Pelle the Conqueror, Vol. 1 by Martin Anderson Nexo

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At midday, when the farm-laborers' wives came to do the milking,
Lasso's supposition was confirmed: Bodil had attached herself to a
tailor's apprentice from the village, and had left with him in the
middle of the night. They laughed pityingly at Gustav, and for some
time after he had to put up with their gibes at his ill-success;
but there was only one opinion about Bodil. She was at liberty to
come and go with whomsoever she liked, but as long as Gustav was
paying for her amusements, she ought to have kept to him. Who but
the neighbor would keep the hens that ate their grain at home and
laid their eggs at the neighbor's?

There had as yet been no opportunity to visit Lasse's brother beyond
the stone-quarry, but it was to be done on the second day of the new
year. Between Christmas and the New Year the men did nothing after
dark, and it was the custom everywhere to help the herdsman with
his evening occupations. There was nothing of that here; Lasse was
too old to assert himself, and Pelle too little. They might think
themselves lucky they did not have to do the foddering for the men
who went out as well as their own.

But to-day it was to come off; Gustav and Long Ole had undertaken
to do the evening work. Pelle began to look forward to it as soon
as he was up--he was up every day by half-past three. But as Lasse
used to say, if you sing before breakfast you'll weep before night.

After dinner, Gustav and Ole were standing grinding chopping knives
down in the lower yard. The trough leaked, and Pelle had to pour
water on the grindstone out of an old kettle. His happiness could
be seen on his face.

"What are you so pleased about?" asked Gustav. "Your eyes are
shining like the cat's in the dark."

Pelle told him.

"I'm afraid you won't get away!" said Ole, winking at Gustav.
"We shan't get the chaff cut time enough to do the foddering.
This grindstone's so confoundedly hard to turn, too. If only that
handle-turner hadn't been broken!"

Pelle pricked up his ears. "Handle-turner? What's that?" he asked.

Gustav sprang round the grindstone, and slapped his thigh in
enjoyment of the joke.

"My goodness, how stupid you are! Don't you even know what a
handle-turner is? It's a thing you only need to put on to the
grindstone, and it turns it by itself. They've got one by-the-way
over at Kaase Farm," he said, turning to Ole; "if only it wasn't
so far away."

"Is it heavy?" asked Pelle, in a low voice; everything depended
upon the answer. "Can I lift it?" His voice trembled.

"Oh, no, not so awfully heavy. You could carry it quite well. But
you'd have to be very careful."

"I can run over and fetch it; I'll carry it very carefully." Pelle
looked at them with a face that could not but inspire confidence.

"Very well; but take a sack with you to put it in. And you'll have
to be as careful as the very devil, for it's an expensive thing."

Pelle found a sack and ran off across the fields. He was as
delighted as a young kid, plucking at himself and everything as
he ran, and jumping aside to frighten the crows. He was overflowing
with happiness. He was saving the expedition for himself and Father
Lasse. Gustav and Ole were good men! He would get back as quickly
as possible, so that they should not have to toil any more at the
grindstone. "What, are you back already?" they would say, and open
their eyes. "Then you must have smashed that precious machine on
the way!" And they would take it carefully out of the sack, and it
would be quite safe and sound. "Well, you are a wonder of a boy!
a perfect prince!" they would say.

When he got to Kaase Farm, they wanted him to go in to a Christmas
meal while they were putting the machine into the sack; but Pelle
said "No" and held to it: he had not time. So they gave him a
piece of cold apple out on the steps, so that he should not carry
Christmas away. They all looked so pleasant, and every one came out
when he hoisted the sack on his back and set off home. They too
recommended him to be very careful, and seemed anxious, as if he
could hardly realize what he was carrying.

It was a good mile between the farms, but it was an hour and a half
before Pelle reached home, and then he was ready to drop. He dared
not put down the sack to rest, but stumbled on step by step, only
resting once by leaning against a stone fence. When at last he
staggered into the yard, every one came up to see the neighbor's
new handle-turner; and Pelle was conscious of his own importance
when Ole carefully lifted the sack from his back. He leaned for
a moment over toward the wall before he regained his balance; the
ground was so strange to tread upon now he was rid of his burden;
it pushed him away. But his face was radiant.

