Book: The Emperor of Portugalia

S >> Selma Lagerlof >> The Emperor of Portugalia




"It's best to forgive and forget," he said. "It pays in the long
run."

The old mistress caught her breath. "Then it is just as I thought!"
she said, drawing herself up to her full height. "I'll not ask you
to tell what took place. It's best for me not to know. But one
thing is certain, Lars Gunnarson shall never get his hands on my
father's stick!"

She had already turned to go, then suddenly faced about. "Here,
Jan," she said, holding out the things. "You may have the stick and
cap, for I want them to be in good, honest hands. I daren't take
them home again lest I be forced to turn them over to Lars; so you
keep them as a memento of the old master, who always thought well
of you."

Then she walked away, erect and proud, and there Jan stood holding
the cap and stick. He hardly knew how it had come about. He had
never expected to be so honoured. Were these heirlooms now to be
his? Then in a moment, he found an explanation: Glory Goldie was
back of it all. The old mistress knew that he was soon to be
elevated to a station so exalted that nothing would be too good for
him. Indeed, had the stick been of silver and the cap of gold they
would have been even more suitable for the father of Glory Goldie.


CLOTHED IN SATIN

No letter had come from Glory Goldie to either her father or
mother. But it mattered very little now that Jan knew she was
silent simply because she wished her parents to be all the more
surprised and happy when the time came for her to proclaim the good
tidings.

But, in any case, it was a good thing for him that he had peeped
into her cards. Otherwise he might easily have been made a fool of
by persons who thought they knew more about Glory's doings than he
did. For instance, there was Katrina's experience at church the
first Sunday in Advent. Katrina had been to service, and upon her
return Jan had noticed that she was both alarmed and depressed.

She had seen a couple of youths who were just back from Stockholm
standing on the church knoll talking with a group of young boys and
girls. Thinking they might be able to give her some news of Glory
Goldie, she had gone up to them to make inquiries.

The youths were evidently telling of some of their escapades, for
all the men, at least, laughed uproariously. Katrina thought their
behaviour very unseemly, considering they were on church ground.
The men must have realized this themselves, for when she came up
they nudged one another and hushed. She had caught only a few
words, spoken by a youth whose back was turned to her, and who had
not seen her.

"And to think that she was clothed in satin!" he said.

Instantly a young girl gave him a push that silenced him, then,
glancing round, he saw Katrina just behind him and his face went
red as blood; but immediately after he tossed his head, and said in
a loud voice:

"What's the matter with you? Why can't I be allowed to say that the
queen was arrayed in satin?"

When he said that the young people laughed louder than ever. Then
Katrina went her way, unable to bring herself to question them. And
when she came home she was so unhappy that Jan was almost tempted
to come out with the truth about Glory Goldie; but on second
thought, he asked her to tell him again what had been said about
the queen.

Katrina did so, but added: "You understand of course that that was
only said to sweeten the pill for me."

Jan meanwhile kept mum. But he could not help smiling to himself.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Katrina. "You have such a
queer look on your face these days. You don't know what they meant,
do you?"

"I certainly don't," answered Jan. "But we ought to have enough
confidence in the little girl to think all is as it should be."

"But I'm getting so anxious--"

"The time to speak," Jan struck in, "has not come, either for them
or me. Glory Goldie herself has probably requested them not to say
anything to us, So we must rest easy, Katrina, indeed we must."


STARS

When the little girl had been gone nearly eight months, who should
come stalking into the barn at Falla one fine day, while Jan stood
threshing there, but Mad Ingeborg!

Mad Ingeborg was first cousin to Jan. But as she was afraid of
Katrina he seldom saw her. It was to escape meeting Jan's wife that
she had sought him out at Falla during his work hours.

Jan was none too pleased to see Ingeborg! She was not exactly
insane, but flighty--and a terrible chatterer. He went right on
with his work, taking no notice of her.

"Stop your threshing, Jan!" she said, "so that I can tell you what
I dreamed about you last night."

"You'd better come some other time, Ingeborg," Jan suggested. "If
Lars Gunnarson hears that I'm resting from my work he'll be sure to
come over to see what's up."

"I'll be as quick as quick can be. If you remember, I was the
brightest child in our family, which doesn't give me much to brag
about, as the rest of you were a dull lot."

"You were going to tell me about a dream," Jan reminded her.

