Book: The Emperor of Portugalia

S >> Selma Lagerlof >> The Emperor of Portugalia




It was a slow proceeding bringing together those who were to be at
the first table. The host and hostess moved about a long while
seeking the highest worthies, but somehow they failed to come up to
him.

Not far from the Emperor sat a couple of old spinsters, chatting,
who had not the least expectation of being called up then. They
were speaking of Linnart, son of the late Bjoern Hindrickson, saying
it was well that he had come home in time for a reconciliation with
his father.

Not that there had been any actual enmity between father and son,
but it happened that some thirty years earlier, when the son was
two and twenty and wanted to marry, he had asked the old man to let
him take over the management of the farm, so that he could be his
own master. This Bjoern had flatly refused to do. He wanted the son
to stay at home and go on working under him and then to take over
the property when the old man was no more. "No," was the son's
answer. "I'll not stay at home and be your servant even though you
are my father. I prefer to go out in the world and make a home for
myself, for I must be as good a man as you are, or the feeling of
comradeship between us will soon end." "That can end at any time,
if you choose to go your own ways," Bjoern Hindrickson told him.
Then the son had gone up into the wilderness northeast of Dove
Lake, and had settled in the wildest and least populated region,
where he broke ground for a farm of his own. His land lay in Bro
parish, and he was never again seen in Svartsjoe. Not in thirty
years had his parents laid eyes on him. But a week ago, when old
Bjoern was nearing the end, he had come home.

This was good news to Jan of Ruffluck. The Sunday before, when
Katrina got back from church and told him that Bjoern was dying, he
immediately asked whether the son had been sent for. But it seems
he had not. Katrina had heard that Bjoern's wife had begged and
implored the old man to let her send for their son and that he
would not hear of it. He wanted to die in peace, he said.

But Jan was not satisfied to let the matter rest there. The thought
of Linnart away out in the wilds, knowing nothing of his father's
grave condition had caused him to disregard old Bjoern's wishes and
go tell the son himself. He had heard nothing as to the outcome
until now, and he was so interested in what the two old spinsters
were saying, that he quite forgot to think about either the first
or the second table.

When the son returned he and the father were as nice as could be to
each other. The old man laughed at the son's attire. "So you've
come in your working clothes," he said. "I suppose I should have
dressed up, since it's Sunday," Linnart replied. "But we've had so
much rain up our way this summer and I had thought of hauling in
some oats to-day." "Did you manage to get in any?" the old man
asked him. "I got one wagon loaded, but that I left standing in the
field when word came that you were sick. I hurried away at once,
without stopping to change my clothes." "Who told you about it?"
the father inquired. "Some man I've never seen before," replied the
son. "It didn't occur to me to ask him who he was. He looked like a
little old beggarman." "You must find that man and thank him from
me," old Bjoern then said. "Him you must honour wherever you meet
him. He has meant well by us." The father and son were so happy
over their reconciliation that it was as if death had brought them
joy instead of grief.

Jan winced when he heard that Linnart Hindrickson had called him a
beggar. But he understood of course that it was simply because he
had not worn his imperial cap or carried his stick when he went up
to the forest. This brought him back to his present dilemma. Surely
he had waited long enough! He should have been called by this time.
This would never do!

He rose at once, resolutely crossed the room into the hallway,
climbed the stairs, and opened the door to the big dining-hall. He
saw at a glance that the dinner was already on; every place at the
large horseshoe table was occupied and the first course had been
served. Then it was not meant that he should be among the elect,
for there sat the pastor, the sexton, the lieutenant from Loevdala
and his lady--there sat every one who should be there, except
himself.

One of the young girls who passed around the food rushed over to
Jan the instant he appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing
here, Jan?" she said in a low voice. "Go down with you!"

"But my good hostess!" Jan protested, "Emperor Johannes of
Portugallia should be present at the first sitting."

"Oh, shut up, Jan!" said the girl. "This is not the proper time to
come with your nonsense. Go down, and you'll get something to eat
when your turn comes."

