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Pelle the Conqueror, Complete by Martin Anderson Nexo

M >> Martin Anderson Nexo >> Pelle the Conqueror, Complete




As they stood there silent, thinking of Little Anna's sad fate,
an unspeakably soft note came up to them, followed by a long,
affecting sobbing. They moved nearer to one another. "Oh, Lord!"
whispered Fair Maria, shivering. "That's the baby's soul crying!"
Pelle stiffened as he listened, and cold waves seemed to flow down
his back.

"Why, that's a nightingale," said Karl Johan, "Don't you even know
that? There are hundreds of them in these woods, and they sing in
the middle of the day." This was a relief to the older people, but
Pelle's horror was not so easily thrown off. He had gazed into the
depths of the other world, and every explanation glanced off him.

But then came the Robbers' Castle as a great disappointment. He had
imagined it peopled with robbers, and it was only some old ruins
that stood on a little hill in the middle of a bog. He went by
himself all round the bottom of it to see if there were not a secret
underground passage that led down to the water. If there were, he
would get hold of his father without letting the others know, and
make his way in and look for the chests of money; or else there
would be too many to share in it. But this was forgotten as a
peculiar scent arrested his attention, and he came upon a piece of
ground that was green with lily-of-the-valley plants that still bore
a few flowers, and where there were wild strawberries. There were so
many that he had to go and call the others.

But this was also forgotten as he made his way through the underwood
to get up. He had lost the path and gone astray in the damp, chilly
darkness under the cliff. Creeping plants and thorns wove themselves
in among the overhanging branches, and made a thick, low roof. He
could not see an opening anywhere, and a strange green light came
through the matted branches, the ground was slippery with moisture
and decaying substances; from the cliff hung quivering fern-fronds
with their points downward, and water dripping from them like wet
hair. Huge tree-roots, like the naked bodies of black goblins
writhing to get free, lay stretched across the rocks. A little
further on, the sun made a patch of burning fire in the darkness,
and beyond it rose a bluish vapor and a sound as of a distant
threshing-machine.

Pelle stood still, and his terror grew until his knees trembled;
then he set off running as if he were possessed. A thousand shadow-
hands stretched out after him as he ran; and he pushed his way
through briars and creepers with a low cry. The daylight met him
with the force of a blow, and something behind him had a firm grasp
on his clothes; he had to shout for Father Lasse with all his might
before it let go.

And there he stood right out in the bog, while high up above
his head the others sat, upon a point of rock all among the trees.
From up there it looked as if the world were all tree-tops, rising
and falling endlessly; there was foliage far down beneath your
feet and out as far as the eye could see, up and down. You were
almost tempted to throw yourself into it, it looked so invitingly
soft. As a warning to the others, Karl Johan had to tell them
about the tailor's apprentice, who jumped out from a projecting
rock here, just because the foliage looked so temptingly soft,
Strange to say, he escaped with his life; but the high tree he
fell through stripped him of every stitch of clothing.

Mons had been teasing Sara by saying that he was going to jump
down, but now he drew back cautiously. "I don't want to risk my
confirmation clothes," he said, trying to look good.

After all, the most remarkable thing of all was the Horseman Hill
with the royal monument. The tower alone! Not a bit of wood had
been used in it, only granite; and you went round and round and
round. "You're counting the steps, I suppose?" said Karl Johan
admonishingly. Oh, yes, they were all counting to themselves.

It was clear weather, and the island lay spread out beneath them in
all its luxuriance. The very first thing the men wanted to do was to
try what it was like to spit down; but the girls were giddy and kept
together in a cluster in the middle of the platform. The churches
were counted under Karl Johan's able guidance, and all the well-
known places pointed out. "There's Stone Farm, too," said Anders,
pointing to something far off toward the sea. It was not Stone Farm,
but Karl Johan could say to a nicety behind which hill it ought to
lie, and then they recognized the quarries.