Gustav opened the sack, which was securely closed, and shook out
its contents upon the stone pavement. They were pieces of brick,
a couple of old ploughshares, and other similar things. Pelle stared
in bewilderment and fear at the rubbish, looking as if he had just
dropped from another planet; but when laughter broke out on all
sides, he understood what it all meant, and, crouching down, hid
his face in his hands. He would not cry--not for the world; they
should not have that satisfaction. He was sobbing in his heart, but
he kept his lips tightly closed. His body tingled with rage. The
beasts! The wicked devils! Suddenly he kicked Gustav on the leg.

"Aha, so he kicks, does he?" exclaimed Gustav, lifting him up into
the air. "Do you want to see a little imp from Smaaland?" Pelle
covered his face with his arms and kicked to be let down; and he
also made an attempt to bite. "Eh, and he bites, too, the little
devil!" Gustav had to hold him firmly so as to manage him. He held
him by the collar, pressing his knuckles against the boy's throat
and making him gasp, while he spoke with derisive gentleness. "A
clever youngster, this! He's scarcely out of long clothes, and
wants to fight already!" Gustav went on tormenting him; it looked
as if he were making a display of his superior strength.

"Well, now we've seen that you're the strongest," said the head
man at last, "so let him go!" and when Gustav did not respond
immediately, he received a blow from a clenched fist between his
shoulder-blades. Then the boy was released, and went over to the
stable to Lasse, who had seen the whole thing, but had not dared
to approach. He could do nothing, and his presence would only have
done harm.

"Yes, and then there's our outing, laddie," he explained, by way of
excuse, while he was comforting the boy. "I could very well thrash a
puppy like Gustav, but if I did we shouldn't get away this evening,
for he wouldn't do our work. And none of the others, either, for
they all stick together like burrs. But you can do it yourself! I
verily believe you'd kick the devil himself, right on his club-foot!
Well, well, it was well done; but you must be careful not to waste
your powder and shot. It doesn't pay!"

The boy was not so easily comforted now. Deep down in his heart
the remembrance of his injury lay and pained him, because he had
acted in such good faith, and they had wounded him in his ready,
cheerful confidence. What had happened had also stung his pride;
he had walked into a trap, made a fool of himself for them. The
incident burnt into his soul, and greatly influenced his subsequent
development. He had already found out that a person's word was not
always to be relied upon, and he had made awkward attempts to get
behind it. Now he would trust nobody straight away any more; and he
had discovered how the secret was to be found out. You only had to
look at people's eyes when they said anything. Both here and at
Kaase Farm the people had looked so strange about the handle-turner,
as if they were laughing inside. And the bailiff had laughed that
time when he promised them roast pork and stewed rhubarb every day.
They hardly ever got anything but herring and porridge. People
talked with two tongues; Father Lasse was the only one who did not
do it.

Pelle began to be observant of his own face. It was the face that
spoke, and that was why it went badly with him when he tried to
escape a thrashing by telling a white lie. And to-day's misfortune
had been the fault of his face; if you felt happy, you mustn't show
it. He had discovered the danger of letting his mind lie open, and
his small organism set to work diligently to grow hard skin to draw
over its vital parts.

After supper they set off across the fields, hand in hand as usual.
As a rule, Pelle chattered unceasingly when they were by themselves;
but this evening he was quieter. The event of the afternoon was
still in his mind, and the coming visit gave him a feeling of
solemnity.

Lasse carried a red bundle in his hand, in which was a bottle of
black-currant rum, which they had got Per Olsen to buy in the town
the day before, when he had been in to swear himself free. It had
cost sixty-six ores, and Pelle was turning something over in his
mind, but did not know whether it would do.

"Father!" he said at last. "Mayn't I carry that a little way?"

"Gracious! Are you crazy, boy? It's an expensive article! And you
might drop it."

"I wouldn't drop it. Well, only hold it for a little then? Mayn't
I, father? Oh do, father!"

"Eh, what an idea! I don't know what you'll be like soon, if you
aren't stopped! Upon my word, I think you must be ill, you're
getting so tiresome!" And Lasse went on crossly for a little while,
but then stopped and bent down over the boy.

"Hold it then, you little silly, but be very careful! And you
mustn't move a single step while you've got it, mind!"

Pelle clasped the bottle to his body with his arms, for he dared not
trust his hands, and pushed out his stomach as far as possible to
support it. Lasse stood with his hands extended beneath the bottle,
ready to catch it if it fell.

"There! That'll do!" he said anxiously, and took the bottle.

"It _is_ heavy!" said Pelle, admiringly, and went on
contentedly, holding his father's hand.

"But why had he to swear himself free?" he suddenly asked.

