Pelle the Conqueror, Vol. 2 by Martin Anderson Nexo

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"Yes, those are the fellows!" said Master Andres, as at last they
bustled out; "devil take me, but those are the chaps!" Jeppe could
not in the least understand how they had found their way thither,
and Master Andres did not explain that he had been to the tavern.
"Perhaps Jungfer Patges sent them to me," he said, gazing into the
distance. "She must somehow have kept me in mind."

Free tickets poured in on them; the young master was in the theater
every evening. Pelle received a gallery ticket every time he went
round with a pair of boots. He was to say nothing--but the price
was plainly marked on the sole with chalk.

"Did you get the money?" the master would ask eagerly; he used to
stand on the stairs all the time, waiting. No, Pelle was to present
their very best wishes, and to say they would come round and settle
up themselves.

"Well, well, people of that sort are safe enough," said the master.

One day Lasse came stamping into the workshop and into the midst of
them all, looking the picture of a big farmer, with his fur collar
drawn round his ears. He had a sack of potatoes outside; it was a
present to Pelle's employers, because Pelle was learning his trade
so well. Pelle was given leave and went out with his father; and he
kept looking furtively at the fur collar. At last he could contain
himself no longer, but turned it up inquiringly. Disillusioned, he
let it fall again.

"Ah, yes--er--well--that's just tacked on to my driving-cloak. It
looks well, and it keeps my ears nice and warm. You thought I'd
blossomed out into a proper fur coat? No, it won't run to that just
yet--but it will soon. And I could name you more than one big farmer
who has nothing better than this."

Yes, Pelle was just a trifle disappointed. But he must admit that
there was no difference to be perceived between this cloak and the
real bear-skin. "Are things going on all right?" he asked.

"Oh, yes; at present I am breaking stone. I've got to break twenty
cords if I'm to pay everybody what's owing to him by the Devil's
birthday. [Footnote: The 11th December--the general pay-day and
hiring-day.--TB.] So long as we keep our health and strength, Karna
and I."

They drove to the merchant's and put up the horses. Pelle noticed
that the people at the merchant's did not rush forward to Lasse
quite so eagerly as they did to the real farmers; but Lasse himself
behaved in quite an important manner. He stumped right into the
merchant's counting-house, just like the rest, filled his pipe at
the barrel, and helped himself to a drink of brandy. A cold breath
of air hung about him as he went backward and forward from the
cart with buttoned-up cloak, and he stamped as loudly on the sharp
cobble-stones as though his boot-soles too were made of stone.

Then they went on to Due's cottage; Lasse was anxious to see how
matters were prospering there. "It isn't always easy when one of
the parties brings a love-child into the business."

Pelle explained to him how matters stood. "Tell them at Uncle
Kalle's that they must take little Maria back again. Anna ill-treats
her. They are getting on well in other ways; now they want to buy
a wagon and horses and set up as carriers."

"Do they? Well, it's easy for those to get on who haven't any
heart." Lasse sighed.

"Look, father," said Pelle suddenly, "there's a theater here now,
and I know all the players. I take them their boots, and they give
me a ticket every evening. I've seen the whole thing."

"But, of course, that's all lies, eh?" Lasse had to pull up, in
order to scrutinize Pelle's face. "So you've been in a proper
theater, eh? Well, those who live in the town have got the devil
to thank for it if they are cleverer than a peasant. One can
have everything here!"

"Will you go with me to-night? I can get the tickets."

Lasse was uneasy. It wasn't that he didn't want to go; but the whole
thing was so unaccustomed. However, it was arranged that he should
sleep the night at Due's, and in the evening they both went to the
theater.

"Is it here?" asked Lasse, astounded. They had come to a great
building like a barn, before which a number of people were standing.
But it was fine inside. They sat right up at the top, at the back,
where the seats were arranged like the side of a hill, and they had
a view over the whole theater. Down below, right in front, sat some
ladies who, so far as Lasse could see, were naked. "I suppose those
are the performers?" he inquired.

Pelle laughed. "No, those are the grandest ladies in the town--the
doctor's wife, the burgomaster's lady, and the inspector's wife,
and such like."

"What, they are so grand that they haven't enough clothes to
wear!" cried Lasse. "With us we call that poverty! But where are
the players, then?"

"They are the other side of the curtain."

"Then have they begun already?"

"No, you can see they haven't--the curtain has to go up first."

