Pelle the Conqueror, Vol. 1 by Martin Anderson Nexo

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The occupants of the cart were tired now, some nodding and all
silent. Lasse sat working about in his pocket with one hand. He
was trying to obtain an estimate of the money that remained. It was
expensive to keep a sweetheart when you did not want to be outdone
by younger men in any way. Pelle was asleep, and was slipping
farther and farther down until Bengta took his head onto her lap.
She herself was weeping bitterly about Anders.

The daylight was growing rapidly brighter as they drove in to
Stone Farm.

XIX

The master and mistress of Stone Farm were almost always the subject
of common talk, and were never quite out of the thoughts of the
people. There was as much thought and said about Kongstrup and his
wife as about all the rest of the parish put together; they were
bread to so many, their Providence both in evil and good, that
nothing that they did could be immaterial.

No one ever thought of weighing them by the same standards as
they used for others; they were something apart, beings who were
endowed with great possessions, and could do and be as they liked,
disregarding all considerations and entertaining all passions. All
that came from Stone Farm was too great for ordinary mortals to sit
in judgment upon; it was difficult enough to explain what went on,
even when at such close quarters with it all as were Lasse and Pelle.
To them as to the others, the Stone Farm people were beings apart,
who lived their life under greater conditions, beings, as it were,
halfway between the human and the supernatural, in a world where
such things as unquenchable passion and frenzied love wrought havoc.

What happened, therefore, at Stone Farm supplied more excitement
than the other events of the parish. People listened with open-
mouthed interest to the smallest utterance from the big house,
and when the outbursts came, trembled and went about oppressed and
uncomfortable. No matter how clearly Lasse, in the calm periods,
might think he saw it all, the life up there would suddenly be
dragged out of its ordinary recognized form again, and wrap itself
around his and the boy's world like a misty sphere in which
capricious powers warred--just above their heads.

It was now Jomfru Koller's second year at the farm, in spite of
all evil prophecies; and indeed things had turned out in such a
way that every one had to own that his prognostications had been
wrong. She was always fonder of driving with Kongstrup to the
town than of staying at home to cheer Fru Kongstrup up in her
loneliness; but such is youth. She behaved properly enough
otherwise, and it was well known that Kongstrup had returned to
his old hotel-sweethearting in the town. Fru Kongstrup herself,
moreover, showed no distrust of her young relative--if she had
ever felt any. She was as kind to her as if she had been her own
daughter; and very often it was she herself who got Jomfru Koller
to go in the carriage to look after her husband.

Otherwise the days passed as usual, and Fru Kongstrup was
continually giving herself up to little drinking-bouts and to grief.
At such times she would weep over her wasted life; and if he were
at home would follow him with her accusations from room to room,
until he would order the carriage and take flight, even in the
middle of the night. The walls were so saturated with her voice
that it penetrated through everything like a sorrowful, dull
droning. Those who happened to be up at night to look after animals
or the like, could hear her talking incessantly up there, even if
she were alone.

But then Jomfru Koller began to talk of going away. She suddenly got
the idea that she wanted to go to Copenhagen and learn something,
so that she could earn her own living. It sounded strange, as there
was every prospect of her some day inheriting the farmer's property.
Fru Kongstrup was quite upset at the thought of losing her, and
altogether forgot her other troubles in continually talking to her
about it. Even when everything was settled, and they were standing
in the mangling-room with the maids, getting Jomfru Koller's things
ready for her journey, she still kept on--to no earthly purpose.
Like all the Stone Farm family, she could never let go anything
she had once got hold of.

There was something strange about Jomfru Koller's obstinacy of
purpose; she was not even quite sure what she was going to do over
there. "I suppose she's going over to learn cooking," said one and
another with a covert smile.

Fru Kongstrup herself had no suspicion. She, who was always
suspecting something, seemed to be blind here. It must have been
because she had such complete trust in Jomfru Koller, and thought
so much of her. She had not even time to sigh, so busy was she in
putting everything into good order. Much need there was for it, too;
Jomfru Koller must have had her head full of very different things,
judging from the condition her clothes were in.