"Because he was accused by a girl of being the father of her child.
Haven't you heard about it?"

Pelle nodded. "Isn't he, then? Everybody says he is."

"I can hardly believe it; it would be certain damnation for Per
Olsen. But, of course, the girl says it's him and no one else. Ah
me! Girls are dangerous playthings! You must take care when your
time comes, for they can bring misfortune upon the best of men."

"How do you swear, then? Do you say 'Devil take me'?"

Lasse could not help laughing. "No, indeed! That wouldn't be very
good for those that swear false. No, you see, in the court all God's
highest ministers are sitting round a table that's exactly like a
horseshoe, and beyond that again there's an altar with the crucified
Christ Himself upon it. On the altar lies a big, big book that's
fastened to the wall with an iron chain, so that the devil can't
carry it off in the night, and that's God's Holy Word. When a man
swears, he lays his left hand upon the book, and holds up his right
hand with three fingers in the air; they're God the Father, Son and
Holy Ghost. But if he swears false, the Governor can see it at once,
because then there are red spots of blood on the leaves of the
book."

"And what then?" asked Pelle, with deep interest.

"Well, then his three fingers wither, and it goes on eating itself
into his body. People like that suffer frightfully; they rot right
away."

"Don't they go to hell, then?"

"Yes, they do that too, except when they give themselves up and take
their punishment, and then they escape in the next life; but they
can't escape withering away."

"Why doesn't the Governor take them himself and punish them, when
he can see in that book that they swore false?"

"Why, because then they'd get off going to hell, and there's an
agreement with Satan that he's to have all those that don't give
themselves up, don't you see?"

Pelle shuddered, and for a little while walked on in silence beside
his father; but when he next spoke, he had forgotten all about it.

"I suppose Uncle Kalle's rich, isn't he?" he asked.

"He can't be rich, but he's a land-owner, and that's not a little
thing!" Lasse himself had never attained to more than renting land.

"When I grow up, I mean to have a great big farm," said Pelle, with
decision.

"Yes, I've no doubt you will," said Lasse, laughing. Not that he
also did not expect something great of the boy, if not exactly a
large farmer. There was no saying, however. Perhaps some farmer's
daughter might fall in love with him; the men of his family
generally had an attraction for women. Several of them had given
proof of it--his brother, for instance, who had taken the fancy
of a parson's wife. Then Pelle would have to make the most of his
opportunity so that the family would be ashamed to oppose the match.
And Pelle was good enough. He had that "cow's-lick" on his forehead,
fine hair at the back of his neck, and a birth-mark on his hip; and
that all betokened luck. Lasse went on talking to himself as he
walked, calculating the boy's future with large, round figures,
that yielded a little for him too; for, however great his future
might be, it would surely come in time to allow of Lasse's sharing
and enjoying it in his very old age.

They went across country toward the stone-quarry, following stone
dikes and snow-filled ditches, and working their way through the
thicket of blackthorn and juniper, behind which lay the rocks and
"the Heath." They made their way right into the quarry, and tried
in the darkness to find the place where the dross was thrown, for
that would be where the stone-breaking went on.

A sound of hammering came from the upper end of the ground, and they
discovered lights in several places. Beneath a sloping straw screen,
from which hung a lantern, sat a little, broad man, hammering away
at the fragments. He worked with peculiar vivacity--struck three
blows and pushed the stones to one side, another three blows, and
again to one side; and while with one hand he pushed the pieces
away, with the other he placed a fresh fragment in position on the
stone. It went as busily and evenly as the ticking of a watch.

"Why, if that isn't Brother Kalle sitting there!" said Lasse, in
a voice of surprise as great as if the meeting were a miracle from
heaven. "Good evening, Kalle Karlsson! How are you?"

The stone-breaker looked up.

"Oh, there you are, brother!" he said, rising with difficulty; and
the two greeted one another as if they had met only the day before.
Kalle collected his tools and laid the screen down upon them while
they talked.

"So you break stones too? Does that bring in anything?" asked Lasse.

"Oh, not very much. We get twelve krones a 'fathom' and when I work
with a lantern morning and evening, I can break half a fathom in a
week. It doesn't pay for beer, but we live anyhow. But it's awfully
cold work; you can't keep warm at it, and you get so stiff with
sitting fifteen hours on the cold stone--as stiff as if you were
the father of the whole world." He was walking stiffly in front of
the others across the heath toward a low, hump-backed cottage.

