Pelle the Conqueror, Vol. 1 by Martin Anderson Nexo

M >> Martin Anderson Nexo >> Pelle the Conqueror, Vol. 1

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He had been so sure of himself on the way, and had talked
in loud tones to Pelle about the country where the wages were
so incomprehensibly high, and where in some places you got meat
or cheese to eat with your bread, and always beer, so that the
water-cart in the autumn did not come round for the laborers, but
only for the cattle. And--why, if you liked you could drink gin
like water, it was so cheap; but it was so strong that it knocked
you down at the third pull. They made it from real grain, and not
from diseased potatoes; and they drank it at every meal. And laddie
would never feel cold there, for they wore wool next their skin,
and not this poor linen that the wind blew right through; and a
laborer who kept himself could easily make his two krones a day.
That was something different from their master's miserable eighty
ores and finding themselves in everything.

Pelle had heard the same thing often before--from his father, from
Ole and Anders, from Karna and a hundred others who had been there.
In the winter, when the air was thick with frost and snow and the
needs of the poor, there was nothing else talked about in the little
villages at home; and in the minds of those who had not been on
the island themselves, but had only heard the tales about it, the
ideas produced were as fantastic as the frost-tracery upon the
window-panes. Pelle was perfectly well aware that even the poorest
boys there always wore their best clothes, and ate bread-and-dripping
with sugar on it as often as they liked. There money lay like dirt
by the roadside, and the Bornholmers did not even take the trouble
to stoop and pick it up; but Pelle meant to pick it up, so that
Father Lasse would have to empty the odds and ends out of the sack
and clear out the locked compartment in the green chest to make room
for it; and even that would be hardly enough. If only they could
begin! He shook his father's hand impatiently.

"Yes, yes," said Lasse, almost in tears. "You mustn't be impatient."
He looked about him irresolutely. Here he was in the midst of
all this splendor, and could not even find a humble situation for
himself and the boy. He could not understand it. Had the whole world
changed since his time? He trembled to his very finger-tips when the
last cart drove off. For a few minutes he stood staring helplessly
after it, and then he and the boy together carried the green chest
up to a wall, and trudged hand in hand up toward the town.

Lasse's lips moved as he walked; he was thinking. In an ordinary way
he thought best when he talked out loud to himself, but to-day all
his faculties were alert, and it was enough only to move his lips.

As he trudged along, his mental excuses became audible. "Confound
it!" he exclaimed, as he jerked the sack higher up his back. "It
doesn't do to take the first thing that comes. Lasse's responsible
for two, and he knows what he wants--so there! It isn't the first
time he's been abroad! And the best always comes last, you know,
laddie."

Pelle was not paying much attention. He was already consoled, and
his father's words about the best being in store for them, were
to him only a feeble expression for a great truth, namely, that
the whole world would become theirs, with all that it contained in
the way of wonders. He was already engaged in taking possession of
it, open-mouthed.

He looked as if he would like to swallow the harbor with all its
ships and boats, and the great stacks of timber, where it looked as
if there would be holes. This would be a fine place to play in, but
there were no boys! He wondered whether the boys were like those at
home; he had seen none yet. Perhaps they had quite a different way
of fighting, but he would manage all right if only they would come
one at a time. There was a big ship right up on land, and they were
skinning it. So ships have ribs, just like cows!

At the wooden shed in the middle of the harbor square, Lasse put
down the sack, and giving the boy a piece of bread and telling him
to stay and mind the sack, he went farther up and disappeared. Pelle
was very hungry, and holding the bread with both hands he munched
at it greedily.

When he had picked the last crumbs off his jacket, he set himself
to examine his surroundings. That black stuff in that big pot was
tar. He knew it quite well, but had never seen so much at once. My
word! If you fell into that while it was boiling, it would be worse
even than the brimstone pit in hell. And there lay some enormous
fish-hooks, just like those that were hanging on thick iron chains
from the ships' nostrils. He wondered whether there still lived
giants who could fish with such hooks. Strong John couldn't manage
them!

He satisfied himself with his own eyes that the stacks of boards
were really hollow, and that he could easily get down to the bottom
of them, if only he had not had the sack to drag about. His father
had said he was to mind the sack, and he never let it out of his
hands for a moment; as it was too heavy to carry, he had to drag
it after him from place to place.

