It was Pelle who, one day in his first year at school, when he was
being questioned in Religion, and Fris asked him whether he could give
the names of the three greatest festivals in the year, amused every one
by answering: “Midsummer Eve, Harvest-home and—and——” There was a
third, too, but when it came to the point, he was shy of mentioning
it—his birthday! In certain ways it was the greatest of them all, even
though no one but Father Lasse knew about it—and the people who wrote
the almanac, of course; they knew about simply everything!
It came on the twenty-sixth of June and was called Pelagius in the
calendar. In the morning his father kissed him and said: “Happiness and
a blessing to you, laddie!” and then there was always something in his
pocket when he came to pull on his trousers. His father was just as
excited as he was himself, and waited by him while he dressed, to share
in the surprise. But it was Pelle’s way to spin things out when
something nice was coming; it made the pleasure all the greater. He
purposely passed over the interesting pocket, while Father Lasse stood
by fidgeting and not knowing what to do.
“I say, what’s the matter with that pocket? It looks to me so fat! You
surely haven’t been out stealing hens’ eggs in the night?”
Then Pelle had to take it out—a large bundle of paper—and undo it,
layer after layer. And Lasse would be amazed.
“Pooh, it’s nothing but paper! What rubbish to go and fill your pockets
with!” But in the very inside of all there was a pocket- knife with two
blades.
“Thank you!” whispered Pelle then, with tears in his eyes.
“Oh, nonsense! It’s a poor present, that!” said Lasse, blinking his
red, lashless eyelids.
Beyond this the boy did not come in for anything better on that day
than usual, but all the same he had a solemn feeling all day. The sun
never failed to shine—was even unusually bright; and the animals looked
meaningly at him while they lay munching. “It’s my birthday to-day!” he
said, hanging with his arms round the neck of Nero, one of the
bullocks. “Can you say ‘A happy birthday’?” And Nero breathed warm
breath down his back, together with green juice from his chewing; and
Pelle went about happy, and stole green corn to give to him and to his
favorite calf, kept the new knife—or whatever it might have been—in his
hand the whole day long, and dwelt in a peculiarly solemn way upon
everything he did. He could make the whole of the long day swell with a
festive feeling; and when he went to bed he tried to keep awake so as
to make the day longer still.
Nevertheless, Midsummer Eve was in its way a greater day; it had at any
rate the glamour of the unattainable over it. On that day everything
that could creep and walk went up to the Common; there was not a
servant on the whole island so poor-spirited as to submit to the
refusal of a holiday on that day—none except just Lasse and Pelle.
Every year they had seen the day come and go without sharing in its
pleasure. “Some one must stay at home, confound it!” said the bailiff
always. “Or perhaps you think I can do it all for you?” They had too
little power to assert themselves. Lasse helped to pack appetizing food
and beverages into the carts, and see the others off, and then went
about despondently—one man to all the work. Pelle watched from the
field their merry departure and the white stripe of dust far away
behind the rocks. And for half a year afterward, at meals, they heard
reminiscences of drinking and fighting and love-making—the whole
festivity.
But this was at an end. Lasse was not the man to continue to let
himself be trifled with. He possessed a woman’s affection, and a house
in the background. He could give notice any day he liked. The
magistrate was presumably busy with the prescribed advertising for
Madam Olsen’s husband, and as soon as the lawful respite was over, they
would come together.
Lasse no longer sought to avoid the risk of dismissal. As long ago as
the winter, he had driven the bailiff into a corner, and only agreed to
be taken on again upon the express condition that they both took part
in the Midsummer Eve outing; and he had witnesses to it. On the Common,
where all lovers held tryst that day, Lasse and she were to meet too,
but of this Pelle knew nothing.
“To-day we can say the day after to-morrow, and to-morrow we can say
to-morrow,” Pelle went about repeating to his father two evenings
before the day. He had kept an account of the time ever since May Day,
by making strokes for all the days on the inside of the lid of the
chest, and crossing them out one by one.
“Yes, and the day after to-morrow we shall say to-day,” said Lasse,
with a juvenile fling.
They opened their eyes upon an incomprehensibly brilliant world, and
did not at first remember that this was the day. Lasse had anticipated
his wages to the amount of five krones, and had got an old cottager to
do his work—for half a krone and his meals. “It’s not a big wage,” said
the man; “but if I give you a hand, perhaps the Almighty’ll give me one
in return.”
“Well, we’ve no one but Him to hold to, we poor creatures,” answered
Lasse. “But I shall thank you in my grave.”
The cottager arrived by four o’clock, and Lasse was able to begin his
holiday from that hour. Whenever he was about to take a hand in the
work, the other said: “No, leave it alone! I’m sure you’ve not often
had a holiday.”
“No; this is the first real holiday since I came to the farm,” said
Lasse, drawing himself up with a lordly air.
Pelle was in his best clothes from the first thing in the morning, and
went about smiling in his shirt-sleeves and with his hair plastered
down with water; his best cap and jacket were not to be put on until
they were going to start. When the sun shone upon his face, it sparkled
like dewy grass. There was nothing to trouble about; the animals were
in the enclosure and the bailiff was going to look after them himself.
