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

the young couple, and examined the wedding-presents. Stolpe looked to see the time; it was still quite early. “You must go for a bit of a stroll, father,” said Madam Stolpe. “We can’t eat anything for a couple of hours yet.” So the men went across to Ventegodt’s beer-garden, in order to play a game of skittles, while the women prepared the food.

Pelle would rather have stopped in the house with Ellen, but he must not; he and Lasse went together. Lasse had not yet properly wished Pelle happiness; he had waited until they should be alone.

“Well, happiness and all blessings, my boy,” he said, much moved, as he pressed Pelle’s hand. “Now you, too, are a man with a family and responsibilities. Now don’t you forget that the women are like children. In serious matters you mustn’t be too ceremonious with them, but tell them, short and plain. This is to be so! It goes down best with them. If once a man begins discussing too much with them, then they don’t know which way they want to go. Otherwise they are quite all right, and it’s easy to get on with them⁠—if one only treats them well. I never found it any trouble, for they like a firm hand over them. You’ve reason to be proud of your parents-in-law; they are capital people, even if they are a bit proud of their calling. And Ellen will make you a good wife⁠—if I know anything of women. She’ll attend to her own affairs and she’ll understand how to save what’s left over. Long in the body she is, like a fruitful cow⁠—she won’t fail you in the matter of children.”

Outdoors in the beer-garden Swedish punch was served, and Lasse’s spirits began to rise. He tried to play at skittles⁠—he had never done so before; and he plucked up courage to utter witticisms.

The others laughed, and Lasse drew himself up and came out of his shell. “Splendid people, the Copenhageners!” he whispered to Pelle. “A ready hand for spending, and they’ve got a witty word ready for everything.”

Before anyone noticed it had grown dark, and now they must be home!

At home the table was laid, and the rest of the guests had come. Madam Stolpe was already quite nervous, they had stopped away so long. “Now we’ll all wobble a bit on our legs,” whispered Stolpe, in the entry; “then my wife will go for us! Well, mother, have you got a warm welcome ready for us?” he asked, as he tumbled into the room.

“Ah, you donkey, do you think I don’t know you?” cried Madam Stolpe, laughing. “No, one needn’t go searching in the taverns for my man!”

Pelle went straight up to Ellen in the kitchen and led her away. Hand in hand they went round the rooms, looking at the last presents to arrive. There was a table-lamp, a dish-cover in German silver, and some enamelled cooking-utensils. Someone, too, had sent a little china figure of a child in swaddling-clothes, but had forgotten to attach his name.

Ellen led Pelle out into the entry, in order to embrace him, but there stood Morten, taking off his things. Then they fled into the kitchen, but the hired cook was in possession; at length they found an undisturbed haven in the bedroom. Ellen wound her arms round Pelle’s neck and gazed at him in silence, quite lost in happiness and longing. And Pelle pressed the beloved, slender, girlish body against his own, and looked deep in her eyes, which were dark and shadowy as velvet, as they drank in the light in his. His heart swelled within him, and he felt that he was unspeakably fortunate⁠—richer than anyone else in the whole world⁠—because of the treasure that he held in his arms. Silently he vowed to himself that he would protect her and cherish her and have no other thought than to make her happy.

An impatient trampling sounded from the other room. “The young couple⁠—the young couple!” they were calling. Pelle and Ellen hastened in, each by a different door. The others were standing in their places at the table, and were waiting for Pelle and Ellen to take their seats. “Well, it isn’t difficult to see what she’s been about!” said Stolpe teasingly. “One has only to look at the lass’s peepers⁠—such a pair of glowing coals!”

Otto Stolpe, the slater, was spokesman, and opened the banquet by offering brandy. “A drop of spirits,” he said to each: “we must make sure there’s a vent to the gutter, or the whole thing will soon get stopped up.”

“Now, take something, people!” cried Stolpe, from the head of the table, where he was carving a loin of roast pork. “Up with the bricks there!” He had the young couple on his right and the newly-baked journeyman on his left. On the table before him stood a new bedroom chamber with a white wooden cover to it; the guests glanced at it and smiled at one another. “What are you staring at?” he asked solemnly. “If you need anything, let the cat out of the bag!”

“Ah, it’s the tureen there!” said his brother, the carpenter, without moving a muscle. “My wife would be glad to borrow it a moment, she says.”

His wife, taken aback, started up and gave him a thwack on the back. “Monster!” she said, half ashamed, and laughing. “The men must always make a fool of somebody!”

Then they all set to, and for a while eating stopped their mouths. From time to time some droll remark was made. “Some sit and do themselves proud, while others do the drudging,” said the Vanishing Man, Otto’s comrade. Which was to say that he had finished his pork. “Give him one in the mouth, mother!” said Stolpe.

When their hunger was satisfied the witticisms began to fly. Morten’s present was a great wedding-cake. It was a real work of art; he had made it in the form of a pyramid. On the summit stood a