"Ah, there comes the moon, now there's no use for it!" said Kalle,
whose spirits were beginning to rise. "And, my word, what a sight
the old dormouse looks! He must have been at a New Year's feast
in heaven."

"You're the same merry devil that you were in the old days," said
Lasse.

"Well, good spirits'll soon be the only thing to be had without
paying for."

The wall of the house stuck out in a large round lump on one side,
and Pelle had to go up to it to feel it all over. It was most
mysterious what there might be on the other side--perhaps a secret
chamber? He pulled his father's hand inquiringly.

"That? That's the oven where they bake their bread," said Lasse.
"It's put there to make more room."

After inviting them to enter, Kalle put his head in at a door that
led from the kitchen to the cowshed. "Hi, Maria! You must put your
best foot foremost!" he called in a low voice. "The midwife's here!"

"What in the world does she want? It's a story, you old fool!" And
the sound of milk squirting into the pail began again.

"A story, is it? No, but you must come in and go to bed; she says
it's high time you did. You are keeping up much too long this year.
Mind what you say," he whispered into the cowshed, "for she is really
here! And be quick!"

They went into the room, and Kalle went groping about to light a
candle. Twice he took up the matches and dropped them again to light
it at the fire, but the peat was burning badly. "Oh, bother!" he
said, resolutely striking a match at last. "We don't have visitors
every day."

"Your wife's Danish," said Lasse, admiringly. "And you've got
a cow too?"

"Yes, it's a biggish place here," said Kalle, drawing himself up.
"There's a cat belonging to the establishment too, and as many rats
as it cares to eat."

His wife now appeared, breathless, and looking in astonishment at
the visitors.

"Yes, the midwife's gone again," said Kalle. "She hadn't time
to-day; we must put it off till another time. But these are
important strangers, so you must blow your nose with your fingers
before you give them your hand!"

"Oh, you old humbug! You can't take me in. It's Lasse, of course,
and Pelle!" And she held out her hand. She was short, like her
husband, was always smiling, and had bowed arms and legs just as
he had. Hard work and their cheerful temperament gave them both
a rotund appearance.

"There are no end of children here," said Lasse, looking about him.
There were three in the turn-up bedstead under the window--two small
ones at one end, and a long, twelve-year-old boy at the other, his
black feet sticking out between the little girls' heads; and other
beds were made up on chairs, in an old kneading-trough, and on the
floor.

"Ye-es; we've managed to scrape together a few," said Kalle,
running about in vain to get something for his visitors to sit
upon; everything was being used as beds. "You'll have to spit on
the floor and sit down on that," he said, laughing.

His wife came in, however, with a washing-bench and an empty
beer-barrel.

"Sit you down and rest," she said, placing the seats round the
table. "And you must really excuse it, but the children must be
somewhere."

Kalle squeezed himself in and sat down upon the edge of the turn-up
bedstead. "Yes, we've managed to scrape together a few," he repeated.
"You must provide for your old age while you have the strength.
We've made up the dozen, and started on the next. It wasn't exactly
our intention, but mother's gone and taken us in." He scratched the
back of his head, and looked the picture of despair.

His wife was standing in the middle of the room. "Let's hope it
won't be twins this time too," she said, laughing.

"Why, that would be a great saving, as we shall have to send for
the midwife anyhow. People say of mother," he went on, "that when
she's put the children to bed she has to count them to make sure
they're all there; but that's not true, because she can't count
farther than ten."

Here a baby in the alcove began to cry, and the mother took it up
and seated herself on the edge of the turn-up bedstead to nurse it.
"And this is the smallest," he said, holding it out toward Lasse,
who put a crooked finger down its neck.

"What a little fatty!" he said softly; he was fond of children.
"And what's its name?"

"She's called Dozena Endina, because when she came we thought that
was to be the last; and she was the twelfth too."

"Dozena Endina! That's a mighty fine name!" exclaimed Lasse. "It
sounds exactly as if she might be a princess."

"Yes, and the one before's called Ellen--from eleven, of course.
That's her in the kneading-trough," said Kalle. "The one before
that again is Tentius, and then Nina, and Otto. The ones before that
weren't named in that way, for we hadn't thought then that there'd
be so many. But that's all mother's fault; if she only puts a patch
on my working-trousers, things go wrong at once."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to get out of it like
that," said his wife, shaking her finger at him. "But as for that,"
she went on, turning to Lasse, "I'm sure the others have nothing
to complain of either, as far as their names are concerned. Albert,
Anna, Alfred, Albinus, Anton, Alma and Alvilda--let me see, yes,
that's the lot. None of them can say they've not been treated
fairly. Father was all for A at that time; they were all to rhyme
with A. Poetry's always come so easy to him." She looked admiringly
at her husband.