There was a hole in the curtain, and a finger came through it, and
began to turn from side to side, pointing at the spectators. Lasse
laughed. "That's devilish funny!" he cried, slapping his thighs,
as the finger continued to point.

"It hasn't begun yet," said Pelle.

"Is that so?" This damped Lasse's spirits a little.

But then the big crown-light began suddenly to run up through a hole
in the ceiling; up in the loft some boys were kneeling round the
hole, and as the light came up they blew out the lamps. Then the
curtain went up, and there was a great brightly-lit hall, in which
a number of pretty young girls were moving about, dressed in the
most wonderful costumes--and they were speaking! Lasse was quite
astonished to find that he could understand what they said; the
whole thing seemed so strange and foreign to him; it was like a
peep into dreamland. But there was one maiden who sat there all
alone at her spinning wheel, and she was the fairest of them all.

"That's surely a fine lady?" asked Lasse.

But Pelle whispered that she was only a poor forest maiden, whom the
lord of the castle had robbed, and now he wanted to force her to be
his sweetheart. All the others were making a tremendous lot of her,
combing her golden hair and kneeling before her; but she only looked
unhappier than before. And sometimes her sadness was more than she
could bear; then she opened her beautiful mouth and her wounded
heart bled in song, which affected Lasse so that he had to fetch
a long sighing breath.

Then a tall man with a huge red beard came stamping into the hall.
Lasse saw that he was dressed like a man who has been keeping
Carnival.

"That's the one we made the fine boots for," whispered Pelle: "the
lord of the castle, who wants to seduce her."

"An ugly devil he looks too!" said Lasse, and spat. "The master at
Stone Farm is a child of God compared with him!" Pelle signed to
him to be quiet.

The lord of the castle drove all the other women away, and then
began to tramp stormily to and fro, eyeing the forest maiden and
showing the whites of his eyes. "Well, have you at last decided?"
he roared, and snorted like a mad bull. And suddenly he sprang at
her as if to take her by force.

"Ha! Touch me not!" she cried, "or by the living God, I will plunge
this dagger into my heart! You believe you can buy my innocence
because I am poor, but the honor of the poor is not to be bought
with gold!"

"That's a true word!" said Lasse loudly.

But the lord of the castle gave a malicious laugh, and tugged at
his red beard. He rolled his r's dreadfully.

"Is my offer not enough for you? Come, stay this night with me and
you shall receive a farm with ten head of cattle, so that to-morrow
you can stand at the altar with your huntsman!"

"Hold your tongue, you whoremonger!" said Lasse angrily.

Those round about him tried to calm him; one or another nudged him
in the ribs. "Well, can't a man speak any longer?" Lasse turned
crossly to Pelle. "I'm no clergyman, but if the girl doesn't want
to, let him leave her alone; at any rate he shan't slake his lust
publicly in the presence of hundreds of people with impunity! A
swine like that!" Lasse was speaking loudly, and it seemed as though
his words had had their effect on the lord of the castle. He stood
there awhile staring in front of him, and then called a man, and
bade him lead the maiden back to the forest.

Lasse breathed easily again as the curtain fell and the boys
overhead by the hole in the ceiling relit the lamps and let them
down again. "So far she's got out of it all right," he told Pelle,
"but I don't trust the lord--he's a scoundrel!" He was perspiring
freely, and did not look entirely satisfied.

The next scene which was conjured up on the stage was a forest.
It was wonderfully fine, with pelargoniums blooming on the ground,
and a spring which was flowing out of something green. "That is a
covered beer-barrel!" said Pelle, and now Lasse too could see the
tap, but it was wonderfully natural. Right in the background one
could see the lord's castle on a cliff, and in the foreground lay
a fallen tree-trunk; two green-clad huntsmen sat astride of it,
concocting their evil schemes. Lasse nodded--he knew something of
the wickedness of the world.

Now they heard a sound, and crouched down behind the tree-trunk,
each with a knife in his hand. For a moment all was silent; then
came the forest maiden and her huntsman, wandering all unawares down
the forest path. By the spring they took a clinging and affectionate
farewell; then the man came forward, hurrying to his certain death.

This was too much. Lasse stood up. "Look out!" he cried in a choking
voice: "look out!" Those behind him pulled his coat and scolded him.
"No, devil take you all, I won't hold my tongue!" he cried, and
laid about him. And then he leaned forward again: "Look where you're
going, d'you hear! Your life is at stake! They're hiding behind the
fallen tree!"

