Pelle the Conqueror, Complete by Martin Anderson Nexo

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"He walks as though the whole town belonged to him!" said Jeppe
scornfully. "But we'll soon finish with him here!"

XX

Out in the street some one went by, and then another, and then
another; there was quite a trampling of feet. The young master
knocked on the wall. "What in the world is it, Pelle?" He did not
mean to get up that day.

Pelle ran out to seek information. "Jen's father has got delirium--
he's cleared the whole harbor and is threatening to kill them all!"

The master raised his head a little. "By God, I believe I shall
get up!" His eyes were glistening; presently he had got into his
clothes, and limped out of doors; they heard him coughing terribly
in the cold.

Old Jeppe put his official cap in his pocket before he ran out;
perhaps the authorities would be needed. For a time the apprentices
sat staring at the door like sick birds; then they, too, ran out
of the house.

Outside everything was in confusion. The wildest rumors were flying
about as to what Stonemason Jorgensen had done. The excitement could
not have been greater had a hostile squadron come to anchor and
commenced to bombard the town. Everybody dropped what he was holding
and rushed down to the harbor. The smaller side-streets were one
unbroken procession of children and old women and small employers
in their aprons. Old gouty seamen awoke from their decrepit slumber
and hobbled away, their hands dropped to the back of their loins
and their faces twisted with pain.

"Toot aroot aroot aroot.
All the pitchy snouts!"

A few street-urchins allowed themselves this little diversion, as
Pelle came running by with the other apprentices; otherwise all
attention was concentrated on the one fact that the "Great Power"
had broken out again! A certain festivity might have been noted on
the faces of the hurrying crowd; a vivid expectation. The stonemason
had been quiet for a long time now; he had labored like a giant
beast of burden, to all appearance extinguished, but toiling like
an elephant, and quietly taking home a couple of kroner in the
evening. It was almost painful to watch him, and a disappointed
silence gathered about him. And now came a sudden explosion,
thrilling everybody through!

All had something to say of the "strong man" while they hastened
down to the harbor. Everybody had foreseen that it must come; he had
for a long time looked so strange, and had done nothing wrong, so
that it was only a wonder that it hadn't come sooner! Such people
ought not really to be at large; they ought to be shut up for life!
They went over the events of his life for the hundredth time--from
the day when he came trudging into town, young and fearless in his
rags, to find a market for his energies, until the time when he
drove his child into the sea and settled down as a lunatic.

Down by the harbor the people were swarming; everybody who could
creep or crawl was stationed there. The crowd was good-humored, in
spite of the cold and the hard times; the people stamped their feet
and cracked jokes. The town had in a moment shaken off its winter
sleep; the people clambered up on the blocks of stone, or hung
close-packed over the rough timber frames that were to be sunk
in building the breakwater. They craned their necks and started
nervously, as though some one might come up suddenly and hit them
over the head. Jens and Morten were there, too; they stood quite
apart and were speaking to one another. They looked on mournfully,
with shy, harrassed glances, and where the great slip ran obliquely
down to the floor of the basin the workmen stood in crowds; they
hitched up their trousers, for the sake of something to do,
exchanged embarrassed glances, and swore.

But down on the floor of the great basin the "Great Power"
ruled supreme. He was moving about alone, and he seemed to be as
unconscious of his surroundings as a child absorbed in play; he had
some purpose of his own to attend to. But what that was it was not
easy to tell. In one hand he held a bundle of dynamite cartridges;
with the other he was leaning on a heavy iron bar. His movements
were slow and regular, not unlike those of a clumsy bear. When he
stood up, his comrades shouted to him excitedly; they would come
and tear him into little pieces; they would slit his belly so that
he could see his own bowels; they would slash him with their knives
and rub his wounds with vitriol if he didn't at once lay down his
weapons and let them come down to their work.

But the "Great Power" did not deign to answer. Perhaps he never
heard them. When he raised his head his glance swept the distance,
laden with a mysterious burden which was not human. That face,
with its deadly weariness, seemed in its sadness to be turned upon
some distant place whither none could follow him. "He is mad!"
they whispered; "God has taken away his wits!" Then he bent himself
to his task again; he seemed to be placing the cartridges under
the great breakwater which he himself had proposed. He was pulling
cartridges out of every pocket; that was why they had stuck out
from his body curiously.