Lasse took no part in this. He stood quite still, gazing at the blue
line of the Swedish coast that stood out far away upon the shining
water. The sight of his native land made him feel weak and old; he
would probably never go home again, although he would have dearly
liked to see Bengta's grave once more. Ah yes, and the best that
could happen to one would be to be allowed to rest by her side, when
everything else was ended. At this moment he regretted that he had
gone into exile in his old age. He wondered what Kungstorp looked
like now, whether the new people kept the land cultivated at all.
And all the old acquaintances--how were they getting on? His
old-man's reminiscences came over him so strongly that for a time
he forgot Madam Olsen and everything about her. He allowed himself
to be lulled by past memories, and wept in his heart like a little
child. Ah! it was dreary to live away from one's native place and
everything in one's old age; but if it only brought a blessing on
the laddie in some way or other, it was all as it should be.

"I suppose that's the King's Copenhagen [Footnote: Country-people
speak of Copenhagen as "the King's Copehagen."] we see over there?"
asked Anders.

"It's Sweden," said Lasse quietly.

"Sweden, is it? But it lay on that side last year, if I remember
rightly."

"Yes, of course! What else should the world go round for?" exclaimed
Mons.

Anders was just about to take this in all good faith when he caught
a grimace that Mons made to the others. "Oh, you clever monkey!" he
cried, and sprang at Mons, who dashed down the stone stairs; and the
sound of their footsteps came up in a hollow rumble as out of a huge
cask. The girls stood leaning against one another, rocking gently
and gazing silently at the shining water that lay far away round
the island. The giddiness had made them languid.

"Why, your eyes are quite dreamy!" said Karl Johan, trying to take
them all into his embrace. "Aren't you coming down with us?"

They were all fairly tired now. No one said anything, for of course
Karl Johan was leading; but the girls showed an inclination to sit
down.

"Now there's only the Echo Valley left," he said encouragingly,
"and that's on our way back. We must do that, for it's well worth
it. You'll hear an echo there that hasn't its equal anywhere."

They went slowly, for their feet were tender with the leather boots
and much aimless walking; but when they had come down the steep
cliff into the valley and had drunk from the spring, they brightened
up. Karl Johan stationed himself with legs astride, and called
across to the cliff: "What's Karl Johan's greatest treat?" And the
echo answered straight away: "Eat!" It was exceedingly funny, and
they all had to try it, each with his or her name--even Pelle. When
that was exhausted, Mons made up a question which made the echo give
a rude answer.

"You mustn't teach it anything like that," said Lasse. "Just suppose
some fine ladies were to come here, and he started calling that out
after them?" They almost killed themselves with laughing at the old
man's joke, and he was so delighted at the applause that he went on
repeating it to himself on the way back. Ha, ha! he wasn't quite
fit for the scrap-heap yet.

When they got back to the cart they were ravenously hungry and
settled down to another meal. "You must have something to keep you
up when you're wandering about like this," said Mons.

"Now then," said Karl Johan, when they had finished, "every one may
do what they like; but at nine sharp we meet here again and drive
home."

Up on the open ground, Lasse gave Pelle a secret nudge, and they
began to do business with a cake-seller until the others had got
well ahead. "It's not nice being third wheel in a carriage," said
Lasse. "We two'll go about by ourselves for a little now."

Lasse was craning his neck. "Are you looking for any one?" asked
Pelle.

"No, no one in particular; but I was wondering where all these
people come from. There are people from all over the country,
but I haven't seen any one from the village yet."

"Don't you think Madam Olsen'll be here to-day?"

"Can't say," said Lasse; "but it would be nice to see her, and
there's something I want to say to her, too. Your eyes are
young; you must keep a lookout."

Pelle was given fifty ore to spend on whatever he liked. Round the
ground sat the poor women of the Heath at little stalls, from which
they sold colored sugar-sticks, gingerbread and two-ore cigars. In
the meantime he went from woman to woman, and bought of each for
one or two ore.

Away under the trees stood blind Hoyer, who had come straight from
Copenhagen with new ballads. There was a crowd round him. He played
the tune upon his concertina, his little withered wife sang to it,
and the whole crowd sang carefully with her. Those who had learnt
the tunes went away singing, and others pushed forward into their
place and put down their five-ore piece.

