The Emperor of Portugallia. Selma LagerlöfЧитать онлайн книгу.
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On the little girl's first birthday her father was out digging in the field at Falla; he tried to recall to mind how it had been in the old days, when he had no one to think about while at work in the field; when he did not have the beating heart in him, and when he had no longings and was never anxious.
"To think that a man can be like that!" he mused in contempt of his old self. "If I were as rich as Eric of Falla or as strong as Börje, who digs here beside me, it would be as nothing to having a throbbing heart in your breast. That's the only thing that counts."
Glancing over at his comrade, a powerfully built fellow who could do again as much work as himself, he noticed that to-day the man had not gone ahead as rapidly as usual with the digging.
They worked by the job. Börje always took upon himself more work than did Jan, yet they always finished at about the same time. That day, however, it went slowly for Börje; he did not even keep up with Jan, but was left far behind.
But then Jan had been working for all he was worth, that he might the sooner get back to his little girl. That day he had longed for her more than usual. She was always drowsy evenings; so unless he hurried home early, he was likely to find her asleep for the night when he got home.
When Jan had completed his work he saw that Börje was not even half through. Such a thing had never happened before in all the years they had worked together, and Jan was so astonished he went over to him.
Börje was standing deep down in the ditch, trying to loosen a clump of sod. He had stepped on a piece of glass, and received an ugly gash on the bottom of his foot, so that he could hardly step on it. Imagine the torture of having to stand and push the spade into the soil with an injured foot!
"Aren't you going to quit soon?" asked Jan.
"I'm obliged to finish this job to-day," replied the comrade. "I can't get any grain from Eric of Falia till the work is done, and we're all out of rye-meal."
"Then go'-night for to-day," said Jan.
Börje did not respond. He was too tired and done up to give even the customary good-night salutation.
Jan of Ruffluck walked to the edge of the field; but there he halted.
"What does it matter to the little girl whether or not you come home for her birthday?" he thought. "She's just as well off without you. But Börje has seven kiddies at home, and no food for them. Shall you let them starve so that you can go home and play with Glory Goldie?"
Then he wheeled round, walked back to Börje, and got down into the ditch to help him. Jan was rather tired after his day's toil and could not work very fast. It was almost dark when they got through.
"Glory Goldie must be asleep this long while," thought Jan, when he finally put in the spade for the last bit of earth.
"Go'-night for to-day," he called back to Börje for the second time.
"Go'-night," returned Börje, "and thanks to you for the help. Now I must hurry along and get my rye. Another time I'll give you a lift, be sure of that!"
"I don't want any pay … Go'-night!"
"Don't you want anything for helping me?" asked Börje. "What's come over you, that you're so stuck-up all at once?"
"Well, you see, it's—it's the lassie's birthday to-day."
"And for that I got help with my digging?"
"Yes, for that and for something else, too! Well—good bye to you!"
Jan hurried away so as not to be tempted to explain what that something else was. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say: "To-day is not only Glory Goldie's birthday, but it's also the birthday of my heart."
It was as well, perhaps, that he did not say it, for Börje would surely have thought Jan had gone out of his mind.
CHRISTMAS MORN
Christmas morning Jan took the little girl along with him to church; she was then just one year and four months old.
Katrina thought the girl rather young to attend church and feared she would set up a howl, as she had done at the vaccination bee; but inasmuch as it was the custom to take the little ones along to Christmas Matins, Jan had his own way.
So at five o'clock on Christmas Morn they all set out. It was pitch dark and cloudy, but not cold; in fact the air was almost balmy, and quite still, as it usually is toward the end of December.
Before coming to an open highway, they had to walk along a narrow winding path, through fields and groves in the Ashdales, then take the steep winter-road across Snipa Ridge.
The big farmhouse at Falla, with lighted candles at every window, stood out as a beacon to the Ruffluck folk, so that they were able to find their way to Börje's hut; there they met some of their neighbours, bearing torches they had prepared on Christmas Eve. Each torch-bearer led a small group of people most of whom followed in silence; but all were happy; they felt that they, too, like the Wise Men of old, were following a star, in quest of the new-born King.
When they came to the forest heights they had to pass by a huge stone which had been hurled at Svartsjö Church, by a giant down in Frykerud, but which, luckily, had gone over the steeple and dropped here on Snipa Ridge. When the church-goers came along, the stone lay, as usual, on the ground. But they knew, they did, that in the night it had been raised upon twelve golden pillars and that the trolls had danced and feasted under it.
It was not so very pleasant to have to walk past a stone like that! Jan looked over at Katrina to see whether she was holding the little girl securely. Katrina, calm and unconcerned, walked along, chatting with one of their neighbours. She was quite oblivious, apparently, to the terrors of the place.
The spruce trees up there were old and gnarled, and their branches were dotted with clumps of snow. As seen in the glow of the torch light, one could not but think that some of the trees were really trolls, with gleaming eyes beneath snow hats, and long sharp claws protruding from thick snow mittens.
It was all very well so long as they held themselves still. But what if one of them should suddenly stretch forth a hand and seize somebody? There was no special danger for grown-ups and old people; but Jan had always heard that the trolls had a great fondness for small children—the smaller the better. It seemed to him that Katrina was holding the little girl very carelessly. It would be no trick at all for the huge clawlike troll hands to snatch the child from her. Of course he could not take the baby out of her arms in a dangerous spot like this, for that might cause the trolls to act.
Murmurs and whispers now passed from tree-troll to tree-troll; the branches creaked as if they were about to bestir themselves.
Jan did not dare ask the others if they saw or heard what he did. A question of that sort might be the very thing to rouse the trolls. In this agony of suspense he knew of but one thing to do: he struck up a psalm-tune. He had a poor singing-voice and had never before sung so any one could hear him. He was so weak at carrying a tune that he was afraid to sing out even in church; but now he had to sing, no matter how it went. He observed that the neighbours were a little surprised. Those who walked ahead of him nudged each other and looked round; but that did not stop him; he had to continue.
Immediately one of the womenfolk whispered to him: "Wait a bit,
Jan, and I'll help you."
She took up the Christmas carol in the correct melody and the correct key. It sounded beautiful, this singing in the night among the trees, and soon everybody joined in.
"Hail Blessed Morn, by prophets' holy words foretold," rang out on the air. A murmur of anguish came from the tree-trolls; they bowed their heads so that their wicked eyes were no longer visible, and drew in their claws