Pelle the Conqueror Part 79

They were silent again; they sat there and gazed at the dead man; there was something apologetic in the bearing of each and all.

"Yes, that comes late!" said Strom, with a sigh. Then he felt in the straw and pulled out a bottle.

Some of the men still sat there, trying to put into words something that ought perhaps to be said; but then came the doctor, and they drew in their horns. They picked up their beer-cans and went out to their work.

Silently Pelle gathered his possessions together and went to the foreman. He asked for his wages.

"That's sudden," said the foreman. "You were getting on so well just now. What do you want to do now?"

"I just want my wages," rejoined Pelle. What more he wanted, he himself did not know. And then he went home and put his room in order. It was like a pigsty; he could not understand how he could have endured such untidiness. In the meantime he thought listlessly of some way of escape.

It had been very convenient to belong to the dregs of society, and to know that he could not sink any deeper; but perhaps there were still other possibilities. Emil had said a stupid thing--what did he mean by it? "Pelle, he'll get on all right!" Well, what did Emil know of the misery of others? He had enough of his own.

He went down into the street in order to buy a little milk; then he would go back and sleep. He felt a longing to deaden all the thoughts that once more began to seethe in his head.

Down in the street he ran into the arms of Sort, the wandering shoemaker. "Now we've got you!" cried Sort. "I was just coming here and wondering how best I could get to speak with you. I wanted to tell you that I begin my travelling to-morrow. Will you come with me? It is a splendid life, to be making the round of the farms now in the spring-time; and you'll go to the dogs if you stay here. Now you know all about it and you can decide. I start at six o'clock! I can't put it off any later!"

Sort had observed Pelle that evening at the prayer-meeting, and on several occasions had spoken to him in the hope of arousing him. "He can put off his travels for a fortnight as far as I'm concerned!" thought Pelle, with a touch of self-esteem. He wouldn't go! To go begging for work from farm to farm! Pelle had learned his craft in the workshop, and looked down with contempt upon the travelling cobbler, who lives from hand to mouth and goes from place to place like a beggar, working with leather and waxed-ends provided on the spot, and eating out of the same bowl as the farm servants. So much pride of craft was still left in Pelle. Since his apprentice days, he had been accustomed to regard Sort as a pitiful survival from the past, a species properly belonging to the days of serfdom.

"You'll go to the dogs!" Sort had said. And all Marie Melsen's covert allusions had meant the same thing. But what then? Perhaps he had already gone to the dogs! Suppose there was no other escape than this!

But now he would sleep, and think no more of all these things.

He drank his bottle of milk and ate some bread with it, and went to bed. He heard the church clock striking--it was midnight, and glorious weather. But Pelle wanted to sleep--only to sleep! His heart was like lead.

He awoke early next morning and was out of bed with one leap. The sun filled his room, and he himself was filled with a sense of health and well-being. Quickly he slipped into his clothes--there was still so much that he wanted to do! He threw up the window, and drank in the spring morning in a breath that filled his body with a sense of profound joy.

Out at sea the boats were approaching the harbor; the morning sun fell on the slack sails, and made them glow; every boat was laboring heavily forward with the aid of its tiller. He had slept like a stone, from the moment of lying down until now. Sleep lay like a gulf between yesterday and to-day. Whistling a tune to himself, he packed his belongings and set out upon his way, a little bundle under his arm. He took the direction of the church, in order to see the time. It was still not much past five. Then he made for the outermost suburb with vigorous steps, as joyful as though he were treading the road to happiness.

XXV

Two men appeared from the wood and crossed the highroad. One was little and hump-backed; he had a shoemaker's bench strapped tightly on his back; the edge rested on his hump, and a little pillow was thrust between, so that the bench should not chafe him. The other was young and strongly built; a little thin, but healthy and fresh-colored. He carried a great bundle of lasts on his back, which were held in equilibrium by another box, which he carried on his chest, and which, to judge by the sounds that proceeded from it, contained tools. At the edge of the ditch he threw down his burden and unstrapped the bench from the hunchback.

They threw themselves down in the gra.s.s and gazed up into the blue sky.

It was a glorious morning; the birds twittered and flew busily to and fro, and the cattle were feeding in the dewy clover, leaving long streaks behind them as they moved.

"And in spite of that, you are always happy?" said Pelle. Sort had been telling him the sad story of his childhood.

"Yes, look you, it often vexes me that I take everything so easily--but what if I can't find anything to be sad about? If I once go into the matter thoroughly, I always. .h.i.t on something or other that makes me still happier--as, for instance, your society. You are young, and health beams out of your eyes. The girls become so friendly wherever we go, and it's as though I myself were the cause of their pleasure!"

"Where do you really get your knowledge of everything?" asked Pelle.

