny wizzened
hands. He was wondering what the womenfolk expected him to do with
that which had been thrust upon him, when he felt a sudden shock
that shook both him and the child. It had not come from any of the
women and whether it had passed through the child to him or through
him to the child, he could not tell.

Immediately after, the heart of him began to beat in his breast as
it had never done before. Now he was no longer cold, or sad, or
worried. Nor did he feel angry. All was well with him. But he could
not comprehend why there was a thumping and a beating in his
breast, when he had not been dancing, or running, or climbing
hills.

"My good woman," he said to the midwife, "do lay your hand here and
feel of my heart! It seems to beat so queerly."

"Why, it's a regular attack of the heart!" the midwife declared.
"But perhaps you're subject to these spells?"

"No," he assured her. "I've never had one before--not just in this
way."

"Do you feel bad? Are you in pain?"

"Oh, no!"

Then the midwife could not make out what ailed him. "Anyhow," said
she, "I'll relieve you of the child."

But now Jan felt he did not want to give up the child. "Ah, let me
hold the little girl!" he pleaded.

The womenfolk must have read something in his eyes, or caught
something in his tone that pleased them: for the midwife's mouth
had a peculiar quirk and the other women all burst out laughing.

"Say Jan, have you never cared so much for somebody that your
heart has been set athrobbing because of her?" asked the midwife.

"No indeed!" said Jan.

But at that moment he knew what it was that had quickened the heart
in him. Moreover he was beginning to perceive what had been amiss
with him all his life, and that he whose heart does not respond to
either joy or sorrow can hardly be called human.


GLORY GOLDIE SUNNYCASTLE

The following day Jan of Ruffluck Croft stood waiting for hours on
the doorstep of his hut, with the little girl in his arms.

This, too, was a long wait. But now it was all so different from
the day before. He was standing there in such good company that he
could become neither weary nor disheartened. Nor could he begin to
tell how good it felt to be holding the warm little body pressed
close to his heart. It occurred to him that hitherto he had been
mighty sour and unpleasant, even to himself; but now all was bliss
and sweetness within him. He had never dreamed that one could be so
gladdened by just loving some one.

He had not stationed himself on the doorstep without a purpose, as
may be assumed. It was an important matter that he must try to
settle while standing there. He and Katrina had spent the whole
morning trying to choose a name for the child. They had been at it
for hours, without arriving at a decision. Finally Katrina had
said: "I don't see but that you'll have to take the child and go
stand on the stoop with her. Then you can ask the first female that
happens along what her name is, and the name she names we must give
to the girl, be it ugly or pretty."

Now the hut lay rather out of the way and it was seldom that any
one passed by their place; so Jan had to stand out there ever so
long, without seeing a soul. This was also a gray day, though no
rain fell. It was not windy and cold, however, but rather a bit
sultry. If Jan had not held the little girl in his arms he would
have lost heart.

"My dear Jan Anderson," he would have said to himself. "You must
remember that you live away down in the Ashdales, by Dove Lake,
where there isn't but one decent farmhouse and here and there a
poor fisherman's hut. Who'll you find hereabout with a name that's
pretty enough to give to your little girl?"

But since this was something which concerned his daughter he never
doubted that all would come right. He stood looking down toward the
lake, as if not caring to her how shut in from the whole countryside
it lay, in its rock-basin. He thought it might just happen that
some high-toned lady, with a grand name, would come rowing across
from Doveness, on the south shore of the lake. Because of the
little girl he felt almost sure this would come to pass.

The child slept the whole time; so for all of her he could have
stood there and waited as long as he liked. But the worrisome
person was Katrina! Every other minute she would ask him whether
any one had come along yet and if he thought it prudent to keep the
infant out in the damp air any longer.

Jan turned his eyes up toward Great Peak, rising high above the
little groves and garden-patches of the Ashdales, like a watch
tower atop some huge fortress, keeping all strangers at a distance.
Still it might be possible that some great lady, who had been up to
the Peak, to view the beautiful landscape had taken the wrong path
back and strayed in the direction of Ruffluck.

He quieted Katrina as well as he could. The child was safe enough,
he assured her. Now that he had stood out there so long he wanted
to wait another minute or so.

Not a soul hove in sight, but he was confident that if he just
stuck to it, the help would come. It could not be otherwise. It
would not have surprised him if a queen in a golden chariot had
come driving over mountains and through thickets, to bestow her
name upon his little girl.

More moments passed, and he knew that dusk would soon be falling.
Then he would not be let stand there longer. Katrina looked at the
clock, and again begged him to come inside.

"Just you be patient a second!" he said. "I think I see something
peeping out over west."

