Pelle the Conqueror by Martin Andersen Nexø (great novels to read .TXT) 📕
Description
Pelle is still just a young boy when his father decides to move them from Sweden to the Danish island of Bornholm in search of riches. Those riches—of course—being nonexistent, they fall into the life of farm laborers. As Pelle grows up among the other lowly and poor residents of the island, their cares and worries seep into him, and he finds himself part of a greater struggle for their dignity.
Pelle the Conqueror has been compared to Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables in its themes and scope. Nexø had become involved in the Social Democratic movement in Denmark that flourished after the turn of the 19th century, and this work closely follows his journalistic observations of the struggles of the people. It was published in four books between 1906 and 1910, and was immensely popular; the first book in particular is still widely read in Danish schools, and was made in to an award-winning 1987 film starring Max von Sydow as Father Lasse.
In this Standard Ebooks edition books one and four are translated by Jesse Muir, while books two and three are translated by Bernard Miall.
Read free book «Pelle the Conqueror by Martin Andersen Nexø (great novels to read .TXT) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Martin Andersen Nexø
Read book online «Pelle the Conqueror by Martin Andersen Nexø (great novels to read .TXT) 📕». Author - Martin Andersen Nexø
She was just as decided as ever, and kept the house in good order. She no longer had little Marie with her. She dressed her own two children well, and sent them to a school for young children, and she paid for their attendance. She was delightful to look at, and understood how to dress herself, but she would hear nothing good of anyone else. Pelle was not smart enough for her; she turned up her nose at his everyday clothes, and in order to make him feel uncomfortable she was always talking about Alfred’s engagement to Merchant Lau’s daughter. This was a fine match for him. “He doesn’t loaf about and sleep his time away, and sniff at other people’s doors in order to get their plate of food,” she said. Pelle only laughed; nothing made any particular impression on him nowadays. The children ran about, wearying themselves in their fine clothes—they must not play with the poor children out-of-doors, and must not make themselves dirty. “Oh, play with us for a bit, Uncle Pelle!” they would say, hanging on to him. “Aren’t you our uncle too? Mother says you aren’t our uncle. She’s always wanting us to call the consul uncle, but we just run away. His nose is so horribly red.”
“Does the consul come to see you, then?” asked Pelle.
“Yes, he often comes—he’s here now!”
Pelle peeped into the yard. The pretty wagon had been taken out. “Father’s gone out,” said the children. Then he slipped home again. He stole a scrap of bread and a drop of brandy from Ström, who was not at home, and threw himself on his bed. As the darkness came on he strolled out and lounged, freezing, about the street corners. He had a vague desire to do something. Well-dressed people were promenading up and down the street, and many of his acquaintances were there, taking their girls for a walk; he avoided having to greet them, and to listen to whispered remarks and laughter at his expense. Lethargic as he was, he still had the acute sense of hearing that dated from the time of his disgrace at the town hall. People enjoyed finding something to say when he passed them; their laughter still had the effect of making his knees begin to jerk with a nervous movement, like the quickly-suppressed commencement of a flight.
He slipped into a side-street; he had buttoned his thin jacket tightly about him, and turned up his collar. In the half-darkness of the doorways stood young men and girls, in familiar, whispered conversation. Warmth radiated from the girls, and their bibbed aprons shone in the darkness. Pelle crept along in the cold, and knew less than ever what to do with himself; he ranged about to find a sweetheart for himself.
In the market he met Alfred, arm-in-arm with Lau’s daughter. He carried a smart walking-stick, and wore brown gloves and a tall hat. “The scamp—he still owes me two and a half kroner, and I shall never get it out of him!” thought Pelle, and for a moment he felt a real desire to spring upon him and to roll all his finery in the mud. Alfred turned his head the other way. “He only knows me when he wants to do something and has no money!” said Pelle bitterly.
He ran down the street at a jog-trot, in order to keep himself warm, turning his eyes toward the windows. The bookbinder and his wife were sitting at home, singing pious songs. The man drank when at home; that one could see plainly on the blind. At the wool-merchant’s they were having supper.
Farther on, at the Sow’s, there was life, as always. A mist of tobacco smoke and a great deal of noise were escaping through the open window. The Sow kept a house for idle seamen, and made a great deal of money. Pelle had often been invited to visit her, but had always considered himself too good; moreover, he could not bear Rud. But this evening he seized greedily upon the memory of this invitation, and went in. Perhaps a mouthful of food would come his way.
At a round table sat a few tipsy seamen, shouting at one another, and making a deafening row. The Sow sat on a young fellow’s knee; she lay half over the table and dabbled her fingers in a puddle of spilt beer; from time to time she shouted right in the face of those who were making the most noise. The last few years had not reduced her circumference.
“Now look at that! Is that you, Pelle?” she said, and she stood up to give him her hand. She was not quite sober, and had some difficulty in taking his. “That’s nice of you to come, now—I really thought we weren’t good enough for you! Now, sit down and have a drop; it won’t cost you anything.” She motioned to him to take a seat.
The sailors were out of humor; they sat staring sleepily at Pelle. Their heavy heads wagged helplessly. “That’s surely a new customer?” asked one, and the others laughed.
The Sow laughed too, but all at once became serious. “Then you can leave him out of your games, for he’s far too good to be dragged into anything; one knows what you are!” She sank into a chair next to Pelle, and sat looking at him, while she rubbed her own greasy countenance. “How tall and fine you’ve grown—but you aren’t well-off for clothes! And you don’t look to be overfed. … Ah, I’ve known you from the time when you and your father came into the country; a little fellow you were then, and Lasse brought me my mother’s hymnbook!” She
Comments (0)