"I'm glad Kongstrup's going over with her," said Fru Kongstrup
to Fair Maria one evening when they were sitting round the big
darning-basket, mending the young lady's stockings after the wash.
"They say Copenhagen's a bad town for inexperienced young people
to come to. But Sina'll get on all right, for she's got the good
stock of the Kollers in her." She said it all with such childish
simplicity; you could tramp in and out of her heart with great
wooden shoes on, suspicious though she was. "Perhaps we'll come
over to see you at Christmas, Sina," she added in the goodness of
her heart.

Jomfru Koller opened her mouth and caught her breath in terror, but
did not answer. She bent over her work and did not look at any one
all the evening. She never looked frankly at any one now. "She's
ashamed of her deceitfulness!" they said. The judgment would fall
upon her; she ought to have known what she was doing, and not gone
between the bark and the wood, especially here where one of them
trusted her entirely.

In the upper yard the new man Paer was busy getting the closed
carriage ready. Erik stood beside him idle. He looked unhappy and
troubled, poor fellow, as he always did when he was not near the
bailiff. Each time a wheel had to come off or be put on, he had to
put his giant's back under the big carriage and lift it. Every now
and then Lasse came to the stable-door to get an idea of what was
going on. Pelle was at school, it being the first day of the new
half-year.

She was going away to-day, the false wretch who had let herself be
drawn into deceiving one who had been a mother to her! Fru Kongstrup
must be going with them down to the steamer, as the closed carriage
was going.

Lasse went into the bedroom to arrange one or two things so that
he could slip out in the evening without Pelle noticing it. He had
given Pelle a little paper of sweets for Madam Olsen, and on the
paper he had drawn a cross with a lead button; and the cross meant
in all secrecy that he would come to her that evening.

While he took out his best clothes and hid them under some hay close
to the outer door, he hummed:--

"Love's longing so strong
It helped me along,
And the way was made short with the nightingales' song."

He was looking forward so immensely to the evening; he had not been
alone with her now for nearly a quarter of a year. He was proud,
moreover, of having taken writing into his service, and that a
writing that Pelle, quick reader of writing though he was, would
not be able to make out.

While the others were taking their after-dinner nap, Lasse went out
and tidied up the dung-heap. The carriage was standing up there with
one large trunk strapped on behind, and another standing on one edge
on the box. Lasse wondered what such a girl would do when she was
alone out in the wide world and had to pay the price of her sin.
He supposed there must be places where they took in such girls in
return for good payment; everything could be got over there!

Johanna Pihl came waddling in at the gate up there. Lasse started
when he saw her; she never came for any good. When she boldly
exhibited herself here, she was always drunk, and then she stopped
at nothing. It was sad to see how low misfortune could drag a woman.
Lasse could not help thinking what a pretty girl she had been in
her youth. And now all she thought of was making money out of her
shame! He cautiously withdrew into the stable, so as not to be an
eye-witness to anything, and peered out from there.

The Sow went up and down in front of the windows, and called in
a thick voice, over which she had not full command: "Kongstrup,
Kongstrup! Come out and let me speak to you. You must let me have
some money, for your son and I haven't had any food for three days."

"That's a wicked lie!" said Lasse to himself indignantly, "for she
has a good income. But she wastes God's gifts, and now she's out to
do some evil." He would have liked to take the fork and chase her
out through the gate, but it was not well to expose one's self to
her venomous tongue.

She had her foot upon the step, but did not dare to mount. Fuddled
though she was, there was something that kept her in check. She
stood there groping at the handrail and mumbling to herself, and
every now and then lifting her fat face and calling Kongstrup.

Jomfru Koller came inadvertently up from the basement, and went
toward the steps; her eyes were on the ground, and she did not see
the Sow until it was too late, and then she turned quickly. Johanna
Pihl stood grinning.

"Come here, miss, and let me wish you good-day!" she cried. "You're
too grand, are you? But the one may be just as good as the other!
Perhaps it's because you can drive away in a carriage and have yours
on the other side of the sea, while I had mine in a beet-field! But
is that anything to be proud of? I say, just go up and tell my fine
gentleman that his eldest's starving! I daren't go myself because of
the evil eye."

Long before this Jomfru Koller was down in the basement again, but
Johanna Pihl continued to stand and say the same thing over and
over again, until the bailiff came dashing out toward her, when
she retired, scolding, from the yard.