Lasse and Pelle stood on the edge of the crowd listening. There
was no use in paying money before you knew what you would get for
it; and anyhow the songs would be all over the island by to-morrow,
and going gratis from mouth to mouth. "A Man of Eighty--a new and
pleasant ballad about how things go when a decrepit old man takes
a young wife!" shouted Hoyer in a hoarse voice, before the song
began. Lasse didn't care very much about that ballad; but then came
a terribly sad one about the sailor George Semon, who took a most
tender farewell of his sweetheart--

"And said, When here I once more stand,
We to the church will go hand in hand."

But he never did come back, for the storm was over them for
forty-five days, provisions ran short, and the girl's lover went
mad. He drew his knife upon the captain, and demanded to be taken
home to his bride; and the captain shot him down. Then the others
threw themselves upon the corpse, carried it to the galley, and
made soup of it.

"The girl still waits for her own true love,
Away from the shore she will not move.
Poor maid, she's hoping she still may wed,
And does not know that her lad is dead."

"That's beautiful," said Lasse, rummaging in his purse for a
five-ore. "You must try to learn that; you've got an ear for that
sort of thing." They pushed through the crowd right up to the
musician, and began cautiously to sing too, while the girls all
round were sniffing.

They wandered up and down among the trees, Lasse rather fidgety.
There was a whole street of dancing-booths, tents with conjurers and
panorama-men, and drinking-booths. The criers were perspiring, the
refreshment sellers were walking up and down in front of their tents
like greedy beasts of prey. Things had not got into full swing yet,
for most of the people were still out and about seeing the sights,
or amusing themselves in all seemliness, exerting themselves in
trials of strength or slipping in and out of the conjurers' tents.
There was not a man unaccompanied by a woman. Many a one came to a
stand at the refreshment-tents, but the woman pulled him past; then
he would yawn and allow himself to be dragged up into a roundabout
or a magic-lantern tent where the most beautiful pictures were shown
of the way that cancer and other horrible things made havoc in
people's insides.

"These are just the things for the women," said Lasse, breathing
forth a sigh at haphazard after Madam Olsen. On a horse on Madvig's
roundabout sat Gustav with his arm round Bodil's waist. "Hey, old
man!" he cried, as they whizzed past, and flapped Lasse on the ear
with his cap, which had the white side out. They were as radiant
as the day and the sun, those two.

Pelle wanted to have a turn on a roundabout. "Then blest if I won't
have something too, that'll make things go round!" said Lasse, and
went in and had a "cuckoo"--coffee with brandy in it. "There are
some people," he said, when he came out again, "that can go from
one tavern to another without its making any difference in their
purse. It would be nice to try--only for a year. Hush!" Over by Max
Alexander's "Green House" stood Karna, quite alone and looking about
her wistfully. Lasse drew Pelle round in a wide circle.

"There's Madam Olsen with a strange man!" said Pelle suddenly.

Lasse started. "Where?" Yes, there she stood, and had a man with
her! And talking so busily! They went past her without stopping;
she could choose for herself, then.

"Hi, can't you wait a little!" cried Madam Olsen, running after them
so that her petticoats crackled round her. She was round and smiling
as usual, and many layers of good home-woven material stood out
about her; there was no scrimping anywhere.

They went on together, talking on indifferent matters and now and
then exchanging glances about the boy who was in their way. They had
to walk so sedately without venturing to touch one another. He did
not like any nonsense.

It was black with people now up at the pavilion, and one could
hardly move a step without meeting acquaintances. "It's even worse
than a swarm of bees," said Lasse. "It's not worth trying to get
in there." At one place the movement was outward, and by following
it they found themselves in a valley, where a man stood shouting
and beating his fists upon a platform. It was a missionary meeting.
The audience lay encamped in small groups, up the slopes, and a man
in long black clothes went quietly from group to group, selling
leaflets. His face was white, and he had a very long, thin red
beard.

"Do you see that man?" whispered Lasse, giving Pelle a nudge. "Upon
my word, if it isn't Long Ole--and with a glove on his injured hand.
It was him that had to take the sin upon him for Per Olsen's false
swearing!" explained Lasse, turning to Madam Olsen. "He was standing
at the machine at the time when Per Olsen ought to have paid the
penalty with his three fingers, and so his went instead. He may be
glad of the mistake after all, for they say he's risen to great
things among the prayer-meeting folks. And his complexion's as fine
as a young lady's--something different to what it was when he was
carting manure at Stone Farm! It'll be fun to say good-day to him
again."

