The Emperor of Portugallia Part 20

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 ash.o.r.e 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 pa.s.s 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 Jons of Kisterud as auctioneer. Jons 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 Jons to continue. But it was plain that Jons could not afford to hurt his professional standing by holding a poor auction, and therefore he became so hoa.r.s.e 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 Jons 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 Jons's place. He took up an old b.u.t.ter 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 b.u.t.ter 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 b.u.t.ter 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 Jons 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 osterby's, at Bergvik. There was a fine big house, with all its furnishings up for sale. Many people had a.s.sembled, 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 Jons 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 hut 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, s.n.a.t.c.hed 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.