The huntsman stood where he was and stared up, and the two
assassins had risen to their feet and were staring, and the actors
and actresses came through from the wings and gazed upward over
the auditorium. Lasse saw that the man was saved, but now he had
to suffer for his services; the manager wanted to throw him out.
"I can perfectly well go by myself," he said. "An honorable man
is one too many in this company!" In the street below he talked
aloud to himself; he was in a blazing temper.

"It was only a play," said Pelle dejectedly. In his heart he was
ashamed of his father.

"You needn't try to teach me about that! I know very well that it
all happened long ago and that I can do nothing to alter it, not
if I was to stand on my head. But that such low doings should be
brought to life again! If the others had felt as I did we should
have taken the lord and thrashed him to death, even if it did come
a hundred years too late!"

"Why--but that was Actor West, who comes to our workshop every day."

"Is that so? Actor West, eh? Then you are Actor Codfish, to let
yourself be imposed on like that! I have met people before now who
had the gift of falling asleep and conjuring up long dead people
in their place--but not so real as here, you understand. If you
had been behind the curtain you would have seen West lying there
like dead, while he, the other one--the Devil--was carrying on
and ordering everybody about. It's a gift I'd rather not have; a
dangerous game! If the others forget the word of command that brings
him back into the body it would be all up with him, and the other
would take his place."

"But that is all superstition! When I know it's West in a play--why,
I recognized him at once!"

"Oh, of course! You are always the cleverer! You'd like a dispute
with the devil himself every day! So it was only a show? When he
was rolling the whites of his eyes in his frantic lust! You believe
me--if she hadn't had that knife he would have fallen on her and
satisfied his desire in front of everybody! Because if you conjure
up long bygone times the action has to have its way, however many
there are to see. But that they should do it for money--for money
--ugh! And now I'm going home!" Lasse would say nothing more, but
had the horses harnessed.

"You had best not go there again," he said at parting. "But if it
has got hold of you already, at least put a knife in your pocket.
Yes, and we'll send you your washing by Butcher Jensen, one
Saturday, soon."

Pelle went to the theater as before; he had a shrewd idea that it
was only a play, but there _was_ something mysterious about it;
people must have a supernatural gift who evening after evening could
so entirely alter their appearance and so completely enter into the
people they represented. Pelle thought he would like to become an
actor if he could only climb high enough.

The players created a considerable excitement when they strolled
through the streets with their napping clothes and queer head-gear;
people ran to their windows to see them, the old folk peeping over
their shoulders. The town was as though transformed as long as they
were in it.

Every mind had taken a perverse direction. The girls cried out in
their sleep and dreamed of abductions; they even left their windows
a little open; and every young fellow was ready to run away with the
players. Those who were not theater-mad attended religious meetings
in order to combat the evil.

And one day the players disappeared--as they had come--and left a
cloud of debts behind them. "Devil's trash!" said the master with
his despondent expression. "They've tricked us! But, all the same,
they were fine fellows in their way, and they had seen the world!"

But after these happenings he could by no means get warm again. He
crawled into bed and spent the best part of the month lying there.

XII

It can be very cozy on those winter evenings when everybody sits at
home in the workshop and passes the time by doing nothing, because
it is so dark and cold out of doors, and one has nowhere to go to.
To stand about by the skating-ponds and to look on, frozen, while
others go swinging past--well, Pelle has had enough of it; and as
for strolling up the street toward the north, and then turning about
and returning toward the south, and turning yet again, up and down
the selfsame street--well, there is nothing in it unless one has
good warm clothes and a girl whose waist one can hold. And Morten
too is no fresh-air disciple; he is freezing, and wants to sit in
the warmth.

So they slink into the workshop as soon as it begins to grow dark,
and they take out the key and hang it on the nail in the entry, in
order to deceive Jeppe, and then they secretly make a fire in the
stove, placing a screen in front of it, so that Jeppe shall not see
the light from it when he makes his rounds past the workshop windows.
They crouch together on the ledge at the bottom of the stove, each
with an arm round the other's shoulder, and Morten tells Pelle about
the books he has read.

"Why do you do nothing but read those stupid books?" asks Pelle,
when he has listened for a time.

"Because I want to know something about life and about the world,"
answers Morten, out of the darkness.

