Pelle the Conqueror, Vol 3 by Martin Anderson Nexo

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Pelle moved slowly about, delighting in the crowd, while keeping a look-
out for Madam Johnsen and the child, who were to have met him out here.
Inwardly, at the back of everything, he was in a serious mood, and was
therefore quiet. It must be fine to lie on one's belly here, in the
midst of one's own family circle, eating hard-boiled eggs and bread-and-
butter--or to go running about with Young Lasse on his shoulders! But
what did it profit a man to put his trust in anything? He could not
begin over again with Ellen; the impossible stood between them. To drive
Young Lasse out of his thoughts--that would be the hardest thing of all;
he must see if he could not get him away from Ellen in a friendly
manner. As for applying to the law in order to get him back, that he
would not do.

The entire Stolpe family was lying in a big circle, enjoying a meal; the
sons were there with their wives and children; only Pelle and his family
were lacking.

"Come and set to!" said Stolpe, "or you'll be making too long a day of
it."

"Yes," cried Madam Stolpe, "it is such a time since we've been together.
No need for us to suffer because you and Ellen can't agree!" She did not
know the reason of the breach--at all events, not from him--but was none
the less friendly toward him.

"I am really looking for my own basket of food," said Pelle, lying down
beside them.

"Now look here, you are the deuce of a fellow," said Stolpe, suddenly
laughing. "You intended beforehand to look in and say how-d'ye-do to
Brother Christian, [Footnote: The king was so called.] hey? It wasn't
very wise of you, really--but that's all one to me. But what you have
done to-day no one else could do. The whole thing went like a dance! Not
a sign of wobbling in the ranks! You know, I expect, that they mean to
put you at the head of the Central Committee? Then you will have an
opportunity of working at your wonderful ideas of a world-federation.
But there'll be enough to do at home here without that; at the next
election we must win the city--and part of the country too. You'll let
them put you up?"

"If I recover my voice. I can't speak loudly at present."

"Try the raw yolk of an egg every night," said Madam Stolpe, much
concerned, "and tie your left-hand stocking round your throat when you
go to bed; that is a good way. But it must be the left-hand stocking."

"Mother is a Red, you know," said Stolpe. "If I go the right-hand side
of her she doesn't recognize me!"

The sun must have set--it was already beginning to grow dark. Black
clouds were rising in the west. Pelle felt remorseful that he had not
yet found the old woman and her grandchild, so he took his leave of the
Stolpes.

He moved about, looking for the two; wherever he went the people greeted
him, and there was a light in their eyes. He noticed that a policeman
was following him at some little distance; he was one of the secret
hangers-on of the party; possibly he had something to communicate to
him. So Pelle lay down in the grass, a little apart from the crowd, and
the policeman stood still and gazed cautiously about him. Then he came
up to Pelle. When he was near he bent down as though picking something
up. "They are after you," he said, under his breath; "this afternoon
there was a search made at your place, and you'll be arrested, as soon
as you leave here." Then he moved on.

Pelle lay there some minutes before he could understand the matter. A
search-but what was there at his house that every one might not know of?
Suddenly he thought of the wood block and the tracing of the ten-kroner
note. They had sought for some means of striking at him and they had
found the materials of a hobby!

He rose heavily and walked away from the crowd. On the East Common he
stood still and gazed back hesitatingly at this restless sea of
humanity, which was now beginning to break up, and would presently melt
away into the darkness. Now the victory was won and they were about to
take possession of the Promised Land--and he must go to prison, for a
fancy begotten of hunger! He had issued no false money, nor had he ever
had any intention of doing so. But of what avail was that? He was to be
arrested--he had read as much in the eyes of the police-inspector. Penal
servitude--or at best a term in prison!

He felt that he must postpone the decisive moment while he composed his
mind. So he went back to the city by way of the East Bridge. He kept to
the side-streets, in order not to be seen, and made his way toward St.
Saviour's churchyard; the police were mostly on the Common.

For a moment the shipping in the harbor made him think of escape. But
whither should he flee? And to wander about abroad as an outlaw, when
his task and his fate lay here could he do it? No, he must accept his
fate!

The churchyard was closed; he had to climb over the wall in order to get
in. Some one had put fresh flowers on Father Lasse's grave. Maria, he
thought. Yes, it must have been she! It was good to be here; he no
longer felt so terribly forsaken. It was as though Father Lasse's
untiring care still hovered protectingly about him.

But he must move on. The arrest weighed upon his mind and made him
restless. He wandered through the city, keeping continually to the
narrow side-streets, where the darkness concealed him. This was the
field of battle--how restful it was now! Thank God, it was not they who
condemned him! And now happiness lay before them--but for him!

Cautiously he drew near his lodging--two policemen in plain clothes were
patrolling to and fro before the house. After that he drew back again
into the narrow side-streets. He drifted about aimlessly, fighting
against the implacable, and at last resigning himself.

He would have liked to see Ellen--to have spoken kindly to her, and to
have kissed the children. But there was a watch on his home too--at
every point he was driven back into the solitude to which he was a
stranger. That was the dreadful part of it all. How was he going to live
alone with himself, he who only breathed when in the company of others?
Ellen was still his very life, however violently he might deny it. Her
questioning eyes still gazed at him enigmatically, from whatever corner
of existence he might approach. He had a strong feeling now that she had
held herself ready all this time--that she had sat waiting for him,
expecting him. How would she accept this?

From Castle Street he saw a light in Morten's room. He slipped into the
yard and up the stairs. Morten was reading.

"It's something quite new to see you--fireman!" he said, with a kindly
smile.