"In a minute--a minute! You mustn't be afraid. I understand--
understand: hard master now at Falla--hard master. But don't be
uneasy, for you'll not be scolded on my account. There's no danger
of that when you're with a sensible person like me."

Jan would have liked to hear what she dreamed about him, for
confident as he was of the ultimate realization of his great
expectations, he nevertheless sought assurances from all quarters.
But now Mad Ingeborg was wandering along her own thought-road and
at such times it was not easy to stop her. She went very close to
Jan, then, bending over him, her eyes shut tight, her head shaking,
the words came pouring out of her mouth.

"Don't be so scared. Do you suppose I'd be standing here talking to
you while you're threshing at Falla if I didn't know the master had
gone up to the forest and the mistress was down at the village
selling butter. 'Always keep them in mind,' says the catechism. I
know enough for that and take good care not to come round when they
can see me."

"Get out of the way, Ingeborg! Otherwise the flail might hit you."

"Think how you boys used to beat me when we were children!" she
rattled on. "Even now I have to take thrashings. But when it came
to catechism examinations, I could beat you all. 'No one can catch
Ingeborg napping,' the dean used to say. 'She always knows her
lessons.' And I'm good friends with the little misses at Loevdala
Manor. I recite the catechism for them both questions and answers--
from beginning to end. And what a memory I've got! I know the whole
Bible by heart and the hymn book, too, and all the dean's sermons.
Shall I recite something for you, or would you rather hear me sing?"

Jan said nothing whatever, but went to threshing again. Ingeborg,
undaunted, seated herself on a sheaf of straw and struck up a chant
of some twenty stanzas, then she repeated a couple of chapters from
the Bible, whereupon she got up and went out. Jan thought she had
gone for good, but in a little while she reappeared in the doorway
of the barn.

"Hold still!" she whispered. "Hold still! Now we'll say nothing but
what we were going to say. Only be still--still!"

Then up went her forefinger. Now she held her body rigid and her
eyes open. "No other thoughts, no other thoughts!" she said. "We'll
keep to the subject. Only hush your pounding!"

She waited till Jan minded her.

"You came to me last night in a dream--yes, that was it. You came
to me and I says to you like this: 'Are you out for a walk, Jan of
the Ashdales?' 'Yes,' says you, 'but now I'm Jan of the Vale of
Longings.' 'Then, well met,' says I. 'There's where I have lived
all my life.'"

Whereupon she disappeared again, and Jan, startled by her strange
words, did not immediately resume his work, but stood pondering. In
a moment or two she was there again.

"I remember now what brought me here," she told him. "I wanted to
show you my stars."

On her arm was a small covered basket bound with cord, and while
she tugged and pulled at a knot, to loosen it, she chattered like a
magpie.

"They are real stars, these. When one lives in the Vale of Longings
one isn't satisfied with the things of earth; then one is compelled
to go out and look for stars. There is no other choice. Now you,
too, will have to go in search of them."

"No, no, Ingeborg!" returned Jan. "I'll confine my search to what
is to be found on this earth."

"For goodness sake hush!" cried the woman. "You don't suppose I'm
such a fool as to go ahunting for those which remain in the
heavens, do you? I only seek the kind that have fallen. I've got
some sense, I guess!"

She opened her basket which was filled with a variety of stars she
had evidently picked up at the manors. There were tin stars and
glass stars and paper stars--ornaments from Christmas trees and
confectionery.

"They are real stars fallen from the sky," she declared. "You are
the only person I've shown them to. I'll let you have a couple
whenever you need them."

"Thanks, Ingeborg," said Jan. "When the time comes that I shall
have need of stars--which may be right soon--I don't think I'll ask
you for them."

Then at last Mad Ingeborg left.

It was some little time, however, before Jan went back to his
threshing. To him this, too, was a finger-pointing. Not that a
crack-brained person like Ingeborg could know anything of Glory
Goldie's movements; but she was one of the kind who sensed it in
the air when something extraordinary was going to happen. She could
see and hear things of which wise folk never had an inkling.


WAITING

Engineer Boraeus of Borg was in the habit of strolling down to the
pier mornings to meet the steamer. He had only a short distance to
go, through his beautiful pine grove, and there was always some one
on the boat with whom he could exchange a few words to vary the
monotony of country life.

