James Branch Cabell et al - "Domnei"

Michael Artzibashef - "Sanine"

H. Rider Haggard - "The Ancient Allan"

Frederick Martin - "The Life of John Clare"

A  /  B  /  C  /  D  /  E  /   F  /  G  /  H  /  I  /  J  /   K  /  L  /  M  /  N  /  O   P  /  R  /  S  /  T  /  U  /  V  /  W  /  X  /  Y  /  Z

Pelle the Conqueror, Vol 3 by Martin Anderson Nexo

M >> Martin Anderson Nexo >> Pelle the Conqueror, Vol 3




Pelle was wearied and stupefied with the continual battle with hard
reality. The bottomless depths of misery were beginning to waste his
courage. Was it really of any use to hold the many together? It only
made the torture yet harder for them to bear. But in a moment everything
looked as bright as though he had fallen into a state of ecstasy, as had
often happened lately. In the midst of the sternest realities it would
suddenly happen that his soul would leap within him and conjure up the
new age of happiness before his eyes, and the terrible dearth filled his
arms to overflowing with abundance! He did not feel the cold; the great
dearth had no existence; violent spiritual excitement and insufficient
nourishment made the blood sing continually in his ears. He accepted it
as a happy music from a contented world. It did not surprise him that he
should meet Hanne in summer clothing and attired as for a ball.

"Pelle, my protector!" she said, grasping his hand. "Will you go to the
dance with me?"

"That's really the old Hanne," thought Pelle delightedly--"the careless
Princess of the 'Ark,' and she is feverish, just as she used to be
then." He himself was in a fever. When their eyes met they emitted a
curious, cold, sparkling light. He had quite forgotten Father Lasse and
his errand, and went with Hanne.

The entrance of "The Seventh Heaven" was flooded with light, which
exposed the merciless cold of the street. Outside, in the sea of light,
thronged the children of the terrible winter, dishevelled and perishing
with the cold. They stood there shuddering, or felt in their pockets for
a five-ore piece, and if they found it they slipped through the blood-
red tunnel into the dancing-hall.

But it was cold in there too; their breath hung like white powder on the
air; and crystals of ice glittered on the polished floor. Who would
dream of heating a room where the joy of life was burning? and a
thousand candles? Here carelessness was wont to give of its abundance,
so that the lofty room lay in a cloud and the musicians were bathed in
sweat.

But now the cold had put an end to that. Unemployed workers lounged
about the tables, disinclined for movement. Winter had not left the poor
fellows an ounce of frivolity. Cerberus Olsen might spare himself the
trouble of going round with his giant arms outspread, driving the two or
three couples of dancers with their five-ore pieces indoors toward the
music, as though they had been a whole crowd. People only toiled across
the floor in order to have the right to remain there. Good Lord! Some of
them had rings and watches, and Cerberus had ready cash--what sort of
dearth was that? The men sat under the painted ceiling and the gilded
mirrors, over a glass of beer, leaving the girls to freeze--even Elvira
had to sit still. "Mazurka!" bellowed Cerberus, going threateningly from
table to table. They slunk into the hall like beaten curs, dejectedly
danced once round the floor, and paid.

But what is this? Is it not Summer herself stepping into the hall? All
glowing and lightly clad in the blue of forget-me-nots, with a rose in
her fair hair? Warmth lies like fleeting summer upon her bare shoulders,
although she has come straight out of the terrible winter, and she steps
with boldly moving limbs, like a daughter of joy. How proudly she
carries her bosom, as though she were the bride of fortune--and how she
burns! Who is she? Can no one say?

Oh, that is Widow Hanne, a respectable girl, who for seven long years
faithfully trod her way to and from the factory, in order to keep her
old mother and her child!

But how comes it then that she has the discreet Pelle on her arm? He who
has sold his own youth to the devil, in order to alleviate poverty? What
does he want here on the dancing-floor? And Hanne, whence did she get
her finery? She is still out of employment! And how in all the world has
she grown so beautiful?

