They lived with Sort, who had his own little house in the outermost
suburb. The little travelling cobbler did not know what to do for them:
Lasse was so dejected and so aimless. He could not rest; he did not
recover; from time to time he broke out into lamentation. He had grown
very frail, and could no longer lift his spoon to his mouth without
spilling the contents. If they tried to distract him, he became
obstinate.
“Now we must see about fetching your things,” they would both say
repeatedly. “There is no sense in giving your furniture to the parish.”
But Lasse would not have them sent for. “They’ve taken everything else
from me; they can take that, too,” he said. “And I won’t go out there
again—and let myself be pitied by every one.”
“But you’ll beggar yourself,” said Sort.
“They’ve done that already. Let them have their way. But they’ll have
to answer for it in the end!”
Then Pelle procured a cart, and drove over himself to fetch them. There
was quite a load to bring back. Mother Bengta’s green chest he found
upstairs in the attic; it was full of balls of thread. It was so
strange to see it again—for many years he had not thought of his
mother. “I’ll have that for a travelling trunk,” he thought, and he
took it with him.
Lasse was standing before the door when he returned.
“See, I’ve brought everything here for you, father!” he cried, lustily
cracking his whip. But Lasse went in without saying a word. When they
had unloaded the cart and went to look for him, he had crawled into
bed. There he lay with his face to the wall, and would not speak.
Pelle told him all sorts of news of Heath Farm, in order to put a
little life into him. “Now the parish has sold Heath Farm to the Hill
Farm man for five thousand kroner, and they say he’s got a good
bargain. He wants to live there himself and to leave Hill Farm in his
son’s hands.”
Lasse half turned his head. “Yes, something grows there now. Now they
are making thousands—and the farmer will do better still,” he said
bitterly. “But it’s well-manured soil. Karna overstrained herself and
died and left me…. And we went so well in harness together. Her
thousand kroner went into it, too … and now I’m a poor wreck. All that
was put into the barren, rocky soil, so that it became good and
generous soil. And then the farmer buys it, and now he wants to live
there—we poor lice have prepared the way for him! What else were we
there for? Fools we are to excite ourselves so over such a thing! But,
how I loved the place!” Lasse suddenly burst into tears.
“Now you must be reasonable and see about becoming cheerful again,”
said Sort. “The bad times for the poor man will soon be over. There is
a time coming when no one will need to work himself to death for
others, and when every one will reap what he himself has sown. What
injury have you suffered? For you are on the right side and have
thousands of kroner on which you can draw a bill. It would be still
worse if you owed money to others!”
“I haven’t much more time,” said Lasse, raising himself on his elbows.
“Perhaps not, you and I, for those who start on the pilgrimage must die
in the desert! But for that reason we are God’s chosen people, we poor
folk. And Pelle, he will surely behold the Promised Land!”
“Now you ought to come in, father, and see how we have arranged it,”
said Pelle.
Lasse stood up wearily and went with them. They had furnished one of
Sort’s empty rooms with Lasse’s things. It looked quite cozy.
“We thought that you would live here until Pelle is getting on well
‘over there,’” said Sort. “No, you don’t need to thank me! I’m
delighted to think I shall have society, as you may well understand.”
“The good God will repay it to you,” said Lasse, with a quavering
voice. “We poor folk have no one but Him to rely on.”
Pelle could not rest, nor control his thoughts any longer; he must be
off! “If you’ll give me what the fare comes to, as I’ve helped you,” he
told Sort, “then I’ll start this evening….”
Sort gave him thirty kroner.
“That’s the half of what we took. There’s not so much owing to me,”
said Pelle. “You are the master and had the tools and everything.”
“I won’t live by the work of other hands—only by that of my own,” said
Sort, and he pushed the money across to Pelle. “Are you going to travel
just as you stand?”
“No, I have plenty of money,” said Pelle gaily. “I’ve never before
possessed so much money all at once! One can get quite a lot of clothes
for that.”
“But you mustn’t touch the money! Five kroner you’ll need for the
passage and the like; the rest you must save, so that you can face the
future with confidence!”
“I shall soon earn plenty of money in Copenhagen!”
“He has always been a thoughtless lad,” said Lasse anxiously. “Once,
when he came into town here to be apprenticed he had five kroner; and
as for what he spent them on, he could never give any proper account!”
Sort laughed.
“Then I shall travel as I stand!” said Pelle resolutely. But that
wouldn’t do, either!
He could not by any means please both—they were like two anxious
clucking hens.
He had no lack of linen, for Lasse had just thought of his own supply.
Karna had looked after him well. “But it will be very short for your
long body. It’s not the same now as it was when you left Stone
Farm—then we had to put a tuck in my shirt for you.”
