Сельма Лагерлёф
The Emperor of Portugallia
SUMMERNIGHT
All day, while the party was going on at the seine-maker's, Jan of Ruffluck kept to his hut. But at evening he went out and sat down up on the flat stone in front of the house, as was his wont. He was not ill exactly, but he felt weak and tired. The hut had become so overheated during the long, hot sunny day that he thought it would be nice to get a breath of fresh air. He found, however, that it was not much cooler outside, but he sat still all the same, mostly because there was so much out here that was beautiful to the eye.
It had been an excessively hot and dry month of June and forest fires, which always rage every rainless summer, had already got going. This he could tell by the pretty bluish-white smoke banks that rose above the hills at the other side of the lake. Presently, away off to southward, a shimmery white curly cloud head appeared, while in the west, over against Great Peak, huge smoke-blended clouds rolled up and up. It seemed to him as if the whole world were afire.
No flames could be seen from where he sat, but there was no mistaking that fire had broken out and could hold sway indefinitely. He only hoped it would confine itself to the forest trees, and not sweep down upon huts and farmsteads.
He could scarcely breathe. It was as if such quantities of air had been consumed that there was very little of it left. At short intervals he sensed an odour, as of something burning, that stuck in his nostrils. That odour did not come from any cook stove in the Ashdales! It was a salutation from the great stake of pine needles, and moss, and brushwood that sizzled and burned many miles away.
A little while ago the sun had gone down, red as fire, leaving in its wake enough colour to tint the whole sky, which was now rose hued not only across that corner of it where the sun had just been seen, but over its entire expanse. At the same time the waters of Dove Lake had become as dark as mirror glass in the shadow of the towering hills. In this black-looking water ran streaks of red blood and molten gold.
It was the sort of night that makes one feel that the earth is not worthy a glance; that only the heavens and the waters that mirror them are worth seeing.
As Jan sat gazing out at the beauties of the light summer night he suddenly began to wonder. Could it be that he saw aright? But it actually looked as if the firmament were sinking. Anyway, to his vision it was much nearer to the earth than usual.
Could it be possible that something had gone wrong? Surely his eyes were not deceiving him! The great pink dome of sky was certainly moving down toward the earth, and all the while it was becoming hotter and more oppressive. He already felt the terrible heat that seemed to come from the red-hot dome that was sinking toward him.
To be sure Jan had heard a good deal of talk about the coming destruction of the world and had often pictured it as being effected by means of thunder-storms and earthquakes that would hurl the mountains into the seas and drive the waters of the lakes and rivers over plains and valleys, so that all life would become extinct. But he never imagined the end should come in this way: by the earth's burial under the vault of heaven with its inhabitants all dying from heat and suffocation! This, it seemed to him, was the worst of all.
He put down his pipe, though it was only half-smoked, but remained quietly seated in the one spot. For what else could he do? This was not something which he could ward off – something he could run away from. One could not take up arms and defend one's self against it, nor find safety by creeping into cellars or caves. Even if one had the power to empty all the oceans and lakes, their waters would not suffice to quench the fires of the firmament. If one could uproot the mountains and prop them, beam-like, against the sky, they could not hold up this heavy dome if it was meant that it should sink.
Singularly enough no one but himself seemed to be aware of what was happening.
Ah, look! What was that that went shooting up above the crest of the hill over yonder? A lot of black specks suddenly appeared in among the pale smoke clouds. These specks whirled round each other with such rapidity that to Jan's eyes they looked like a succession of streaks moving in much the same way as when bees swarm.
They were birds of course. The strange part of it was that they had risen in the night and soared into the clouds.
They probably knew more than the human kind, thought Jan, for they had sensed that something was about to happen.
Instead of the air becoming cooler, as on other nights, it grew warmer and warmer. Anything else was hardly to be expected, with the fiery dome coming nearer and nearer. Jan thought it had already sunk to the brow of Great Peak.
But if the end of the world was so close at hand and there was no hope of his getting any word from Glory Goldie, much less of his seeing her, before all was over, then he would pray for but a single grace – that it might be made clear to him what he had done to offend her, so that he could repent of it before the end of everything pertaining to the earth life. What had he done that she could not forgive nor forget? Why had the crown and sceptre been taken away from him?