They whisper behind her, following her as she advances; and in the midst
of the hall she stands still and smiles. Her eyes burn with a volcanic
fire. A young man rushes forward and encircles her with his arm. A dance
with Hanne! A dance with Hanne!

Hanne dances with a peculiar hesitation, as though her joy had brought
her from far away. Heavily, softly, she weighs on the arms of her
partners, and the warmth rises from her bare bosom and dispels the cold
of the terrible winter. It is as though she were on fire! Who could fail
to be warmed by her?

Now the room is warm once more. Hanne is like a blazing meteor that
kindles all as it circles round; where she glides past the fire springs
up and the blood runs warmly in the veins. They overturn the chairs in
their eagerness to dance with her. "Hi, steward! Five kroner on my
watch--only be quick!" "Ach, Hanne, a dance with me!"--"Do you remember
we were at the factory together?"--"We used to go to school together!"

Hanne does not reply, but she leaves Pelle and lays her naked arm upon
their shoulders, and if they touch it with their cheeks the fire streams
through them. They do not want to let her go again; they hold her fast
embraced, gliding along with her to where the musicians are sitting,
where all have to pay. No word passes her lips, but the fire within her
is a promise to each of them, a promise of things most precious. "May I
see you home to-night?" they whisper, hanging on her silent lips.

But to Pelle she speaks as they glide along. "Pelle, how strong you are!
Why have you never taken me? Do you love me?" Her hand is clasping his
shoulder as she whirls along beside him. Her breath burns in his ear.

"I don't know!" he says uneasily. "But stop now--you are ill."

"Hold me like that! Why have you never been stronger than I? Do you want
me, Pelle? I'll be yours!"

Pelle shakes his head. "No, I love you only like a sister now."

"And now I love you! Look--you are so distant to me--I don't understand
you--and your hand is as hard as if you came from another world! You are
heavy, Pelle! Have you brought me happiness from a foreign land with
you?"

"Hanne, you are ill! Stop now and let me take you home!"

"Pelle, you were not the right one. What is there strange about you?
Nothing! So let me alone--I am going to dance with the others as well!"

Hitherto Hanne has been dancing without intermission. The men stand
waiting for her; when one releases her ten spring forward, and this
evening Hanne wants to dance with them all. Every one of them should be
permitted to warm himself by her! Her eyes are like sparks in the
darkness; her silent demeanor excites them; they swing her round more
and more wildly. Those who cannot dance with her must slake the fire
within them with drink. The terrible winter is put to flight, and it is
warm as in Hell itself. The blood is seething in their brains; it
injects the whites of their eyes, and expresses itself in wanton frolic,
in a need to dance till they drop, or to fight.

"Hanne is wild to-night--she has got her second youth," says Elvira and
the other girls maliciously.

Hold your tongues. No one shall criticize Hanne's behavior! It is
wonderful to touch her; the touch of her skin hurts one, as though she
was not flesh and blood, but fire from Heaven! They say she has not had
a bite of food for a week. The old woman and the child have had all
there was. And yet she is burning! And see, she has now been dancing
without a break for two whole hours! Can one understand such a thing?
Hanne dances like a messenger from another world, where fire, not cold,
is the condition of life. Every dancer leaves his partner in the lurch
as soon as she is free! How lightly she dances! Dancing with her, one
soars upward, far away from the cold. One forgets all misery in her
eyes.

But she has grown paler and paler; she is dancing the fire out of her
body while others are dancing it in! Now she is quite white, and Olsen's
Elvira comes up and tugs at her dress, with anxiety in her glance.
"Hanne, Hanne!" But Hanne does not see her; she is only longing for the
next pair of arms--her eyes are closed. She has so much to make up for!
And who so innocent as she? She does not once realize that she is
robbing others of their pleasure. Is she suffering from vertigo or St.
Vitus's dance, in her widowhood?

Hold your tongue! How beautiful she is! Now she is growing rosy again,
and opening her eyes. Fire darts from them; she has brought Pelle out of
his corner and is whispering something to him, blushing as she does so;
perhaps that precious promise that hitherto no one has been able to draw
from her. Pelle must always be the lucky man!

