A Christmas Guest - Selma Lagerlof

We spend so much time of our lives switched on, scrolling, multitasking, reacting.

Miraval Resorts is an invitation to unplug and be present.

For over 30 years, Miraval has been a global leader in mindfulness and well-being, helping

people reconnect to what matters, body, mind, and spirit.

Through meditation, yoga, time and nature equine experiences, and moments designed for true

presence.

Miraval offers practical tools you can carry into everyday life.

Miraval meets you where you are, and supports wellness that actually lasts.

Discover more by visiting www.miravalresorts.com

This is David Eagleman with Inner Cosmos.

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A Christmas guest by Selma Lagerloff.

One of those who had lived the life of a pensioner at Ekibi was little roster, who could transpose

music and play the flute.

He was of low origin and poor, without home and without relations.

Hard times came to him when the company of pensioners were dispersed.

He then had no horse nor carry-all, no fur coat, nor red painted luncheon basket.

He had to go on foot from house to house and carry his belongings tied in a blue striped

cotton handkerchief.

He buttoned his coat all the way up to his chin, so that no one should need to know in

what condition his shirt and waist cut were.

And in its deep pockets he kept his most precious possessions, his flute, taken to pieces,

his flat, brandy bottle, and his music pen.

His profession was to copy music.

And if it had been, as in the old days, there would have been no lack of work for him.

Just with every passing year, music was less practiced in Fairland.

The guitar, with its moldy, silken ribbon, and its worn screws, and the dented horn,

with faded tassels and cord, were put away in the lumber-room in the attic, and the dust

settled inches deep on the long iron-bound vial inboxes, yet the less little ruster

had to do with flute and music pen.

So much the more must he turn to the brandy flask, and at last he became quite a drunkard.

It was a great pity.

He was still received at the manor houses as an old friend, but there were complaints when

he came, and joy when he went.

There was an odor of dirt and brandy about him, and if he had only a couple of glasses

of wine or one toddy, he grew confused and told unpleasant stories.

He was the torment of the hospitable houses.

One Christmas he came to Loftala, where Liliacrona, the great vial innist, had his home.

Liliacrona had also been one of the pensioners of Ekby, but after the death of the major's

wife he returned to his quiet farm and remained there.

Liliacrona came to him a few days before Christmas in the midst of all the preparations and

asked for work.

Liliacrona gave him a little copying to keep him busy.

You ought to have let him go immediately, said his wife.

Now he will certainly take so long with that that we will be obliged to keep him over Christmas.

He must be somewhere, answered Liliacrona, and he offered ruster toddy and brandy.

Sat with him and lived over again with him the whole Ekby time.

But he was out of spirits and disgusted by him like everyone else, although he would

not let it be seen, for old friendship and hospitality were sacred to him.

In Liliacrona's house for three weeks now they had been preparing to receive Christmas.

They had been living in discomfort and bustle, had sat up with dip-lights and torches till

their eyes grew red, had been frozen in the outhouse with the salting of the meat, and

in the brew-house with the brewing of the beer.

But both the mistress and the servants gave themselves up to it all without grumbling.

When all the preparations were done and the holy evening come, a sweet enchantment would

sink down over them.

Christmas would loosen all tongues so that jokes and jests, rhymes and merriment would flow

of themselves without effort.

Everyone's feet would wish to twirl in the dance, and from memories dark corners, words

and melodies would rise, although no one could believe that they were there.

And then everyone was so good, so good.

Now, when Ruster came, the whole household at Luftdalla thought that Christmas was spoiled.

The mistress and the older children and the old servants were all of the same opinion.

Ruster caused them a suffocating disgust.

They were more over afraid that when he and Liliacrona began to rake up the old memories,

the artist's blood would flame up in the great violinist, and his home would lose him.

Formerly he had not been able to remain long at home.

No one can describe how they loved their master on the farm since they had had him with

them a couple of years, and what he had to give, how much he was to his home, especially

at Christmas.