The sky had been overcast the whole day, but at that moment the
sun [Note: In Swedish the sun is feminine.] came bursting out from
behind the clouds, and darted a few rays down toward the child.

"I don't wonder at your wanting to have a peek at the li'l' lassie
before you go down," said Jan to the sun. "She's something worth
seeing!"

The sun came forth, clearer and clearer, and shed a rose-coloured
glow over both the child and the hut.

"Maybe you'd like to be godmother to 'er?" said Jan of Ruffluck.

To which the sun made no direct reply. She just beamed for a
moment, then drew her mist-cloak about her and disappeared.

Once again Katrina was heard from. "Was any one there?" asked she.
"I thought I heard you talking to somebody. You'd better come
inside now."

"Yes, now I'm coming," he answered, and stepped in. "Such a grand
old aristocrat just went by! But she was in so great a hurry I had
barely time to say 'go'day' to her, before she was gone."

"Goodness me! How provoking!" exclaimed Katrina. "And after we'd
waited so long, too! I suppose you didn't have a chance to ask what
her name was?"

"Oh, yes. Her name is Glory Goldie Sunnycastle--that much I got out
of her."

"_Glory Goldie Sunnycastle_! But won't that name be a bit too
dazzling?" was Katrina's only comment.

Jan of Ruffluck was positively astonished at himself for having hit
upon something so splendid as making the sun godmother to his
child. He had indeed become a changed man from the moment the
little girl was first laid in his arms!


THE CHRISTENING

When the little girl of Ruffluck Croft was to be taken to the
parsonage, to be christened, that father of hers behaved so
foolishly that Katrina and the godparents were quite put out
with him.

It was the wife of Eric of Falla who was to bear the child to the
christening. She sat in the cart with the infant while Eric of
Falla, himself, walked alongside the vehicle, and held the reins.
The first part of the road, all the way to Doveness, was so
wretched it could hardly be called a road, and of course Eric had
to drive very carefully, since he had the unchristened child to
convey.

Jan had himself brought the child from the house and turned it
over to the godmother, and had seen them set out. No one knew
better than he into what good hands it was being intrusted. And he
also knew that Eric of Falla was just as confident at handling the
reins as at everything else. As for Eric's wife--why she had borne
and reared seven children; therefore he should not have felt the
least bit uneasy.

Once they were well on their way and Jan had again gone back to his
digging, a terrible sense of fear came over him. What if Eric's
horse should shy? What if the parson should drop the child? What if
the mistress of Falla should wrap too many shawls around the little
girl, so she'd be smothered when they arrived with her at the
parsonage?

He argued with himself that it was wrong in him to borrow trouble,
when his child had such godfolk as the master and mistress of
Falla. Yet his anxiety would not be stilled. Of a sudden he dropped
his spade and started for the parsonage just as he was taking the
short cut across the heights, and running at top speed all the way.
When Eric of Falla drove into the stable-yard of the parsonage the
first person that met his eyes was Jan of Ruffluck.

Now, it is not considered the proper thing for the father or mother
to be present at the christening, and Jan saw at once that the
Falla folk were displeased at his coming to the parsonage. Eric did
not beckon to him to come and help with the horse, but unharnessed
the beast himself, and the mistress of Falla, drawing the child
closer to her, crossed the yard and went into the parson's kitchen,
without saying a word to Jan.

Since the godparents would not so much as notice him, he dared not
approach them; but when the godmother swept past him he heard a
little piping sound from the bundle on her arm. Then he at least
knew the child had not been smothered.

He felt it was stupid in him not to have gone home at once. But now
he was so sure the parson would drop the child, that he had to
stay.

He lingered a moment in the stable-yard, then went straight over to
the house and up the steps into the hallway.

It is the worst possible form for the father to appear before the
clergyman, particularly when his child has ouch sponsors as Eric of
Falla, and his wife. When the door to the pastor's study swung open
and Jan of Ruffluck in his soiled workaday clothes calmly shuffled
into the room, just after the pastor had begun the service and
there was no way of driving him out, the godparents swore to
themselves that once they were home they would take him severely
to task for his unseemly behaviour.

The christening passed off as it should without the slightest
occasion for a mishap, and Jan of Ruffluck had nothing for his
intrusion. Just before the close of the service he opened the door
and quietly slipped out again, into the hallway. He saw of course
that everything seemed to go quite smoothly and nicely without his
help.