In the matter of shoes he was not well off. It would never do for a
journeyman shoemaker to look for work wearing such shoes as his. Sort
and Pelle must make a pair of respectable boots. “We must leave
ourselves time,” said Sort. “Think! They must be able to stand the
judgment of the capital!” Pelle was impatient, and wanted to get the
work quickly out of hand.
Now there was only the question of a new suit. “Then buy it ready made
on credit,” said Sort. “Lasse and I will be good enough securities for
a suit.”
In the evening, before he started, he and Lasse went out to look up
Due. They chose the time when they were certain of meeting Due himself.
They neither of them cared much for Anna. As they approached the house
they saw an old richly-dressed gentleman go in at the front door.
“That is the consul,” said Pelle, “who has helped them to get on. Then
Due is out with the horses, and we are certainly not welcome.”
“Is it like that with them?” said Lasse, standing still. “Then I am
sorry for Due when he first finds out how his affairs really stand! He
will certainly find that he has bought his independence too dearly!
Yes, yes; for those who want to get on the price is hard to pay. I hope
it will go well with you over there, my boy.”
They had reached the church. There stood a cart full of green plants;
two men were carrying them into a dwelling-house.
“What festivity’s going on here?” asked Pelle.
“There’s to be a wedding to-morrow,” answered one of the men. “Merchant
Lau’s daughter is marrying that swaggering fellow, who’s always giving
himself airs—Karlsen, he’s called, and he’s a poor chap like ourselves.
But do you suppose he’ll notice us? When dirt comes to honor, there’s
no bearing with it! Now he’s become a partner in the business!”
“Then I’ll go to the wedding,” said Lasse eagerly, while they strolled
on. “It is very interesting to see when one of a family comes to
something.” Pelle felt that this was to some extent meant as a
reproach, but he said nothing.
“Shall we have one look at the new harbor?” he said.
“No, now the sun’s going down, and I’ll go home and get to bed. I’m
old—but you go. I shall soon find my way back.” Pelle strolled onward,
but then turned aside toward the north—he would go and bid Marie
Nielsen good-bye. He owed her a friendly word for all her goodness.
Also, as an exception, she should for once see him in respectable
clothes. She had just come home from her work, and was on the point of
preparing her supper.
“No, Pelle, is that you?” she cried delightedly, “and so grand, too—you
look like a prince!” Pelle had to remain to supper.
“I have really only come to thank you for all your friendliness and to
say good-bye. To-morrow I go to Copenhagen.”
She looked at him earnestly. “And you are glad!”
Pelle had to tell her what he had been doing since he had last seen
her. He sat there looking gratefully about the poor, clean room, with
the bed set so innocently against the wall, covered with a snow-white
counterpane. He had never forgotten that fragrance of soap and
cleanliness and her fresh, simple nature. She had taken him in the
midst of all his misery and had not thought her own white bed too good
for him while she scrubbed the mire from him. When he reached the
capital he would have himself photographed and send her his portrait.
“And how are you doing now?” he asked gently.
“Just as when you last saw me—only a little more lonely,” she answered
earnestly.
And then he must go. “Good-bye, and may everything go well with you!”
he said, and he shook her hand. “And many thanks for all your
goodness!”
She stood before him silently, looking at him with an uncertain smile.
“Ah, no! I’m only a human being too!” she cried suddenly, and she flung
her arms about him in a passionate embrace.
And then the great day broke! Pelle awaked with the sun and had the
green chest already packed before the others were up, and then he
roamed about, not knowing what he should set his hand to, he was so
restless and so excited. He answered at random, and his eyes were full
of radiant dreams. In the morning he and Lasse carried the chest to the
steamer, in order to have the evening free. Then they went to the
church, in order to attend Alfred’s wedding. Pelle would gladly have
stayed away; he had enough to do with his own affairs, and he had no
sympathy for Alfred’s doings.
But Lasse pushed him along.
The sun stood high in heaven and blazed in the winding side-streets so
that the tarred timberwork sweated and the gutters stank; from the
harbor came the sound of the crier, with his drum, crying herrings, and
announcing an auction. The people streamed to church in breathless
conversation concerning this child of fortune, Alfred, who had climbed
so far.
The church was full of people. It was gaily decorated, and up by the
organ stood eight young women who were to sing “It is so lovely
together to be!” Lasse had never seen or heard of such a wedding. “I
feel quite proud!” he said.
“He’s a bladder full of wind!” said Pelle. “He’s taking her simply on
account of the honor.”
And then the bridal pair stepped up to the altar. “It’s tremendous the
way Alfred has greased his head!” whispered Lasse. “It looks like a
newly-licked calf’s head! But she is pretty. I’m only puzzled that
she’s not put on her myrtle-wreath—I suppose nothing has happened?”
“Yes, she’s got a child,” whispered Pelle. “Otherwise, he would never
in this world have got her!”
“Oh, I see! Yes, but that’s smart of him, to catch such a fine lady!”