The men had been aroused before their time by her screaming, and
stood drowsily watching behind the barn-doors. Lasse kept excited
watch from the stable, and the girls had collected in the wash-house.
What would happen now? They all expected some terrible outbreak.

But nothing happened. Now, when Fru Kongstrup had the right to shake
heaven and earth--so faithlessly had they treated her--now she was
silent. The farm was as peaceful as on the days when they had come
to a sort of understanding, and Kongstrup kept himself quiet. Fru
Kongstrup passed the windows up there, and looked just like anybody
else. Nothing happened!

Something must have been said, however, for the young lady had
a very tear-stained face when they got into the carriage, and
Kongstrup wore his confused air. Then Karl Johan drove away with
the two; and the mistress did not appear. She was probably ashamed
for what concerned the others.

Nothing had happened to relieve the suspense; it oppressed every one.
She must have accepted her unhappy lot, and given up standing out
for her rights, now, just when every one would have supported her.
This tranquillity was so unnatural, so unreasonable, that it made
one melancholy and low-spirited. It was as though others were
suffering on her behalf, and she herself had no heart.

But then it broke down, and the sound of weeping began to ooze out
over the farm, quiet and regular like flowing heart's blood. All
the evening it flowed; the weeping had never sounded so despairing;
it went to the hearts of all. She had taken in the poor child and
treated her as her own, and the poor child had deceived her. Every
one felt how she must suffer.

During the night the weeping rose to cries so heart-rending that
they awakened even Pelle--wet with perspiration. "It sounds like
some one in the last agonies!" said Lasse, and hastily drew on his
trousers with trembling, clumsy hands. "She surely hasn't laid hands
upon herself?" He lighted the lantern and went out into the stable,
Pelle following naked.

Then suddenly the cries ceased, as abruptly as if the sound had been
cut off with an axe, and the silence that followed said dumbly that
it was forever. The farm sank into the darkness of night like an
extinguished world. "Our mistress is dead!" said Lasse, shivering
and moving his fingers over his lips. "May God receive her kindly!"
They crept fearfully into bed.

But when they got up the next morning, the farm looked as it always
did, and the maids were chattering and making as much noise as
usual in the wash-house. A little while after, the mistress's voice
was heard up there, giving directions about the work. "I don't
understand it," said Lasse, shaking his head. "Nothing but death
can stop anything so suddenly. She must have a tremendous power
over herself!"

It now became apparent what a capable woman she was. She had not
wasted anything in the long period of idleness; the maids became
brisker and the fare better. One day she came to the cow-stable to
see that the milking was done cleanly. She gave every one his due,
too. One day they came from the quarry and complained that they had
had no wages for three weeks. There was not enough money on the
farm. "Then we must get some," said the mistress, and they had to
set about threshing at once. And one day when Karna raised too many
objections she received a ringing box on the ear.

"It's a new nature she's got," said Lasse. But the old workpeople
recognized several things from their young days. "It's her family's
nature," they said. "She's a regular Koller."

The time passed without any change; she was as constant in her
tranquillity as she had before been constant in her misery. It was
not the habit of the Kollers to change their minds once they had
made them up about anything. Then Kongstrup came home from his
journey. She did not drive out to meet him, but was on the steps
to greet him, gentle and kind. Everybody could see how pleased and
surprised he was. He must have expected a very different reception.

But during the night, when they were all sound asleep, Karna
came knocking at the men's window. "Get up and fetch the doctor!"
she cried, "and be quick!" The call sounded like one of life and
death, and they turned out headlong. Lasse, who was in the habit
of sleeping with one eye open, like the hens, was the first man on
the spot, and had got the horses out of the stable; and in a few
minutes Karl Johan was driving out at the gate. He had a man with
him to hold the lantern. It was pitch-dark, but they could hear the
carriage tearing along until the sound became very distant; then in
another moment the sound changed, as the vehicle turned on to the
metalled road a couple of miles off. Then it died away altogether.

On the farm they went about shaking themselves and unable to rest,
wandering into their rooms and out again to gaze up at the tall
windows, where people were running backward and forward with lights.
What had happened? Some mishap to the farmer, evidently, for now
and again the mistress's commanding voice could be heard down in
the kitchen--but what? The wash-house and the servants' room were
dark and locked.

