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

and strong and capable as he was in his calling⁠—could not look after his wife and children and his old father, even when he had regular work. Yes, so damnable were the conditions that a man in the prime of his youth could not follow the bidding of nature and found a family without plunging those that were dependent on him into want and misery! Curse it all, the entire system ought to be smashed! If he had power over it he would want to make the best use of it!

In Stone Street he heard a hoarse, quavering voice singing in the central courtyard of one of the houses. It was Father Lasse. The ragbag lay near him, with the hook stuck into it. He was clasping the book with one hand, while with the other he gesticulated toward the windows as he sang. The song made the people smile, and he tried to make it still more amusing by violent gestures which ill-suited his pitiful appearance.

It cut Pelle to the heart to see his wretched condition. He stepped into a doorway and waited until his father should have finished his song. At certain points in the course of the song Lasse took off his cap and smacked it against his head while he raised one leg in the air. He very nearly lost his equilibrium when he did this, and the street urchins who surrounded him pulled at his ragged coattails and pushed one another against him. Then he stood still, spoke to them in his quavering voice, and took up his song again.

“O listen to my song, a tale of woe:
I came into the world as do so many:
My mother bore me in the street below,
And as for father, why, I hadn’t any!
Till now I’ve faithfully her shame concealed:
I tell it now to make my song complete.
O drop a shilling down that I may eat,
For eat I must, or soon to Death I yield.

“Into this world without deceit I came,
That’s why you see me wear no stockings now.
A poor old man who drudges anyhow,
I have a wealthy brother, more’s the shame.
But he and I are opposites in all;
While I rake muck he rakes his money up:
Much gold is his and many a jewelled cup,
And all he fancies, that is his at call.

“My brother, he has built a palace splendid,
And silver harness all his horses bear.
Full twenty crowns an hour he gets, I hear,
By twiddling thumbs and wishing day were ended!
Gold comes to him as dirt to Lasse, blast him!
And everywhere he turns there money lies.
’Twill all be mine when once my brother dies⁠—
If I but live⁠—so help me to outlast him!

“Luck tried to help me once, but not again!
Weary with toiling I was like to swoon.
When God let fall milk-porridge ’stead of rain!
And I, poor donkey, hadn’t brought a spoon!
Yes, Heaven had meant to help me, me accurst!
I saw my luck but couldn’t by it profit!
Quickly my brother made a banquet of it⁠—
Ate my milk-porridge till he nearly burst!

“Want bears the sceptre here on earth below,
And life is always grievous to the poor.
But God, who rules the world, and ought to know,
Says all will get their rights when life is o’er.
Therefore, good people, hear me for His sake⁠—
A trifle for the poor man’s coffin give,
Wherein his final journey he must take;
Have mercy on my end while yet I live!

“Yet one thing God has given me⁠—my boy.
And children are the poor man’s wealth, I know.
O does he think of me, my only joy,
Who have no other treasure here below?
Long time have we been parted by mishap:
I’m tired of picking rags and sick of song;
God who sees all reward you all ere long:
O drop a trifle in poor Lasse’s cap!”

When Lasse had finished his song the people clapped and threw down coins wrapped in paper, and he went round picking them up. Then he took his sack on his back and stumped away, bent almost double, through the gateway.

“Father!” cried Pelle desperately. “Father!”

Lasse stood up with a jerk and peered through the gateway with his feeble eyes. “Is that you, lad? Ach, it sounded like your voice when you were a child, when anyone was going to hurt you and you came to me for help.” The old man was trembling from head to foot. “And now I suppose you’ve heard the whole thing and are ashamed of your old father?” He dared not look at his son.

“Father, you must come home with me now⁠—do you hear?” said Pelle, as they entered the street together.

“No, that I can’t do! There’s not enough even for your own mouths⁠—no, you must let me go my own way. I must look after myself⁠—and I’m doing quite well.”

“You are to come home with me⁠—the children miss you, and Ellen asks after you day after day.”

“Yes, that would be very welcome.⁠ ⁠… But I know what folks would think if I were to take the food out of your children’s mouths! Besides⁠—I’m a ragpicker now! No, you mustn’t lead me into temptation.”

“You are to come with me now⁠—never mind about anything else. I can’t bear this, father!”

“Well, then, in God’s name, I must publish my shame before you, lad⁠—if you won’t let me be! See now, I’m living with someone⁠—with a woman. I met her out on the refuse-heaps, where she was collecting rubbish, just as I was. I had arranged a corner for myself out there⁠—for the night, until I could find a lodging⁠—and then she said I was to go home with her⁠—it wouldn’t be so cold if there were two of us. Won’t you come home with me, so that you can see where we’ve both got to? Then you can see the whole thing and judge for yourself. We live quite close.”

They turned into a narrow lane and entered a gateway. In the backyard, in a shed, which looked like the remains of an old farm cottage, was Lasse’s home. It looked as though it had once been used as a