Now the young women sang, and it sounded just as if they were angels
from heaven who had come to seal the bond.
“We must take our places so that we can congratulate them,” said Lasse,
and he wanted to push right through the crowd, but Pelle held him back.
“I’m afraid he won’t know us to-day; but look now, there’s Uncle
Kalle.”
Kalle stood squeezed among the hindmost chairs, and there he had to
stay until everybody had passed out. “Yes, I was very anxious to take
part in this great day,” he said, “and I wanted to bring mother with
me, but she thought her clothes weren’t respectable enough.” Kalle wore
a new gray linsey-woolsey suit; he had grown smaller and more bent with
the years.
“Why do you stand right away in the corner here, where you can see
nothing? As the bridegroom’s father, you must have been given your
place in the first row,” said Lasse.
“I have been sitting there, too—didn’t you see me sitting next to
Merchant Lau? We sang out of the same hymn-book. I only got pushed here
in the crowd. Now I ought to go to the wedding-feast. I was properly
invited, but I don’t quite know….” He looked down at himself. Suddenly
he made a movement, and laughed in his own reckless way. “Ugh—what am I
doing standing here and telling lies to people who don’t believe me!
No, pigs don’t belong in the counting-house! I might spread a bad
smell, you know! People like us haven’t learned to sweat scent!”
“Bah! He’s too grand to know his own father! Devil take it! Then come
with us so that you needn’t go away hungry!” said Lasse.
“No—I’ve been so overfed with roast meats and wine and cakes that I
can’t get any more down for the present. Now I must go home and tell
mother about all the splendid things. I’ve eighteen miles to go.”
“And you came here on foot—thirty-six miles! That’s too much for your
years!”
“I had really reckoned that I’d stay the night here. I didn’t think …
Well, an owl’s been sitting there! Children can’t very well climb
higher than that—not to recognize their own fathers! Anna is now taking
the best way to become a fine lady, too…. I shall be wondering how long
I shall know myself! Devil take it, Kalle Karlsen, I’m of good family,
too, look you! Well, then, ajoo!”
Wearily he set about tramping home. He looked quite pitiful in his
disappointment. “He’s never looked so miserable in his life!” said
Lasse, gazing after him, “and it takes something, too, to make Brother
Kalle chuck his gun into the ditch!”
Toward evening they went through the town to the steamer. Pelle took
long strides, and a strange feeling of solemnity kept him silent. Lasse
trotted along at his side; he stooped as he went. He was in a doleful
mood. “Now you won’t forget your old father?” he said, again and again.
“There’s no danger of that,” rejoined Sort. Pelle heard nothing of
this; his thoughts were all set on his journey. The blue smoke of
kitchen fires was drifting down among the narrow lanes. The old people
were sitting out of doors on their front steps, and were gossiping over
the news of the day. The evening sun fell upon round spectacles, so
that great fiery eyes seemed to be staring out of their wrinkled faces.
The profound peace of evening lay over the streets. But in the narrow
lanes there was the breathing of that eternal, dull unrest, as of a
great beast that tosses and turns and cannot sleep. Now and again it
blazed up into a shout, or the crying of a child, and then began
anew—like heavy, labored breathing. Pelle knew it well, that ghostly
breathing, which rises always from the lair of the poor man. The cares
of poverty had shepherded the evil dreams home for the night. But he
was leaving this world of poverty, where life was bleeding away unnoted
in the silence; in his thoughts it was fading away like a mournful
song; and he gazed out over the sea, which lay glowing redly at the end
of the street. Now he was going out into the world!
The crazy Anker was standing at the top of his high steps. “Good-bye!”
cried Pelle, but Anker did not understand. He turned his face up to the
sky and sent forth his demented cry.
Pelle threw a last glance at the workshop. “There have I spent many a
good hour!” he thought; and he thought, too, of the young master. Old
Jörgen was standing before his window, playing with the little Jörgen,
who sat inside on the windowseat. “Peep, peep, little one!” he cried,
in his shrill voice, and he hid, and bobbed up into sight again. The
young wife was holding the child; she was rosy with maternal delight.
“You’ll be sure to let us hear from you,” said Lasse yet again, as
Pelle stood leaning over the steamer’s rail. “Don’t forget your old
father!” He was quite helpless in his anxiety.
“I will write to you as soon as I’m getting on,” said Pelle, for the
twentieth time at least. “Only don’t worry!” Sure of victory, he
laughed down at the old man. For the rest they stood silent and gazed
at one another.
At last the steamer moved. “Good luck—take care of yourself!” he cried
for the last time, as they turned the pier-head; and as long as he
could see he waved his cap. Then he went right forward and sat on a
coil of rope.
He had forgotten all that lay behind him. He gazed ahead as though at
any moment the great world itself might rise in front of the vessel’s
bow. He pictured nothing to himself of what was to come and how he
would meet it—he was only longing—longing!