At the end of the grove, where the road began an abrupt descent to
the pier, were some large bare rocks upon which folk who had come
from a distance used to sit while waiting for the boat. And there
were always many who waited at the Borg pier, as there was never
any certainty as to when the boat would arrive. It seldom put in
before twelve o'clock, and yet once in a while it reached the pier
as early as eleven. Sometimes it did not come until one or two; so
that prompt people, who were down at the landing by ten o'clock,
often had to sit there for hours.

Engineer Boraeus had a good outlook over Lake Loeven from his
chamber window at Borg. He could see when the steamer rounded the
point and never appeared at the landing until just in the nick of
time. Therefore he did not have to sit on the rocks and wait, and
would only cast a glance, in passing, at those who were seated
there. However, one summer, he noticed a meek-looking little man
with a kindly face sitting there waiting day after day. The man
always sat quite still, seemingly indifferent, until the boat hove
in sight. Then he would jump to his feet, his face shining with
joyous anticipation, and rush down the incline to the far end of
the pier, where he would stand as if about to welcome some one. But
nobody ever came for him. And when the boat pulled out he was as
alone as before. Then, as he turned to go home, the light of
happiness gone from his face, he looked old and worn; he seemed
hardly able to drag himself up the hill.

Engineer Boreaus was not acquainted with the man. But one day when
he again saw him sitting there gazing out upon the lake, he went up
and spoke to him. He soon learned that the man's daughter, who had
been away for a time, was expected home that day.

"Are you quite certain she is coming to-day?" said the engineer.
"I've seen you sitting here waiting ever day for the past two
months. In that case she must have sent you wrong instructions
before."

"Oh, no," replied the man quietly, "indeed she hasn't given me any
wrong instructions!"

"Then what in the name of God do you mean?" demanded the engineer
gruffly, for he was a choleric man. "You've sat here and waited day
after day without her coming, yet you say she has not given you
wrong instructions."

"No," answered the meek little man, looking up at the engineer with
his mild, limpid eyes, "she couldn't have, as she has not sent any
instructions."

"Hasn't she written to you?"

"No; we've had no letter from her since the first day of last
October."

"Then why do you idle away your mornings down here?" asked the
engineer, wonderingly. "Can you afford to leave off working like
this?"

"No," replied the man, smiling to himself. "I suppose it's wrong
in me to do so; but all that will soon be made good."

"Is it possible that you're such a stupid ass as to hang round here
when there's no occasion for it?" roared the engineer, furiously.
"You ought to be shut up in a madhouse."

The man said nothing. He sat with his hands clasped round his
knees, quite unperturbed. A smile played about his mouth all the
while, and every second he seemed more and more confident of his
ultimate triumph.

The engineer shrugged his shoulders and walked away, but before he
was halfway down the hill he repented his harshness, and turned
back. The stern forbidding look which his strong features
habitually wore was now gone and he put out his hand to the man.

"I want to shake hands with you," he said. "Until now I had always
thought that I was the only one in this parish who knew what it was
to yearn; but now I see that I have found my master."


THE EMPRESS

The little girl of Ruffluck had been away fully thirteen months,
yet Jan had not betrayed by so much as a word that he had any
knowledge of the great thing that had come to her. He had vowed
to himself never to speak of this until Glory Goldie's return. If
the little girl did not discover that he knew about her grandeur,
her pleasure in overwhelming him would be all the greater.

But in this world of ours it is the unexpected that happens mostly.
There came a day when Jan was forced to unseal his lips and tell
what he knew. Not on his own account. Indeed not! For he would have
been quite content to go about in his shabby clothes and let folks
think him nothing but a poor crofter to the end of his days. It was
for the little girl's own sake that he felt compelled to reveal the
great secret.

It happened one day, early in August, when he had gone down to the
pier to watch for her. For you see, going down to meet the boat
every day that he might see her come ashore, was a pleasure he had
been unable to deny himself. The boat had just put in and he had
seen that Glory Goldie was not on board. He had supposed that she
would be finished with everything now and could leave for home. But
some new hindrance must have arisen to detain her, as had been the
case all summer. It was not easy for one who had so many demands
upon her time to get away.

Anyhow it was a great pity she did not come to-day, thought Jan,
when there were so many of her old acquaintances at the pier. There
stood both Senator Carl Carlson and August Daer Nol. Bjoern
Hindrickson's son-in-law was also on hand, and even Agrippa
Praestberg had turned out.

