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

Ferdinand with a broad smile. “The prefect of police himself has just five hundred kroner lying in his desk. I’ll try to get it for you if you like.”

“No,” said Pelle slowly, “I would rather undergo my punishment. But thanks for your kind intentions⁠—and give my best wishes to your old mother. And if you ever have anything to spare, then give it to Widow Johnsen. She and the child have gone hungry since Hanne’s death.”

And then there was nothing more to do or say; it was all over.⁠ ⁠… He went straight across the marketplace toward the courthouse. There it stood, looking so dismal! He strolled slowly past it, along the canal, in order to collect himself a little before going in. He walked along the quay, gazing down into the water, where the boats and the big live-boxes full of fish were just visible. By Holmens Church he pulled himself together and turned back⁠—he must do it now! He raised his head with a sudden resolve and found himself facing Marie. Her cheeks glowed as he gazed at her.

“Pelle,” she cried, rejoicing, “are you still at liberty? Then it wasn’t true! I have been to the meeting, and they said there you had been arrested. Ach, we have been so unhappy!”

“I shall be arrested⁠—I am on the way now.”

“But, Pelle, dear Pelle!” She gazed at him with tearful eyes. Ah, he was still the foundling, who needed her care! Pelle himself had tears in his eyes; he suddenly felt weak and impressible. Here was a human child whose heart was beating for him⁠—and how beautiful she was, in her grief at his misfortune!

She stood before him, slender, but generously formed; her hair⁠—once so thin and uncared-for⁠—fell in heavy waves over her forehead. She had emerged from her stunted shell into a glorious maturity. “Pelle,” she said, with downcast eyes, gripping both his hands, “don’t go there tonight⁠—wait till tomorrow! All the others are rejoicing over the victory tonight⁠—and so should you!⁠ ⁠… Come with me, to my room, Pelle, you are so unhappy.” Her face showed him that she was fighting down her tears. She had never looked so much a child as now.

“Why do you hesitate? Come with me! Am I not pretty? And I have kept it all for you! I have loved you since the very first time I ever saw you, Pelle, and I began to grow, because I wanted to be beautiful for you. I owe nothing to anyone but you, and if you don’t want me I don’t want to go on living!”

No, she owed nothing to anyone, this child from nowhere, but was solely and entirely her own work. Lovely and untouched she came to him in her abandonment, as though she were sent by the good angel of poverty to quicken his heart. Beautiful and pure of heart she had grown up out of wretchedness as though out of happiness itself, and where in the world should he rest his head, that was wearied to death, but on the heart of her who to him was child and mother and beloved?

“Pelle, do you know, there was dancing today in the Federation building after the meeting on the Common, and we young girls had made a green garland, and I was to crown you with it when you came into the hall. Oh, we did cry when someone came up and called out to us that they had taken you! But now you have won the wreath after all, haven’t you? And you shall sleep sweetly and not think of tomorrow!”

And Pelle fell asleep with his head on her girlish bosom. And as she lay there gazing at him with the eyes of a mother, he dreamed that Denmark’s hundred thousand workers were engaged in building a splendid castle, and that he was the architect. And when the castle was finished he marched in at the head of the army of workers; singing they passed through the long corridors, to fill the shining halls. But the halls were not there⁠—the castle had turned into a prison! And they went on and on, but could not find their way out again.

Book IV Daybreak I

Out in the middle of the open, fertile country, where the plough was busy turning up the soil round the numerous cheerful little houses, stood a gloomy building that on every side turned bare walls toward the smiling world. No panes of glass caught the ruddy glow of the morning and evening sun and threw back its quivering reflection; three rows of barred apertures drank in all the light of day with insatiable avidity. They were always gaping greedily, and seen against the background of blue spring sky, looked like holes leading into the everlasting darkness. In its heavy gloom the mass of masonry towered above the many smiling homes, but their peaceable inhabitants did not seem to feel oppressed. They ploughed their fields right up to the bare walls, and wherever the building was visible, eyes were turned toward it with an expression that told of the feeling of security that its strong walls gave.

Like a landmark the huge building towered above everything else. It might very well have been a temple raised to God’s glory by a grateful humanity, so imposing was it; but if so, it must have been in bygone ages, for no dwellings⁠—even for the Almighty⁠—are built nowadays in so barbaric a style, as if the one object were to keep out light and air! The massive walls were saturated with the dank darkness within, and the centuries had weathered their surface and made on it luxuriant cultures of fungus and mould, and yet they still seemed as if they could stand for an eternity.

The building was no fortress, however, nor yet a temple whose dim recesses were the abode of the unknown God. If you went up to the great, heavy door, which was always closed