He kept near his father, who had brought this about. Father Lasse was
powerful! “What a good thing you threatened to leave!” he kept on
exclaiming. And Lasse always gave the same answer: “Ay, you must carry
things with a high hand if you want to gain anything in this
world!”—and nodded with a consciousness of power.
They were to have started at eight o’clock, but the girls could not get
the provisions ready in time. There were jars of stewed gooseberries,
huge piles of pancakes, a hard-boiled egg apiece, cold veal and an
endless supply of bread and butter. The carriage boxes could not nearly
hold it all, so large baskets were pushed in under the seats. In the
front was a small cask of beer, covered with green oats to keep the sun
from it; and there was a whole keg of spirits and three bottles of cold
punch. Almost the entire bottom of the large spring-wagon was covered,
so that it was difficult to find room for one’s feet.
After all, Fru Kongstrup showed a proper feeling for her servants when
she wanted to. She went about like a kind mistress and saw that
everything was well packed and that nothing was wanting. She was not
like Kongstrup, who always had to have a bailiff between himself and
them. She even joked and did her best, and it was evident that whatever
else there might be to say against her, she wanted them to have a merry
day. That her face was a little sad was not to be wondered at, as the
farmer had driven out that morning with her young relative.
At last the girls were ready, and every one got in—in high spirits. The
men inadvertently sat upon the girls’ laps and jumped up in alarm. “Oh,
oh! I must have gone too near a stove!” cried the rogue Mons, rubbing
himself behind. Even the mistress could not help laughing.
“Isn’t Erik going with us?” asked his old sweetheart Bengta, who still
had a warm spot in her heart for him.
The bailiff whistled shrilly twice, and Erik came slowly up from the
barn, where he had been standing and keeping watch upon his master.
“Won’t you go with them to the woods to-day, Erik man?” asked the
bailiff kindly. Erik stood twisting his big body and murmuring
something that no one could understand, and then made an unwilling
movement with one shoulder.
“You’d better go with them,” said the bailiff, pretending he was going
to take him and put him into the cart. “Then I shall have to see
whether I can get over the loss.”
Those in the cart laughed, but Erik shuffled off down through the yard,
with his dog-like glance directed backward at the bailiff’s feet, and
stationed himself at the corner of the stable, where he stood watching.
He held his cap behind his back, as boys do when they play at
“Robbers.”
“He’s a queer customer!” said Mons. Then Karl Johan guided the horses
carefully through the gate, and they set off with a crack of the whip.
Along all the roads, vehicles were making their way toward the highest
part of the island, filled to overflowing with merry people, who sat on
one another’s laps and hung right over the sides. The dust rose behind
the conveyances and hung white in the air in stripes miles in length,
that showed how the roads lay like spokes in a wheel all pointing
toward the middle of the island. The air hummed with merry voices and
the strains of concertinas. They missed Gustav’s playing now—yes, and
Bodil’s pretty face, that always shone so brightly on a day like this.
Pelle had the appetite of years of fasting for the great world, and
devoured everything with his eyes. “Look there, father! Just look!”
Nothing escaped him. It made the others cheerful to look at him—he was
so rosy and pretty. He wore a newly-washed blue blouse under his
waistcoat, which showed at the neck and wrists and did duty as collar
and cuffs; but Fair Maria bent back from the box-seat, where she was
sitting alone with Karl Johan, and tied a very white scarf round his
neck, and Karna, who wanted to be motherly to him, went over his face
with a corner of her pocket-handkerchief, which she moistened with her
tongue. She was rather officious, but for that matter it was quite
conceivable that the boy might have got dirty again since his thorough
morning wash.
The side roads continued to pour their contents out on to the
high-roads, and there was soon a whole river of conveyances, extending
as far as the eye could see in both directions. One would hardly have
believed that there were so many vehicles in the whole world! Karl
Johan was a good driver to have; he was always pointing with his whip
and telling them something. He knew all about every single house. They
were beyond the farms and tillage by now; but on the heath, where
self-sown birch and aspen trees stood fluttering restlessly in the
summer air, there stood desolate new houses with bare, plastered walls,
and not so much as a henbane in the window or a bit of curtain. The
fields round them were as stony as a newly-mended road, and the crops
were a sad sight; the corn was only two or three inches in height, and
already in ear. The people here were all Swedish servants who had saved
a little—and had now become land-owners. Karl Johan knew a good many of
them.
“It looks very miserable,” said Lasse, comparing in his own mind the
stones here with Madam Olsen’s fat land.
“Oh, well,” answered the head man, “it’s not of the very best, of
course; but the land yields something, anyhow.” And he pointed to the
fine large heaps of road-metal and hewn stone that surrounded every
cottage. “If it isn’t exactly grain, it gives something to live on; and
then it’s the only land that’ll suit poor people’s purses.” He and Fair
Maria were thinking of settling down here themselves. Kongstrup had
promised to help them to a farm with two horses when they married.