Agrippa had nursed a grievance against the little girl since the
day she fooled him about the spectacles. Jan had to admit to
himself that it would have been a great triumph for him had Glory
Goldie stood on the boat that day in all her pomp and splendour, so
that Praestberg could have seen her. However, since she had not
come, there was nothing for him but to go back home. As he was
about to leave the pier cantankerous old Agrippa barred his way.

"Well, well!" said Agrippa. "So you're running down here after that
daughter of yours to-day, too?"

Jan knowing it was best not to bandy words with a man like Agrippa,
simply stepped to one side, so as to get by him.

"I declare I don't wonder at your wanting to meet such a fine lady
as she has turned out to be!" said Agrippa with a leer.

Just then August Daer Nol rushed up and seized Agrippa by the arm,
to silence him. But Agrippa was not to be silenced.

"The whole parish knows of it," he shouted, "so it's high time her
parents were told of her doings! Jan Anderson is a decent fellow,
even if he did spoil that girl of his, and I can't bear to see him
sit here day after day, week in and week out, waiting for a--"

He called the little girl of Ruffluck such a bad name that Jan
would not repeat it even in his thoughts. But now that Agrippa had
flung that ugly word at him in a loud voice, so that every one on
the pier heard what he said, all that Jan had kept locked within
him for a whole year burst its bonds. He could no longer keep it
hidden. The little girl must forgive him for betraying her secret.
He said what he had to say without the least show of anger or
boastfulness. With a sweep of his hand and a lofty smile, as if
hardly deigning to answer, he said:

"When the Empress comes--"

"The Empress!" grinned Agrippa. "Who might that be?" Just as if he
had not heard about the little girl's elevation.

Jan of Ruffluck, unperturbed, continued in the same calm, even tone
of voice:

"When the Empress Glory of Portugallia stands on the pier, with a
crown of gold upon her head, and with seven kings behind her
holding up her royal mantle, and seven tame lions crouched at her
feet, and seven and seventy generals, with drawn swords, going
before her, then we shall see, Praestberg, whether you dare say to
herself what you've just said to me!"

When he had finished speaking he stood still a moment, noting with
satisfaction how terrified they looked, all of them; then, turning
on his heel, he walked away, but without hurry or flurry, of course.

The instant his back was turned there was a terrible commotion on
the pier. At first he paid no attention to it, but presently, on
hearing a heavy thud, he had to look back. Then he saw Agrippa
lying flat on his face and August Daer Nol bending over him with
clenched fists.

"You cur!" cried August. "You knew well enough that he couldn't
stand hearing the truth. You can't have any heart in your body!"

This much Jan heard, but as anything in the way of fighting or
quarrelling was contrary to his nature, he went on up the hill,
without mixing in the fray.

But strangely enough, when he was out of every one's sight an
uncontrollable spell of weeping came over him. He did not know why
he wept, but probably his tears were of joy at having cleared up
the mystery. He felt now as if his little girl had come back to him.


THE EMPEROR

The first Sunday in September the worshippers at Svartsjoe church
had a surprise in store for them.

There was a wide gallery in the church extending clear across the
nave. The first row of pews in this gallery had always been
occupied by the gentry--the gentlemen on the right side and the
ladies on the left--as far back as can be remembered. All the seats
in the church were free, so that other folk were not debarred from
sitting there, if they so wished; but of course it would never have
occurred to any poor cotter to ensconce himself in that row of
pews.

In the old days Jan had thought the occupants of this particular
bench a delight to the eye. Even now he was willing to concede that
the superintendent from Doveness, the lieutenant from Loevdala, and
the engineer from Borg were fine men who made a good appearance.
But they were as nothing to the grandeur which folks beheld that
day. For anything like a real emperor had never before been seen in
the gentry's bench.

But now there sat at the head of this bench just such a great
personage, his hands resting on a long silver-mounted stick, his
head crowned with a high, green leather cap, while on his waistcoat
glittered two large stars, one like gold, the other like silver.

When the organ began to play the processional hymn the Emperor
lifted up his voice in song. For an emperor is obliged to sing out,
loud and clear, when at church, even if he cannot follow the melody
or sing in tune. Folks are glad to hear him in any case.

The gentlemen at his left now and then turned and stared at him.
Who could wonder at that? It was probably the first time they had
had so exalted a personage among them.