"Of the world?" says Pelle, in a contemptuous tone. "I want to go
out into the world and see things--what's in the books is only lies.
But go on."

And Morten goes on, good-natured as always. And in the midst of his
narrative something suddenly occurs to him, and he pulls a paper
packet from his breast-pocket: "That's chocolate from Bodil," he
says, and breaks the stick in two.

"Where had she put it?" asks Pelle.

"Under the sheet--I felt something hard under my back when
I lay down."

The boys laugh, while they nibble at the chocolate. Suddenly Pelle
says: "Bodil, she's a child-seducer! She enticed Hans Peter away
from Stone Farm--and he was only fifteen!"

Morten does not reply; but after a time his head sinks on Pelle's
shoulder--his body is twitching.

"Well, you are seventeen," says Pelle, consoling. "But it's silly
all the same; she might well be your mother--apart from her age."
And they both laugh.

It can be still cozier on work-day evenings. Then the fire is
burning openly in the stove, even after eight o'clock, and the
lamp is shining, and Morten is there again. People come from
all directions and look in for a moment's visit, and the cold,
an impediment to everything else, awakens all sorts of notable
reminiscences. It is as though the world itself comes creeping
into the workshop. Jeppe conjures up his apprentice years in the
capital, and tells of the great bankruptcy; he goes right back to
the beginning of the century, to a wonderful old capital where the
old people wore wigs, and the rope's-end was always at hand and the
apprentices just kept body and soul together, begging on Sundays
before the doors of the townsfolk. Ah, those were times! And he
comes home and wants to settle down as master, but the guild won't
accept him; he is too young. So he goes to sea as cook, and comes
to places down south where the sun burns so fiercely that the pitch
melts in the seams and the deck scorches one's feet. They are a
merry band, and Jeppe, little as he is, by no means lags behind the
rest. In Malaga they storm a tavern, throw all the Spaniards out
of the window, and sport with the girls--until the whole town falls
upon them and they have to fly to their boat. Jeppe cannot keep up
with them, and the boat shoves off, so that he has to jump into the
water and swim for it. Knives fall splashing about him in the water,
and one sticks shivering in his shoulder-blades. When Jeppe comes to
this he always begins to strip his back to show the scar, and Master
Andres holds him back. Pelle and Morten have heard the story many
a time, but they are willing always to hear it again.

And Baker Jorgen, who for the greater part of his life has been a
seaman on the big vessels sailing the northern and southern oceans,
talks about capstans and icebergs and beautiful black women from
the West Indies. He sets the capstan turning, so that the great
three-master makes sail out of the Havana roadstead, and all his
hearers feel their hearts grow light.

"Heave ho, the capstan,
Waltz her well along!
Leave the girl a-weeping,
Strike up the song!"

So they walk round and round, twelve men with their breasts pressed
against the heavy capstan-bars; the anchor is weighed, and the sail
fills with the wind--and behind and through his words gleam the
features of a sweetheart in every port. Bjerregrav cannot help
crossing himself--he who has never accomplished anything, except
to feel for the poor; but in the young master's eyes everybody
travels--round and round the world, round and round the world. And
Wooden-leg Larsen, who in winter is quite the well-to-do pensioner,
in blue pilot-coat and fur cap, leaves his pretty, solidly-built
cottage when the Spring comes, and sallies forth into the world as
a poor organ-grinder--he tells them of the Zoological Gardens on the
hill, and the adventurous Holm-Street, and of extraordinary beings
who live upon the dustbins in the back-yards of the capital.

But Pelle's body creaks whenever he moves; his bones are growing
and seeking to stretch themselves; he feels growth and restlessness
in every part and corner of his being. He is the first to whom the
Spring comes; one day it announces itself in him in the form of a
curiosity as to what his appearance is like. Pelle has never asked
himself this question before; and the scrap of looking-glass which
he begged from the glazier from whom he fetches the glass scrapers
tells him nothing truly. He has at bottom a feeling that he is an
impossible person.

He begins to give heed to the opinions of others respecting his
outward appearance; now and again a girl looks after him, and his
cheeks are no longer so fat that people can chaff him about them.
His fair hair is wavy; the lucky curl on his forehead is still
visible as an obstinate little streak; but his ears are still
terribly big, and it is of no use to pull his cap over them, in
order to press them close to his head. But he is tall and well-grown
for his age, and the air of the workshop has been powerless to spoil
his ruddy complexion; and he is afraid of nothing in the world--
particularly when he is angry. He thinks out a hundred different
kinds of exercise in order to satisfy the demands of his body, but
it is of no use. If he only bends over his hammer-work he feels it
in every joint of his body.