In the wood the birds were in the middle of their morning song; they
were later with it here than in the sandbanks plantation, it seemed.
The air sparkled brightly, and something invisible seemed to rise from
the undergrowth; it was like being in a church with the sun shining
down through tall windows and the organ playing. They drove round the
foot of a steep cliff with overhanging trees, and into the wood.
It was almost impossible to thread your way through the crowd of
unharnessed horses and vehicles. You had to have all your wits about
you to keep from damaging your own and other people’s things. Karl
Johan sat watching both his fore wheels, and felt his way on step by
step; he was like a cat in a thunderstorm, he was so wary. “Hold your
jaw!” he said sharply, when any one in the cart opened his lips. At
last they found room to unharness, and a rope was tied from tree to
tree to form a square in which the horses were secured. Then they got
out the curry-combs—goodness, how dusty it had been! And at last—well,
no one said anything, but they all stood expectant, half turned in the
direction of the head man.
“Well, I suppose we ought to go into the wood and look at the view,” he
said.
They turned it over as they wandered aimlessly round the cart, looking
furtively at the provisions.
“If only it’ll keep!” said Anders, lifting a basket.
“I don’t know how it is, but I feel so strange in my inside to-day,”
Mons began. “It can’t be consumption, can it?”
“Perhaps we ought to taste the good things first, then?” said Karl
Johan.
Yes—oh, yes—it came at last!
Last year they had eaten their dinner on the grass. It was Bodil who
had thought of that; she was always a little fantastic. This year
nobody would be the one to make such a suggestion. They looked at one
another a little expectant; and they then climbed up into the cart and
settled themselves there just like other decent people. After all, the
food was the same.
The pancakes were as large and thick as a saucepan-lid. It reminded
them of Erik, who last year had eaten ten of them.
“It’s a pity he’s not here this year!” said Karl Johan. “He was a merry
devil.”
“He’s not badly off,” said Mons. “Gets his food and clothes given him,
and does nothing but follow at the bailiff’s heels and copy him. And
he’s always contented now. I wouldn’t a bit mind changing with him.”
“And run about like a dog with its nose to the ground sniffing at its
master’s footsteps? Oh no, not I!”
“Whatever you may say, you must remember that it’s the Almighty Himself
who’s taken his wits into safekeeping,” said Lasse admonishingly; and
for a little while they were quite serious at the thought.
But seriousness could not claim more than was its due. Anders wanted to
rub his leg, but made a mistake and caught hold of Lively Sara’s, and
made her scream; and this so flustered his hand that it could not find
its way up, but went on making mistakes, and there was much laughter
and merriment.
Karl Johan was not taking much part in the hilarity; he looked as if he
were pondering something. Suddenly he roused himself and drew out his
purse. “Here goes!” he said stoutly. “I’ll stand beer! Bavarian beer,
of course. Who’ll go and fetch it?”
Mons leaped quickly from the cart. “How many?”
“Four.” Karl Johan’s eye ran calculating over the cart. “No; just bring
five, will you? That’ll be a half each,” he said easily. “But make sure
that it’s real Bavarian beer they give you.”
There was really no end to the things that Karl Johan knew about; and
he said the name “Bavarian beer” with no more difficulty than others
would have in turning a quid in their mouth. But of course he was a
trusted man on the farm now and often drove on errands into the town.
This raised their spirits and awakened curiosity, for most of them had
never tasted Bavarian beer before. Lasse and Pelle openly admitted
their inexperience; but Anders pretended he had got drunk on it more
than once, though every one knew it was untrue.
Mons returned, moving cautiously, with the beer in his arms; it was a
precious commodity. They drank it out of the large dram-glasses that
were meant for the punch. In the town, of course, they drank beer out
of huge mugs, but Karl Johan considered that that was simply swilling.
The girls refused to drink, but did it after all, and were delighted.
“They’re always like that,” said Mons, “when you offer them something
really good.” They became flushed with the excitement of the
occurrence, and thought they were drunk. Lasse took away the taste of
his beer with a dram; he did not like it at all. “I’m too old,” he
said, in excuse.
The provisions were packed up again, and they set out in a body to see
the view. They had to make their way through a perfect forest of carts
to reach the pavilion. Horses were neighing and flinging up their hind
legs, so that the bark flew off the trees. Men hurled themselves in
among them, and tugged at their mouths until they quieted down again,
while the women screamed and ran hither and thither like frightened
hens, with skirts lifted.
From the top they could form some idea of the number of people. On the
sides of the hill and in the wood beyond the roads—everywhere carts
covered the ground; and down at the triangle where the two wide
high-roads met, new loads were continually turning in. “There must be
far more than a thousand pairs of horses in the wood to-day,” said Karl
Johan. Yes, far more! There were a million, if not more, thought Pelle.
He was quite determined to get as much as possible out of everything
to-day.