He had to remove his hat, of course, for that is something which
even an emperor must do when attending divine service; but he kept
it on as long as possible, that all might feast their eyes on it.

And many of the worshippers who sat in the body of the church had
their eyes turned up toward the gallery that Sunday. Their thoughts
seemed to be on him more than on the sermon. They were perhaps a
little surprised that he had become so exalted. But surely they
could understand that one who was father to an empress must himself
be an emperor. Anything else was impossible.

When he came out on the pine knoll at the close of the service many
persons went up to him; but before he had time to speak to a soul
Sexton Blackie stepped up and asked him to come along into the
vestry.

The pastor was seated in the vestry, his back turned toward the
door, talking with Senator Carl Carlson, when Jan and the sexton
entered. He seemed to be distressed about something, for there were
tears in his voice.

"These were two souls entrusted to my keeping whom I have allowed
to go to ruin," he said.

The senator tried to console him, saying: "You can't be
responsible, Pastor, for the evil that goes on in the large cities."

But the clergyman would not be consoled. He covered his beautiful
young face with his hands, and wept.

"No," he sobbed, "I suppose I can't. But what have I done to guard
the young girl who was thrown on the world, unprotected? And what
have I done to comfort her old father who had only her to live for?"

"The pastor is practically a newcomer in the parish," said the
senator, "so that if there is any question of responsibility it
falls more heavily upon the rest of us, who were acquainted with
the circumstances. But who could think it was to end so
disastrously? Young folk have to make their own way in life. We've
all been thrust out in much the same way, yet most of us have fared
rather well."

"O God of mercy!" prayed the pastor, "grant me the wisdom to speak
to the unhappy father. Would I might stay his fleeing wits--!"

Sexton Blackie, standing there with Jan, now cleared his throat.
The pastor rose at once, went up to Jan, and took him by the hand.

"My dear Jan!" he said feelingly. The pastor was tall and fair and
handsome. When he came up to you, with his kindly blue eyes beaming
benevolence, and spoke to you in his deep sympathetic voice, it was
not easy to resist him. In this instance, however, the only thing
to do was to set him right at the start, which Jan did of course.

"Jan is no more, my good Pastor," he said. "Now we are Emperor
Johannes of Portugallia, and he who does not wish to address us by
our proper title, him we have nothing to say to."

With that, Jan gave the pastor a stiff' imperial nod of dismissal,
and put on his cap. They looked rather foolish, did the three men
who stood in the vestry, when Jan pushed open the door and walked
out.



BOOK THREE

THE EMPEROR'S SONG

In the wooded heights above Loby there was still a short stretch of
an old country road where in bygone days all teams had to pass, but
which was now condemned because it led up and down the worst hills
and rocky slopes instead of having the sense to go round them. The
part that remained was so steep that no one in driving made use of
it any more though foot-farers climbed it occasionally, as it was a
good short cut.

The road ran as broad as any of the regular crown highways, and was
still covered with fine yellow gravel. In fact, it was smoother now
than formerly, being free from wheel tracks, and mud, and dust.
Along the edge bloomed roadside flowers and shrubs; dogwood,
bittervetch, and buttercups grew there in profusion even to this
day, but the ditches were filled in and a whole row of spruce trees
had sprung up in them. Young evergreens of uniform height, with
branches from the root up, stood pressing against each other as
closely as the foliage of a boxwood hedge; their needles were not
dry and hard, but moist and soft, and their tips were all bright
with fresh green shoots. The trees sang and played like humming
bees on a fine summer day, when the sun beams down upon them from a
clear sky.

When Jan of Ruffluck walked home from church the Sunday he had
appeared there for the first time in his royal regalia, he turned
in on the old forest road. It was a warm sunny day and, as he went
up the hill, he heard the music of the spruces so plainly that it
astonished him.

Never had spruce trees sung like that! It struck him that he ought
to find out why they were so loud-voiced just to-day. And being in
no special haste to reach home, he dropped down in the middle of
the smooth gravel road, in the shade of the singing tree. Laying
his stick on the ground, he removed his cap and mopped his brow,
then he sat motionless, with hands clasped, and listened.

The air was quite still, therefore it could hardly have been the
wind that had set all these little musical instruments into motion.
It was almost as if the spruces played for very joy at being so
young and fresh; at being let stand in peace by the abandoned
roadside, with the promise of many years of life ahead of them
before any human being would come and cut them down.

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