"What the devil is he going to do now? Blow up the breakwater?"
they asked, and tried to creep along behind the causeway, so as to
come upon him from behind. But he had eyes all round him; at the
slightest movement on their part he was there with his iron bar.

The whole works were at a standstill! Two hundred men stood idle
hour after hour, growling and swearing and threatening death and
the devil, but no one ventured forward. The overseer ran about
irresolutely, and even the engineer had lost his head; everything
was in a state of dissolution. The district judge was walking up
and down in full uniform, with an impenetrable expression of face;
his mere presence had a calming effect, but he did nothing.

Each proposal made was wilder than the last. Some wanted to make
a gigantic screen which might be pushed toward him; others suggested
capturing him with a huge pair of tongs made of long balks of timber;
but no one attempted to carry out these suggestions; they were only
too thankful that he allowed them to stand where they were. The
"Great Power" could throw a dynamite cartridge with such force that
it would explode where it struck and sweep away everything around it.

"The tip-wagons!" cried some one. Here at last was an idea!
The wagons were quickly filled with armed workmen. The catch was
released, but the wagons did not move. The "Great Power" with
his devilish cunning, had been before them; he had spiked the
endless chain so that it could not move. And now he struck away
the under-pinning of a few of the supports, so that the wagons
could not be launched upon him by hand.

This was no delirium; no one had ever yet seen delirium manifest
itself in such a way! And he had touched no spirit since the
day they had carried his daughter home. No; it was the quietest
resolution imaginable; when they got up after the breakfast-hour
and were strolling down to the slip, he stood there with his iron
bar and quietly commanded them to keep away--the harbor belonged
to him! They had received more than one sharp blow before they
understood that he was in earnest; but there was no malice in
him--one could see quite plainly how it hurt him to strike them.
It was certainly the devil riding him--against his own will.

But where was it going to end? They had had enough of it now!
For now the great harbor bell was striking midday, and there was
something derisive in the sound, as though it was jeering at
respectable people who only wanted to resume their work. They
didn't want to waste the whole day; neither did they want to risk
life and limb against the fool's tricks of a lunatic. Even the
mighty Bergendal had left his contempt of death at home to-day,
and was content to grumble like the rest.

"We must knock a hole in the dam," he said, "then the brute may
perish in the waves!"

They immediately picked up their tools, in order to set to work. The
engineer threatened them with the law and the authorities; it would
cost thousands of kroner to empty the harbor again. They would not
listen to him; what use was he if he couldn't contrive for them to
do their work in peace?

They strolled toward the dam, with picks and iron crowbars, in order
to make the breach; the engineer and the police were thrust aside.
Now it was no longer a matter of work; it was a matter of showing
that two hundred men were not going to allow one crazy devil to make
fools of them. Beelzebub had got to be smoked out. Either the "Great
Power" would come up from the floor of the basin, or he would drown.

"You shall have a full day's wages!" cried the engineer, to hold
them back. They did not listen; but when they reached the place of
the intended breach, the "Great Power" was standing at the foot of
the dam, swinging his pick so that the walls of the basin resounded.
He beamed with helpfulness at every blow; he had posted himself at
the spot where the water trickled in, and they saw with horror what
an effect his blows had. It was sheer madness to do what he was
doing there.

"He'll fill the harbor with water, the devil!" they cried, and they
hurled stones at his head. "And such a work as it was to empty it!"

The "Great Power" took cover behind a pile and worked away.

Then there was nothing for it but to shoot him down before he had
attained his object. A charge of shot in the legs, if nothing more,
and he would at least be rendered harmless. The district judge was
at his wits' end; but Wooden-leg Larsen was already on the way home
to fetch his gun. Soon he came stumping back, surrounded by a swarm
of boys.

"I've loaded it with coarse salt!" he cried, so that the judge
might hear.

"Now you'll be shot dead!" they called down to him. In reply, the
"Great Power" struck his pick into the foot of the dam, so that
the trampled clay sighed and the moisture rose underfoot. A long
crackling sound told them that the first plank was shattered.

The final resolve had been formed quite of itself; everybody was
speaking of shooting him down as though the man had been long ago
sentenced, and now everybody was longing for the execution. They
hated the man below there with a secret hatred which needed no
explanation; his defiance and unruliness affected them like a slap
in the face; they would gladly have trampled him underfoot if they
could.

