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

of old age. “Hanne should have taken you, and then things would have been very different.’ ” VII

People wondered, at the library, over the grave, silent workingman who took hold of books as if they were bricks. They liked him and helped him to find what he wanted.

Among the staff there was an old librarian who often came and asked Pelle if there were anything he could help him with. He was a little wizened man with gold spectacles and thin white hair and beard that gave a smiling expression to his pale face. He had spent his time among the stacks of books during the greater part of his life; the dust of the books had attacked his chest, and every minute his dry cough sounded through the room.

Librarian Brun was a bachelor and was said to be very rich. He was not particularly neat or careful in his dress, but there was something unspoiled about his person that made one think he could never have been subjected to the world’s rough handling. In his writings he was a fanatical worshipper of the ego, and held up the law of conscience as the only one to which men should be subject. Personally he was reserved and shy, but something drew him to Pelle, who, he knew, had once been the soul in the raising of the masses; and he followed with wonder and curiosity the development of the new workingman. Now and then he brought one of his essays to Pelle and asked him to read it. It often treated of the nature of personality, took as its starting-point the ego of some philosopher or other, or of such and such a religion, and attempted to get at the questions of the day. They conversed in whispers on the subject. The old, easily-approached philosopher, who was read by very few, cherished an unrequited affection for the general public, and listened eagerly to what a workingman might be able to make out of his ideas. Quiet and almost timid though his manner was, his views were strong, and he did not flinch from the thought of employing violent measures; but his attitude toward the raising of the lower classes was sceptical. “They don’t know how to read,” he said. “The common people never touch a real book.” He had lived so long among books that he thought the truths of life were hidden away in them.

They gradually became well acquainted with one another. Brun was the last descendant of an old, decayed family, which had been rich for many generations. He despised money, and did not consider it to be one of the valuable things of life. Never having known want, he had few pretensions, and often denied himself to help others. It was said that he lived in a very Spartan fashion, and used a large proportion of his income for the relief of the poor. On many points he agreed with the lower classes, not only theoretically but purely organically; and Pelle saw, to his amazement, that the dissolution of existing conditions could also take place from the upper grades of society. Perhaps the future was preparing itself at both extremities!

One day Brun carefully led the conversation on to Pelle’s private affairs: he seemed to know something about them. “Isn’t there anything you want to start?” he asked. “I should be so glad if you would allow me to help you.”

Pelle was not yet clear as to what was to be done about the future. “At present,” he said, “the whole thing is just a chaos to me.”

“But you must live! Will you do me the favor of taking a loan from me at any rate, while you’re looking about you? Money is necessary to make one capable and free,” he continued, when Pelle refused it. “It’s a pity, but so it is. You don’t take what you want anyhow, so you must either get the money in the way that offers, or do without.”

“Then I’ll do without,” said Pelle.

“It seems to me that’s what you and yours have always done, and have you ever succeeded in heaping coals of fire on the head of society by it? You set too high a value upon money; the common people have too great respect for the property of others. And upon my word it’s true! The good old poor man could scarcely find it in his heart to put anything into his own miserable mouth; his wife was to have all the good pieces. So he is mourned as lost to our side; he was so easy to get wealth by. His progeny still go about with a good deal of it.”

“Money makes you dependent,” Pelle objected.

“Not always,” answered Brun, laughing. “In my world people borrow and take on credit without a thought: the greater the debt, the better it is; they never treat a man worse than when they owe him money. On that point we are very much more emancipated than you are, indeed that’s where the dividing line goes between the upper classes and the common people. This fear of becoming indebted to anyone, and carefulness to do two services in return for one, is all very nice and profitable in your own world; but it’s what you’ll be run down by in your relations to us. We don’t know it at all; how otherwise would those people get on who have to let themselves be helped from their cradle to their grave, and live exclusively upon services received?”

Pelle looked at him in bewilderment. “Poor people have nothing but their sense of honor, and so they watch over it,” he said.

“And you’ve really never halted at this sense of honor that works so splendidly in our favor?” asked Brun in surprise. “Just examine the existing morals, and you’ll discover that they must have been invented by us⁠—for your use. Yes, you’re surprised to hear me say that, but then I’m a degenerate upper-class man,