He discovered a little ship, only just big enough for a man to
lie down in, and full of holes bored in the bottom and sides. He
investigated the ship-builders' big grind-stone, which was nearly
as tall as a man. There were bent planks lying there, with nails
in them as big as the parish constable's new tether-peg at home.
And the thing that ship was tethered to--wasn't it a real cannon
that they had planted?

Pelle saw everything, and examined every single object in the
appropriate manner, now only spitting appraisingly upon it, now
kicking it or scratching it with his penknife. If he came across
some strange wonder or other, that he could not get into his little
brain in any other way, he set himself astride on it.

This was a new world altogether, and Pelle was engaged in making
it his own. Not a shred of it would he leave. If he had had his
playfellows from Tommelilla here, he would have explained it all
to them. My word, how they would stare! But when he went home to
Sweden again, he would tell them about it, and then he hoped they
would call him a liar.

He was sitting astride an enormous mast that lay along the timber-
yard upon some oak trestles. He kicked his feet together under the
mast, as he had heard of knights doing in olden days under their
horses, and imagined himself seizing hold of a ring and lifting
himself, horse and all. He sat on horseback in the midst of his
newly discovered world, glowing with the pride of conquest, struck
the horse's loins with the flat of his hand, and dug his heels into
its sides, while he shouted a song at the top of his voice. He had
been obliged to let go the sack to get up.

"Far away in Smaaland the little imps were dancing
With ready-loaded pistol and rifle-barrelled gun;
All the little devils they played upon the fiddle,
But for the grand piano Old Harry was the one."

In the middle of his noisy joy, he looked up, and immediately burst
into a roar of terror and dropped down on to the wood-shavings. On
the top of the shed at the place where his father had left him stood
a black man and two black, open-mouthed hell-hounds; the man leaned
half out over the ridge of the roof in a menacing attitude. It was
an old figure-head, but Pelle thought it was Old Harry himself, come
to punish him for his bold song, and he set off at a run up the
hill. A little way up he remembered the sack and stopped. He didn't
care about the sack; and he wouldn't get a thrashing if he did leave
it behind, for Father Lasse never beat him. And that horrid devil
would eat him up at the very least, if he ventured down there again;
he could distinctly see how red the nostrils shone, both the devil's
and the dogs'.

But Pelle still hesitated. His father was so careful of that sack,
that he would be sure to be sorry if he lost it--he might even cry
as he did when he lost Mother Bengta. For perhaps the first time,
the boy was being subjected to one of life's serious tests, and
stood--as so many had stood before him--with the choice between
sacrificing himself and sacrificing others. His love for his father,
boyish pride, the sense of duty that is the social dower of the
poor--the one thing with the other--determined his choice. He stood
the test, but not bravely; he howled loudly the whole time, while,
with his eyes fixed immovably upon the Evil One and his hell-hounds,
he crept back for the sack and then dragged it after him at a quick
run up the street.

No one is perhaps a hero until the danger is over. But even then
Pelle had no opportunity of shuddering at his own courage; for no
sooner was he out of the reach of the black man, than his terror
took a new form. What had become of his father? He had said he would
be back again directly! Supposing he never came back at all! Perhaps
he had gone away so as to get rid of his little boy, who was only
a trouble and made it difficult for him to get a situation.

Pelle felt despairingly convinced that it must be so, as, crying,
he went off with the sack. The same thing had happened to other
children with whom he was well acquainted; but they came to the
pancake cottage and were quite happy, and Pelle himself would be
sure to--perhaps find the king and be taken in there and have the
little princes for his playmates, and his own little palace to live
in. But Father Lasse shouldn't have a thing, for now Pelle was angry
and vindictive, although he was crying just as unrestrainedly. He
would let him stand and knock at the door and beg to come in for
three days, and only when he began to cry--no, he would have to
let him in at once, for to see Father Lasse cry hurt him more than
anything else in the world. But he shouldn't have a single one of
the nails Pelle had filled his pockets with down in the timber-yard;
and when the king's wife brought them coffee in the morning before
they were up----

But here both his tears and his happy imaginings ceased, for out of
a tavern at the top of the street came Father Lasse's own living
self. He looked in excellent spirits and held a bottle in his hand.

