Book: The Emperor of Portugalia

S >> Selma Lagerlof >> The Emperor of Portugalia




Glad as was every one of the new school, the parents did not feel
altogether at ease in the presence of their children, after they
had begun to go there. It was as if the youngsters had come into
something new and fine from which their elders were excluded. Of
course it was wrong of the parents to think this, when they should
have been pleased that the children were granted so many advantages
which they themselves had been denied.

The day Jan of Ruffluck visited the school, he and his little Glory
Goldie walked hand in hand, as usual, all the way, like good
friends and comrades; but as soon as they came in sight of the
schoolhouse and Glory Goldie saw the children assembled outside,
she dropped her father's hand and crossed to the other side of the
road. Then, in a moment, she ran off and joined a group of children.

During the examination Jan sat near the teacher's lectern, up among
the School Commissioners and other fine folk. He had to sit there;
otherwise he could not have seen anything of Glory Goldie but the
back of her neck, as she sat in the front row, to the right of the
lectern, where the smaller children were placed. In the old days
Jan would never have gone so far forward; but one who was father to
a little girl like Glory Goldie did not have to regard himself as
the inferior of anybody. Glory Goldie could not have helped seeing
her father from where she sat, yet she never gave him a glance. It
was as if he did not exist for her. On the other hand, Glory
Goldie's gaze was fixed upon her teacher, who was then examining
the older pupils, on the left side of the room. They read from
books, pointed out different countries and cities on the map, and
did sums on the blackboard, and the teacher had no time to look at
the little tots on the right. So it would not have mattered very
much if Glory Goldie had sent her father an occasional side-glance;
but she never so much as turned her head toward him.

However, it was some little comfort to him that all the other
children did likewise. They, too, sat the whole time with their
clear blue eyes fastened on their teacher. The little imps made
believe they understood him when he said something witty or clever;
for then they would nudge each other and giggle.

No doubt it was a surprise to the parents to see how well the
children conducted themselves throughout the examination. But
Sexton Blackie was a remarkable man. He could make them do almost
anything.

As for Jan of Ruffluck, he was beginning to feel embarrassed and
troubled. He no longer knew whether it was his own little girl who
sat there or somebody else's. Of a sudden he left his place among
the School Commissioners and moved nearer the door.

At last the teacher was done examining the older pupils. Now came
the turn of the little ones, those who had barely learnt their
letters. They had not acquired any vast store of learning, to be
sure, but a few questions had to be put to them, also. Besides,
they were to give some account of the Story of the Creation.

First they were asked to tell who it was that created the world.
That they knew of course. And then, unhappily, the teacher asked
them if they knew of any other name for God.

Now all the little A-B-C-ers were stumped! Their cheeks grew hot
and the skin on their foreheads was drawn into puckers, but they
could not for the life of them think out the answer to such a
profound question.

Among the larger children, over on the right, there was a general
waving of hands, and whispering and tittering; but the eight small
beginners held their mouths shut tight and not a sound came from
them. Glory Goldie was as mum as the rest.

"There is a prayer which we repeat every day," said the teacher.
"What do we call God there?"

Now Glory Goldie had it! She knew the teacher wanted them to say
they called God _Father_--and raised her hand.

"What do we call God, Glory Goldie?" he asked.

Glory Goldie jumped to her feet, her cheeks aflame, her little
yellow pigtail of a braid pointing straight out from her neck.

"We call him Jan," she answered in a high, penetrating voice.

Immediately a laugh went up from all parts of the room. The gentry,
the School Board, parents and children all chuckled. Even the
schoolmaster appeared to be amused.

Glory Goldie went red as a beet and her eyes filled up. The teacher
rapped on the floor with the end of his pointer and shouted
"Silence!" Whereupon he said a few words to explain the matter.

"It was _Father_ Glory Goldie wanted to say, of course, but said
Jan instead because her own father's name is Jan. We can't wonder
at the little girl, for I hardly know of another child in the
school who has so kind a father as she has. I have seen him stand
outside the schoolhouse in rain and bluster, waiting for her, and
I've seen him come carrying her to school through blizzards, when
the snow was knee-deep in the road. So who can wonder at her saying
Jan when she must name the best she knows!"