He did not take his place on any sofa or rocking stool, but on a high narrow wooden bench

in the corner of the fireplace.

When he was settled there, he started off on adventures.

He traveled about the earth, climbed up to the stars and even higher.

He played and talked by turns, and the whole household gathered about him and listened.

Life grew proud and beautiful when the richness of that one soul shone on it.

Therefore they loved him as they loved Christmas time, pleasure, the spring sun.

And when little Ruster came, their Christmas peace was destroyed.

They had worked in vain if he was coming to tempt away their master.

It was unjust that the drunkard should sit at the Christmas table in a happy house and

spoil the Christmas pleasure.

On the forenoon of Christmas Eve, little Ruster had his music all written out, and he

said something about going, although of course he meant to stay.

Liliacrona had been influenced by the general feeling, and therefore he said quite luke warmly

and indifferently that Ruster had better stay where he was over Christmas.

Little Ruster was inflamible and proud.

He twirled his mustache and shook back the black artist's hair that stood like a dark

cloud over his head.

What did Liliacrona mean?

Should he stay because he had nowhere else to go?

Oh, only think how they stood and waited for him in the big ironworks in the parish

of Bro.

The guest-room was in order, the glass of welcome filled.

He was in great haste.

He only did not know to which he ought to go first.

Very well answered Liliacrona, you may go, if you will.

After dinner, little Ruster borrowed horse and sleigh, coat and furs.

The stable boy from Loftala was to take him to some place in Bro, and then drive quickly

back for a threatened snow.

No one believed that he was expected, or that there was a single place in that neighborhood

where he was welcome, but they were so anxious to be rid of him that they put the thought

aside and let him depart.

He wished it himself, they said, and then they thought that now they would be glad.

But when they gathered in the dining-room at five o'clock to drink tea and to dance around

the Christmas tree, Liliacrona was silent and out of spirits.

He did not seat himself on the bench.

He touched neither tea nor punch.

He could not remember any polka the violin was out of order.

Those who could play and dance had to do it without him.

Then his wife grew uneasy.

The children were discontented.

Everything in the house went wrong.

It was the most lamentable Christmas Eve.

The porridge turned sour, the candles sputtered, the wood smoked.

The wind stirred up the snow and blew bitter cold into the rooms.

The stableboy who had driven rooster did not come home.

The cook wept, the maids scolded.

Finally, Liliacrona remembered that no sheaves had been put out for the sparrows, and he complained

aloud of all the women about him who abandoned old customs and were newfangled and heartless.

They understood well enough that what tormented him was remorse, that he had let little rooster

go away from his home on Christmas Eve.

After a while he went to his room, shut the door, and began to play, as he had not played

since he had ceased roaming.

It was full of hate and scorn, full of longing and revolt.

You thought to bind me, but you must forge new fetters.

You thought to make me as small-minded as yourselves.

But I turned to larger things, to the open.

Common place people, slaves of the home, hold me prisoner, if it is in your power.

When his wife heard this music, she said, tomorrow he's gone.

If God does not work a miracle in the night, our inhospitableness has brought on just what

we thought we could avoid.

We spend so much time of our life switched on, scrolling, multitasking, reacting.

Miraval Resorts is an invitation to unplug and be present.

For over 30 years, Miraval has been a global leader in mindfulness and well-being, helping

people reconnect to what matters, body, mind, and spirit.

Through meditation, yoga, time and nature equine experiences, and moments designed for true

presence.

Miraval offers practical tools you can carry into everyday life.

Miraval meets you where you are, and supports wellness that actually lasts.

Discover more by visiting www.miravalresorts.com

This is David Eagleman from the Inner Cosmos podcast.

As a neuroscientist, I think a lot about how our brains shape our experience of reality

and how easily we get pulled into mental habits that we don't even notice.

This plays out every day in how we respond to stress and information overload and the

constant demands of our attention.

That's why I use the Waking Up app from Sam Harris.

It brings together meditation and neuroscience and philosophy to help you see what your

mind is doing in real time.