"Danish brandy, laddie!" he cried, waving the bottle. "Hats off
to the Danish brandy! But what have you been crying for? Oh, you
were afraid? And why were you afraid? Isn't your father's name
Lasse--Lasse Karlsson from Kungstorp? And he's not one to quarrel
with; he hits hard, he does, when he's provoked. To come and
frighten good little boys! They'd better look out! Even if the
whole wide world were full of naming devils, Lasse's here and you
needn't be afraid!"

During all this fierce talk he was tenderly wiping the boy's tear-
stained cheeks and nose with his rough hand, and taking the sack
upon his back again. There was something touchingly feeble about
his stooping figure, as, boasting and comforting, he trudged down
again to the harbor holding the boy by the hand. He tottered along
in his big waterproof boots, the tabs of which stuck out at the side
and bore an astonishing resemblance to Pelle's ears; out of the
gaping pockets of his old winter coat protruded on one side his red
pocket-handkerchief, on the other the bottle. He had become a little
looser in his knee-joints now, and the sack threatened momentarily
to get the upper hand of him, pushing him forward and forcing him
to go at a trot down the hill. He looked decrepit, and perhaps his
boastful words helped to produce this effect; but his eyes beamed
confidently, and he smiled down at the boy, who ran along beside
him.

They drew near to the shed, and Pelle turned cold with fear, for
the black man was still standing there. He went round to the other
side of his father, and tried to pull him out in a wide curve over
the harbor square. "There he is again," he whimpered.

"So that's what was after you, is it?" said Lasse, laughing
heartily; "and he's made of wood, too! Well, you really are the
bravest laddie I ever knew! I should almost think you might be
sent out to fight a trussed chicken, if you had a stick in your
hand!" Lasse went on laughing, and shook the boy goodnaturedly.
But Pelle was ready to sink into the ground with shame.

Down by the custom-house they met a bailiff who had come too late
for the steamer and had engaged no laborers. He stopped his cart
and asked Lasse if he was looking for a place.

"Yes, we both want one," answered Lasse, briskly. "We want to be
at the same farm--as the fox said to the goose."

The bailiff was a big, strong man, and Pelle shuddered in admiration
of his father who could dare to speak to him so boldly.

But the great man laughed good-humoredly. "Then I suppose he's to be
foreman?" he said, flicking at Pelle with his whip.

"Yes, he certainly will be some day," said Lasse, with conviction.

"He'll probably eat a few bushels of salt first. Well, I'm in
want of a herdsman, and will give you a hundred krones for a
year--although it'll be confounded hard for you to earn them from
what I can see. There'll always be a crust of bread for the boy,
but of course he'll have to do what little he can. You're his
grandfather, I suppose?"

"I'm his father--in the sight of God and man," answered Lasse,
proudly.

"Oh, indeed! Then you must still be fit for something, if you've
come by him honestly. But climb up, if you know what's for your own
good, for I haven't time to stand here. You won't get such an offer
every day."

Pelle thought a hundred krones was a fearful amount of money; Lasse,
on the contrary, as the older and more sensible, had a feeling that
it was far too little. But, though he was not aware of it yet, the
experiences of the morning had considerably dimmed the brightness
of his outlook on life. On the other hand, the dram had made him
reckless and generously-minded.

"All right then," he said with a wave of the hand. "But the master
must understand that we won't have salt herring and porridge three
times a day. We must have a proper bedroom too--and be free on
Sundays." He lifted the sack and the boy up into the cart, and then
climbed up himself.

The bailiff laughed. "I see you've been here before, old man. But
I think we shall be able to manage all that. You shall have roast
pork stuffed with raisins and rhubarb jelly with pepper on it, just
as often as you like to open your mouth."

They drove down to the quay for the chest, and then out toward
the country again. Lasse, who recognized one thing and another,
explained it all in full to the boy, taking a pull at the bottle
between whiles; but the bailiff must not see this. Pelle was cold
and burrowed into the straw, where he crept close up to his father.

"You take a mouthful," whispered Lasse, passing the bottle to him
cautiously. "But take care that he doesn't see, for he's a sly one.
He's a Jute."