The teacher patted the little girl on the head. The people all
smiled, but at the same time they were touched.

Glory Goldie sat looking down, not knowing what she should do with
herself; but Jan of Ruffluck felt as happy as a king, for it had
suddenly become clear to him that the little girl had been his the
whole time.


THE CONTEST

It was strange about the little girl of Ruffluck and her father!
They seemed to be so entirely of one mind that they could read each
other's thoughts.

In Svartsjoe lived another schoolmaster, who was an old soldier. He
taught in an out-of-the-way corner of the parish and had no regular
schoolhouse, as had the sexton; but he was greatly beloved by all
children. The youngsters themselves hardly knew they went to school
to him, but thought they came together just to play.

The two schoolmasters were the best of friends. But sometimes the
younger teacher would try to persuade the older one to keep abreast
of the times, and wanted him to go in for phonetics and other
innovations. The old soldier generally regarded such things with
mild tolerance. Once, however, he lost his temper.

"Just because you've got a schoolhouse you think you know it all,
Blackie!" he let fly. "But I'll have you understand that my
children know quite as much us yours, even if they do have only
farmhouses to sit in."

"Yes, I know," returned the sexton, "and have never said anything
to the contrary. I simply mean that if the children could learn a
thing with less effort--"

"Well, what then?" bristled the old soldier.

The sexton knew from the old man's tone that he had offended him,
and tried to smooth over the breach.

"Anyhow you make it so easy for your pupils that they never
complain about their lessons."

"Maybe I make it too easy for them?" snapped the old man. "Maybe I
don't teach them anything?" he shouted, striking the table with his
hand.

"What on earth has come over you, Tyberg?" said the sexton. "You
seem to resent everything I say."

"Well, you always come at me with so many allusions!"

Just then other people happened in, and soon all was smooth between
the schoolmasters; when they parted company they were as good
friends as ever. But when old man Tyberg was on his way home, the
sexton's remarks kept cropping up in his mind, and now he was even
angrier than before.

"Why should that strippling say I could teach the children more if
I kept abreast of the times?" he muttered to himself. "He probably
thinks I'm too old, though he doesn't say it in plain words."
Tyberg could not get over his exasperation, and as soon as he
reached home he told it all to his wife.

"Why should you mind the sexton's chatter?" said the wife. "'Youth
is elastic, but age is solid,' as the saying goes. You're excellent
teachers both of you."

"Little good your saying it!" he grunted. "Others will think what
they like just the same."

The old man went about for days looking so glum that he quite
distressed his wife.

"Can't you show them they are in the wrong?" she finally suggested.

"How show them? What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you know your pupils to be just as clever as the
sexton's--"

"Of course they are!" he struck in.

"--then you must see that your pupils and his get together for a
test examination."

The old man pretended not to be interested in her proposition, but
all the same it caught his fancy. And some days later the sexton
received a letter from him wherein he proposed that the children of
both schools be allowed to test their respective merits.

The sexton was not averse to this, of course, only he wanted to
have the contest held some time during the Christmas holidays, so
that it could be made a festive occasion for the children.

"That was a happy conceit," thought he. "Now I shan't have to
review any lessons this term."

Nor was it necessary. It was positively amazing the amount of
reading and studying that went on just then in the two schools!


The contest was held the evening of the day after Christmas. The
schoolroom had been decorated for the occasion with spruce trees,
on which shone all the church candles left over from the Christmas
Matins, and there were apples enough to give every child two
apiece. It was whispered about that the parents and guardians who
had come to listen to the children would be served with coffee and
cakes. The chief attraction, however, was the big contest.

On one side of the room sat the soldier's pupils, on the other the
sexton's. And now it was for the children to defend their teachers'
reputations. Schoolmaster Tyberg had to examine the sexton's
pupils, and the sexton the Tyberg pupils. Any questions that could
not he answered by the one school were to be taken up by the other.
Each question had to be duly recorded so that the judges would be
able to decide which school was the better.

The sexton opened the contest. He proceeded rather cautiously at
first, but when he found that he had a lot of clever children to
deal with he went at them harder and harder. The Tyberg pupils were
so well grounded they did not let a single quizz get by them.

Then came old man Tyberg's turn at questioning the sexton's pupils.

