Сельма Лагерлёф
The Emperor of Portugallia
THE PASSING OF KATRINA
Katrina lay on the bed in the little hut at Ruffluck Croft, the pallor of death on her face, her eyes closed. It looked as if the end had already come. But the instant Glory Goldie reached her bedside and stood patting her hand, she opened her eyes and began to speak.
"Jan wants me with him," she said, with great effort. "He doesn't hold it against me that I deserted him."
Glory Goldie started. Now she knew why her mother was dying; she who had been faithful a lifetime was grieving herself to death for having failed Jan at the last.
"Why should you have to fret your heart out over that, when I was the one who forced you to leave him?" said Glory Goldie.
"Just the same the memory of it has been so painful," replied Katrina. "But now all is well again between Jan and me." Then she closed her eyes and lay very still, and into her thin, wan face came a faint light of happiness. Soon she began to speak again, for there were things which had to be said; she could not find peace until they were said.
"Don't be so angry with Jan for running after you! He meant only well by you. Things have never been right with you since you and he first parted, and he knew it, too, nor with him either. You both went wrong, each in your own way."
Glory Goldie had felt that her mother would say something of this sort, and had steeled herself beforehand. But her mother's words moved her more than she realized, and she tried to say something comforting. "I shall think of father as he was in the old days. You remember what good friends we always were at that time."
Katrina seemed to be satisfied with the response, for she settled back to rest once more. Apparently she had not intended to say anything further. Then, all at once, she looked up at her daughter and gave her a smile that bespoke rare tenderness and affection.
"I'm so glad, Glory Goldie, that you have grown beautiful again," she said.
For that smile and those words all Glory Goldie's self-control gave way; she fell upon her knees beside the low bedstead, and wept. It was the first time since her homecoming that she had shed real tears.
"Mother, I don't know how you can feel toward me as you do!" cried the girl. "It's all my fault that you are dying, and I'm to blame for father's death, too."
Katrina, smiling all the while, moved her hands in a little caress.
"You are so good, mother," said Glory Goldie through her sobs. "You are so good to me!"
Katrina gripped hard her daughter's hand and raised herself in bed, to give her final testimony.
"All, that is good in me I have learned from Jan," she declared. After which she sank back on her pillow and said nothing more that was clear or sensible. The death struggle had begun, and the next morning she passed away.
But all through the final agony Glory Goldie lay weeping on the floor beside her mother's bed; she wept away her anguish; her fever-dreams; her burden of guilt. There was no end to her tears.
THE BURIAL OF THE EMPEROR
It was on the Sunday before Christmas they were to bury Katrina of Ruffluck. Usually on that particular Sabbath the church attendance is very poor, as most people like to put off their church-going until the great Holy Day services.
When the few mourners from the Ashdales drove into the pine grove between the church and the town hall, they were astonished. For such crowds of people as were assembled there that Sunday were rarely seen even when the Dean of Bro came to Svartsjö once a year, to preach, or at a church election.
It went without saying that it was not for the purpose of following old Katrina to her grave that every one to a man turned out. Something else must have brought them there. Possibly some great personage was expected at the church, or maybe some clergyman other than the regular pastor was going to preach, thought the Ashdales folk, who lived in such an out-of-the-way corner that much could happen in the parish without their ever hearing of it.
The mourners drove up to the cleared space behind the town hall, where they stepped down from the wagons. Here, as in the grove, they found throngs of people, but otherwise they saw nothing out of the ordinary. Their astonishment increased, but they felt loath to question any one as to what was going on; for persons who drive in a funeral procession are expected to keep to themselves and not to enter into conversation with those who have no part in the mourning.
The coffin was removed from the hearse and placed upon two black trestles which had been set up just outside the town hall, where the body and those who had come with it were to remain until the bells began to toll and the pastor and the sexton were ready to go with them to the churchyard.
It was a stormy day. Rain came down in lashing showers and beat against the coffin. One thing was certain: it could never be said that fine weather had brought all these people out.
But that day nobody seemed to mind the rain and wind. People stood quietly and patiently under the open sky without seeking the shelter of either the church or the town hall.
The six pall-bearers and others who had gathered around Katrina noticed that there were two trestles there besides those on which her coffin rested. Then there was to be another burial that day. This they had not known of before. Yet no funeral procession could be seen approaching. It was already so late that it should have been at the church by that time.
When it was about ten minutes of ten o'clock and time to be moving toward the churchyard, the Ashdales folk noticed that every one withdrew in the direction of the Där Nol home, which was only two minutes' walk from the church. They saw then what they had not observed before, that the path leading from the town hall to the house of Där Nol was strewn with spruce twigs and that a spruce tree had been placed at either side of the gate. Then it was from there a body was to be taken. They wondered why nothing had been said about a death in a family of such prominence. Besides, there were no sheets put up at the windows, as there should be in a house of mourning.
Then, in a moment, the front doors opened and a funeral party emerged. First came August Där Nol, carrying a crêped mace. Behind him walked the six pall-bearers with the casket. And now all the people who had been standing outside the church fell into line behind this funeral party. Then it was in order to do honour to this person they had come.
The coffin was carried down to the town hall and placed beside the one already there. August Där Nol arranged the trestles so that the two coffins would rest side by side. The second coffin was not so new and shiny as Katrina's. It looked as if it had been washed by many rains, and had seen rough handling, for it was both scratched and broken at the edges.