In a little while Eric of Falla and his wife also came out into the
hall. They were going across to the kitchen, where the mistress of
Falla had left the child's outer wraps and shawls. Eric went ahead
and opened the door for his wife, whereupon two kittens came
darting into the hallway and tumbled over each other right in front
of the woman's feet, tripping her. She felt herself going headlong
and barely had time to think: "I'm falling with the child; it will
be killed and I'll be heartbroken for life," when a strong hand
seized and steadied her. Looking round she saw that her rescuer was
Jan Anderson of Ruffluck, who had lingered in the hallway as if
knowing he would be needed there. Before she could recover herself
sufficiently to thank him, he was gone.

And when she and her husband came driving home, there stood Jan
digging away. After the accident had been averted, he had felt that
he might safely go back to his work.

Neither Eric nor his wife said a word to him about his unseemly
behaviour. Instead, the mistress of Falla invited him in for
afternoon coffee, muddy and begrimed as he was from working in the
wet soil.


THE VACCINATION BEE

When the little girl of Ruffluck was to be vaccinated no one
questioned the right of her father to accompany her, since that
was his wish. The vaccinating took place one evening late in
August. When Katrina left home, with the child, it was so dark
that she was glad to have some one along who could help her over
stiles and ditches, and other difficulties of the wretched road.

The vaccination bee was held that year at Falla. The housewife had
made a big fire on the hearth in the living-room and thought it
unnecessary to furnish any other illumination, except a thin tallow
candle that burned on a small table, at which the sexton was to
perform his surgical work.

The Ruffluck folk, as well as every one else, found the room
uncommonly light, although it was as dim at the back as if a
dark-gray wall had been raised there--making the room appear
smaller than it was. And in this semi-darkness could be dimly seen
a group of women with babes in arms that had to be trundled, and
fed, and tended in every way.

The mothers were busy unwinding shawls and mufflers late from
their little ones, drawing off their slips, and unloosing the
bands of their undershirts, so that the upper portion of their
little bodies could be easily exposed when the sexton called
them up to the operating table.

It was remarkably quiet in the room, considering there were so
many little cry-babies all gathered in one place. The youngsters
seemed to be having such a good time gazing at one another they
forgot to make a noise. The mothers were quiet because they wanted
to hear what the sexton had to say; for he kept up a steady flow of
small talk.

"There's no fun like going about vaccinating and looking at all the
pretty babies," said he. "Now we shall see whether it's a fine lot
you've brought me this year."

The man was not only the sexton of the parish, where he had lived
all his life, but he was also the schoolmaster. He had vaccinated
the mothers, had taught them, and seen them confirmed and married.
Now he was going to vaccinate their babies. This was the children's
first contact with the man who was to play such an important part
in their lives.

It seemed to be a good beginning. One mother after the other came
forward and sat down on a chair at the table, each holding her
child so that the light would fall upon its bared left arm; and the
sexton, chattering all the while, then made the three tiny
scratches in the smooth baby skin, without so much as a peep coming
from the youngster. Afterward the mother took her baby over to the
fireplace to let the vaccine dry in. Meantime she thought of what
the sexton had said of her child--that it was large and beautiful
and would some day be a credit to the family; that it would grow up
to be as good as its father and grandfather--or even better.

Everything passed off thus peacefully and quietly until it came
to Katrina's turn at the table with her Glory Goldie.

The little girl simply would not be vaccinated. She screamed and
fought and kicked. Katrina tried to hush her and the sexton spoke
softly and gently to her; but it did no good. The poor little thing
was uncontrollably frightened.

Katrina had to take her away and try to get her quieted. Then a
big, sturdy boy baby let himself be vaccinated with never a
whimper. But the instant Katrina was back at the table with her
girl the trouble started afresh. She could not hold the child still
long enough for the sexton to make even a single incision.

Now there was no one left to vaccinate but Glory Goldie of
Ruffluck. Katrina was in despair because of her child's bad
behaviour. She did not know what to do about it, when Jan suddenly
emerged from the shadow of the door and took the child in his arms.
Then Katrina got up to let him take her place at the table.

"You just try it once!" she said scornfully, "and let's see whether
you'll do any better." For Katrina did not regard the little
toil-worn servant from Falla whom she had married as in any sense
her superior.

Before sitting down, Jan slipped off his jacket. He must have
rolled up his shirt sleeve while standing in the dark, at the back
of the room, for his left arm was bared.

He wanted so much to be vaccinated, he said. He had never been
vaccinated but once, and there was nothing in the world he feared
so much as the smallpox.

The instant the little girl saw his bare arm she became quiet, and
looked at her father with wide, comprehending eyes. She followed
closely every movement of the sexton, as he put in the three short
red strokes on the arm. Glancing from one to the other, she noticed
that her father was not faring so very badly.

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