We can't escape our thoughts, but we can understand them to respond with more patience and clarity.

The practices in the app are easy to fit into a busy routine, and they support a steadier,

healthier mind.

If you're ready to train the mind that's behind everything you do, you can unlock Waking

Up free for 30 days at WakingUp.com slash Inner Cosmos.

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In the meantime, Little Ruster drove about in the snowstorm.

He went from one house to the other, and asked if there was any work for him to do.

But he was not received anywhere.

They did not even ask him to get out of the sledge.

Some had their houses full of guests.

Others were going away on Christmas Day, drive to the next neighbor they all said.

He could come and spoil the pleasure of an ordinary day, but not of Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve came but once a year, and the children had been rejoicing in the thought

of it all the autumn.

They could not put that man at a table where they were children.

Formerly they had been glad to see him, but not since he had become a drunkard.

Where should they put the fellow moreover?

The servants' room was too plain, and the guest room was too fine.

Little Ruster had to drive from house to house in the blinding snow.

His wet mustache hung limply down over his mouth.

His eyes were bloodshot and blurred, but the brandy was blown out of his brain.

He began to wonder, and to be amazed.

Was it possible that no one wished to receive him?

Then all at once he saw himself.

He saw how miserable and degraded he was, and he understood that he was odious to people.

It is the end of me, he thought.

No more copying of music, no more flute-playing, no one on earth needs me, no one has compassion

on me.

The storm whirled and played, tore apart the drifts and piled them up again, took a

pillar of snow in its arms and danced out onto the plane, lifted one flake up to the

clouds and chased another down into a ditch.

It is so, said Little Ruster, while one dances and whirls it is play, but when one must

be buried in the drift and forgotten, it is sorrow and grief.

It down they all have to go, and now it was his turn to think that he had now come to

the end.

He no longer asked where the man was driving him.

He thought that he was driving in the land of death.

Little Ruster made no offerings to the gods that night.

He did not curse flute-playing or the life of a pensioner.

He did not think that it had been better for him if he had plowed the earth or so

on shoes, but he mourned that he was now a worn-out instrument, which pleasure could

no longer use.

He complained of no one, for he knew that when the horn is cracked and the guitar will

not stay in tune, they must go.

He became all at once a very humble man.

He understood that it was the end of him, on this Christmas Eve.

Hunger and cold would destroy him.

For he understood nothing, was good for nothing, and had no friends.

The sledge stops, and suddenly it is light about him, and he hears friendly voices, and

there is someone who is helping him into a warm room, and someone who is pouring warm

tea into him.

His coat is pulled off him, and several people cry that he is welcome, and warm hands

rub life into his benumbed fingers.

He was so confused by it all, that he did not come to his senses for nearly a quarter

of an hour.

He could not possibly comprehend that he had come back to Loftala.

He had not been at all conscious that the stable boy had grown tired of driving about in

the storm, and had turned home.

Or did he understand why he was now so well received in Liliacrona's house?

He could not know that Liliacrona's wife understood what a weary journey he had made that

Christmas Eve, when he had been turned away from every door where he had knocked.

She felt such compassion on him, that she forgot her own troubles.

Liliacrona went on with the wild playing up in his room.

He did not know that Ruster had come.

The latter sat, meanwhile, in the dining room with the wife and the children.

The servants, who used also to be there on Christmas Eve, had moved out into the kitchen

away from their mistress' trouble.

The mistress of the house lost no time in setting Ruster to work.

You hear, I suppose, she said.

That Liliacrona does nothing but play all the evening.

And I must attend to setting the table in the food.

The children are quite forsaken.

You must look after these two smallest.

Children were the kind of people with whom little Ruster had at least intercourse.

He had met them neither in the bachelor's wing nor in the campaign tent, neither in

the wayside inns nor on the highways.

He was almost shy of them, and did not know what he ought to say that was fine enough

for them.

He took out his flute and taught them how to finger the stops and holes.

There was one of four years and one of six.

They had a lesson on the flute, and were deeply interested in it.

