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

so that we can congratulate them,” said Lasse, and he wanted to push right through the crowd, but Pelle held him back.

“I’m afraid he won’t know us today; but look now, there’s Uncle Kalle.”

Kalle stood squeezed among the hindmost chairs, and there he had to stay until everybody had passed out. “Yes, I was very anxious to take part in this great day,” he said, “and I wanted to bring mother with me, but she thought her clothes weren’t respectable enough.” Kalle wore a new gray linsey-woolsey suit; he had grown smaller and more bent with the years.

“Why do you stand right away in the corner here, where you can see nothing? As the bridegroom’s father, you must have been given your place in the first row,” said Lasse.

“I have been sitting there, too⁠—didn’t you see me sitting next to Merchant Lau? We sang out of the same hymnbook. I only got pushed here in the crowd. Now I ought to go to the wedding-feast. I was properly invited, but I don’t quite know.⁠ ⁠…” He looked down at himself. Suddenly he made a movement, and laughed in his own reckless way. “Ugh⁠—what am I doing standing here and telling lies to people who don’t believe me! No, pigs don’t belong in the countinghouse! I might spread a bad smell, you know! People like us haven’t learned to sweat scent!”

“Bah! He’s too grand to know his own father! Devil take it! Then come with us so that you needn’t go away hungry!” said Lasse.

“No⁠—I’ve been so overfed with roast meats and wine and cakes that I can’t get any more down for the present. Now I must go home and tell mother about all the splendid things. I’ve eighteen miles to go.”

“And you came here on foot⁠—thirty-six miles! That’s too much for your years!”

“I had really reckoned that I’d stay the night here. I didn’t think⁠ ⁠… Well, an owl’s been sitting there! Children can’t very well climb higher than that⁠—not to recognize their own fathers! Anna is now taking the best way to become a fine lady, too.⁠ ⁠… I shall be wondering how long I shall know myself! Devil take it, Kalle Karlsen, I’m of good family, too, look you! Well, then, ajoo!”

Wearily he set about tramping home. He looked quite pitiful in his disappointment. “He’s never looked so miserable in his life!” said Lasse, gazing after him, “and it takes something, too, to make Brother Kalle chuck his gun into the ditch!”

Toward evening they went through the town to the steamer. Pelle took long strides, and a strange feeling of solemnity kept him silent. Lasse trotted along at his side; he stooped as he went. He was in a doleful mood. “Now you won’t forget your old father?” he said, again and again.

“There’s no danger of that,” rejoined Sort. Pelle heard nothing of this; his thoughts were all set on his journey. The blue smoke of kitchen fires was drifting down among the narrow lanes. The old people were sitting out of doors on their front steps, and were gossiping over the news of the day. The evening sun fell upon round spectacles, so that great fiery eyes seemed to be staring out of their wrinkled faces. The profound peace of evening lay over the streets. But in the narrow lanes there was the breathing of that eternal, dull unrest, as of a great beast that tosses and turns and cannot sleep. Now and again it blazed up into a shout, or the crying of a child, and then began anew⁠—like heavy, labored breathing. Pelle knew it well, that ghostly breathing, which rises always from the lair of the poor man. The cares of poverty had shepherded the evil dreams home for the night. But he was leaving this world of poverty, where life was bleeding away unnoted in the silence; in his thoughts it was fading away like a mournful song; and he gazed out over the sea, which lay glowing redly at the end of the street. Now he was going out into the world!

The crazy Anker was standing at the top of his high steps. “Goodbye!” cried Pelle, but Anker did not understand. He turned his face up to the sky and sent forth his demented cry.

Pelle threw a last glance at the workshop. “There have I spent many a good hour!” he thought; and he thought, too, of the young master. Old Jörgen was standing before his window, playing with the little Jörgen, who sat inside on the windowseat. “Peep, peep, little one!” he cried, in his shrill voice, and he hid, and bobbed up into sight again. The young wife was holding the child; she was rosy with maternal delight.

“You’ll be sure to let us hear from you,” said Lasse yet again, as Pelle stood leaning over the steamer’s rail. “Don’t forget your old father!” He was quite helpless in his anxiety.

“I will write to you as soon as I’m getting on,” said Pelle, for the twentieth time at least. “Only don’t worry!” Sure of victory, he laughed down at the old man. For the rest they stood silent and gazed at one another.

At last the steamer moved. “Good luck⁠—take care of yourself!” he cried for the last time, as they turned the pier-head; and as long as he could see he waved his cap. Then he went right forward and sat on a coil of rope.

He had forgotten all that lay behind him. He gazed ahead as though at any moment the great world itself might rise in front of the vessel’s bow. He pictured nothing to himself of what was to come and how he would meet it⁠—he was only longing⁠—longing!

Book III The Great Struggle I

A swarm of children was playing on the damp floor of the shaft. They hung from the lower portions of the timber-work, or ran in and out between the upright supports, humming tunes, with bread-and-dripping in their hands; or