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

excited; and the smoke from the candles and the crackling fir-boughs of the tree veiled them in a bluish cloud, through which they loomed as round as so many moons. The burning turpentine gave the smoke a mysterious, alluring fragrance, and the devout and attentive faces were like so many murmuring spirits, hovering in the clouds, each above its outworn body.

Pelle sat there considering them till his heart bled for them⁠—that was his Christmas devotion. Poor storm-beaten birds, what was this splendid experience which outweighed all their privations? Only a little light! And they looked as though they could fall down before it and give up their lives! He knew the life’s story of each one of them better than they knew. But their faces were still eager and excited; and they themselves; when they approached the light they always burned themselves in it, like the moths, they were so chilled!

“All the same, that’s a queer invention, when one thinks about it,” said one of the dockers, nodding toward the Christmas-tree. “But it’s fine. God knows what it really is supposed to mean!”

“It means that now the year is returning toward the light again,” said the old night-watchman.

“No; it stands for the joy of the shepherds over the birth of Christ,” said the ragpicker, stepping into the doorway.

“The shepherds were poor folks, like ourselves, who lived in the darkness. That’s why they rejoiced so over Him, because He came with the light.”

“Well, it don’t seem to me we’ve been granted such a terrible deal of light! Oh, yes, the Christmas-tree here, that’s splendid, Lord knows it is, and we should all of us like to thank the children for it⁠—but one can’t have trees like that to set light to every day; and as for the sun⁠—well, you see, the rich folks have got a monopoly of that!”

“Yes, you are right there, Jacob,” said Pelle, who was moving about round the tree, taking down the hearts and packages for the children, who distributed the sweets. “You are all three of you right⁠—curiously enough. The Christmas-tree is to remind us of Christ’s birth, and also that the year is returning toward the sun⁠—but that’s all the same thing. And then it’s to remind us, too, that we too ought to have a share in things; Christ was born especially to remind the poor of their rights! Yes, that is so! For the Lord God isn’t one to give long-winded directions as to how one should go ahead; He sends the sun rolling round the earth every day, and each of us must look out for himself, and see how best he himself can get into the sunshine. It’s just like the wife of a public-house keeper I remember at home, who used to tell travellers, ‘What would you like to eat? You can have ducks or pork chops or sweets⁠—anything you’ve brought with you!’ ”

“That was a devilish funny statement!” said his hearers, laughing.

“Yes, it’s easy enough to invite one to all sorts of fine things when all the time one has to bring them along one’s self! You ought to have been a preacher.”

“He’d far better be the Devil’s advocate!” said the old ragpicker. “For there’s not much Christianity in what he says!”

“But you yourself said that Christ came bringing light for the poor,” said Pelle; “and He Himself said as much, quite plainly; what He wanted was to make the blind to see and the dead to walk, and to restore consideration to the despised and rejected. Also, He wanted men to have faith!”

“The blind shall see, the lame shall walk, the leper shall be clean, the deaf shall hear, and the dead shall arise, and the Word shall be preached to the poor,” said the ragpicker, correcting Pelle. “You are distorting the Scriptures, Pelle.”

“But I don’t believe He meant only individual cripples⁠—no, He meant all of us in our misery, and all the temptations that lie in wait for us. That’s how Preacher Sort conceived it, and he was a godly, upright man. He believed the millennium would come for the poor, and that Christ was already on the earth making ready for its coming.”

The women sat quite bemused, listening with open mouths; they dared scarcely breathe. Paul was asleep on his mother’s lap.

“Can He really have thought about us poor vermin, and so long beforehand?” cried the men, looking from one to another. “Then why haven’t we long ago got a bit more forward than this?”

“Yes, I too don’t understand that,” said Pelle, hesitating. “Perhaps we ourselves have got to work our way in the right direction⁠—and that takes time.”

“Yes, but⁠—if He would only give us proper conditions of life. But if we have to win them for ourselves we don’t need any Christ for that!”

This was something that Pelle could not explain even to himself, although he felt it within him as a living conviction, A man must win what was due to him himself⁠—that was clear as the day, and he couldn’t understand how they could be blind to the fact; but why he must do so he couldn’t⁠—however he racked his brains⁠—explain to another person. “But I can tell you a story,” he said.

“But a proper exciting story!” cried Earl, who was feeling bored. “Oh, if only Vinslev were here⁠—he has such droll ideas!”

“Be quiet, boy!” said Marie crossly. “Pelle makes proper speeches⁠—before whole meetings,” she said, nodding solemnly to the others. “What is the story called?”

“Howling Peter.”

“Oh, it’s a story with Peter in it⁠—then it’s a fairytale! What is it about?”

“You’ll know that when you hear it, my child,” said the old night-watchman.

“Yes, but then one can’t enjoy it when it comes out right. Isn’t it a story about a boy who goes out into the world?”

“The story is about”⁠—Pelle bethought himself a moment; “the story is about the birth of Christ,” he said quickly, and then blushed a deep red at his own audacity. But the others looked disappointed, and settled themselves decently