It so happened that Jan entertained a greater regard for this
particular household than for any other in the parish; therefore it
would have been very gratifying to him to be received here in a
manner befitting his station. A strange feeling of despondency came
over him as he stood down by the door, cap in hand; he felt that
all his imperial grandeur was falling from him. Then, in the middle
of this sore predicament, he heard Linnart Hindrickson exclaim:

"Why, there stands the fellow who came to me last Sunday and told
me that father was sick!"

"What are you saying?" questioned the mother. "But are you certain
as to that?"

"Of course I am. It can't be any one but he. I've seen him before
to-day, but I didn't recognize him in that queer get-up. However I
see now that he's the man."

"If he is our man, he mustn't be allowed to stand down by the door,
like a beggar," said the old housewife. "In that case, we must make
room for him at the table. Him we owe both honour and thanks, for
it was he who sent comfort to Bjoern in his last hours, while to me
he has brought the only consolation that can lighten my sorrow in
the loss of a husband like mine."

And room was made, too, though the table seemed to be crowded
enough already.

Jan was placed at the centre of the horseshoe, directly opposite
the pastor. He could not have wished for anything better. At first
he seemed a little dazed. He could not comprehend why they should
make such fuss over him just because he had run a few miles into
the woods with a message for Linnart Hindrickson, Suddenly he
understood, and all became clear to him: it was the Emperor they
wished to honour; they had gone about it in this way so that no one
should feel slighted or put out. It couldn't be explained in any
other way. For he had always been kind and good-natured and helpful,
yet never before had he been honoured or feted in the least degree
for that.


THE DYING HEART

Engineer Boraeus on his daily stroll to the pier could not fail to
notice the crowds that always gathered nowadays around the little
old man from Ruffluck Croft. Jan did not have to sit all by himself
any more and while away the long, dreary hours in silent musings,
as he had done during the summer. Instead, all who waited for the
boat went up to him to hear him tell what would happen on the
homecoming of the Empress, more especially when she stepped ashore
here, at the Borg landing. Every time Engineer Boraeus went by he
heard about the crown of gold the Empress would wear on her hair
and the gold flowers that would spring into bloom on tree and bush
the instant she set foot on land.

One day, late in October, about three months after Jan of Ruffluck
had first proclaimed the tidings of Glory Goldie's rise to royal
honours, the engineer saw an uncommonly large gathering of people
around the little old man. He intended to pass by with a curt
greeting, as usual, but changed his mind and stopped to see what
was going on.

At first glance he found nothing out of the ordinary, Jan was
seated upon one of the waiting stones, as usual, looking very
solemn and important. Beside him sat a tall, thin woman, who was
talking so fast and excitedly that the words fairly spurted out of
her mouth; she shook her head and snapped her eyes, her body
bending forward all the while so that by the time she had finished
speaking her face was on a level with the ground.

Engineer Boraeus immediately recognized the woman as Mad Ingeborg.
At first he could not make out what she was saying, so he turned to
a man in the crowd and asked him what all this was about.

"She's begging him to arrange for her to accompany the Empress to
Portgallia, when Her Royal Highness returns thither," the man
explained. "She has been talking to him about this for a good while
now, but he won't make her any promises."

Then the engineer had no difficulty in following the colloquy. But
what he heard did not please him, and, as he listened, the wrinkle
between his eyebrows deepened and reddened.

Here sat the only person in the world, save Jan himself, who
believed in the wonders of Portugallia, yet she was denied the
pleasure of a trip there. The poor old soul knew that in that
kingdom there was no poverty and no hunger, neither were there any
rude people who made fun of unfortunates, nor any children who
pursued lone, helpless wanderers and cast stones at them. In that
land reigned only peace, and all years were good years. So thither
she longed to be taken--away from the anguish and misery of her
wretched existence. She wept and pleaded, employing every argument
she could think of, but "No," and again "No" was the only answer
she got.

And he who turned a deaf ear to her prayers was one who had
sorrowed and yearned for a whole year. A few months ago, when his
heart was still athrob with life, perhaps he would not have said no
to her pleadings; but now at a time when everything seemed to be
prospering with him, his heart had become hardened. Even the
outward appearance of the man showed that a great change had taken
place within. He had acquired plump cheeks, a double chin, and a
heavy black moustache. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and
there was a cold fixed stare about them. His nose, too, looked more
prominent than of yore and had taken on a more patrician mold. His
hair seemed to be entirely gone; not one hair stuck out from under
the leather cap.

The engineer had kept an eye on the man from the day of their first
talk in the summer. It was no longer an intense yearning that made
Jan haunt the pier. Now he hardly glanced toward the boat. He came
only to meet people who humoured his mania, who called him
"Emperor" just for the sport of hearing him sing and narrate his
wild fancies.

But why be annoyed at that? thought the engineer. The man was a
lunatic of course. But perhaps the madness need never have become
so firmly fixed as it was then. If some one had ruthlessly yanked
Jan of Ruffluck down off his imperial throne in the beginning
possibly he could have been saved.

The engineer flashed the man a challenging glance. Jan looked
condescendingly regretful, but remained adamant as before.

In that fine land of Portugallia there were only princes and
generals, to be sure--only richly dressed people. Mad Ingeborg in
her old cotton headshawl and her knit jacket would naturally be out
of place there. But Heavenly Father! the engineer actually thought--

Engineer Boraeus looked just then as if he would have liked to
give Jan a needed lesson, but he only shrugged his shoulders. He
knew he was not the right person for that, and would simply make
bad worse. Quietly withdrawing from the crowd, he walked down to
the end of the pier just as the boat hove into view from behind the
nearest point.


DEPOSED

Long before his marriage to Anna Ericsdotter of Falla, Lars
Gunnarson happened one day to be present at an auction sale.

The parties who held the auction were poor folk who probably had no
tempting wares to offer the bargain seekers, for the bidding had
been slow, and the sales poor. They had a right to expect better
results, with Joens of Kisterud as auctioneer. Joens was such a
capital funmaker that people used to attend all auctions at which
he officiated just for the pleasure of listening to him. Although
he got off all his usual quips and jokes, he could not seem to
infuse any life into the bidders on this occasion. At last, not
knowing what else he could do, he put down his hammer saying he was
too hoarse to do any more crying.

"The senator will have to get some one else to offer the wares," he
told Carl Carlson of Stovik, who stood sponsor for the auction.
"I've shouted myself hoarse at these stone images standing around
me, and will have to go home and keep my mouth shut for a few
weeks, till I can get back my voice."

It was a serious matter for the senator to be left without a crier,
when most of the lots were still unsold; so he tried to persuade
Joens to continue. But it was plain that Joens could not afford to
hurt his professional standing by holding a poor auction, and
therefore he became so hoarse all at once that he could not even
speak in a whisper. He only wheezed.

"Perhaps there is some one here who will cry out the wares for a
moment, while Joens is resting?" said the senator, looking out over
the crowd without much hope of finding a helper.

Then Lars Gunnarson pushed his way forward and said he was willing
to try. Carl Carslon only laughed at Lars, who at that time looked
like a mere stripling, and told him he did not want a small boy who
had not even been confirmed. Whereupon Lars promptly informed Carl
Carlson that he had not only been confirmed but had also performed
military service. He begged so eagerly to be allowed to wield the
hammer that the senator finally gave way to him.

"We may as well let you try your hand at it for a while," he said.
"I dare say it can't go any worse than it has gone so far."

Lars promptly stepped into Joens's place. He took up an old butter
tub to offer it--hesitated and just stood there looking at it,
turning the tub up and down, tapping on its bottom and sides.
Apparently surprised not to find any flaws in it, he presently
offered the lot in a reluctant tone of voice, as if distressed at
having to sell so valuable an article. For his part, he would
rather that no bids be made, he said. It would be lucky for the
owner if no one discovered what a precious butter tub this was, for
then he could keep it.

And now, when bid followed bid, everybody noticed how disappointed
Lars looked. It was all very well so long as the bids were so low
as to be beneath his notice; but when they began to mount higher
and higher, his face became distorted from chagrin. He seemed to be
making a great sacrifice when he finally decided to knock down the
sour old butter tub.

After that he turned his attention to the water buckets, the cowls,
and washtubs. Lars Gunnarson seemed somewhat less reluctant when it
came to disposing of the older ones, which he sold without indulging
in overmuch sighing; but the newer lots he did not want to offer at
all. "They are far too good to give away," he remarked to the
owner. "They've been used so little that you could easily sell them
for new at the fair."

The auction hunters had no notion as to why they kept shouting more
and more eagerly. Lars Gunnarson showed much distress for every
fresh bid; it could never have been to please him they were
bidding. Somehow they had come to regard the things he offered as
of real worth. It suddenly occurred to them that one thing or
another was needed at home and here were veritable bargains, which
they were not buying now just for the fun of it, as had been the
case when Joens of Kisterud did the auctioning.

After this master stroke Lars Gunnarson was in great demand at all
auctions. There was never any merriment at the sales after he had
begun to wield the hammer; but he had the faculty of making folks
long to get possession of a lot of old junk and inducing a couple
of bigwigs to bid against each other on things they had no earthly
use for, simply to show that money was no object to them. And he
managed to dispose of everything at all auctions at which he
served.

Once only did it seem to go badly for Lars, and that was at Sven
Oesterby's, at Bergvik. There was a fine big house, with all its
furnishings up for sale. Many people had assembled, and though late
in the autumn the weather was so mild that the auction could be
held out of doors; yet the sales were almost negligible. Lars could
not make the people take any interest in the wares, or get them to
bid. It looked as though it would go no better for him than it had
gone for Joens of Kisterud the day Lars had to take up the hammer to
help him out.

Lars Gunnarson, however, had no desire to turn his work over to
another. He tried instead to find out what it was that seemed to be
distracting the attention of the people and keeping them from
making purchases. Nor was he long getting at the cause of it.

Lars had mounted a table, that every one might see what he had to
offer, and from this point of vantage he soon discovered that the
newly created emperor, who lived in the little but close to Falla
and had been a day labourer all his life, moved about in the crowd.
Lars saw him bowing and smiling to right and left, and letting
people examine his stars and his stick, and, at every turn, he had
a long line of youngsters at his heels. Nor were older folks above
bandying words with him. No wonder the auction went badly, with a
grand monarch like him there to draw every one's attention to
himself!

At first Lars went right on with his auctioneering, but he kept an
eye on Jan of Ruffluck until the later had made his way to the
front. There was no fear of Johannes of Portugallia remaining in
the background! He shook hands with everybody and spoke a few
pleasant words to each and all, at the same time pushing ahead
until he had reached the very centre of the ring.

But the moment Jan was there Lars Gunnarsom jumped down from the
table, rushed up to him, snatched his imperial cap and stick and
was back in his place before Jan had time to think of offering
resistance.

Then Jan cried out and tried to climb up onto the table to get back
the stolen heirlooms, but immediately Lars raised the stick to him
and forced him back. At that there was a murmur of disapproval from
the crowd, which, however, had no effect upon Lars.

"I see that you are surprised at my action," he shouted in his loud
auctioneering voice, which could be heard all over the yard. "But
this cap and this stick belong to us Falla folk. They were
bequeathed to my father-in-law, Eric Ersa, by the old master of
Falla, he who ran the farm before Eric took it over. These things
have always been treasured in the family, and I can't tolerate
having a lunatic parade around in them."

Jan had suddenly recovered his composure and while Lars was
speaking, he stood with his arms crossed on his chest a look in
his face of sublime indifference to Lars's talk. As soon as Lars
subsided, Jan, with a gesture of command, turned to the crowd, and
said very quietly:

"Now, my good Courtiers, you must see that I get back my property."

Not a solitary person made a move to help him, but there were some
who laughed. Now they had all gone over to Lars's side. There was
just one individual who seemed to feel sorry for Jan. A woman cried
out to the auctioneer:

"Ah, Lars, let him keep his royal trumpery! The cap and stick are
of no use to you."

"I'll give him one of my own caps, when I get home," returned Lars.
"But I'll be hanged if I let him go about any longer with these
heirlooms, making of them a target for jests!"

This was followed by loud laughs from the crowd, Jan was so
dumfounded that all he could do was to stand still and look at the
people. He glanced from one to another, unable to get over his
amazement. Dear, dear! Was there no one among all those who had
honoured and applauded him who would help him now, in his hour of
need? The people stood there, unmoved. He saw then that he meant
nothing to them and that they would not lift a finger for him. He
became so frightened that all his imperial greatness fell from him,
and he was like a little child that is ready to cry because its
playthings have been taken away.

Lars Gunnarson turned to the huge pile of wares stacked beside him,
prepared to go on with the auction. Then Jan attempted to do
something himself. Wailing and protesting, he went up to the table
where Lars stood, quickly bent down and tried to overturn it. But
Lars was too alert for him; with a swing of the imperial stick, he
dealt Jan a blow across his back that sent him reeling.

"No you don't!" cried he. "I'll keep these articles for the
present. You've wasted enough time already on this emperor
nonsense. Now you'd better go straight home and take to your
digging again."

Jan did not appear to be specially anxious to obey; whereupon Lars
again raised the stick, and nothing more was needed to make Emperor
Johannes of Portugallia turn and flee.

No one made a move to follow him or offered him a word of sympathy.
No one called to him to come back. Indeed folks only laughed when
they saw how pitilessly and unceremoniously he had been stripped of
all his grandeur.

But this did not suit Lars, either. He wanted to have it as solemn
at his auctions as at a church service.

"I think it's better to talk sense to Jan than to laugh at him," he
said, reprovingly. "There are many who encourage him in his
foolishness and who even call him Emperor. But that is hardly the
right way to treat him. It would be far better to make him
understand who and what he is, even though he doesn't like it. I
have been his employer for some little time, therefore it is my
bounden duty to see that he goes back to his work; otherwise he'll
soon be a charge on the parish."

After that Lars held a good auction, with close and high bids. The
satisfaction which he now felt was not lessened when on his
homecoming the next day, he learned that Jan of Ruffluck had again
put on his working clothes, and gone back to his digging.

"We must never remind him of his madness," Lars Gunnarson warned
his people, "then perhaps his reason will be spared to him. Anyhow,
he has never had more than he needs."


THE CATECHETICAL MEETING

Lars Gunnarson was decidedly pleased with himself for having taken
the cap and stick away from Jan; it looked as if he had at the same
time relieved the peasant of his mania.

A fortnight after the auction at Bergvik a catechetical meeting was
held at Falla. People had gathered there from the whole district
round about Dove Lake, the Ruffluck folk being among them. There
was nothing in Jan's manner or bearing now that would lead one to
think he was not in his right mind.

All the benches and chairs in the house had been moved into the
large room on the ground floor and arranged in close rows, and
there sat every one who was to be catechized, including Jan; for
to-day he had not pushed his way up to a better seat than he was
entitled to. Lars kept his eyes on Jan. He had to admit to himself
that the man's insanity had apparently been checked. Jan behaved
now like any rational being; he was very quiet and all who greeted
him received only a stiff nod in response, which may have been due
to a desire on his part not to disturb the spirit of the meeting.

The regular meeting was preceded by a roll call, and when the
pastor called out "Jan Anderson of Ruffluck Croft," the latter
answered "here" without the slightest hesitation--as if Emperor
Johannes of Portugallia had never existed.

The clergyman sat at a table at the far end of the room, with the
big church registry in front of him. Beside him sat Lars Gunnarson,
enlightening him as to who had moved away from the district within
the year, and who had married.

Jan having answered all questions correctly and promptly, the
pastor turned to Lars and put a query to him in a low tone of voice.

"It was not as serious as it appeared," said Lars. "I took it out
of him. He works at Falla every day now, as he has always done."

Lars had not thought to lower his voice, as had the pastor. Every
one knew of whom he was speaking and many glanced anxiously at Jan,
who sat there as calm as though he had not heard a word.

Later, when the catechizing was well on, the pastor happened to ask
a trembling youth whose knowledge of the Scriptures was to be
tested, to repeat the Fourth Commandment.

It was not wholly by chance the pastor had chosen this commandment
as his text for that evening. When seated thus in a comfortable old
farmhouse, with its olden-time furniture, and much else that
plainly bespoke a state of prosperity, he always felt moved to
impress upon his hearers how well those prosper who hold together
from generation to generation, who let their elders govern as long
as they are able to do so, and who honour and cherish them
throughout the remaining years of their lives.

He had just begun to unfold the rich promises which God has made to
those who honour father and mother, when Jan of Ruffluck arose.

"There is some one standing outside the door who is afraid to come
in," said Jan.

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