There stood the Bridge Farm cart, and there came the people from
Hammersholm, right out at the extreme north of the island. Here were
numbers of people from the shore farms at Dove Point and Rönne and
Neksö—the whole island was there. But there was no time now to fall in
with acquaintances. “We shall meet this afternoon!” was the general
cry.
Karl Johan led the expedition; it was one of a head man’s duties to
know the way about the Common. Fair Maria kept faithfully by his side,
and every one could see how proud she was of him. Mons walked hand in
hand with Lively Sara, and they went swinging along like a couple of
happy children. Bengta and Anders had some difficulty in agreeing; they
quarrelled every other minute, but they did not mean much by it. And
Karna made herself agreeable.
They descended into a swamp, and went up again by a steep ascent where
the great trees stood with their feet in one another’s necks. Pelle
leaped about everywhere like a young kid. In under the firs there were
anthills as big as haycocks, and the ants had broad trodden paths
running like foothpaths between the trees, on and on endlessly; a
multitude of hosts passed backward and forward upon those roads. Under
some small fir-trees a hedgehog was busy attacking a wasps’ nest; it
poked its nose into the nest, drew it quickly back, and sneezed. It
looked wonderfully funny, but Pelle had to go on after the others. And
soon he was far ahead of them, lying on his face in a ditch where he
had smelt wild strawberries.
Lasse could not keep pace with the younger people up the hill, and it
was not much better with Karna. “We’re getting old, we two,” she said,
as they toiled up, panting.
“Oh, are we?” was Lasse’s answer. He felt quite young in spirit; it was
only breath that he was short of.
“I expect you think very much as I do; when you’ve worked for others
for so many years, you feel you want something of your own.”
“Yes, perhaps,” said Lasse evasively.
“One wouldn’t come to it quite empty-handed, either—if it should
happen.”
“Oh, indeed!”
Karna continued in this way, but Lasse was always sparing with his
words, until they arrived at the Rockingstone, where the others were
standing waiting. That was a block and a half! Fifty tons it was said
to weigh, and yet Mons and Anders could rock it by putting a stick
under one end of it.
“And now we ought to go to the Robbers’ Castle,” said Karl Johan, and
they trudged on, always up and down. Lasse did his utmost to keep
beside the others, for he did not feel very brave when he was alone
with Karna. What a fearful quantity of trees there were! And not all of
one sort, as in other parts of the world. There were birches and firs,
beech and larch and mountain ash all mixed together, and ever so many
cherry-trees. The head man lead them across a little, dark lake that
lay at the foot of the rock, staring up like an evil eye. “It was here
that Little Anna drowned her baby —she that was betrayed by her
master,” he said lingeringly. They all knew the story, and stood silent
over the lake; the girls had tears in their eyes.
As they stood there silent, thinking of Little Anna’s sad fate, an
unspeakably soft note came up to them, followed by a long, affecting
sobbing. They moved nearer to one another. “Oh, Lord!” whispered Fair
Maria, shivering. “That’s the baby’s soul crying!” Pelle stiffened as
he listened, and cold waves seemed to flow down his back.
“Why, that’s a nightingale,” said Karl Johan, “Don’t you even know
that? There are hundreds of them in these woods, and they sing in the
middle of the day.” This was a relief to the older people, but Pelle’s
horror was not so easily thrown off. He had gazed into the depths of
the other world, and every explanation glanced off him.
But then came the Robbers’ Castle as a great disappointment. He had
imagined it peopled with robbers, and it was only some old ruins that
stood on a little hill in the middle of a bog. He went by himself all
round the bottom of it to see if there were not a secret underground
passage that led down to the water. If there were, he would get hold of
his father without letting the others know, and make his way in and
look for the chests of money; or else there would be too many to share
in it. But this was forgotten as a peculiar scent arrested his
attention, and he came upon a piece of ground that was green with
lily-of-the-valley plants that still bore a few flowers, and where
there were wild strawberries. There were so many that he had to go and
call the others.
But this was also forgotten as he made his way through the underwood to
get up. He had lost the path and gone astray in the damp, chilly
darkness under the cliff. Creeping plants and thorns wove themselves in
among the overhanging branches, and made a thick, low roof. He could
not see an opening anywhere, and a strange green light came through the
matted branches, the ground was slippery with moisture and decaying
substances; from the cliff hung quivering fern-fronds with their points
downward, and water dripping from them like wet hair. Huge tree-roots,
like the naked bodies of black goblins writhing to get free, lay
stretched across the rocks. A little further on, the sun made a patch
of burning fire in the darkness, and beyond it rose a bluish vapor and
a sound as of a distant threshing-machine.
Pelle stood still, and his terror grew until his knees trembled; then
he set off running as if he were possessed. A thousand shadow- hands
stretched out after him as he ran; and he pushed his way through briars
and creepers with a low cry. The daylight met him with the force of a
blow, and something behind him had a firm grasp on his clothes; he had
to shout for Father Lasse with all his might before it let go.