They shouted down insults; they reminded him how in his presumption
he had ruined his family, and driven his daughter to suicide; and
they cast in his face his brutal attack on the rich shipowner Monsen,
the benefactor of the town. For a time they roused themselves from
their apathy in order to take a hand in striking him down. And now
it must be done thoroughly; they must have peace from this fellow,
who couldn't wear his chains quietly, but must make them grate like
the voice of hatred that lay behind poverty and oppression.

The judge leaned out over the quay, in order to read his sentence
over the "Great Power"--three times must it be read, so the man
might have opportunity to repent. He was deathly pale, and at the
second announcement he started convulsively; but the "Great Power"
threw no dynamite cartridges at him; he merely lifted his hand to
his head, as though in greeting, and made a few thrusting motions in
the air with two of his fingers, which stood out from his forehead
like a pair of horns. From where the apothecary stood in a circle
of fine ladies a stifled laugh was heard. All faces were turned to
where the burgomaster's wife stood tall and stately on a block of
stone. But she gazed down unflinchingly at the "Great Power" as
though she had never seen him before.

On the burgomaster the gesture had an effect like that of an
explosion. "Shoot him down!" he roared, with purple face, stumbling
excitedly along the breakwater. "Shoot him down, Larsen!"

But no one heeded his command. All were streaming toward the
wagon-slip, where an old, faded little woman was in the act of
groping her way along the track toward the floor of the basin.
"It's the 'Great Power's' mother!" The word passed from mouth
to mouth. "No! How little and old she is! One can hardly believe
she could have brought such a giant into the world!"

Excitedly they followed her, while she tottered over the broken
stone of the floor of the basin, which was littered with the
_debris_ of explosions until it resembled an ice-floe under
pressure. She made her way but slowly, and it looked continually
as though she must break her legs. But the old lady persevered,
bent and withered though she was, with her shortsighted eyes
fixed on the rocks before her feet.

Then she perceived her son, who stood with his iron bar poised
in his hand. "Throw the stick away, Peter!" she cried sharply,
and mechanically he let the iron rod fall. He gave way before her,
slowly, until she had pinned him in a corner and attempted to seize
him; then he pushed her carefully aside, as though she was something
that inconvenienced him.

A sigh went through the crowd, and crept round the harbor like
a wandering shudder. "He strikes his own mother--he must be mad!"
they repeated, shuddering.

But the old woman was on her legs again. "Do you strike your own
mother, Peter?" she cried, with sheer amazement in her voice, and
reached up after his ear; she could not reach so far; but the "Great
Power" bent down as though something heavy pressed upon him, and
allowed her to seize his ear. Then she drew him away, over stock
and stone, in a slanting path to the slipway, where the people
stood like a wall. And he went, bowed, across the floor of the
basin, like a great beast in the little woman's hands.

Up on the quay the police stood ready to fall upon the "Great Power"
with ropes; but the old woman was like pepper and salt when she saw
their intention. "Get out of the way, or I'll let him loose on you!"
she hissed. "Don't you see he has lost his intellect? Would you
attack a man whom God has smitten?"

"Yes, he is mad!" said the people, in a conciliatory tone; "let
his mother punish him--she is the nearest to him!"

XXI

Now Pelle and the youngest apprentice had to see to everything,
for in November Jens had finished his term and had left at once. He
had not the courage to go to Copenhagen to seek his fortune. So he
rented a room in the poor quarter of the town and settled there with
his young woman. They could not get married; he was only nineteen
years of age. When Pelle had business in the northern portion of the
town he used to look in on them. The table stood between the bed and
the window, and there sat Jens, working on repairs for the poor folk
of the neighborhood. When he had managed to get a job the girl would
stand bending over him, waiting intently until he had finished, so
that she could get something to eat. Then she would come back and
cook something right away at the stove, and Jens would sit there
and watch her with burning eyes until he had more work in hand.
He had grown thin, and sported a sparse pointed beard; a lack of
nourishment was written in both their faces. But they loved one
another, and they helped one another in everything, as awkwardly
as two children who are playing at "father and mother." They had
chosen the most dismal locality; the lane fell steeply to the sea,
and was full of refuse; mangy cats and dogs ran about, dragging
fish-offal up the steps of the houses and leaving it lying there.
Dirty children were grubbing about before every door.