"Pelle, why don't you dance with me oftener? Why do you sit in the
corner there always and sulk? Are you angry with me as you used to be,
and why are you so hard and cold? And your clothes are quite stiff!"

"I come from outside all this--from the terrible winter, Hanne, where
the children are crying for bread, and the women dying of starvation,
and the men go about with idle hands and look on the ground because they
are ashamed of their unemployment!"

"But why? It is still summer. Only look how cheerful every one is! Take
me, then, Pelle!"

Hanne grows red, redder than blood, and leans her head on his shoulder.
Only see how she surrenders herself, blissful in her unashamed ecstasy!
She droops backward in his arms, and from between her lips springs a
great rose of blood, that gushes down over the summer-blue dress.

Fastened to the spot by his terrible burden, Pelle stands there unable
to move. He can only gaze at Hanne, until Cerberus takes her in his
giant's arms and bears her out. She is so light in her summer finery--
she weighs nothing at all!

"Mazurka!" he bellows, as he returns, and goes commandingly along the
ranks of dancers.




XXVI


At the end of January, Pelle obtained a place as laborer in the
"Denmark" machine works. He was badly paid, but Ellen rejoiced, none the
less; with nothing one could only cry--with a little one could grow
strong again. She was still a little pale after her confinement, but she
looked courageous. At the first word of work her head was seething with
comprehensive plans. She began at once to redeem various articles and to
pay off little debts; she planned out a whole system and carried it out
undeviatingly.

The new sister was something for Young Lasse; he understood immediately
that she was some one given to him in order to amuse him in his
loneliness.

During the confinement he had remained with his grandparents, so that
the stork should not carry him away when it came with his little sister
--for he was dear to them! But when he returned home she was lying asleep
in her cradle. He just touched her eyelids, to see if she had eyes like
his own. They snatched his fingers away, so he could not solve the
exciting problem that day.

But sister had eyes, great dark eyes, which followed him about the room,
past the head of the bed and round the other side, always with the same
attentive expression, while the round cheeks went out and in like those
of a sucking animal. And Young Lasse felt very distinctly that one was
under obligations when eyes followed one about like that. He was quite a
little man already, and he longed to be noticed; so he ran about making
himself big, and rolling over like a clown, and playing the strong man
with the footstool, while his sister followed him with her eyes, without
moving a muscle of her face. He felt that she might have vouchsafed him
a little applause, when he had given himself so much trouble.

One day he inflated a paper bag and burst it before her face. That was
a help. Sister forgot her imperturbability, gave a jump, and began to
roar. He was smacked for that, but he had his compensation. Her little
face began to quiver directly he approached her, in order to show her
something; and she often began to roar before he had performed his
trick. "Go away from your sister Lasse Frederik!" said his mother. "You
are frightening her!"

But things were quite different only a month later. There was no one who
understood Young Lasse's doings better than sister. If he did but move
his plump little body, or uttered a sound, she twittered like a
starling.

Ellen's frozen expression had disappeared; now that she had something to
work at again. The cold had weaned her from many of her exactions, and
others were gratified by the children. The two little ones kept her very
busy; she did not miss Pelle now. She had become accustomed to his being
continually away from home, and she had taken possession of him in her
thoughts, in her own fashion; she held imaginary conversations with him
as she went about her work; and it was a joy to her to make him
comfortable during the short time that he was at home.

Pelle conceived his home as an intimate little world, in which he could
take shelter when he was weary. He had redeemed that obscure demand in
Ellen's eyes--in the shape of two dear little creatures that gave her
plenty to do. Now it was her real self that advanced to meet him. And
there was a peculiar loyalty about her, that laid hold of his heart; she
no longer resented his small earnings, and she did not reproach him
because he was only a workman.

He had been obliged to resign his position as president of his Union on
account of his longer hours. There was no prospect at present of his
being able to return to his vocation; but the hard bodily labor agreed
with him.