Toward morning, when the doctor had come and had taken things into
his own hands, a greater calm fell upon them all, and the maids took
the opportunity of slipping out into the yard. They would not at
once say what was the matter, but stood looking in an embarrassed
way at one another, and laughing stupidly. At last they gradually
got it out by first one telling a little and then another: in a fit
of delirium or of madness Kongstrup had done violence to himself.
Their faces were contorted with a mixture of fear and smothered
laughter; and when Karl Johan said gravely to Fair Maria: "You're
not telling a lie, are you?" she burst into tears. There she stood
laughing and crying by turns; and it made no difference that Karl
Johan scolded her sharply.

But it was true, although it sounded like the craziest nonsense that
a man could do such a thing to himself. It was a truth that struck
one dumb!

It was some time before they could make it out at all, but when
they did there were one or two things about it that seemed a little
unnatural. It could not have happened during intoxication, for the
farmer never drank at home, did not drink at all, as far as any one
knew, but only took a glass in good company. It was more likely to
have been remorse and contrition; it was not impossible considering
the life he had led, although it was strange that a man of his
nature should behave in such a desperate fashion.

But it was not satisfactory! And gradually, without it being
possible to point to any origin, all thoughts turned toward her.
She had changed of late, and the Koller blood had come out in her;
and in that family they had never let themselves be trodden down
unrevenged!

XX

Out in the shelter of the gable-wall of the House sat Kongstrup,
well wrapped up, and gazing straight before him with expressionless
eyes. The winter sun shone full upon him; it had lured forth signs
of spring, and the sparrows were hopping gaily about him. His wife
went backward and forward, busying herself about him; she wrapped
his feet up better, and came with a shawl to put round his shoulders.
She touched his chest and arms affectionately as she spread the
shawl over him from behind; and he slowly raised his head and
passed his hand over hers. She stood thus for a little while,
leaning against his shoulder and looking down upon him like a
mother, with eyes that were tranquil with the joy of possession.

Pelle came bounding down across the yard, licking his lips. He had
taken advantage of his mistress's preoccupation to steal down into
the dairy and get a drink of sour cream from the girls, and tease
them a little. He was glowing with health, and moved along as
carelessly happy as if the whole world were his.

It was quite dreadful the way he grew and wore out his things; it
was almost impossible to keep him in clothes! His arms and legs
stuck far out of every article of clothing he put on, and he wore
things out as fast as Lasse could procure them. Something new was
always being got for him, and before you could turn round, his arms
and legs were out of that too. He was as strong as an oak-tree; and
when it was a question of lifting or anything that did not require
perseverence, Lasse had to allow himself to be superseded.

The boy had acquired independence, too, and every day it became more
difficult for the old man to assert his parental authority; but that
would come as soon as Lasse was master of his own house and could
bring his fist down on his own table. But when would that be? As
matters now stood, it looked as if the magistrate did not want
him and Madam Olsen to be decently married. Seaman Olsen had given
plain warning of his decease, and Lasse thought there was nothing
to do but put up the banns; but the authorities continued to raise
difficulties and ferret about, in the true lawyers' way. Now there
was one question that had to be examined into, and now another;
there were periods of grace allowed, and summonses to be issued
to the dead man to make his appearance within such and such a time,
and what not besides! It was all a put-up job, so that the
pettifoggers could make something out of it.

He was thoroughly tired of Stone Farm. Every day he made the same
complaint to Pelle: "It's nothing but toil, toil, from morning till
night--one day just like another all the year round, as if you were
in a convict-prison! And what you get for it is hardly enough to
keep your body decently covered. You can't put anything by, and one
day when you're worn out and good for nothing more, you can just go
on the parish."

The worst of it all, however, was the desire to work once more
for himself. He was always sighing for this, and his hands were
sore with longing to feel what it was like to take hold of one's
own. Of late he had meditated cutting the matter short and moving
down to his sweetheart's, without regard to the law. She was quite
willing, he knew; she badly needed a man's hand in the house.
And they were being talked about, anyhow; it would not make much
difference if he and the boy went as her lodgers, especially when
they worked independently.

But the boy was not to be persuaded; he was jealous for his father's
honor. Whenever Lasse touched upon the subject he became strangely
sullen. Lasse pretended it was Madam Olsen's idea, and not his.