As he put these queries to himself his glance fell upon a bit of gilt paper that lay glittering on the ground in front of him. But his mind was not on such things now. This must have been one of the paper stars he had borrowed of Mad Ingeborg. But he had not given a thought to this empty show since last autumn.
It kept getting hotter and hotter, and it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. "The end is nearing," thought Jan. "Maybe it's just as well it wasn't too long coming."
A great sense of lassitude came over him. Unable to sit up any longer, he slipped down off the stone and stretched himself out on the ground. He felt it was hardly fair to Katrina not to let her know what was taking place. But Katrina had gone to the seine-maker's party and was not back yet. If he only had the strength to drag himself thither! He would have liked to say a word of farewell to Ol' Bengtsa, too. He was very glad when he presently saw Katrina coming down the lane, accompanied by the seine-maker. He wanted to call out to them to hurry, but not a sound could he get past his lips. Shortly afterward the two of them stood bending over him.
Katrina immediately ran for water and made him drink some; and then he got back just enough strength to tell them that the Last judgment was at hand.
"How you talk!" said Katrina. "The Last Judgment indeed! Why, you've got fever, man, and you're out of your head."
Then Jan turned to the seine-maker. "Can't you see either that the firmament is sinking and sinking?"
The latter did not give him any reply, but turned instead to
Katrina, saying:
"This is pretty serious. I think we'll have to try the remedy we talked of on the way. I may as well go down to Falla at once."
"But Lars will never consent to it."
"Why you know that Lars has gone down to the tavern. I'm sure the old mistress of Falla will have the courage – "
Jan cut him short. He could not bear to hear them speak of commonplace matters when such momentous things were in the air.
"Stop talking," he said. "Don't you hear the last trump? Don't you hear the rumbling up in the mountains?"
They paused a moment and listened, just to please Jan. And then they, too, heard a strange noise.
"There's a wagon rattling along in the woods," said Katrina. "What on earth can that mean?"
As the rumbling noise grew more and more distinct, their astonishment increased.
"And it's Sunday, too!" observed Katrina. "Now if this were a weekday you could understand it; but who can it be that's out driving in the woods on a Sunday night?"
She listened again. Then she heard the scraping of wheels against stones and the clatter of hoofs along the steep forest road.
"Do you hear?" asked Jan. "Do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear," said Katrina. "But no matter who comes I've got to get the bed ready for you at once. It's that I have to think of."
"And I'm going down to Falla," said the seine-maker. "That's more important than anything else. Good-bye for the present."
The old man hurried away while Katrina went in to prepare the bed; she was hardly inside the door when the rattling noise, which she and the seine-maker believed was caused by a common wagon, sounded as if it were almost upon them. To Jan it was the rumble of heavy war chariots, at whose approach the whole earth trembled. He called in a loud voice to Katrina, who came out immediately.
"Dear heart, don't be so scared!" she said reassuringly. "I can see the horse now. It's the old bay from Falla. Sit up and you'll see it, too." Slipping her hand under Jan's neck she raised him to a sitting posture. Through the elder bushes at the edge of the road a horse could be seen running wildly in the direction of Ruffluck. "Don't you see it's only Lars Gunnarson driving home? He must have drunk himself full at the tavern, for he doesn't seem to know which way he's going."
When Katrina said that a horse and wagon dashed by their gate. Both she and Jan noticed that the wagon was empty and the horse driverless.
All at once she let out a shriek: "Lord deliver us! Did you see him, Jan? He's being dragged alongside the wagon!" Without waiting for a reply she rushed across the yard into the road, where the horse had just bolted past.
Jan let her go without a word. He was glad to be alone again. He had not yet found an answer to his query as to why the Empress was angry at him.
The bit of gilt paper now lay directly under his eyes. It glistened so that he had to look at it again and again. Meanwhile his thoughts went back to Mad Ingeborg – to the time when he had come upon her at the Borg landing. It struck him instantly that here was the answer he had been seeking. Now he knew what it was the little girl had been displeased about all this while. He had been unkind to Mad Ingeborg; he should never have refused to let her go along to Portugallia.
How could he ever have imagined anything so mean of the great Empress as that she would not want to have Mad Ingeborg with her! It was that kind that she liked best to help. No wonder she was angry! He ought to have known that the poor and unfortunate were always welcome in her kingdom.