Lasse was quite proud of having served together with this man,
and stationed himself in front of the others, intending to make an
impression upon his lady friend by saying a hearty: "Good-day, Ole!"
Long Ole was at the next group, and now he came on to them and was
going to hold out his tracts, when a glance at Lasse made him drop
both hand and eyes; and with a deep sigh he passed on with bowed
head to the next group.

"Did you see how he turned his eyes up?" said Lasse derisively.
"When beggars come to court, they don't know how to behave! He'd got
a watch in his pocket, too, and long clothes; and before he hadn't
even a shirt to his body. And an ungodly devil he was too! But the
old gentleman looks after his own, as the saying is; I expect it's
him that helped him on by changing places at the machine. The way
they've cheated the Almighty's enough to make Him weep!"

Madam Olsen tried to hush Lasse, but the "cuckoo" rose within him
together with his wrath, and he continued: "So _he's_ above
recognizing decent people who get what they have in an honorable
way, and not by lying and humbug! They do say he makes love to all
the farmers' wives wherever he goes; but there was a time when he
had to put up with the Sow."

People began to look at them, and Madam Olsen took Lasse firmly by
the arm and drew him away.

The sun was now low in the sky. Up on the open ground the crowds
tramped round and round as if in a tread-mill. Now and then a
drunken man reeled along, making a broad path for himself through
the crush. The noise came seething up from the tents--barrel-organs
each grinding out a different tune, criers, the bands of the various
dancing-booths, and the measured tread of a schottische or polka.
The women wandered up and down in clusters, casting long looks into
the refreshment-tents where their men were sitting; and some of them
stopped at the tent-door and made coaxing signs to some one inside.

Under the trees stood a drunken man, pawing at a tree-trunk, and
beside him stood a girl, crying with her black damask apron to her
eyes. Pelle watched them for a long time. The man's clothes were
disordered, and he lurched against the girl with a foolish grin
when she, in the midst of her tears, tried to put them straight.
When Pelle turned away, Lasse and Madam Olsen had disappeared in
the crowd.

They must have gone on a little, and he went down to the very end
of the street. Then he turned despondingly and went up, burrowing
this way and that in the stream of people, with eyes everywhere.
"Haven't you seen Father Lasse?" he asked pitifully, when he met
any one he knew.

In the thickest of the crush, a tall man was moving along, holding
forth blissfully at the top of his voice. He was a head taller than
anybody else, and very broad; but he beamed with good-nature, and
wanted to embrace everybody. People ran screaming out of his way,
so that a broad path was left wherever he went. Pelle kept behind
him, and thus succeeded in getting through the thickest crowds,
where policemen and rangers were stationed with thick cudgels.
Their eyes and ears were on the watch, but they did not interfere
in anything. It was said that they had handcuffs in their pockets.

Pelle had reached the road in his despairing search. Cart after cart
was carefully working its way out through the gloom under the trees,
then rolling out into the dazzling evening light, and on to the
high-road with much cracking of whips. They were the prayer-meeting
people driving home.

He happened to think of the time, and asked a man what it was. Nine!
Pelle had to run so as not to be too late in getting to the cart.
In the cart sat Karl Johan and Fair Maria eating. "Get up and have
something to eat!" they said, and as Pelle was ravenous, he forgot
everything while he ate. But then Johan asked about Lasse, and his
torment returned.

Karl Johan was cross; not one had returned to the cart, although
it was the time agreed upon. "You'd better keep close to us now,"
he said, as they went up, "or you might get killed."

Up at the edge of the wood they met Gustav running. "Have none
of you seen Bodil?" he asked, gasping. His clothes were torn and
there was blood on the front of his shirt. He ran on groaning, and
disappeared under the trees. It was quite dark there, but the open
ground lay in a strange light that came from nowhere, but seemed
to have been left behind by the day as it fled. Faces out there
showed up, some in ghostly pallor, some black like holes in the
light, until they suddenly burst forth, crimson with blood-red
flame.