In order to help out his small earnings, he busied himself with repairs
in the evenings. Ellen helped him, and they sat together and gossiped
over their work. They ignored the labor movement--it did not interest
Ellen, and he by no means objected to a brief rest from it. Young Lasse
sat at the table, drawing and putting in his word now and then. Often,
when Pelle brought out the work, Ellen had done the greater part of it
during the day, and had only left what she did not understand. In return
he devised little ways of pleasing her.

In the new year the winter was not so severe. Already in February the
first promise of spring was perceptible. One noticed it in Ellen.

"Shan't we pack a picnic-basket and go out to one of the beer-gardens on
Sunday? It would do the children good to get into the air," she would
say.

Pelle was very willing. But on Sunday there was a meeting of the party
leaders and a meeting concerning the affairs of the factory--he must be
present at both. And in the evening he had promised to speak before a
trade union.

"Then we'll go out ourselves, the children and I!" said Ellen
peacefully. When they came home it seemed they had amused themselves
excellently; Pelle was no longer indispensable.

* * * * *

The hard winter was over at last. It was still freezing--especially at
night--but the people knew it was over in spite of that. And the ice in
the canals knew it also. It began to show fractures running in all
directions, and to drift out toward the sea. Even the houses gave one a
feeling of spring; they were brighter in hue; and the sun was shining
into the sky overhead; if one looked for it one could see it glowing
above the roofs. Down in the narrow lanes and the well-like courtyards
the children stamped about in the snowy slush and sang to the sun which
they could not see.

People began to recover from the long privations of the winter. The cold
might return at any moment; but all were united in their belief in the
spring. The starlings began to make their appearance, and the moisture
of the earth rose again to the surface and broke its way through the
hard crust, in dark patches; and business ventured to raise its head. A
peculiar universal will seemed to prevail in all things. Down under the
earth it sprouted amid frost and snow, and crept forth, young, and
seemingly brought forth by the cold itself; and in all things frozen by
winter the promise unfolded itself--in spite of all.

The workmen's quarter of the city began to revive; now it was once more
of some use to go about looking for work. It did one good to get out and
walk in the daylight for a while. And it also did one good once more to
fill one's belly every day and to fetch the household goods home from
the pawn-shop, and to air one's self a little, until one's turn came
round again.

But things did not go as well as they should have done. It looked as
though the cold had completely crippled the sources of commercial
activity. The spring came nearer; the sun rose higher every day, and
began to recover its power; but business showed no signs of real
recovery as yet; it did no more than supply what was needed from day to
day. There was no life in it, as there had been of old! At this time of
the year manufacturers were glad as a rule to increase their stocks, so
as to meet the demands of the summer; it was usual to make up for the
time lost during the winter; the workers would put forth their utmost
strength, and would work overtime.

Many anxious questions were asked. What was the matter? Why didn't
things get going again? _The Working Man_ for the present offered
no explanation, but addressed a covert warning to certain people that
they had best not form an alliance with want.

Gradually the situation assumed more definite outlines; the employers
were making preparations of some kind, for which reason they did not
resume business with any great vigor. In spite of their privations
during the winter, the workers had once again returned some of their own
representatives to Parliament, and now they were getting ready to strike
a blow at the municipal elections. That was the thing to do now! And in
the forefront of the battle stood the ever-increasing organization which
now included all vocations and the whole country a single body, and
which claimed a decisive voice in the ordering of conditions! The poor
man was made to feel how little he could accomplish without those who
kept everything going!

In the meantime there were rumors that a lock-out was being prepared,
affecting every occupation, and intended to destroy the Federation at
one blow. But that was inconceivable. They had experienced only small
lock-outs, when there was disagreement about some particular point. That
any one could think of setting the winter's distress in opposition to
the will of Nature, when every man was willing to work on the basis of
the current tariff--no, the idea was too fiendish!