There was very little that could be done in this matter if no to-morrow dawned, mused Jan. But what if there should be one? Ah, then he would go and talk with Mad Ingeborg first thing.
He closed his eyes and folded his hands. Anyway, it was a blissful relief to him that this anxiety had been stilled. Now it would not be nearly so hard to die. He had no idea as to how much time had elapsed before he again heard Katrina's voice close to him.
"Jan, dear, how do you feel now? You're not going to die and leave me, are you?"
Katrina sounded so doleful that he had to look up at her. Then he saw in her hand the imperial stick and the green leather cap.
"I asked the folks down at Falla to let me take these to you," she explained. "I told them that come what might it was better for you to have them again than to have you lose all interest in life."
"The dear little girl, the great Empress, isn't she wonderful!" Jan said to himself. No sooner had he come to a realization of his sin and promised to atone for it, than she again granted him her grace and her favour.
He had such a marvellous feeling of lightness, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. The firmament had raised itself and let in air, at the same time drawing away the excessive heat. He was able to sit up now and fumble for the imperial regalia.
"Now you can have them for good and all," said Katrina. "There'll be no one to come and take them away from you, for Lars Gunnarson is dead."
THE EMPEROR'S CONSORT
Katrina of Ruffluck Croft came into the kitchen at Lövdala Manor with some spun wool. Lady Liljecrona herself received the yarn, weighed it, paid for it, and commended the old woman for her excellent work.
"It's fortunate for you, Katrina, that you are such a good worker," said Lady Liljecrona. "I dare say you have to earn the living for both yourself and the husband nowadays."
Katrina drew herself up a bit and two pink spots came into her face, just over the sharp cheekbones.
"Jan does his best," she retorted, "but he has never had the strength of a common labourer."
"At any rate, he doesn't seem to be working now," said Lady Liljecrona. "I have heard that he only runs about from place to place, showing his stars and singing."
Lady Liljecrona was a serious-minded and dutiful woman who liked industrious and capable folk like Katrina of Ruffluck. She had sympathy for her and wanted to show it. But Katrina continued to stand up for her husband.
"He is old and has had much sorrow these last years. He has need of a little freedom, after a lifetime of hard toil."
"It's well you can take your misfortune so calmly," observed Lady Liljecrona somewhat sharply. "But I really think that you, with your good sense, should try to take out of Jan the ridiculous nonsense that has got into his head. You see, if this is allowed to go on it will end in his being shut up in a madhouse."
Now Katrina squared her shoulders and looked highly indignant.
"Jan is not crazy," she said. "But Our Lord has placed a shade before his eyes so he'll not have to see what he couldn't bear seeing. And for that one can only feel thankful."
Lady Liljecrona did not wish to appear contentious. She thought it only right and proper for a wife to stand by her husband.
"Then, Katrina, everything is all right as it is," she said pleasantly. "And don't forget that here you will find work enough to keep you going the year around."
And then Lady Liljecrona saw the stern, set old face in front of her soften and relax: all that had been bound in and held back gave way – grief and solicitude and love came breaking through, and the eyes overflowed.
"My only happiness is to work for him," said the old woman. "He has become so wonderful with the years that he's something more than just human. But for that I suppose they'll come and take him away from me."
BOOK FOUR
THE WELCOME GREETING
She had come! The little girl had come! It is hard to find words to describe so great an event.
She did not arrive till late in the autumn, when the passenger boats that ply Lake Löven had discontinued their trips for the season and navigation was kept up by only two small freight steamers. But on either of these she had not cared to travel – or perhaps she had not even known about them. She had come by wagon from the railway station to the Ashdales.
So after all Jan of Ruffluck did not have the pleasure of welcoming his daughter at the Borg pier, where for fifteen years he had awaited her coming. Yes, it was all of fifteen years that she had been away. For seventeen years she had been the light and life of his home, and for almost as long a time had he missed her.
It happened that Jan did not even have the good fortune to be at home to welcome Glory Goldie when she came. He had just stepped over to Falla to chat a while with the old mistress, who had now moved out of the big farmhouse and was living in an attic room in one of the cottages on the estate. She was one of many lonely old people on whom the Emperor of Portugallia peeped in occasionally, to speak a word of cheer so as to keep them in good spirits.