The people wandered about in confused groups, shouting and screaming
at the top of their voices. Two men came along with arms twined
affectionately round one another's necks, and the next moment lay
rolling on the ground in a fight. Others joined the fray and took
sides without troubling to discover what it was all about, and the
contest became one large struggling heap. Then the police came up,
and hit about them with their sticks; and those who did not run away
were handcuffed and thrown into an empty stable.

Pelle was quite upset, and kept close to Karl Johan; he jumped
every time a band approached, and kept on saying in a whimpering
tone: "Where's Father Lasse? Let's go and find him."

"Oh, hold your tongue!" exclaimed the head man, who was standing and
trying to catch sight of his fellow-servants. He was angry at this
untrustworthiness. "Don't stand there crying! You'd do much more
good if you ran down to the cart and see whether any one's come."

Pelle had to go, little though he cared to venture in under the
trees. The branches hung silently listening, but the noise from
the open ground came down in bursts, and in the darkness under the
bushes living things rustled about and spoke in voices of joy or
sorrow. A sudden scream rang through the wood, and made his knees
knock together.

Karna sat at the back of the cart asleep, and Bengta stood leaning
against the front seat, weeping. "They've locked Anders up," she
sobbed. "He got wild, so they put handcuffs on him and locked
him up." She went back with Pelle.

Lasse was with Karl Johan and Fair Maria; he looked defiantly at
Pelle, and in his half-closed eyes there was a little mutinous
gleam.

"Then now there's only Mons and Lively Sara," said Karl Johan,
as he ran his eye over them.

"But what about Anders?" sobbed Bengta. "You surely won't drive
away without Anders?"

"There's nothing can he done about Anders!" said the head man.
"He'll come of his own accord when once he's let out."

They found out on inquiry that Mons and Lively Sara were down in one
of the dancing-booths, and accordingly went down there. "Now you
stay here!" said Karl Johan sternly, and went in to take a survey
of the dancers. In there blood burnt hot, and faces were like balls
of fire that made red circles in the blue mist of perspiring heat
and dust. Dump! Dump! Dump! The measure fell booming like heavy
blows; and in the middle of the floor stood a man and wrung the
moisture out of his jacket.

Out of one of the dancing-tents pushed a big fellow with two girls.
He had an arm about the neck of each, and they linked arms behind
his back. His cap was on the back of his head, and his riotous mood
would have found expression in leaping, if he had not felt himself
too pleasantly encumbered; so he opened his mouth wide, and shouted
joyfully, so that it rang again: "Devil take me! Deuce take me!
Seven hundred devils take me!" and disappeared under the trees with
his girls.

"That was Per Olsen himself," said Lasse, looking after him. "What
a man, to be sure! He certainly doesn't look as if he bore any debt
of sin to the Almighty."

"His time may still come," was the opinion of Karl Johan.

Quite by chance they found Mons and Lively Sara sitting asleep
in one another's arms upon a bench under the trees.

"Well, now, I suppose we ought to be getting home?" said Karl Johan
slowly. He had been doing right for so long that his throat was
quite dry. "I suppose none of you'll stand a farewell glass?"

"I will!" said Mons, "if you'll go up to the pavilion with me to
drink it." Mons had missed something by going to sleep and had a
desire to go once round the ground. Every time a yell reached them
he gave a leap as he walked beside Lively Sara, and answered with
a long halloo. He tried to get away, but she clung to his arm; so
he swung the heavy end of his loaded stick and shouted defiantly.
Lasse kicked his old limbs and imitated Mons's shouts, for he
too was for anything rather than going home; but Karl Johan was
determined--they _were_ to go now! And in this he was
supported by Pelle and the women.

Out on the open ground a roar made them stop, and the women got
each behind her man. A man came running bareheaded and with a large
wound in his temple, from which the blood flowed down over his face
and collar. His features were distorted with fear. Behind him came
a second, also bareheaded, and with a drawn knife. A ranger tried
to bar his way, but received a wound in his shoulder and fell, and
the pursuer ran on. As he passed them, Mons uttered a short yell and
sprang straight up into the air, bringing down his loaded stick upon
the back of the man's neck. The man sank to the ground with a grunt,
and Mons slipped in among the groups of people and disappeared; and
the others found him waiting for them at the edge of the wood. He
did not answer any more yells.