"I have come to say good-bye," said Pelle lightly.

Morten looked at him wonderingly. "Are you going to travel?"

"Yes ... I--I wanted...." he said, and sat down.

He gazed on the floor in front of his feet. "What would you do if the
authorities were sneaking after you?" he asked suddenly. Morten stared
at him for a time. Then he opened a drawer and took out a revolver. "I
wouldn't let them lay hands on me," he said blackly. "But why do you ask
me?"

"Oh, nothing.... Will you do me a favor, Morten? I have promised to take
up a collection for those poor creatures from the 'Ark,' but I've no
time for it now. They have lost all their belongings in the fire. Will
you see to the matter?"

"Willingly. Only I don't understand----"

"Why, I have got to go away for a time," said Pelle, with a grim laugh.
"I have always wanted to travel, as you know. Now there's an
opportunity."

"Good luck, then!" said Morten, looking at him curiously as he pressed
his hand. How much he had guessed Pelle did not know. There was Bornholm
blood in Morten's veins; he was not one to meddle in another's affairs.

And then he was in the streets again. No, Morten's way out was of no use
to him--and now he would give in, and surrender himself to the
authorities! He was in the High Street now; he had no purpose in hiding
himself any longer.

In North Street he saw a figure dealing with a shop-door in a very
suspicious manner; as Pelle came up it flattened itself against the
door. Pelle stood still on the pavement; the man, too, was motionless
for a while, pressing himself back into the shadow; then, with an angry
growl, he sprang out, in order to strike Pelle to the ground.

At that very moment the two men recognized one another. The stranger was
Ferdinand.

"What, are you still at liberty?" he cried, in amazement. "I thought
they had taken you!"

"How did you know that?" asked Pelle.

"Ach, one knows these things--it's part of one's business. You'll get
five to six years, Pelle, till you are stiff with it. Prison, of course
--not penal servitude."

Pelle shuddered.

"You'll freeze in there," said Ferdinand compassionately. "As for me, I
can settle down very well in there. But listen, Pelle--you've been so
good, and you've tried to save me--next to mother you are the only
person I care anything about. If you would like to go abroad I can soon
hide you and find the passage-money."

"Where will you get it?" asked Pelle, hesitating.

"Ach, I go in for the community of goods," said Ferdinand with a broad
smile. "The prefect of police himself has just five hundred kroner lying
in his desk. I'll try to get it for you if you like."

"No," said Pelle slowly, "I would rather undergo my punishment. But
thanks for your kind intentions--and give my best wishes to your old
mother. And if you ever have anything to spare, then give it to Widow
Johnsen. She and the child have gone hungry since Hanne's death."

And then there was nothing more to do or say; it was all over.... He
went straight across the market-place toward the court-house. There it
stood, looking so dismal! He strolled slowly past it, along the canal,
in order to collect himself a little before going in. He walked along
the quay, gazing down into the water, where the boats and the big live-
boxes full of fish were just visible. By Holmens Church he pulled
himself together and turned back--he must do it now! He raised his head
with a sudden resolve and found himself facing Marie. Her cheeks glowed
as he gazed at her.

"Pelle," she cried, rejoicing, "are you still at liberty? Then it wasn't
true! I have been to the meeting, and they said there you had been
arrested. Ach, we have been so unhappy!"

"I shall be arrested--I am on the way now."

"But, Pelle, dear Pelle!" She gazed at him with tearful eyes. Ah, he was
still the foundling, who needed her care! Pelle himself had tears in his
eyes; he suddenly felt weak and impressible. Here was a human child
whose heart was beating for him--and how beautiful she was, in her grief
at his misfortune!

She stood before him, slender, but generously formed; her hair--once so
thin and uncared-for--fell in heavy waves over her forehead. She had
emerged from her stunted shell into a glorious maturity. "Pelle," she
said, with downcast eyes, gripping both his hands, "don't go there to-
night--wait till tomorrow! All the others are rejoicing over the victory
to-night--and so should you! ... Come with me, to my room, Pelle, you
are so unhappy." Her face showed him that she was fighting down her
tears. She had never looked so much a child as now.

"Why do you hesitate? Come with me! Am I not pretty? And I have kept it
all for you! I have loved you since the very first time I ever saw you,
Pelle, and I began to grow, because I wanted to be beautiful for you. I
owe nothing to any one but you, and if you don't want me I don't want to
go on living!"

No, she owed nothing to any one, this child from nowhere, but was solely
and entirely her own work. Lovely and untouched she came to him in her
abandonment, as though she were sent by the good angel of poverty to
quicken his heart. Beautiful and pure of heart she had grown up out of
wretchedness as though out of happiness itself, and where in the world
should he rest his head, that was wearied to death, but on the heart of
her who to him was child and mother and beloved?

"Pelle, do you know, there was dancing to-day in the Federation building
after the meeting on the Common, and we young girls had made a green
garland, and I was to crown you with it when you came into the hall. Oh,
we did cry when some one came up and called out to us that they had
taken you! But now you have won the wreath after all, haven't you? And
you shall sleep sweetly and not think of to-morrow!"

And Pelle fell asleep with his head on her girlish bosom. And as she lay
there gazing at him with the eyes of a mother, he dreamed that Denmark's
hundred thousand workers were engaged in building a splendid castle, and
that he was the architect. And when the castle was finished he marched
in at the head of the army of workers; singing they passed through the
long corridors, to fill the shining halls. But the halls were not there
--the castle had turned into a prison! And they went on and on, but could
not find their way out again.

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