And there he stood right out in the bog, while high up above his head
the others sat, upon a point of rock all among the trees. From up there
it looked as if the world were all tree-tops, rising and falling
endlessly; there was foliage far down beneath your feet and out as far
as the eye could see, up and down. You were almost tempted to throw
yourself into it, it looked so invitingly soft. As a warning to the
others, Karl Johan had to tell them about the tailor’s apprentice, who
jumped out from a projecting rock here, just because the foliage looked
so temptingly soft, Strange to say, he escaped with his life; but the
high tree he fell through stripped him of every stitch of clothing.
Mons had been teasing Sara by saying that he was going to jump down,
but now he drew back cautiously. “I don’t want to risk my confirmation
clothes,” he said, trying to look good.
After all, the most remarkable thing of all was the Horseman Hill with
the royal monument. The tower alone! Not a bit of wood had been used in
it, only granite; and you went round and round and round. “You’re
counting the steps, I suppose?” said Karl Johan admonishingly. Oh, yes,
they were all counting to themselves.
It was clear weather, and the island lay spread out beneath them in all
its luxuriance. The very first thing the men wanted to do was to try
what it was like to spit down; but the girls were giddy and kept
together in a cluster in the middle of the platform. The churches were
counted under Karl Johan’s able guidance, and all the well- known
places pointed out. “There’s Stone Farm, too,” said Anders, pointing to
something far off toward the sea. It was not Stone Farm, but Karl Johan
could say to a nicety behind which hill it ought to lie, and then they
recognized the quarries.
Lasse took no part in this. He stood quite still, gazing at the blue
line of the Swedish coast that stood out far away upon the shining
water. The sight of his native land made him feel weak and old; he
would probably never go home again, although he would have dearly liked
to see Bengta’s grave once more. Ah yes, and the best that could happen
to one would be to be allowed to rest by her side, when everything else
was ended. At this moment he regretted that he had gone into exile in
his old age. He wondered what Kungstorp looked like now, whether the
new people kept the land cultivated at all. And all the old
acquaintances—how were they getting on? His old-man’s reminiscences
came over him so strongly that for a time he forgot Madam Olsen and
everything about her. He allowed himself to be lulled by past memories,
and wept in his heart like a little child. Ah! it was dreary to live
away from one’s native place and everything in one’s old age; but if it
only brought a blessing on the laddie in some way or other, it was all
as it should be.
“I suppose that’s the King’s Copenhagen[2] we see over there?” asked
Anders.
[2] Country-people speak of Copenhagen as “the King’s Copenhagen.”
“It’s Sweden,” said Lasse quietly.
“Sweden, is it? But it lay on that side last year, if I remember
rightly.”
“Yes, of course! What else should the world go round for?” exclaimed
Mons.
Anders was just about to take this in all good faith when he caught a
grimace that Mons made to the others. “Oh, you clever monkey!” he
cried, and sprang at Mons, who dashed down the stone stairs; and the
sound of their footsteps came up in a hollow rumble as out of a huge
cask. The girls stood leaning against one another, rocking gently and
gazing silently at the shining water that lay far away round the
island. The giddiness had made them languid.
“Why, your eyes are quite dreamy!” said Karl Johan, trying to take them
all into his embrace. “Aren’t you coming down with us?”
They were all fairly tired now. No one said anything, for of course
Karl Johan was leading; but the girls showed an inclination to sit
down.
“Now there’s only the Echo Valley left,” he said encouragingly, “and
that’s on our way back. We must do that, for it’s well worth it. You’ll
hear an echo there that hasn’t its equal anywhere.”
They went slowly, for their feet were tender with the leather boots and
much aimless walking; but when they had come down the steep cliff into
the valley and had drunk from the spring, they brightened up. Karl
Johan stationed himself with legs astride, and called across to the
cliff: “What’s Karl Johan’s greatest treat?” And the echo answered
straight away: “Eat!” It was exceedingly funny, and they all had to try
it, each with his or her name—even Pelle. When that was exhausted, Mons
made up a question which made the echo give a rude answer.
“You mustn’t teach it anything like that,” said Lasse. “Just suppose
some fine ladies were to come here, and he started calling that out
after them?” They almost killed themselves with laughing at the old
man’s joke, and he was so delighted at the applause that he went on
repeating it to himself on the way back. Ha, ha! he wasn’t quite fit
for the scrap-heap yet.
When they got back to the cart they were ravenously hungry and settled
down to another meal. “You must have something to keep you up when
you’re wandering about like this,” said Mons.
“Now then,” said Karl Johan, when they had finished, “every one may do
what they like; but at nine sharp we meet here again and drive home.”
Up on the open ground, Lasse gave Pelle a secret nudge, and they began
to do business with a cake-seller until the others had got well ahead.
“It’s not nice being third wheel in a carriage,” said Lasse. “We two’ll
go about by ourselves for a little now.”
Lasse was craning his neck. “Are you looking for any one?” asked Pelle.
“No, no one in particular; but I was wondering where all these people
come from. There are people from all over the country, but I haven’t
seen any one from the village yet.”
“Don’t you think Madam Olsen’ll be here to-day?”