One Sunday morning, when Pelle had run out there to see them, he
heard a shriek from one of the cottages, and the sound of chairs
overturned. Startled, he stood still. "That's only one-eyed Johann
beating his wife," said an eight-year-old girl; "he does that
almost every day."

Before the door, on a chair, sat an old man, staring imperturbably
at a little boy who continually circled round him.

Suddenly the child ran inward, laid his hands on the old man's knee,
and said delightedly: "Father runs round the table--mother runs
round the table--father beats mother--mother runs round the table
and--cries." He imitated the crying, laughed all over his little
idiot's face, and dribbled. "Yes, yes," was all the old man said.
The child had no eyebrows, and the forehead was hollow over the eyes.
Gleefully he ran round and round, stamping and imitating the uproar
within. "Yes, yes," said the old man imperturbably, "yes, yes!"

At the window of one of the cottages sat a woman, gazing out
thoughtfully, her forehead leaning against the sash-bar. Pelle
recognized her; he greeted her cheerfully. She motioned him to the
door. Her bosom was still plump, but there was a shadow over her
face. "Hans!" she cried uncertainly, "here is Pelle, whose doing
it was that we found one another!"

The young workman replied from within the room: "Then he can
clear out, and I don't care if he looks sharp about it!" He spoke
threateningly.

In spite of the mild winter, Master Andres was almost always in bed
now. Pelle had to receive all instructions, and replace the master
as well as he could. There was no making of new boots now--only
repairs. Every moment the master would knock on the wall, in order
to gossip a little.

"To-morrow I shall get up," he would say, and his eyes would shine;
"yes, that I shall, Pelle! Give me sunlight tomorrow, you devil's
imp! This is the turning-point--now nature is turning round in me.
When that's finished I shall be quite well! I can feel how it's
raging in my blood--it's war to the knife now--but the good sap is
conquering! You should see me when the business is well forward--
this is nothing to what it will be! And you won't forget to borrow
the list of the lottery-drawings?"

He would not admit it to himself, but he was sinking. He no longer
cursed the clergy, and one day Jeppe silently went for the pastor.
When he had gone, Master Jeppe knocked on the wall.

"It's really devilish queer," he said, "for suppose there should
be anything in it? And then the pastor is so old, he ought rather
to be thinking of himself." The master lay there and looked
thoughtful; he was staring up at the ceiling. He would lie all day
like that; he did not care about reading now. "Jens was really a
good boy," he would say suddenly. "I could never endure him, but he
really had a good disposition. And do you believe that I shall ever
be a man again?"

"Yes, when once the warm weather comes," said Pelle.

From time to time the crazy Anker would come to ask after Master
Andres. Then the master would knock on the wall. "Let him come in,
then," he said to Pelle. "I find myself so terribly wearisome."
Anker had quite given up the marriage with the king's eldest
daughter, and had now taken matters into his own hands. He was now
working at a clock which would _be_ the "new time" itself, and
which would go in time with the happiness of the people. He brought
the wheels and spring and the whole works with him, and explained
them, while his gray eyes, fixed out-of-doors, wandered from one
object to another. They were never on the thing he was exhibiting.
He, like all the others, had a blind confidence in the young master,
and explained his invention in detail. The clock would be so devised
that it would show the time only when every one in the land had what
he wanted. "Then one can always see and know if anybody is suffering
need--there'll be no excuse then! For the time goes and goes, and
they get nothing to eat; and one day their hour comes, and they go
hungry into the grave." In his temples that everlasting thing was
beating which seemed to Pelle like the knocking of a restless soul
imprisoned there; and his eyes skipped from one object to another
with their vague, indescribable expression.

The master allowed himself to be quite carried away by Anker's talk
as long as it lasted; but as soon as the watchmaker was on the other
side of the door he shook it all off. "It's only the twaddle of a
madman," he said, astonished at himself.

Then Anker repeated his visit, and had something else to show. It
was a cuckoo; every ten-thousandth year it would appear to the hour
and cry "Cuckoo!" The time would not be shown any longer--only the
long, long course of time--which never comes to an end--eternity.
The master looked at Anker bewildered. "Send him away, Pelle!" he
whispered, wiping the sweat from his forehead: "he makes me quite
giddy; he'll turn me crazy with his nonsense!"

