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

cried to heaven. His hands would suddenly clench with anger as he sat so quietly in his room. Here was something one must hasten forward, without intermission, day and night, as long as one drew breath⁠—Morten was right about that! This child’s father was a factory hand, and the girl dared not summon him before the magistrates in order to make him pay for its support for fear of being dismissed from her place. The whole business seemed so hopeless⁠—society seemed so unassailable⁠—yet he felt that he must strike a blow. His own hands alone signified so little; but if they could only strike the blow all together⁠—then perhaps it would have some effect.

In the evenings he and Morten went to meetings where the situation was passionately discussed. Those who attended these meetings were mostly young people like himself. They met in some inn by the North Bridge. But Pelle longed to see some result, and applied himself eagerly to the organization of his own craft.

He inspired the weary president with his own zeal, and they prepared together a list of all the members of their trade⁠—as the basis of a more vigorous agitation. When the “comrades” were invited to a meeting through the press, they turned lazy and failed to appear. More effectual means were needed; and Pelle started a house-to-house agitation. This helped immediately; they were in a dilemma when one got them face to face, and the Union was considerably increased, in spite of the persecution of the big masters.

Morten began to treat him with respect; and wanted him to read about the movement. But Pelle had no time for that. Together with Peter and Karl, who were extremely zealous, he took in The Working Man, and that was enough for him. “I know more about poverty than they write there,” he said.

There was no lack of fuel to keep this fire burning. He had participated in the march of poverty, from the country to the town and thence to the capital, and there they stood and could go no farther for all their longing, but perished on a desert shore. The many lives of the “Ark” lay always before his eyes as a great common possession, where no one need conceal himself, and where the need of the one was another’s grief.

His nature was at this time undergoing a great change. There was an end of his old careless acceptance of things. He laughed less and performed apparently trivial actions with an earnestness which had its comical side. And he began to display an appearance of self-respect which seemed ill-justified by his position and his poverty.

One evening, when work was over, as he came homeward from Beck’s workshop, he heard the children singing Hanne’s song down in the courtyard. He stood still in the tunnel-like entry; Hanne herself stood in the midst of a circle, and the children were dancing round her and singing:

“I looked from the lofty mountain
Down over vale and lea,
And I saw a ship come sailing,
Sailing, sailing,
I saw a ship come sailing,
And on it were lordlings three.”

On Hanne’s countenance lay a blind, fixed smile; her eyes were tightly closed. She turned slowly about as the children sang, and she sang softly with them:

“The youngest of all the lordlings
Who on the ship did stand⁠ ⁠…”

But suddenly she saw Pelle and broke out of the circle. She went up the stairs with him. The children, disappointed, stood calling after her.

“Aren’t you coming to us this evening?” she asked. “It is so long since we have seen you.”

“I’ve no time. I’ve got an appointment,” replied Pelle briefly.

“But you must come! I beg you to, Pelle.” She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes burning.

Pelle’s heart began to thump as he met her gaze. “What do you want with me?” he asked sharply.

Hanne stood still, gazing irresolutely into the distance.

“You must help me, Pelle,” she said, in a toneless voice, without meeting his eye.

“Yesterday I met.⁠ ⁠… Yesterday evening, as I was coming out of the factory⁠ ⁠… he stood down below here⁠ ⁠… he knows where I live. I went across to the other side and behaved as though I did not see him; but he came up to me and said I was to go to the New Market this evening!”

“And what did you say to that?” answered Pelle sulkily.

“I didn’t say anything⁠—I ran as hard as I could!”

“Is that all you want me for?” cried Pelle harshly. “You can keep away from him, if you don’t want him!”

A cold shudder ran through her. “But if he comes here to look for me?⁠ ⁠… And you are so.⁠ ⁠… I don’t care for anybody in the world but you and mother!” She spoke passionately.

“Well, well, I’ll come over to you,” answered Pelle cheerfully.

He dressed himself quickly and went across. The old woman was delighted to see him. Hanne was quite frolicsome; she rallied him continually, and it was not long before he had abandoned his firm attitude and allowed himself to be drawn into the most delightful romancing. They sat out on the gallery under the green foliage, Hanne’s face glowing to rival the climbing pelargonium; she kept on swinging her foot, and continually touched Pelle’s leg with the tip of her shoe.

She was nervously full of life, and kept on asking the time. When her mother went into the kitchen to make coffee, she took Pelle’s hand and smilingly stroked it.

“Come with me,” she said. “I should so like to see if he is really so silly as to think I’d come. We can stand in a corner somewhere and look out.”

Pelle did not answer.

“Mother,” said Hanne, when Madam Johnsen returned with the coffee, “I’m going out to buy some stuff for my bodice. Pelle’s coming with me.”

The excuse was easy to see through. But the old woman betrayed no emotion. She had already seen that Hanne was well disposed toward Pelle today; something was going on in the girl’s mind, and if Pelle only wanted to,