“Can’t say,” said Lasse; “but it would be nice to see her, and there’s
something I want to say to her, too. Your eyes are young; you must keep
a lookout.”
Pelle was given fifty öre to spend on whatever he liked. Round the
ground sat the poor women of the Heath at little stalls, from which
they sold colored sugar-sticks, gingerbread and two-öre cigars. In the
meantime he went from woman to woman, and bought of each for one or two
öre.
Away under the trees stood blind Hoyer, who had come straight from
Copenhagen with new ballads. There was a crowd round him. He played the
tune upon his concertina, his little withered wife sang to it, and the
whole crowd sang carefully with her. Those who had learnt the tunes
went away singing, and others pushed forward into their place and put
down their five-öre piece.
Lasse and Pelle stood on the edge of the crowd listening. There was no
use in paying money before you knew what you would get for it; and
anyhow the songs would be all over the island by to-morrow, and going
gratis from mouth to mouth. “A Man of Eighty—a new and pleasant ballad
about how things go when a decrepit old man takes a young wife!”
shouted Hoyer in a hoarse voice, before the song began. Lasse didn’t
care very much about that ballad; but then came a terribly sad one
about the sailor George Semon, who took a most tender farewell of his
sweetheart—
“And said, When here I once more stand,
We to the church will go hand in hand.”
But he never did come back, for the storm was over them for forty-five
days, provisions ran short, and the girl’s lover went mad. He drew his
knife upon the captain, and demanded to be taken home to his bride; and
the captain shot him down. Then the others threw themselves upon the
corpse, carried it to the galley, and made soup of it.
“The girl still waits for her own true love,
Away from the shore she will not move.
Poor maid, she’s hoping she still may wed,
And does not know that her lad is dead.”
“That’s beautiful,” said Lasse, rummaging in his purse for a five-öre.
“You must try to learn that; you’ve got an ear for that sort of thing.”
They pushed through the crowd right up to the musician, and began
cautiously to sing too, while the girls all round were sniffing.
They wandered up and down among the trees, Lasse rather fidgety. There
was a whole street of dancing-booths, tents with conjurers and
panorama-men, and drinking-booths. The criers were perspiring, the
refreshment sellers were walking up and down in front of their tents
like greedy beasts of prey. Things had not got into full swing yet, for
most of the people were still out and about seeing the sights, or
amusing themselves in all seemliness, exerting themselves in trials of
strength or slipping in and out of the conjurers’ tents. There was not
a man unaccompanied by a woman. Many a one came to a stand at the
refreshment-tents, but the woman pulled him past; then he would yawn
and allow himself to be dragged up into a roundabout or a magic-lantern
tent where the most beautiful pictures were shown of the way that
cancer and other horrible things made havoc in people’s insides.
“These are just the things for the women,” said Lasse, breathing forth
a sigh at haphazard after Madam Olsen. On a horse on Madvig’s
roundabout sat Gustav with his arm round Bodil’s waist. “Hey, old man!”
he cried, as they whizzed past, and flapped Lasse on the ear with his
cap, which had the white side out. They were as radiant as the day and
the sun, those two.
Pelle wanted to have a turn on a roundabout. “Then blest if I won’t
have something too, that’ll make things go round!” said Lasse, and went
in and had a “cuckoo”—coffee with brandy in it. “There are some
people,” he said, when he came out again, “that can go from one tavern
to another without its making any difference in their purse. It would
be nice to try—only for a year. Hush!” Over by Max Alexander’s “Green
House” stood Karna, quite alone and looking about her wistfully. Lasse
drew Pelle round in a wide circle.
“There’s Madam Olsen with a strange man!” said Pelle suddenly.
Lasse started. “Where?” Yes, there she stood, and had a man with her!
And talking so busily! They went past her without stopping; she could
choose for herself, then.
“Hi, can’t you wait a little!” cried Madam Olsen, running after them so
that her petticoats crackled round her. She was round and smiling as
usual, and many layers of good home-woven material stood out about her;
there was no scrimping anywhere.
They went on together, talking on indifferent matters and now and then
exchanging glances about the boy who was in their way. They had to walk
so sedately without venturing to touch one another. He did not like any
nonsense.
It was black with people now up at the pavilion, and one could hardly
move a step without meeting acquaintances. “It’s even worse than a
swarm of bees,” said Lasse. “It’s not worth trying to get in there.” At
one place the movement was outward, and by following it they found
themselves in a valley, where a man stood shouting and beating his
fists upon a platform. It was a missionary meeting. The audience lay
encamped in small groups, up the slopes, and a man in long black
clothes went quietly from group to group, selling leaflets. His face
was white, and he had a very long, thin red beard.
“Do you see that man?” whispered Lasse, giving Pelle a nudge. “Upon my
word, if it isn’t Long Ole—and with a glove on his injured hand. It was
him that had to take the sin upon him for Per Olsen’s false swearing!”
explained Lasse, turning to Madam Olsen. “He was standing at the
machine at the time when Per Olsen ought to have paid the penalty with
his three fingers, and so his went instead. He may be glad of the
mistake after all, for they say he’s risen to great things among the
prayer-meeting folks. And his complexion’s as fine as a young
lady’s—something different to what it was when he was carting manure at
Stone Farm! It’ll be fun to say good-day to him again.”