This is A, he said, and this is C.

And then he blew the notes.

Then the young people wished to know what kind of an A and C it was that was to be played.

Ruster took out his score and made a few notes.

No, they said, that is not right.

And they ran away for an ABC book.

Little Ruster began to hear their alphabet.

They knew it, and they did not know it.

What they knew was not very much.

Ruster grew eager.

He lifted the little boys up, each on one of his knees, and began to teach them.

Liliacrona's wife went out and in, and listened, quite an amazement.

It sounded like a game, and the children were laughing the whole time.

But they learned.

Ruster kept on for a while, but he was absent from what he was doing.

He was turning over the old thoughts from out in the storm.

This was good and pleasant.

But nevertheless it was the end of him.

He was worn out.

He ought to be thrown away.

And all of a sudden he put his hands before his face and began to weep.

Liliacrona's wife came quickly up to him.

Ruster she said, I can understand that you think it is all over for you.

You cannot make a living with your music, and you are destroying yourself with brandy.

But it is not the end, Ruster.

Yes, sobbed the little flute player.

Do you see that to sit as tonight with the children, that would be something for you.

If you would teach children to read and write, you would be welcomed everywhere.

It is no less important an instrument on which to play, Ruster, than flute and violin.

Look at them, Ruster.

She placed the two children in front of him, and he looked up, blinking as if he had looked

at the sun.

It seemed as if his little blurred eyes could not meet those of the children, which were

big, clear and innocent.

Look at them, Ruster, repeated Liliacrona's wife.

I dare not, said Ruster, for it was like a purgatory to look through the beautiful child

eyes to the unspotted beauty of their souls.

Liliacrona's wife laughed, loud and joyously.

Then you must accustomed yourself to them, Ruster.

You can stay in my house as schoolmaster this year.

Liliacrona heard his wife's laugh, and came out of his room.

What is it, he said?

What is it?

Nothing she answered, but that Ruster has come again, and I have engaged him as schoolmaster

for our little boys.

Liliacrona was quite amazed.

Do you dare, he said?

Do you dare?

Has he promised to give up?

No, said the wife.

Ruster has promised nothing, but there is much about which he must be careful when he

has to look little children in the eyes every day.

If it had not been Christmas, perhaps I would not have ventured.

But when our Lord dared to place a little child who was His own son, among us sinners,

so can I also dare to let my little children try to save a human soul.

Liliacrona could not speak, but every feature and wrinkle in his face twitched and twisted,

as always when he heard anything noble.

Then he kissed his wife's hand, as gently as a child who asks for forgiveness, and then

cried aloud, all the children must come and kiss their mother's hand.

They did so, and then they had a happy Christmas in Liliacrona's house.

End of A Christmas Guest by Selma Lagerlof

We spend so much time of our lives switched on, scrolling, multitasking, reacting.

Miraval Resorts is an invitation to unplug and be present.

For over 30 years, Miraval has been a global leader in mindfulness and well-being, helping

people reconnect to what matters, body, mind, and spirit.

Through meditation, yoga, time and nature, equine experiences, and moments designed for

true presence, Miraval offers practical tools you can carry into everyday life.

Miraval meets you where you are, and supports wellness that actually lasts.

Discover more by visiting MiravalResorts.com

This is David Eagleman from the Inner Cosmos Podcast.

As a neuroscientist, I think a lot about how our brains shape our experience of reality,

and how easily we get pulled into mental habits, though we don't even notice, this plays

out every day and how we respond to stress and information overload and the constant demands

of our attention.

That's why I use the Waking Up app from Sam Harris.

It brings together meditation and neuroscience and philosophy to help you see what your

mind is doing in real time.

We can't escape our thoughts, but we can understand them to respond with more patience and

clarity.

The practices in the app are easy to fit into a busy routine, and they support a steadier,

healthier mind.

If you're ready to train the mind that's behind everything you do, you can unlock waking

up free for 30 days at WakingUp.com slash Inner Cosmos.

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