And then one day the ice breaks and goes out to sea. Ships are
fitted out again, and provisioned, and follow the ice, and the
people of the town awake to the idea of a new life, and begin to
think of green woods and summer clothing.

And one day the fishing-boats arrive! They come gliding across
from Hellavik and Nogesund on the Swedish coast. They cut swiftly
through the water, heeling far over under their queer lateen sails,
like hungry sea-birds that sweep the waves with one wing-tip in
their search for booty. A mile to seaward the fishermen of the town
receive them with gunshots; they have no permission to anchor in
the fishing port, but have to rent moorings for themselves in the
old ship's harbor, and to spread out the gear to dry toward the
north. The craftsmen of the town come flocking down to the harbor,
discussing the foreign thieves who have come from a poorer country
in order to take the bread out of the mouths of the townsfolk;
for they are inured to all weathers, and full of courage, and are
successful in their fishing. They say the same things every Spring,
but when they want to buy herrings they deal with the Swedes, who
sell more cheaply than the Bornholmers. "Perhaps our fishermen wear
leather boots?" inquires Jeppe. "No, they wear wooden shoes week-
days and Sunday alike. Let the wooden-shoe makers deal with them--I
buy where the fish is cheapest!"

It is as though the Spring in person has arrived with these thin,
sinewy figures, who go singing through the streets, challenging the
petty envy of the town. There are women, too, on every boat, to mend
and clean the gear, and they pass the workshop in crowds, searching
for their old lodgings in the poor part of the town near the "Great
Power's" home. Pelle's heart leaps at the sight of these young women,
with pretty slippers on their feet, black shawls round their oval
faces, and many fine colors in their dress. His mind is full of
shadowy memories of his childhood, which have lain as quiet as
though they were indeed extinguished; vague traditions of a time
that he has experienced but can no longer remember; it is like a
warm breath of air from another and unknown existence.

If it happens that one or another of these girls has a little
child on her arm, then the town has something to talk about. Is it
Merchant Lund again, as it was last year? Lund, who since then had
been known only as "the Herring Merchant"? Or is it some sixteen-
year-old apprentice, a scandal to his pastor and schoolmaster,
whose hands he has only just left?

Then Jens goes forth with his concertina, and Pelle makes haste with
his tidying up, and he and Morten hurry up to Gallows Hill, hand-in-
hand, for Morten finds it difficult to run so quickly. All that the
town possesses of reckless youth is there; but the Swedish girls
take the lead. They dance and whirl until their slippers fly off,
and little battles are fought over them. But on Saturdays the boats
do not go to sea; then the men turn up, with smouldering brows, and
claim their women, and then there is great slaughter.

Pelle enters into it all eagerly; here he finds an opportunity of
that exercise of which his handicraft deprives his body. He hungers
for heroic deeds, and presses so close to the fighters that now and
again he gets a blow himself. He dances with Morten, and plucks up
courage to ask one of the girls to dance with him; he is shy, and
dances like a leaping kid in order to banish his shyness; and in
the midst of the dance he takes to his heels and leaves the girl
standing there. "Damned silly!" say the onlookers, and he hears them
laughing behind him. He has a peculiar manner of entering into all
this recklessness which lets the body claim its due without thought
for the following day and the following year. If some man-hunting
young woman tries to capture his youth he lashes out behind, and
with a few wanton leaps he is off and away. But he loves to join in
the singing when the men and women go homeward with closely-twined
arms, and he and Morten follow them, they too with their arms about
each other. Then the moon builds her bridge of light across the sea,
and in the pinewood, where a white mist lies over the tree-tops,
a song rises from every path, heard as a lulling music in the haunts
of the wandering couples; insistently melancholy in its meaning,
but issuing from the lightest hearts. It is just the kind of song
to express their happiness.

"Put up, put up thy golden hair;
A son thou'lt have before a year--
No help in thy clamor and crying!
In forty weeks may'st look for me.
I come to ask how it fares with thee.
The forty weeks were left behind.
And sad she was and sick of mind,
And fell to her clamor and crying--"

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