It was only Katrina who stood at the door and received the little girl on her homecoming. She had been sitting at the spinning wheel all day and had just stopped to rest for a moment, when she heard the rattle of a team down the road. It so seldom happened that any one drove through the Ashdales that she stepped to the door to listen. Then she discovered that it was not a common cart that was coming, but a spring wagon. All at once her hands began to tremble. They had a way of doing that now whenever she became frightened or perturbed. Otherwise, she was well and strong despite her two and seventy years. She was only fearful lest this trembling of the hands should increase so that she would no longer be able to earn the bread for herself and Jan, as she had done thus far.
By this time Katrina had practically abandoned all hope of ever seeing the daughter again, and that day she had not even been in her thought. But instantly she heard the rumble of wagon wheels she knew for a certainty who was coming. She went over to the chest of drawers to take out a fresh apron, but her hands shook so hard that she could not insert the key into the keyhole. Now it was impossible for her to better her attire, therefore she had to go meet her daughter just as she was.
The little girl did not come in any golden chariot, she was not even seated in the wagon, but came afoot. The road to the Ashdales was as rocky then as at the time when Eric of Falla and his wife had driven her to the parsonage, to have her christened, and now she and the driver tramped on either side of the wagon steadying a couple of large trunks that stood on end behind the seat, to prevent them being jolted into the ditch. She arrived with no more pomp and state than this, and more was perhaps not called for either.
Katrina had just got the outer door open when the wagon stopped in front of the gate. She should have gone and opened the gate, of course, but she did not do so. She felt all at once such a sinking at the heart that she was unable to take a step.
She knew it was Glory Goldie who had come, although the person who now pushed the gate open looked like a grand lady. On her head was a large hat trimmed with plumes and flowers and she wore a smart coat and skirt of fine cloth; but all the same it was the little girl of Ruffluck Croft!
Glory Goldie, hurrying into the yard in advance of the team, rushed up to her mother with outstretched hand. But Katrina shut her eyes and stood still. So many bitter thoughts arose in her at that moment! She felt that she could never forgive the daughter for being alive and coming back so sound of wind and limb, after letting her parents wait in vain for her all these years. She almost wished the daughter had never bothered to come home.
Katrina must have looked as if ready to drop, for Glory Goldie quickly threw her arms around her and almost carried her into the house.
"Mother dear, you mustn't be so frightened! Don't you know me?"
Katrina opened her eyes and regarded the daughter scrutinizingly. She was a sensible person, was Katrina, and of course she did not expect that one whom she had not seen in fifteen years should look exactly as she had looked when leaving home. Nevertheless, she was horrified at what she beheld.
The person standing before her appeared much older than her years; for she was only two and thirty. But it was not because Glory Goldie had turned gray at the temples and her forehead was covered with a mass of wrinkles that Katrina was shocked, but because she had grown ugly. She had acquired an unnatural leaden hue and there was something heavy and gross about her mouth. The whites of her eyes had become gray and bloodshot, and the skin under her eyes hung in sacks.
Katrina had sunk down on a chair. She sat with her hands tightly clasped round her knees to keep them from shaking. She was thinking of the radiant young girl of seventeen in the red dress; for thus had she lived in Katrina's memory up to the present moment. She wondered whether she could ever be happy over Glory Goldie's return.
"You should have written," she said. "You should at least have sent us a greeting, so that we could have known you were still in the land of the living."
"Yes, I know," said the daughter. Her voice, at least, had not failed her; it sounded as confident and cheery as of old. "I went wrong in the beginning – but perhaps you've heard about it?"
"Yes; that much we know," sighed Katrina.
"That was why I stopped writing," said Glory Goldie, with a little laugh. There was something strong and sturdy about the girl then, as formerly. She was not one of those who torture themselves with remorse and self-condemnation. "Don't think any more of that, mother," she added, as Katrina did not speak. "I've been doing real well lately. For a time I kept a restaurant and now, I'll have you know, I'm head stewardess on a steamer that runs between Malmö and Lübeck, and this fall I have fitted up a home for myself at Malmö. Sometimes I felt that I ought to write to you, but finding it rather hard to start in again, I decided to put it off until I was prepared to take you and father to live with me. Then, after I'd got everything fixed fine for you, I thought it would be ever so much nicer to come for you myself than to write."
"And you haven't heard anything about us?" asked Katrina. All that Glory Goldie had told her mother should have gladdened her, but instead it only made her feel the more depressed.