Pelle would not have a dram. "What's a Jute?" he asked in a whisper.

"A Jute? Good gracious me, laddie, don't you know that? It was the
Jutes that crucified Christ. That's why they have to wander all over
the world now, and sell flannel and needles, and such-like; and they
always cheat wherever they go. Don't you remember the one that
cheated Mother Bengta of her beautiful hair? Ah, no, that was before
your time. That was a Jute too. He came one day when I wasn't at
home, and unpacked all his fine wares--combs and pins with blue
glass heads, and the finest head-kerchiefs. Women can't resist
such trash; they're like what we others are when some one holds a
brandy-bottle to our nose. Mother Bengta had no money, but that sly
devil said he would give her the finest handkerchief if she would
let him cut off just the end of her plait. And then he went and cut
it off close up to her head. My goodness, but she was like flint
and steel when she was angry! She chased him out of the house with
a rake. But he took the plait with him, and the handkerchief was
rubbish, as might have been expected. For the Jutes are cunning
devils, who crucified----" Lasse began at the beginning again.

Pelle did not pay much attention to his father's soft murmuring.
It was something about Mother Bengta, but she was dead now and lay
in the black earth; she no longer buttoned his under-vest down the
back, or warmed his hands when they were cold. So they put raisins
into roast pork in this country, did they? Money must be as common
as dirt! There was none lying about in the road, and the houses
and farms were not so very fine either. But the strangest thing was
that the earth here was of the same color as that at home, although
it was a foreign country. He had seen a map in Tommelilla, in which
each country had a different color. So that was a lie!

Lasse had long since talked himself out, and slept with his head
upon the boy's back. He had forgotten to hide the bottle.

Pelle was just going to push it down into the straw when the bailiff
--who as a matter of fact was not a Jute, but a Zeelander--happened
to turn round and caught sight of it. He told the boy to throw it
into the ditch.

By midday they reached their destination. Lasse awoke as they drove
on to the stone paving of the large yard, and groped mechanically in
the straw. But suddenly he recollected where he was, and was sober
in an instant. So this was their new home, the only place they had
to stay in and expect anything of on this earth! And as he looked
out over the big yard, where the dinner-bell was just sounding and
calling servants and day-laborers out of all the doors, all his
self-confidence vanished. A despairing feeling of helplessness
overwhelmed him, and made his face tremble with impotent concern
for his son.

His hands shook as he clambered down from the wagon; he stood
irresolute and at the mercy of all the inquiring glances from the
steps down to the basement of the big house. They were talking
about him and the boy, and laughing already. In his confusion
he determined to make as favorable a first impression as possible,
and began to take off his cap to each one separately; and the boy
stood beside him and did the same. They were rather like the clowns
at a fair, and the men round the basement steps laughed aloud and
bowed in imitation, and then began to call to them; but the bailiff
came out again to the cart, and they quickly disappeared down the
steps. From the house itself there came a far-off, monotonous
sound that never left off, and insensibly added to their feeling
of depression.

"Don't stand there playing the fool!" said the bailiff sharply. "Be
off down to the others and get something to eat! You'll have plenty
of time to show off your monkey-tricks to them afterwards."

At these encouraging words, the old man took the boy's hand and
went across to the basement steps with despair in his heart,
mourning inwardly for Tommelilla and Kungstorp. Pelle clung close
to him in fear. The unknown had suddenly become an evil monster
in the imagination of both of them.

Down in the basement passage the strange, persistent sound was
louder, and they both knew that it was that of a woman weeping.

II

Stone Farm, which for the future was to be Lasse and Pelle's home,
was one of the largest farms on the island. But old people knew
that when their grandparents were children, it had been a crofter's
cottage where only two horses were kept, and belonged to a certain
Vevest Koller, a grandson of Jens Kofod, the liberator of Bornholm.
During his time, the cottage became a farm. He worked himself to
death on it, and grudged food both for himself and the others. And
these two things--poor living and land-grabbing--became hereditary
in that family.

The fields in this part of the island had been rock and heather
not many generations since. Poor people had broken up the ground,
and worn themselves out, one set after another, to keep it in
cultivation. Round about Stone Farm lived only cottagers and men
owning two horses, who had bought their land with toil and hunger,
and would as soon have thought of selling their parents' grave as
their little property; they stuck to it until they died or some
misfortune overtook them.