Lasse was quite proud of having served together with this man, and
stationed himself in front of the others, intending to make an
impression upon his lady friend by saying a hearty: “Good-day, Ole!”
Long Ole was at the next group, and now he came on to them and was
going to hold out his tracts, when a glance at Lasse made him drop both
hand and eyes; and with a deep sigh he passed on with bowed head to the
next group.
“Did you see how he turned his eyes up?” said Lasse derisively. “When
beggars come to court, they don’t know how to behave! He’d got a watch
in his pocket, too, and long clothes; and before he hadn’t even a shirt
to his body. And an ungodly devil he was too! But the old gentleman
looks after his own, as the saying is; I expect it’s him that helped
him on by changing places at the machine. The way they’ve cheated the
Almighty’s enough to make Him weep!”
Madam Olsen tried to hush Lasse, but the “cuckoo” rose within him
together with his wrath, and he continued: “So _he’s_ above recognizing
decent people who get what they have in an honorable way, and not by
lying and humbug! They do say he makes love to all the farmers’ wives
wherever he goes; but there was a time when he had to put up with the
Sow.”
People began to look at them, and Madam Olsen took Lasse firmly by the
arm and drew him away.
The sun was now low in the sky. Up on the open ground the crowds
tramped round and round as if in a tread-mill. Now and then a drunken
man reeled along, making a broad path for himself through the crush.
The noise came seething up from the tents—barrel-organs each grinding
out a different tune, criers, the bands of the various dancing-booths,
and the measured tread of a schottische or polka. The women wandered up
and down in clusters, casting long looks into the refreshment-tents
where their men were sitting; and some of them stopped at the tent-door
and made coaxing signs to some one inside.
Under the trees stood a drunken man, pawing at a tree-trunk, and beside
him stood a girl, crying with her black damask apron to her eyes. Pelle
watched them for a long time. The man’s clothes were disordered, and he
lurched against the girl with a foolish grin when she, in the midst of
her tears, tried to put them straight. When Pelle turned away, Lasse
and Madam Olsen had disappeared in the crowd.
They must have gone on a little, and he went down to the very end of
the street. Then he turned despondingly and went up, burrowing this way
and that in the stream of people, with eyes everywhere. “Haven’t you
seen Father Lasse?” he asked pitifully, when he met any one he knew.
In the thickest of the crush, a tall man was moving along, holding
forth blissfully at the top of his voice. He was a head taller than
anybody else, and very broad; but he beamed with good-nature, and
wanted to embrace everybody. People ran screaming out of his way, so
that a broad path was left wherever he went. Pelle kept behind him, and
thus succeeded in getting through the thickest crowds, where policemen
and rangers were stationed with thick cudgels. Their eyes and ears were
on the watch, but they did not interfere in anything. It was said that
they had handcuffs in their pockets.
Pelle had reached the road in his despairing search. Cart after cart
was carefully working its way out through the gloom under the trees,
then rolling out into the dazzling evening light, and on to the
high-road with much cracking of whips. They were the prayer-meeting
people driving home.
He happened to think of the time, and asked a man what it was. Nine!
Pelle had to run so as not to be too late in getting to the cart. In
the cart sat Karl Johan and Fair Maria eating. “Get up and have
something to eat!” they said, and as Pelle was ravenous, he forgot
everything while he ate. But then Johan asked about Lasse, and his
torment returned.
Karl Johan was cross; not one had returned to the cart, although it was
the time agreed upon. “You’d better keep close to us now,” he said, as
they went up, “or you might get killed.”
Up at the edge of the wood they met Gustav running. “Have none of you
seen Bodil?” he asked, gasping. His clothes were torn and there was
blood on the front of his shirt. He ran on groaning, and disappeared
under the trees. It was quite dark there, but the open ground lay in a
strange light that came from nowhere, but seemed to have been left
behind by the day as it fled. Faces out there showed up, some in
ghostly pallor, some black like holes in the light, until they suddenly
burst forth, crimson with blood-red flame.
The people wandered about in confused groups, shouting and screaming at
the top of their voices. Two men came along with arms twined
affectionately round one another’s necks, and the next moment lay
rolling on the ground in a fight. Others joined the fray and took sides
without troubling to discover what it was all about, and the contest
became one large struggling heap. Then the police came up, and hit
about them with their sticks; and those who did not run away were
handcuffed and thrown into an empty stable.
Pelle was quite upset, and kept close to Karl Johan; he jumped every
time a band approached, and kept on saying in a whimpering tone:
“Where’s Father Lasse? Let’s go and find him.”
“Oh, hold your tongue!” exclaimed the head man, who was standing and
trying to catch sight of his fellow-servants. He was angry at this
untrustworthiness. “Don’t stand there crying! You’d do much more good
if you ran down to the cart and see whether any one’s come.”