Karl Johan had to lead the horses until they got out onto the road,
and then they all got in. Behind them the noise had become lost,
and only one long cry for help rang through the air and dropped
again.

Down by a little lake, some forgotten girls had gathered on the
grass and were playing by themselves. The white mist lay over the
grass like a shining lake, and only the upper part of the girls'
bodies rose above it. They were walking round in a ring, singing
the mid-summer's-night song. Pure and clear rose the merry song,
and yet was so strangely sad to listen to, because they who sang
it had been left in the lurch by sots and brawlers.

"We will dance upon hill and meadow,
We will wear out our shoes and stockings.
Heigh ho, my little sweetheart fair,
We shall dance till the sun has risen high.
Heigh ho, my queen!
Now we have danced upon the green."

The tones fell so gently upon the ear and mind that memories and
thoughts were purified of all that had been hideous, and the day
itself could appear in its true colors as a joyful festival. For
Lasse and Pelle, indeed, it had been a peerless day, making up for
many years of neglect. The only pity was that it was over instead
of about to begin.

John Crace digests High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Review: The Thin Blue Line: How Humanitarianism Went to War by Conor FoleyAid worker Foley conducts a fascinating and important analysis of recent wars and disasters around the world, says Steven Poole

Review: Under Two Dictators: Prisoner of Stalin and Hitler by Margarete Buber-Neumann

He might be almost 90 years old in real terms, but Christopher Robin and his bear of very little brain are set to make a literary comeback after the estate of AA Milne agreed to authorise the first-ever official sequel to the much-loved children's books.

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood by author David Benedictus picks up from the poignant ending of Milne's last Pooh book, The House at Pooh Corner, in which Christopher Robin is growing up and heading away to school. "Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred," he tells the bear, and they leave together.

The estates of Milne and EH Shepard, who provided the simple but enduring illustrations for the books, said they had been searching for a sequel that would do justice to the original stories for "a good many years".

Although Disney has franchised the characters in a number of films, there has not previously been an authorised literary sequel to Milne's books, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, first published in 1926 and 1928. Milne wrote the books for his son Christopher Robin, naming Pooh after his teddy bear.

The sequel, to be published by Egmont Publishing in Britain and Penguin imprint Dutton Children's Books in the US, is due out on 5 October, illustrated by Mark Burgess. Benedictus, who is familiar with the world of Winnie the Pooh after adapting and producing audio versions of the books starring Judi Dench, Stephen Fry and Jane Horrocks, did not reveal any more details, but promised that the book would both "complement and maintain Milne's idea that whatever happens, a little boy and his bear will always be playing".

Michael Brown, chairman of Pooh Properties, which manages the affairs of the Milne and Shepard estates, said the sequel would capture "the spirit and quality" of the original books.

Benedictus said all Milne's well-loved characters, from Tigger to Eeyore, would be making an appearance in his sequel, which features 10 stories and around 150 illustrations. The stories retain their original 1920s setting.

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Review: The Error World: An Affair with Stamps by Simon Garfield

One might say that Margarete Buber-Neumann had a charmed life, had it not been so horrible. She was fortunate - if that is the word - to be sent to a Soviet labour camp in 1939, during a momentary lull in the mass shooting of prisoners. Handed over to the Nazis in 1940, she was similarly lucky to be released from an SS concentration camp in 1945, just days before the remaining prisoners were forced on evacuation marches ending in death. It is a measure of the dismal times she lived through that such events marked her as fortunate, and it is a testament to her skill as a writer that this thoughtful, humane memoir (published in English in 1949) became an international bestseller. From the very first page we are with her, scurrying through Moscow surrounded by images of Stalin. We accompany her throughout the gruelling years ahead, encountering a host of characters, good and bad, and share in her dogged attempt to make sense of the madness of totalitarianism. This revised text is the definitive edition.

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