Pelle ought really to have spent Christmas at home, but the master
would not let him leave him. "Who will chat with me all that time
and look after everything?" he said. And Pelle himself was not so
set on going; it was no particular pleasure nowadays to go home.
Karna was ill, and Father Lasse had enough to do to keep her in good
spirits. He himself was valiant enough, but it did not escape Pelle
that as time went on he was sinking deeper into difficulties. He had
not paid the latest instalment due, and he had not done well with
the winter stone-breaking, which from year to year had helped him
over the worst. He had not sufficient strength for all that fell
to his lot. But he was plucky. "What does it matter if I'm a few
hundred kroner in arrears when I have improved the property to the
tune of several thousand?" he would say.

Pelle was obliged to admit the truth of that. "Raise a loan,"
he advised.

Lasse did try to do so. Every time he was in the town he went to
the lawyers and the savings-banks. But he could not raise a loan on
the land, as on paper it belonged to the commune, until, in a given
number of years, the whole of the sum to which Lasse had pledged
himself should be paid up. On Shrove Tuesday he was again in town,
and then he had lost his cheerful humor. "Now we know it, we had
better give up at once," he said despondently, "for now Ole Jensen
is haunting the place--you know, he had the farm before me and
hanged himself because he couldn't fulfill his engagements. Karna
saw him last night."

"Nonsense!" said Pelle. "Don't believe such a thing!" But he could
not help believing in it just a little himself.

"You think so? But you see yourself that things are always getting
more difficult for us--and just now, too, when we have improved the
whole property so far, and ought to be enjoying the fruit of our
labor. And Karna can't get well again," he added despondently.

"Well, who knows?--perhaps it's only superstition!" he cried at
last. He had courage for another attempt.

Master Andres was keeping his bed. But he was jolly enough there;
the more quickly he sank, the more boldly he talked. It was quite
wonderful to listen to his big words, and to see him lying there
so wasted, ready to take his departure when the time should come.

At the end of February the winter was so mild that people were
already beginning to look for the first heralds of spring; but then
in one night came the winter from the north, blustering southward on
a mighty ice-floe. Seen from the shore it looked as though all the
vessels in the world had hoisted new white sails, and were on the
way to Bornholm, to pay the island a visit, before they once again
set out, after the winter's rest, on their distant voyages. But
rejoicings over the breaking-up of the ice were brief; in four-and-
twenty hours the island was hemmed in on every side by the ice-pack,
so that there was not a speck of open water to be seen.

And then the snow began. "We really thought it was time to begin
work on the land," said the people; but they could put up with the
cold--there was still time enough. They proceeded to snowball one
another, and set their sledges in order; all through the winter
there had been no toboggan-slide. Soon the snow was up to one's
ankles, and the slide was made. Now it might as well stop snowing.
It might lie a week or two, so that people might enjoy a few proper
sleighing-parties. But the snow continued to flutter down, until it
reached to the knee, and then to the waist; and by the time people
were going to bed it was no longer possible to struggle through it.
And those who did not need to rise before daylight were very near
not getting out of bed at all, for in the night a snowstorm set in,
and by the morning the snow reached to the roofs and covered all
the windows. One could hear the storm raging about the chimneys,
but down below it was warm enough. The apprentices had to go through
the living-room to reach the workshop. The snow was deep there and
had closed all outlets.

"What the devil is it?" said Master Andres, looking at Pelle
in alarm. "Is the world coming to an end?"

Was the world coming to an end? Well, it might have come to an
end already; they could not hear the smallest sound from without,
to tell them whether their fellow-men were living still, or were
already dead. They had to burn lamps all day long; but the coal was
out in the snow, so they must contrive to get to the shed. They all
pushed against the upper half-door of the kitchen, and succeeded in
forcing it so far open that Pelle could just creep through. But once
out there it was impossible to move. He disappeared in the mass of
snow. They must dig a path to the well and the coal-shed; as for
food, they would have to manage as best they could. At noon the sun
came out, and so far the snow melted on the south side of the house
that the upper edge of the window admitted a little daylight. A
faint milky shimmer shone through the snow. But there was no sign
of life outside.