But the Stone Farm family were always wanting to buy and extend
their property, and their chance only came through their neighbors'
misfortunes. Wherever a bad harvest or sickness or ill luck with his
beasts hit a man hard enough to make him reel, the Kollers bought.
Thus Stone Farm grew, and acquired numerous buildings and much
importance; it became as hard a neighbor as the sea is, when it eats
up the farmer's land, field by field, and nothing can be done to
check it. First one was eaten up and then another. Every one knew
that his turn would come sooner or later. No one goes to law with
the sea; but all the ills and discomfort that brooded over the poor
man's life came from Stone Farm. The powers of darkness dwelt there,
and frightened souls pointed to it always. "That's well-manured
land," the people of the district would say, with a peculiar
intonation that held a curse; but they ventured no further.

The Koller family was not sentimental; it throve capitally in the
sinister light that fell upon the farm from so many frightened
minds, and felt it as power. The men were hard drinkers and
card-players; but they never drank so much as to lose sight and
feeling; and if they played away a horse early in the evening,
they very likely won two in the course of the night.

When Lasse and Pelle came to Stone Farm, the older cottagers still
remembered the farmer of their childhood, Janus Koller, the one who
did more to improve things than any one else. In his youth he once,
at midnight, fought with the devil up in the church-tower, and
overcame him; and after that everything succeeded with him. Whatever
might or might not have been the reason, it is certain that in his
time one after another of his neighbors was ruined, and Janus went
round and took over their holdings. If he needed another horse, he
played for and won it at loo; and it was the same with everything.
His greatest pleasure was to break in wild horses, and those who
happened to have been born at midnight on Christmas Eve could
distinctly see the Evil One sitting on the box beside him and
holding the reins. He came to a bad end, as might have been
expected. One morning early, the horses came galloping home to
the farm, and he was found lying by the roadside with his head
smashed against a tree.

His son was the last master of Stone Farm of that family. He was
a wild devil, with much that was good in him. If any one differed
from him, he knocked him down; but he always helped those who got
into trouble. In this way no one ever left house and home; and as
he had the family fondness for adding to the farm, he bought land
up among the rocks and heather. But he wisely let it lie as it was.
He attached many to the farm by his assistance, and made them so
dependent that they never became free again. His tenants had to
leave their own work when he sent for them, and he was never at
a loss for cheap labor. The food he provided was scarcely fit for
human beings, but he always ate of the same dish himself. And the
priest was with him at the last; so there was no fault to find with
his departure from this life.

He had married twice, but his only child was a daughter by the
second wife, and there was something not quite right about her.
She was a woman at the age of eleven, and made up to any one she
met; but no one dared so much as look at her, for they were afraid
of the farmer's gun. Later on she went to the other extreme, and
dressed herself up like a man, and went about out on the rocks
instead of busying herself with something at home; and she let
no one come near her.

Kongstrup, the present master of Stone Farm, had come to the island
about twenty years before, and even now no one could quite make him
out. When he first came he used to wander about on the heath and do
nothing, just as she did; so it was hardly to be wondered at that
he got into trouble and had to marry her. But it was dreadful!

He was a queer fellow; but perhaps that was what people were like
where he came from? He first had one idea and then another, raised
wages when no one had asked him to, and started stone-quarrying with
contract work. And so he went on with his foolish tricks to begin
with, and let his cottagers do as they liked about coming to work
at the farm. He even went so far as to send them home in wet weather
to get in their corn, and let his own stand and be ruined. But
things went all wrong of course, as might well be imagined, and
gradually he had to give in, and abandon all his foolish ideas.

The people of the district submitted to this condition of dependence
without a murmur. They had been accustomed, from father to son, to
go in and out of the gates of Stone Farm, and do what was required
of them, as dutifully as if they had been serfs of the land. As a
set-off they allowed all their leaning toward the tragic, all the
terrors of life and gloomy mysticism, to center round Stone Farm.
They let the devil roam about there, play loo with the men for their
souls, and ravish the women; and they took off their caps more
respectfully to the Stone Farm people than to any one else.

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