But one distinction was being made. Men who had done any particular work
for the movement would find it more difficult to obtain employment. They
would be degraded, or simply replaced by others, when they applied for
their old places after the standstill of the winter. Uncertainty
prevailed, especially in those trades which had the longest connection
with the labor organization; one could not but perceive this to be a
consequence of combination. For that reason the feeling of insecurity
increased. Every one felt that the situation was unendurable and
untenable, and foresaw some malicious stroke. Especially in the iron
industry relations were extremely strained; the iron-founders were
always a hard-handed lot; it was there that one first saw what was about
to develop.

Pelle anxiously watched events. If a conflict were to occur just now, it
would mean a defeat of the workers, who were without supplies and were
stripped to the buff. With the winter had ceased even the small chance
of employment on the ramparts; it was obvious that an assault would
shatter their cohesion. He did not express his anxieties to them. They
were at bottom like little children; it would do no good for them to
suffer too great anxiety. But to the leaders he insisted that they must
contrive to avoid a conflict, even if it entailed concessions. For the
first time Pelle proposed a retreat!

One week followed another, and the tension increased, but nothing
happened. The employers were afraid of public opinion. The winter had
struck terrible blows; they dared not assume the responsibility for
declaring war.

* * * * *

In the "Denmark" machine-works the tension was of long standing. At the
time when the farmers were compelled, by the conditions of the world-
market, to give up the cultivation of cereals for dairy-farming, the
directors of the factory had perceived in advance that the future would
lie in that direction, and had begun to produce dairy machinery. The
factory succeeded in constructing a centrifugal separator which had a
great sale, and this new branch of industry absorbed an ever-increasing
body of workers. Hitherto the best-qualified men had been selected; they
were continually improving the manufacture, and the sales were
increasing both at home and abroad. The workers gradually became so
skilled in their specialty that the manufacturers found themselves
compelled to reduce their wages--otherwise they would have earned too
much. This had happened twice in the course of the years, and the
workers had received the hint that was necessary to meet competition in
foreign markets. But at the same time the centrifugal separators were
continually increasing in price, on account of the great demand for
them. The workers had regarded the lowering of their wages as something
inevitable, and took pains yet further to increase their skill, so that
their earnings had once more come to represent a good average wage.

Now, immediately after the winter slackness, there were rumors in
circulation that the manufacturers intended once more to decrease the
rate of pay. But this time the men had no intention of accommodating
themselves to the decrease. Their resentment against the unrighteousness
of this proceeding went to their heads; they were very near
demonstrating at the mere rumor. Pelle, however, succeeded in persuading
them that they were confronted by nothing more than foolish gossip for
which no one was responsible. Afterward, when their fear had evaporated
and all was again going as usual, they came to him and thanked him.

But on the next pay-day there was a notice from the office to the effect
that the current rate of wages was not in accordance with the times--it
was to be improved. This sounded absolutely innocent, but every one knew
what lay behind it.

It was one of the first days of spring. The sun was shining into the
vast workshop, casting great shafts of light across it, and in the blue
haze pulleys and belts were revolving. The workers, as they stood at
their work, were whistling in time with the many wheels and the ringing
of metal. They were like a flock of birds, who have just landed on a
familiar coast and are getting the spring.

Pelle was carrying in some raw material when the news came and
extinguished all their joy. It was passed on a scrap of paper from man
to man, brief and callous. The managers of the factory wanted to have
nothing to do with the organization, but silently went behind it. All
had a period of fourteen days in which to subscribe to the new tariff.
"No arguments, if you please--sign, or go!" When the notice came to
Pelle all eyes were turned upon him as though they expected a signal;
tools were laid down, but the machinery ran idly for a time. Pelle read
the notice and then bent over his work again.

During the midday pause they crowded about him. "What now?" they asked;
and their eyes were fixed upon him, while their hands were trembling.
"Hadn't we better pack up and go at once? This shearing will soon be too
much for us, if they do it every time a little wool has grown on us."

"Wait!" said Pelle. "Just wait! Let the other side do everything, and
let us see how far they will go. Behave as if nothing had happened, and
get on with your work. You have the responsibility of wives and
children!"