"No," replied the daughter, then added, as if in self-justification: "I knew, of course, that you'd find help if things got too bad." At the same time she noticed how Katrina's hands shook for all they were being held tightly clasped. She understood then that the old folks were worse off than she had supposed, and tried to explain her conduct. "I didn't care to send home small sums, as others do, but wanted to save until I had enough money to provide a good home for you."
"We haven't needed money," said Katrina. "It would have been enough for us if you had only written."
Glory Goldie tried to rouse her mother from her slough of despond, as she had often done in the old days. So she said: "Mother, you don't want to spoil this moment for me, do you? Why, I'm back with you again! Come, now, and we'll take in my boxes and unpack them. I've brought provisions along. We'll have a fine dinner all ready by the time father comes home." She went out to help the driver take the luggage down from the wagon, but Katrina did not follow her.
Glory Goldie had not asked how her father was getting on. She supposed, of course, that he was still working at Falla. Katrina knew she would have to tell the daughter of the father's condition, but kept putting it off. Anyway, the little girl had brought a freshening breeze into the hut and the mother felt loath to put a sudden end to her delight at being home again.
While Glory Goldie was helping unload the wagon, half a dozen children came to the gate and looked in; they did not speak; they only pointed at her and laughed – then ran away. But in a moment or two they came back. This time they had with them a little faded and shrivelled old man, who strutted along, his head thrown back and his feet striking the ground with the measured tread of a soldier on parade.
"What a curious looking figure!" Glory Goldie remarked to the driver as the old man and the youngsters crowded in through the gate. She had not the faintest suspicion as to who the man was, but she could not help noticing a person who was so fantastically arrayed. On his head was a green leather cap, topped with a bushy feather; round his neck he wore a chain of gilt paper stars and crosses that hung far down on his chest. It looked as though he had on a gold necklace.
The youngsters, unable to hold in any longer, shouted "Empress, Empress!" at the top of their voices. The old man strode on as if the laughing and shrieking children were his guard of honour.
When they were almost at the door of the hut Glory Goldie gave a wild shriek, and fled into the house.
"Who is that man?" she asked her mother in a frightened voice. "Is it father? Has he gone mad?"
"Yes," said Katrina, the tears coming into her eyes.
"Is it because of me?"
"Our Lord let it happen out of compassion. He saw that his burden was too heavy for him."
There was no time to explain further, for now Jan stood in the doorway, and behind him was the gang of youngsters, who wanted to see how this meeting, which they had so often heard him picture, would be in reality.
The Emperor of Portugallia did not go straight up to his daughter but stopped just inside the door and delivered his speech of welcome.
"Welcome, welcome, O queen of the Sun! O rich and beautiful Glory
Goldie!"
The words were delivered with that stilted loftiness which dignitaries are wont to assume on great occasions. All the same, there were tears of joy in Jan's eyes and he had hard work to keep his voice steady.
After the well-learned greeting had been recited the Emperor rapped three times on the floor with his imperial stick for silence and attention, whereupon he began to sing in a thin, squeaky voice.
Glory Goldie had drawn close to Katrina. It was as if she wished to hide herself, to crawl out of sight behind her mother. Up to this she had kept silence, but when Jan started to sing she cried out in terror and tried to stop him. Then Katrina gripped her tightly by the arm.
"Leave him alone!" she said. "He has been comforted by the hope of singing this song to you ever since you first became lost to us."
Then Glory Goldie held her peace and let Jan continue:
"The Empress's father, for his part,
Feels so happy in his heart.
Austria, Portugal, Metz, Japan,
Read the newspapers, if you can.
Boom, boom, boom, and roll.
Boom, boom."
But Glory Goldie could stand no more. Rushing forward she quickly hustled the youngsters out of the house, and banged the door on them. Then turning round upon her father she stamped her foot at him. Now she was angry in earnest.
"For heaven's sake, shut up!" she cried. "Do you want to make a laughing-stock of me by calling me an empress?"
Jan looked a little hurt, but he was over it in a twinkling. She was the Great Empress, to be sure. All that she did was right; all that she said was to him as honey and balsam. In the supreme happiness of the moment he had quite forgotten to look for the crown of gold and the field marshals in golden armour. If she wished to appear poor and humble when she came, that was her own affair. It was joy enough for him that she had come back.