All the folk from the Ashdales suddenly caught their breath. For then they knew it was not a Där Nol that lay in this coffin! And they also knew that it was not for the sake of some stranger of exalted rank that so many people had come out to church. Instantly every one looked at Glory Goldie, to see whether she understood. It was plain she did.
Glory Goldie, pale and heart-broken, had been standing all the while by her mother's coffin, and as she recognized the one that had been brought from the Där Nol home she was beside herself with joy as one becomes when gaining something for which one has long been striving. However, she immediately controlled her emotion. Then, smiling wistfully, she lightly stroked the lid of Katrina's coffin.
"Now it has turned out as well for you as ever you could have wished," she seemed to be saying to her dead mother.
August Där Nol then stepped up to Glory Goldie and took her by the hand. "No doubt this arrangement is satisfactory to you," he said. "We found him only last Friday. I thought it would be easier for you this way."
Glory Goldie stammered a few words, but her lips quavered so that she could hardly be understood. "Thanks. It's all right. I know he has come to mother, and not to me."
"He has come to you both, be assured of that, Glory Goldie!" said
August Där Nol.
The old mistress of Falla, who was now well on toward eighty and bowed down by the weight of many sorrows, had come to the funeral out of regard for Katrina, who for many years had been her faithful servant and friend. She had brought with her the imperial cap and stick, which had been returned to her after Jan's death. She intended to place them in the grave with Katrina, thinking the old woman would like to have with her some reminder of Jan.
Presently Glory Goldie turned to the old mistress of Falla and asked her for the imperial regalia, and then she stood the long stick up against Jan's coffin and set the cap on top of the stick. Every one understood that she was sorry now that she had not wanted Jan to deck himself out in these emblems of royalty and was trying to make what slight amends she could. There is so little that one can do for the dead!
Instantly the stick was placed there the bells in the church tower began ringing and the pastor, the sexton, and the verger came out from the vestry and took their places at the head of the funeral procession.
The rain came in showers that day, but it happened, luckily, that there was a let-up while the people formed into line – menfolk first, then womenfolk – to follow the two old peasants to their grave. Those who lined up looked a little surprised at their being there, for they did not feel any grief, nor did they care especially to honour either of the dead. It was simply this: when the news was spread throughout the parish that Jan of Ruffluck had come back just in time to be buried with Katrina they had all felt that there was something singularly touching and miraculous about this, which made them want to come and see the old couple reunited in death. And of course no one dreamed that the same thought would occur to so many others. They felt that this was almost too much of a demonstration for a couple of poor and lowly cotters. People glanced at one another rather shamefacedly; but now that they were there, there was nothing to do but go along to the churchyard. Then, as it occurred to them that this was just what the Emperor of Portugallia would have liked, they smiled to themselves.
Two mace-bearers (for there was also one from the Ashdales) walked in front of the coffins, and the whole parish marched in the funeral procession. It could not have been better had the Emperor himself arranged for it. And they were not altogether certain that the whole thing was not his doing. He had become so wonderful after his death, had the old Emperor. He must have had a purpose in letting his daughter wait for him; a purpose in rising up out of the deep at just the right time – as sure as fate!
When they had all come up to the wide grave and the coffins had been lowered into it, the sexton sang "My every step leads to the grave."
Sexton Blackie was now an old man. His singing reminded Glory Goldie of that of another old man, to whom she had not wanted to listen. And the recollection of this brought with it bitter anguish; she pressed her hands to her heart and closed her eyes, so as not to betray her sufferings.
And while she stood thus she saw before her her father as he had been in her childhood, when he and she were such good friends and comrades. She recognized his face as she had seen it one Sunday morning after a blizzard, when the road was knee-deep with snow and he had to carry her to church. She saw him again as he appeared the Sunday she went to church in the red dress. No one had ever looked kinder or happier than Jan did then. But after that day there had been no more happiness for him, and she had never been quite contented either.
She strove to hold this face before her eyes. It did her good. There rose up in her such a strong wave of tenderness as she looked at it! That face only wished her well. It was not something to be feared. This was just the old kind-hearted Jan of Ruffluck. He would never sit in judgment upon her; he would not bring misfortune and suffering upon his only child.
Glory Goldie had found peace. She had come into a world of love now that she could see her father as he was. She wondered how she could ever have imagined that he hated her; he, who only wanted to forgive! Wherever she was or wherever she went he would be there to protect her; he had no thought or wish but that.
Again she felt the great tenderness well up in her heart like a mighty wave-filling her whole being. Then she knew that all was well again between her father and her; that he and she were one, as in the old days. Now that she loved him, there was nothing to be atoned.
Glory Goldie awoke as from a dream. While she had stood looking into her father's kindly face the pastor had performed the burial service. Now he was addressing a few remarks to the people; he thanked them, one and all, for coming to this funeral. It was no great or distinguished man that had just been laid to rest, he said, but he was perhaps one who had borne the richest and warmest heart in these regions.
When the pastor said this the people again glanced at one another. And now every one looked pleased and satisfied. The parson was right: it was because of Jan's great heart they had come to the funeral.
Then the pastor spoke a few words to Glory Goldie. He said that she had received greater love from her parents than had any one he knew of, and that such love could only turn to blessing.
At this everybody looked over at Glory Goldie, and they all marvelled at what they saw. The pastor's saying had already come true. For there, at the grave of her parents, stood Glory Goldie Sunnycastle, who had been named by the Sun itself, shining like one transfigured! She was as beautiful now as on that Sunday when she came to church in the red dress, if not more beautiful.