Pelle had to go, little though he cared to venture in under the trees.
The branches hung silently listening, but the noise from the open
ground came down in bursts, and in the darkness under the bushes living
things rustled about and spoke in voices of joy or sorrow. A sudden
scream rang through the wood, and made his knees knock together.
Karna sat at the back of the cart asleep, and Bengta stood leaning
against the front seat, weeping. “They’ve locked Anders up,” she
sobbed. “He got wild, so they put handcuffs on him and locked him up.”
She went back with Pelle.
Lasse was with Karl Johan and Fair Maria; he looked defiantly at Pelle,
and in his half-closed eyes there was a little mutinous gleam.
“Then now there’s only Mons and Lively Sara,” said Karl Johan, as he
ran his eye over them.
“But what about Anders?” sobbed Bengta. “You surely won’t drive away
without Anders?”
“There’s nothing can he done about Anders!” said the head man. “He’ll
come of his own accord when once he’s let out.”
They found out on inquiry that Mons and Lively Sara were down in one of
the dancing-booths, and accordingly went down there. “Now you stay
here!” said Karl Johan sternly, and went in to take a survey of the
dancers. In there blood burnt hot, and faces were like balls of fire
that made red circles in the blue mist of perspiring heat and dust.
Dump! Dump! Dump! The measure fell booming like heavy blows; and in the
middle of the floor stood a man and wrung the moisture out of his
jacket.
Out of one of the dancing-tents pushed a big fellow with two girls. He
had an arm about the neck of each, and they linked arms behind his
back. His cap was on the back of his head, and his riotous mood would
have found expression in leaping, if he had not felt himself too
pleasantly encumbered; so he opened his mouth wide, and shouted
joyfully, so that it rang again: “Devil take me! Deuce take me! Seven
hundred devils take me!” and disappeared under the trees with his
girls.
“That was Per Olsen himself,” said Lasse, looking after him. “What a
man, to be sure! He certainly doesn’t look as if he bore any debt of
sin to the Almighty.”
“His time may still come,” was the opinion of Karl Johan.
Quite by chance they found Mons and Lively Sara sitting asleep in one
another’s arms upon a bench under the trees.
“Well, now, I suppose we ought to be getting home?” said Karl Johan
slowly. He had been doing right for so long that his throat was quite
dry. “I suppose none of you’ll stand a farewell glass?”
“I will!” said Mons, “if you’ll go up to the pavilion with me to drink
it.” Mons had missed something by going to sleep and had a desire to go
once round the ground. Every time a yell reached them he gave a leap as
he walked beside Lively Sara, and answered with a long halloo. He tried
to get away, but she clung to his arm; so he swung the heavy end of his
loaded stick and shouted defiantly. Lasse kicked his old limbs and
imitated Mons’s shouts, for he too was for anything rather than going
home; but Karl Johan was determined—they _were_ to go now! And in this
he was supported by Pelle and the women.
Out on the open ground a roar made them stop, and the women got each
behind her man. A man came running bareheaded and with a large wound in
his temple, from which the blood flowed down over his face and collar.
His features were distorted with fear. Behind him came a second, also
bareheaded, and with a drawn knife. A ranger tried to bar his way, but
received a wound in his shoulder and fell, and the pursuer ran on. As
he passed them, Mons uttered a short yell and sprang straight up into
the air, bringing down his loaded stick upon the back of the man’s
neck. The man sank to the ground with a grunt, and Mons slipped in
among the groups of people and disappeared; and the others found him
waiting for them at the edge of the wood. He did not answer any more
yells.
Karl Johan had to lead the horses until they got out onto the road, and
then they all got in. Behind them the noise had become lost, and only
one long cry for help rang through the air and dropped again.
Down by a little lake, some forgotten girls had gathered on the grass
and were playing by themselves. The white mist lay over the grass like
a shining lake, and only the upper part of the girls’ bodies rose above
it. They were walking round in a ring, singing the mid-summer’s-night
song. Pure and clear rose the merry song, and yet was so strangely sad
to listen to, because they who sang it had been left in the lurch by
sots and brawlers.
“We will dance upon hill and meadow,
We will wear out our shoes and stockings.
Heigh ho, my little sweetheart fair,
We shall dance till the sun has risen high.
Heigh ho, my queen!
Now we have danced upon the green.”
The tones fell so gently upon the ear and mind that memories and
thoughts were purified of all that had been hideous, and the day itself
could appear in its true colors as a joyful festival. For Lasse and
Pelle, indeed, it had been a peerless day, making up for many years of
neglect. The only pity was that it was over instead of about to begin.
The occupants of the cart were tired now, some nodding and all silent.
Lasse sat working about in his pocket with one hand. He was trying to
obtain an estimate of the money that remained. It was expensive to keep
a sweetheart when you did not want to be outdone by younger men in any
way. Pelle was asleep, and was slipping farther and farther down until
Bengta took his head onto her lap. She herself was weeping bitterly
about Anders.
The daylight was growing rapidly brighter as they drove in to Stone
Farm.