Pelle the Conqueror, Martin Andersen Nexø [best fantasy books to read .TXT] 📗

people might enjoy a few proper sleighing-parties. But the snow continued to flutter down, until it reached to the knee, and then to the waist; and by the time people were going to bed it was no longer possible to struggle through it. And those who did not need to rise before daylight were very near not getting out of bed at all, for in the night a snowstorm set in, and by the morning the snow reached to the roofs and covered all the windows. One could hear the storm raging about the chimneys, but down below it was warm enough. The apprentices had to go through the living-room to reach the workshop. The snow was deep there and had closed all outlets.

“What the devil is it?” said Master Andres, looking at Pelle in alarm. “Is the world coming to an end?”

Was the world coming to an end? Well, it might have come to an end already; they could not hear the smallest sound from without, to tell them whether their fellow-men were living still, or were already dead. They had to burn lamps all day long; but the coal was out in the snow, so they must contrive to get to the shed. They all pushed against the upper half-door of the kitchen, and succeeded in forcing it so far open that Pelle could just creep through. But once out there it was impossible to move. He disappeared in the mass of snow. They must dig a path to the well and the coal-shed; as for food, they would have to manage as best they could. At noon the sun came out, and so far the snow melted on the south side of the house that the upper edge of the window admitted a little daylight. A faint milky shimmer shone through the snow. But there was no sign of life outside.

“I believe we shall starve, like the people who go to the North Pole,” said the master, his eyes and mouth quite round with excitement. His eyes were blazing like lamps; he was deep in the world’s fairytale.

During the evening they dug and bored halfway to Baker Jörgen’s. They must at least secure their connection with the baker. Jeppe went in with a light. “Look out that it doesn’t fall on you,” he said warningly. The light glistened in the snow, and the boys proceeded to amuse themselves. The young master lay in bed, and called out at every sound that came to him from outside⁠—so loudly that his cough was terrible. He could not contain himself for curiosity. “I’ll go and see the robbers’ path, too, by God!” he said, over and over again. Jeppe scolded him, but he took no notice. He had his way, got into his trousers and fur jacket, and had a counterpane thrown about him. But he could not stand up, and with a despairing cry he fell back on the bed.

Pelle watched him until his heart burned within him. He took the master on his arm, and supported him carefully until they entered the tunnel. “You are strong; good Lord, you are strong!” The master held Pelle convulsively, one arm about his neck, while he waved the other in the air, as defiantly as the strong man in the circus. “Hip, hip!” He was infected by Pelle’s strength. Cautiously he turned round in the glittering vault; his eyes shone like crystals of ice. But the fever was raging in his emaciated body. Pelle felt it like a devouring fire through all his clothes.

Next day the tunnel was driven farther⁠—as far as Baker Jörgen’s steps, and their connection with the outer world was secure. At Jörgen’s great things had happened in the course of the last four-and-twenty hours. Marie had been so excited by the idea that the end of the world was perhaps at hand that she had hastily brought the little Jörgen into it. Old Jörgen was in the seventh heaven; he had to come over at once and tell them about it. “He’s a regular devil, and he’s the very image of me!”

“That I can well believe!” cried Master Andres, and laughed. “And is Uncle pleased?”

But Jeppe took the announcement very coolly; the condition of his brother’s household did not please him. “Is Sören delighted with the youngster?” he asked cautiously.

“Sören?” The baker gave vent to a shout of laughter. “He can think of nothing but the last judgment⁠—he’s praying to the dear God!”

Later in the day the noise of shovels was heard. The workmen were outside; they cleared one of the pavements so that one could just get by; but the surface of the street was still on a level with the roofs.

Now one could get down to the harbor once more; it felt almost as though one were breathing again after a choking-fit. As far as the eyes could reach the ice extended, packed in high ridges and long ramparts where the waves had battled. A storm was brewing. “God be thanked!” said the old seamen, “now the ice will go!” But it did not move. And then they understood that the whole sea was frozen; there could not be one open spot as big as a soup-plate on which the storm could begin its work. But it was a wonderful sight, to see the sea lying dead and motionless as a rocky desert in the midst of this devastating storm.

And one day the first farmer came to town, with news of the country. The farms inland were snowed up; men had to dig pathways into the open fields, and lead the horses in one by one; but of accidents he knew nothing.

All activities came to a standstill. No one could do any work, and everything had to be used sparingly⁠—especially coals and oil, both of which threatened to give out. The merchants had issued warnings as early as the beginning of the second week. Then the people began to take to all sorts of aimless