Kalle blinked his eyes in bashfulness. "No, but it's the first
letter, you see, and it sounds pretty," he said modestly.

"Isn't he clever to think of a thing like that? He ought to have
been a student. Now _my_ head would never have been any good
for anything of that sort. He wanted, indeed, to have the names
both begin and end with A, but that wouldn't do with the boys, so
he had to give that up. But then he hasn't had any book-learning
either."

"Oh, that's too bad, mother! I didn't give it up. I'd made up a name
for the first boy that had A at the end too; but then the priest and
the clerk objected, and I had to let it go. They objected to Dozena
Endina too, but I put my foot down; for I can be angry if I'm
irritated too long. I've always liked to have some connection and
meaning in everything; and it's not a bad idea to have something
that those who look deeper can find out. Now, have you noticed
anything special about two of these names?"

"No," answered Lasse hesitatingly, "I don't know that I have. But
I haven't got a head for that sort of thing either."

"Well, look here! Anna and Otto are exactly the same, whether you
read them forward or backward--exactly the same. I'll just show
you." He took down a child's slate that was hanging on the wall with
a stump of slate-pencil, and began laboriously to write the names.
"Now, look at this, brother!"

"I can't read," said Lasse, shaking his head hopelessly. "Does
it really give the same both ways? The deuce! That _is_
remarkable!" He could not get over his astonishment.

"But now comes something that's still more remarkable," said Kalle,
looking over the top of the slate at his brother with the gaze of
a thinker surveying the universe. "Otto, which can be read from both
ends, means, of course, eight; but if I draw the figure 8, it can be
turned upside down, and still be the same. Look here!" He wrote the
figure eight.

Lasse turned the slate up and down, and peered at it.

"Yes, upon my word, it is the same! Just look here, Pelle! It's like
the cat that always comes down upon its feet, no matter how you drop
it. Lord bless my soul! how nice it must be to be able to spell! How
did you learn it, brother?"

"Oh," said Kalle, in a tone of superiority. "I've sat and looked on
a little when mother's been teaching the children their ABC. It's
nothing at all if your upper story's all right."

"Pelle'll be going to school soon," said Lasse reflectively. "And
then perhaps _I_ could--for it would be nice. But I don't
suppose I've got the head for it, do you? No, I'm sure I haven't
got the head for it," he repeated in quite a despairing tone.

Kalle did not seem inclined to contradict him, but Pelle made up his
mind that some day he would teach his father to read and write--much
better than Uncle Kalle could.

"But we're quite forgetting that we brought a Christmas bottle
with us!" said Lasse, untying the handkerchief.

"You _are_ a fellow!" exclaimed Kalle, walking delightedly
round the table on which the bottle stood. "You couldn't have
given us anything better, brother; it'll come in handy for the
christening-party. 'Black Currant Rum'--and with a gold border--how
grand!" He held the label up toward the light, and looked round with
pleasure in his eyes. Then he hesitatingly opened the cupboard in
the wall.

"The visitors ought to taste what they brought," said his wife.

"That's just what was bothering me!" said Kalle, turning round with
a disconsolate laugh. "For they ought, of course. But if the cork's
once drawn, you know how it disappears." He reached out slowly for
the corkscrew which hung on a nail.

But Lasse would not hear of it; he would not taste the beverage for
the world. Was black-currant rum a thing for a poor beggar like him
to begin drinking--and on a weekday, too? No, indeed!

"Yes, and you'll be coming to the christening-party, you two, of
course," said Kalle, relieved, putting the bottle into the cupboard.
"But we'll have a 'cuckoo,' for there's a drop of spirits left from
Christmas Eve, and I expect mother'll give us coffee."

"I've got the coffee on," answered his wife cheerfully.

"Did you ever know such a wife! You can never wish for anything but
what it's there already!"

Pelle wondered where his two herding-comrades, Alfred and Albinus,
were. They were away at their summer places, taking their share of
the good Christmas fare, and would not be back before "Knut." "But
this fellow here's not to be despised," said Kalle, pointing to
the long boy in the turn-up bed. "Shall we have a look at him?" And,
pulling out a straw, he tickled the boy's nose with it. "Get up, my
good Anton, and harness the horses to the wheelbarrow! We're going
to drive out in state."

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