"Do you find that I know so much?" Sort laughed gaily. "I go about so much, and I see so many different households, some where man and wife are as one, and others where they live like cat and dog. I come into contact with people of every kind. And I get to know a lot, too, because I'm not like other men--more than one maiden has confided her miseries to me. And then in winter, when I sit alone, I think over everything--and the Bible is a good book, a book a man can draw wisdom from. There a man learns to look behind things; and if you once realize that everything has its other side, then you learn to use your understanding. You can go behind everything if you want to, and they all lead in the same direction--to G.o.d. And they all came from Him. He is the connection, do you see; and once a man grasps that, then he is always happy. It would be splendid to follow things up further--right up to where they divide, and then to show, in spite of all, that they finally run together in G.o.d again! But that I'm not able to do."

"We ought to see about getting on." Pelle yawned, and he began to bestir himself.

"Why? We're so comfortable here--and we've already done what we undertook to do. What if there should be a pair of boots yonder which Sort and Pelle won't get to sole before they're done with? Some one else will get the job!"

Pelle threw himself on his back and again pulled his cap over his eyes--he was in no hurry. He had now been travelling nearly a month with Sort, and had spent almost as much time on the road as sitting at his work. Sort could never rest when he had been a few days in one place; he must go on again! He loved the edge of the wood and the edge of the meadow, and could spend half the day there. And Pelle had many points of contact with this leisurely life in the open air; he had his whole childhood to draw upon. He could lie for hours, chewing a gra.s.s-stem, patient as a convalescent, while sun and air did their work upon him.

"Why do you never preach to me?" he said suddenly, and he peeped mischievously from tinder his cap.

"Why should I preach to you? Because I am religious? Well, so are you; every one who rejoices and is content is religious."

"But I'm not at all content!" retorted Pelle, and he rolled on his back with all four limbs in the air. "But you--I don't understand why you don't get a congregation; you've got such a power over language."

"Yes, if I were built as you are--fast enough. But I'm humpbacked!"

"What does that matter? You don't want to run after the women!"

"No, but one can't get on without them; they bring the men and the children after them. And it's really queer that they should--for women don't bother themselves about G.o.d! They haven't the faculty of going behind things. They choose only according to the outside--they want to hang everything on their bodies as finery--and the men too, yes, and the dear G.o.d best of all--they've got a use for the lot!"

Pelle lay still for a time, revolving his scattered experiences. "But Marie Nielsen wasn't like that," he said thoughtfully. "She'd willingly give the s.h.i.+rt off her body and ask nothing for herself. I've behaved badly to her--I didn't even say goodbye before I came away!"

"Then you must look her up when we come to town and confess your fault.

There was no lovemaking between you?"

"She treated me like a child; I've told you."

Sort was silent a while.

"If you would help me, we'd soon get a congregation! I can see it in your eyes, that you've got influence over them, if you only cared about it; for instance, the girl at Willow Farm. Thousands would come to us."

Pelle did not answer. His thoughts were roaming back wonderingly to Willow Farm, where Sort and he had last been working; he was once more in that cold, damp room with the over-large bed, on which the pale girl's face was almost invisible. She lay there encircling her thick braids with her transparent hand, and gazed at him; and the door was gently closed behind him. "That was really a queer fancy," he said, and he breathed deeply; "some one she'd never laid eyes on before; I could cry now when I think of it."

"The old folks had told her we were there, and asked if she wouldn't like me to read something from G.o.d's word with her. But she'd rather see you. The father was angry and didn't want to allow it. 'She has never thought about young men before,' he said, 'and she shall stand before the throne of G.o.d and the Lamb quite pure.' But I said, 'Do you know so precisely that the good G.o.d cares anything for what you call purity, Ole Jensen? Let the two of them come together, if they can take any joy in it.' Then we shut the door behind you--and how was it then?" Sort turned toward Pelle.

"You know," replied Pelle crossly. "She just lay there and looked at me as though she was thinking: 'That's what he looks like--and he's come a long way here.' I could see by her eyes that you had spoken of me and that she knew about all my swinishness."

Sort nodded.

"Then she held out her hand to me. How like she is to one of G.o.d's angels already--I thought--but it's a pity in one who's so young. And then I went close to her and took her hand."

"And what then?" Sort drew nearer to Pelle. His eyes hung expectantly on Pelle's lips.

"Then she stretched out her mouth to me a little--and at that very moment I forgot what sort of a hog I'd been--and I kissed her!"

"Didn't she say anything to you--not a word?"

"She only looked at me with those eyes that you can't understand. Then I didn't know what I--what I ought to do next, so I came away."

"Weren't you afraid that she might transfer death to you?"

"No; why should I be? I didn't think about it. But she could never think of a thing like that--so child-like as she was!"

They both lay for a time without speaking. "You have something in you that conquers them all!" said Sort at length. "If only you would help me--I'd see to the preaching!"

Pelle stretched himself indolently--he felt no desire to create a new religion. "No, I want to go away and see the world now," he said. "There must be places in that world where they've already begun to go for the rich folks--that's where I want to go!"

"One can't achieve good by the aid of evil--you had better stay here!