The soldier was no longer angry with the sexton. Now that his
children had shown that they knew their bits, the demon of mischief
flew into him. At the start he put a few straight questions to the
sexton's pupils, but being unable to remain serious for long at a
time he soon became as waggish as he usually was at his own school.

"Of course I know that you have read a deal more than have we who
come from the backwoods," said he. "You have studied natural
science and much else, still I wonder if any of you can tell me
what the stones in Motala Stream are?"

Not one of the sexton's pupils raised a hand, but on the other
side hand after hand shot up.

Yet, in the sexton's division sat Olof Oleson--he who knew he had
the best head in the parish, and Daer Nol, of good old peasant
stock. But they could not answer. There was Karin Svens, the
sprightly lass of a soldier's daughter, who had not missed a day at
school. She, with the others, wondered why the sexton had not told
them what there was remarkable about the stones in Motala Stream.

Schoolmaster Tyberg stood looking very grave while Schoolmaster
Blackie sat gazing at the floor, much perturbed.

"I don't see but that we'll have to let this question go to the
opposition," said the soldier-teacher. "Fancy, so many bright boys
and girls not being able to answer an easy question like that!"

At the last moment Glory Goldie turned and looked back at her
father, as was her habit when not knowing what else to do.

Jan was too far away to whisper the answer to her; but the instant
the child caught her father's eye she knew what she must say. Then,
in her eagerness, she not only raised her hand, but stood up.

Her schoolmates ell turned to her, expectantly, and the sexton
looked pleased because the question would not be taken away from
his children.

"They are wet!" shouted Glory Goldie without waiting for the
question to be put to her, for the time was up.

The next second the little girl feared she had said something very
stupid and spoiled the thing for them all. She sank down on the
bench and hid her face under the desk, so that no one should see
her.

"Well answered, my girl!" said the soldier-teacher. "It's lucky for
you sexton pupils there was one among you could reply; for, with
all your cock-sureness, you were about to lose the game."

And such peals of laughter as went up from the children of both
schools and from the grown folk as well, the two schoolmasters had
never heard. Some of the youngsters had to stand up to have their
laugh out, while others doubled in their seats, and shrieked. That
put an end to all order.

"Now I think we'd better remove the benches and take a swing round
the Christmas trees," said old man Tyberg.

And never before had they had such fun in the schoolhouse, and
never since, either.


FISHING

It would hardly have been possible for any one to be as fond of the
little girl as her father was; but it may be truly said that she
had a very good friend in old seine-maker Ola.

This is the way they came to be friends: Glory Goldie had taken to
setting out fishing-poles in the brook for the small salmon-trout
that abounded there. She had better luck with her fishing than any
one would have expected, and the very first day she brought home a
couple of spindly fishes.

She was elated over her success, as can be imagined, and received
praise from her mother for being able to provide food for the
family, when she was only a little girl of eight. To encourage the
child, Katrina let her cleanse and fry the fish. Jan ate of it and
declared he had never tasted the like of that fish, which was the
plain truth. For the fish was so bony and dry and burnt that the
little girl herself could scarcely swallow a morsel of it.

But for all that the little girl was just as enthusiastic over her
fishing. She got up every morning at the ionic time that Jan did
and hurried off to the brook, a basket on her arm, and carrying in
a little tin box the worms to bait her hooks. Thus equipped, she
went off to the brook, which came gushing down the rocky steep in
numerous falls and rapids, between which were short stretches of
dark still water and places where the stream ran, clear and
transparent, over a bed of sand and smooth stones.

Think of it! After the first week she had no luck with the fishing.
The worms were gone from all the hooks, but no fish had fastened
there. She shifted her tackle from rapid to still water, from still
water to rippling falls, and she changed her hooks--but with no
better results.

She asked the boys at Boerje's and at Eric's if they were not the
ones who got up with the lark and carried off her fish. But a
question like that the boys would not deign to answer. For no boy
would stoop to take fish from the brook, when he had the whole of
Dove Lake to fish in. It was all right for little girls, who were
not allowed to go down to the lake, to run about hunting fish in
the woods, they said.

Despite the superior airs of the boys, the little girl only
half-believed them. "Surely someone must take the fish off my
hooks!" she said to herself. Hers were real hooks, too, and not
just bent pins. And in order to satisfy herself she arose one
morning before Jan or Katrina were awake, and ran over to the
brook. When near to the stream she slackened her pace, taking very
short cautious steps so as not to slip on the stones or to rustle
the bushes. Then, all at once her, whole body became numb. For at
the edge of the brook, on the very spot where she had set out her
poles the morning before, stood a fish thief tampering with her
lines. It was not one of the boys, as she had supposed, but a grown
man, who was just then bending over the water, drawing up a fish.

Little Glory Goldie was never afraid. She rushed right up to the
thief and caught him in the act.

"So you're the one who comes here and takes my fish!" she said.
"It's a good thing I've run across you at last so we can put a stop
to this stealing."

The man then raised his head, and now Glory Goldie saw his face. It
was the old seine-maker, who was one of their neighbours.

"Yes, I know this is your tackle," the man admitted, without
getting angry or excited, as most folks do when taken to task for
wrongdoing.

"But how can you take what isn't yours?" asked the puzzled
youngster.

The man looked straight at her; she never forgot that look; she
seemed to be peering into two open and empty caverns at the back of
which were a pair of half-dead eyes, beyond reflecting either joy
or grief.

"Well, you see, I'm aware that you get what you require from your
parents and that you fish only for the fun of it, while at my home
we are starving."

The little girl flushed. Now she felt ashamed.

The seine-maker said nothing further, but picked up his cap (it had
dropped from his head while he was bending over the fishing-poles)
and went his way. Nor did Glory Goldie speak. A couple of fish lay
floundering on the ground, but she did not take them up; when she
had stood a while looking at them, she kicked them back into the
water.

All that day the little girl felt displeased with herself, without
knowing why. For indeed it was not she who had done wrong. She
could not get the seine-maker out of her thoughts. The old man was
said to have been rich at one time; he had once owned seven big
farmsteads, each in itself worth as much as Eric of Falla's farm.
But in some unaccountable way he had disposed of his property and
was now quite penniless.

However, the next morning Glory Goldie went over to the brook the
same as usual. This time no one had touched her hooks, for now
there was a fish at the end of every line. She released the fishes
from the hooks and laid them in her basket; but instead of going
home with her catch she went straight to the seine-maker's cabin.

When the little girl came along with her basket the old man was out
in the yard, cutting wood. She stood at the stile a moment,
watching him, before stepping over. He looked pitifully poor and
ragged. Even her father had never appeared so shabby.

The little girl had heard that some well-do-to people had offered
the seine-maker a home for life, but in preference he had gone to
live with his daughter-in-law, who made her home here in the
Ashdales, so as to help her in any way that he could; she had many
children, and her husband, who had deserted her, was now supposed
to be dead.

"To-day there was fish on the hooks!" shouted the little girl from
the stile.

"You don't tell me!" said the seine-maker. "But that was well."

"I'll gladly give you all the fish I catch," she told him, "if I'm
only allowed to do the fishing myself." So saying, she went up to
the seine-maker and emptied the contents of her basket on the
ground, expecting of course that he would be pleased and would
praise her, just as her father--who was always pleased with
everything she said or did--had always done. But the seine maker
took this attention with his usual calm indifference.

"You keep what's yours," he said. "We're so used to going hungry
here that we can get on without your few little fishes."

There was something out of the common about this poor old man and
Glory Goldie was anxious to win his approval.

"You may take the fish of and stick the worms on the hooks, if you
like," said she, "and you can have all the tackle and everything."

"Thanks," returned the old man. "But I'll not deprive you of your
pleasure."

Glory Goldie was determined not to go until she had thought out a
way of satisfying him.

"Would you like me to come and call for you every morning," she
asked him, "so that we could draw up the lines together and divide
the catch--you to get half, and I half?"

Then the old man stopped chopping and rested on his axe. He turned
his strange, half-dead eyes toward the child, and the shadow of a
smile crossed his face.

"Ah, now you put out the right bait!" he said. "That proposition
I'll not say no to."


AGRIPPA

The little girl was certainly a marvel! When she was only ten years
old she could manage even Agrippa Praestberg, the sight of whom was
enough to scare almost any one out of his wits.

Agrippa had yellow red-lidded eyes, topped with bushy eyebrows, a
frightful nose, and a wiry beard that stood out from his face like
raised bristles. His forehead was covered with deep wrinkles and
his figure was tall and ungainly. He always wore a ragged military
cap.

One day when the little girl sat all by herself on the flat stone
in front of the hut, eating her evening meal of buttered bread, she
espied a tall man coming down the lane whom she soon recognized as
Agrippa Praestberg. However, she kept her wits about her, and at
once broke and doubled her slice of bread buttered side in--then
slipped it under her apron.

She did not attempt to run away or to lock up the house, knowing
that that would be useless with a man of his sort; but kept her
seat. All she did was to pick up an unfinished stocking Katrina had
left lying on the stone when starting out with Jan's supper a while
ago, and go to knitting for dear life.

She sat there as if quite calm and content, but with one eye on the
gate. No, indeed, there was not a doubt about it--Agrippa intended
to pay them a visit, for just then he lifted the gate latch.

The little girl moved farther back on the stone and spread out her
skirt. She saw now that she would have to guard the house.

Glory Goldie knew, to be sure, that Agrippa Praestberg was not the
kind of man who would steal, and he never struck any one unless
they called him Grippie, or offered him buttered bread, nor did he
stop long at a place where folk had the good luck not to have a
Darlecarlian clock in the house.

Agrippa went about in the parish "doctoring" clocks, and once he
set foot in a house where there was a tall, old-fashioned chimney
clock he could not rest until he had removed the works, to see if
there was anything wrong with them. And he never failed to find
flaws which necessitated his taking the whole clock apart. That
meant he would be days putting it together again. Meantime, one had
to house and feed him.

The worst of it was that if Agrippa once got his hands on a clock
it would never run as well as before, and afterward one had to let
him tinker it at least once a year, or it would stop going
altogether. The old man tried to do honest and conscientious work,
but just the name he ruined all the clocks he touched.

Therefore it was best never to let him fool with one's clock. That
Glory Goldie knew, of course, but she saw no way of saving the
Dalecarlian timepiece, which was ticking away inside the hut.

Agrippa knew of the clock being there and had long watched for an
opportunity to get at it, but at other times when he was seen
thereabout, Katrina had been at home to keep him at a safe distance.

When the old man came up he stopped right in front of the little
girl, struck the ground with his stick, and rattled off:

"Here comes Johan Utter Agrippa Praestberg, drummer-boy to His Royal
Highness and the Crown! I have faced shot and shell and fear
neither angels nor devils. Anybody home?"

Glory Goldie did not have to reply, for he strode past her into the
house and went straight over to the big Dalecarlian clock.

The girl ran in after him and tried to tell him what a good clock
it was, that it ran neither too fast nor too slow and needed no
mending.

"How can a clock run well that has not been regulated by Johan
Utter Agrippa Praestberg!" the old man roared.

He was so tall he could open the clock-case without having to stand
on a chair. In a twinkling he removed the face and the works and
placed them on the table. Glory Goldie clenched the hand under her
apron, and tears came to her eyes; but what could she do to stop
him?

Agrippa was in a fever of a hurry to find out what ailed the clock,
before Jan or Katrina could get back and tell him it needed no
repairing. He had brought with him a small bundle, containing
work-tools and grease jars, which he tore open with such haste that
half its contents fell to the floor.

Glory Goldie was told to pick up everything that had dropped. And
any one who has seen Agrippa Praestberg must know she would not have
dared do anything but obey him. She got down on all fours and
handed him a tiny saw and a mallet.

"Anything more!" he bellowed. "Be glad you're allowed to serve His
Majesty's and the Kingdom's drummer-boy, you confounded crofter-brat!"

"No, not that I see," replied the little girl meekly. Never had she
felt so crushed and unhappy. She was to look after the house for
her mother and father, and now this had to happen!

"But the spectacles?" snapped Agrippa. "They must have dropped,
too?"

"No," said the girl, "there are no spectacles here." Suddenly a
faint hope sprang up in her. What if he couldn't do anything to the
clock without his glasses? What if they should be lost? And just
then her eye lit tin the spectacle-case, behind a leg of the table.

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