"I'm not particularly in favor of it, either," he said. "People are
sure to believe the worst at once. But we can't go on here wearing
ourselves to a thread for nothing. And you can't breathe freely on
this farm--always tied!"

Pelle made no answer to this; he was not strong in reasons, but knew
what he wanted.

"If I ran away from here one night, I guess you'd come trotting
after me."

Pelle maintained a refractory silence.

"I think I'll do it, for this isn't to be borne. Now you've got to
have new school-trousers, and where are they coming from?"

"Well, then, do it! Then you'll do what you say."

"It's easy for you to pooh-pooh everything," said Lasse despondingly,
"for you've time and years before you. But I'm beginning to get old,
and I've no one to trouble about me."

"Why, don't I help you with everything?" asked Pelle reproachfully.

"Yes, yes, of course you do your very best to make things easier for
me, and no one could say you didn't. But, you see--there are certain
things you don't--there's something--" Lasse came to a standstill.
What was the use of explaining the longings of a man to a boy? "You
shouldn't be so obstinate, you know!" And Lasse stroked the boy's
arm imploringly.

But Pelle _was_ obstinate. He had already put up with plenty
of sarcastic remarks from his schoolfellows, and fought a good many
battles since it had become known that his father and Madam Olsen
were sweethearts. If they now started living together openly, it
would become quite unbearable. Pelle was not afraid of fighting,
but he needed to have right on his side, if he was to kick out
properly.

"Move down to her, then, and I'll go away!"

"Where'll you go to?"

"Out into the world and get rich!"

Lasse raised his head, like an old war-horse that hears a signal;
but then it dropped again.

"Out into the world and get rich! Yes, yes," he said slowly; "that's
what I thought, too, when I was your age. But things don't happen
like that--if you aren't born with a caul."

Lasse was silent, and thoughtfully kicked the straw in under a cow.
He was not altogether sure that the boy was not born with a caul,
after all. He was a late-born child, and they were always meant
for the worst or the best; and then he had that cow's-lick on his
forehead, which meant good fortune. He was merry and always singing,
and neat-handed at everything; and his nature made him generally
liked. It was very possible that good fortune lay waiting for him
somewhere out there.

"But the very first thing you need for that is to be properly
confirmed. You'd better take your books and learn your lesson
for the priest, so that you don't get refused! I'll do the rest
of the foddering."

Pelle took his books and seated himself in the foddering-passage
just in front of the big bull. He read in an undertone, and Lasse
passed up and down at his work. For some time each minded his own;
but then Lasse came up, drawn by the new lesson-books Pelle had got
for his confirmation-classes.

"Is that Bible history, that one there?"

"Yes."

"Is that about the man who drank himself drunk in there?"

Lasse had long since given up learning to read; he had not the head
for it. But he was always interested in what the boy was doing, and
the books exerted a peculiar magic effect upon him. "Now what does
that stand for?" he would ask wonderingly, pointing to something
printed; or "What wonderful thing have you got in your lesson
to-day?" Pelle had to keep him informed from day to day. And the
same questions often came again, for Lasse had not a good memory.

"You know--the one whose sons pulled off his trousers and shamed
their own father?" Lasse continued, when Pelle did not answer.

"Oh, Noah!"

"Yes, of course! Old Noah--the one that Gustav had that song about.
I wonder what he made himself drunk on, the old man?"

"Wine."

"Was it wine?" Lasse raised his eyebrows. "Then that Noah must have
been a fine gentleman! The owner of the estate at home drank wine,
too, on grand occasions. I've heard that it takes a lot of that to
make a man tipsy--and it's expensive! Does the book tell you, too,
about him that was such a terrible swindler? What was his name
again?"

"Laban, do you mean?"

"Laban, yes of course! To think that I could forget it, too, for he
was a regular Laban, [Footnote: An ordinary expression in Danish for
a mean, deceitful person.] so the name suits him just right. It was
him that let his son-in-law have both his daughters, and off their
price on his daily wage too! If they'd been alive now, they'd have
got hard labor, both him and his son-in-law; but in those days the
police didn't look so close at people's papers. Now I should like
to know whether a wife was allowed to have two husbands in those
days. Does the book say anything about that?" Lasse moved his head
inquisitively.

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