They grumblingly followed his advice, and went back to their work. Pelle
did not wonder at them; there had been a time when he too would throw
down his work if any one imposed on him, even if everything had gone to
the devil through it. But now he was responsible for many--which was
enough to make a man prudent. "Wait!" he told them over and over again.
"To-morrow we shall know more than we do to-day--it wants thinking over
before we deal with it!"

So they put the new tariff aside and went to work as though nothing had
happened. The management of the factory treated the matter as settled;
and the directors went about with a contented look. Pelle wondered at
his comrades' behavior; after a few days they were in their usual
spirits, indulging in all kinds of pastimes during their meal-time.

As soon as the whistle sounded at noon the machinery stopped running,
and the workers all dropped their tools. A few quickly drew their coats
on, intending to go home for a mouthful of warm food, while some went to
the beer-cellars of the neighborhood. Those who lived far from their
homes sat on the lathe-beds and ate their food there. When the food was
consumed they gathered together in groups, gossiping, or chaffing one
another. Pelle often made use of the midday rest to run over to the
"Ark" in order to greet Father Lasse, who had obtained work in one of
the granaries and was now able to get along quite nicely.

John Crace digests High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Review: The Thin Blue Line: How Humanitarianism Went to War by Conor FoleyAid worker Foley conducts a fascinating and important analysis of recent wars and disasters around the world, says Steven Poole

Review: Under Two Dictators: Prisoner of Stalin and Hitler by Margarete Buber-Neumann

He might be almost 90 years old in real terms, but Christopher Robin and his bear of very little brain are set to make a literary comeback after the estate of AA Milne agreed to authorise the first-ever official sequel to the much-loved children's books.

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood by author David Benedictus picks up from the poignant ending of Milne's last Pooh book, The House at Pooh Corner, in which Christopher Robin is growing up and heading away to school. "Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred," he tells the bear, and they leave together.

The estates of Milne and EH Shepard, who provided the simple but enduring illustrations for the books, said they had been searching for a sequel that would do justice to the original stories for "a good many years".

Although Disney has franchised the characters in a number of films, there has not previously been an authorised literary sequel to Milne's books, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, first published in 1926 and 1928. Milne wrote the books for his son Christopher Robin, naming Pooh after his teddy bear.

The sequel, to be published by Egmont Publishing in Britain and Penguin imprint Dutton Children's Books in the US, is due out on 5 October, illustrated by Mark Burgess. Benedictus, who is familiar with the world of Winnie the Pooh after adapting and producing audio versions of the books starring Judi Dench, Stephen Fry and Jane Horrocks, did not reveal any more details, but promised that the book would both "complement and maintain Milne's idea that whatever happens, a little boy and his bear will always be playing".

Michael Brown, chairman of Pooh Properties, which manages the affairs of the Milne and Shepard estates, said the sequel would capture "the spirit and quality" of the original books.

Benedictus said all Milne's well-loved characters, from Tigger to Eeyore, would be making an appearance in his sequel, which features 10 stories and around 150 illustrations. The stories retain their original 1920s setting.

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Review: The Error World: An Affair with Stamps by Simon Garfield

One might say that Margarete Buber-Neumann had a charmed life, had it not been so horrible. She was fortunate - if that is the word - to be sent to a Soviet labour camp in 1939, during a momentary lull in the mass shooting of prisoners. Handed over to the Nazis in 1940, she was similarly lucky to be released from an SS concentration camp in 1945, just days before the remaining prisoners were forced on evacuation marches ending in death. It is a measure of the dismal times she lived through that such events marked her as fortunate, and it is a testament to her skill as a writer that this thoughtful, humane memoir (published in English in 1949) became an international bestseller. From the very first page we are with her, scurrying through Moscow surrounded by images of Stalin. We accompany her throughout the gruelling years ahead, encountering a host of characters, good and bad, and share in her dogged attempt to make sense of the madness of totalitarianism. This revised text is the definitive edition.

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds