Pelle the Conqueror by Martin Andersen Nexø (great novels to read .TXT) 📕

would not take his father away from a regular situation where he was earning a steady living. “We don’t very well see what we could offer you in its place. But don’t forget that you will always be welcome⁠—Ellen herself sent me here.”

“Yes, yes! Give her many thanks for that! And now you be off, before the old woman comes back,” said Lasse anxiously. “She doesn’t like anyone to be here⁠—she’s afraid for her money.”

The first thing that had to go was Pelle’s winter overcoat. He pawned it one day, without letting Ellen know, and on coming home surprised her with the money, which he delightedly threw on the table, krone by krone. “How it rings!” he said to Young Lasse. The child gave a jump, and wanted the money to play with.

“What do I want with a winter coat?” he retorted, to Ellen’s kindly reproaches. “I’m not cold, and it only hangs up indoors here. I’ve borne with it all the summer. Ah, that’s warm!” he cried, to the child, when Ellen had brought some fuel. “That was really a good winter coat, that of father’s! Mother and sister and Young Lasse can all warm themselves at it!”

The child put his hands on his knees and peeped into the fire after his father’s winter coat. The fire kindled flames in his big child’s eyes, and played on his red cheeks. “Pretty overcoat!” he said, laughing all over his face.

They did not see much of the tenants of the house; nor of the family. People were living quietly, each one fighting his own privations within his four walls. On Sundays they gave the children to one of the neighbors, went into the city, and stood for an hour outside some concert-hall, freezing and listening to the music. Then they went home again and sat vegetating in the firelight, without lighting the lamp.

One Sunday things looked bad. “The coals will hold out only till midday,” said Ellen; “we shall have to go out. And there’s no more food either. But perhaps we can go to the old folks; they’ll put up with us till evening.”

As they were about to start, Ellen’s brother Otto arrived, with his wife and two children, to call on them. Ellen exchanged a despairing glance with Pelle. Winter had left its stamp on them too; their faces were thin and serious. But they still had warm clothes. “You must keep your cloaks on,” said Ellen, “for I have no more coal. I forgot it yesterday, I had so much to do; I had to put off ordering it until today, and today, unfortunately, the coal dealer isn’t at home.”

“If only the children aren’t cold,” said Pelle, “we grownups can easily keep ourselves warm.”

“Well, as long as they haven’t icicles hanging from their noses they won’t come to any harm!” said Otto with a return of his old humor.

They moved restlessly about the room and spoke of the bad times and the increasing need. “Yes, it’s terrible that there isn’t enough for everybody,” said Otto’s wife.

“But the hard winter and the misery will come to an end and then things will be better again.”

“You mean we shall come to an end first?” said Otto, laughing despairingly.

“No, not we⁠—this poverty, of course. Ach, you know well enough what I mean. But he’s always like that,” she said, turning to Pelle.

“Curious, how you women still go about in the pious belief that there’s not enough for all!” said Pelle. “Yet the harbor is full of stacks of coal, and there’s no lack of eatables in the shops. On the contrary⁠—there is more than usual, because so many are having to do without⁠—and you can see, too, that everything in the city is cheaper. But what good is that when there’s no money? It’s the distribution that’s all wrong.”

“Yes, you are quite right!” said Otto Stolpe. “It’s really damnable that no one has the courage to help himself!”

Pelle heard Ellen go out through the kitchen door, and presently she came back with firing in her apron. She had borrowed it. “I’ve scraped together just a last little bit of coal,” she said, going down on her knees before the stove. “In any case it’s enough to heat the water for a cup of coffee.”

Otto and his wife begged her urgently not to give herself any trouble; they had had some coffee before they left home⁠—after a good solid breakfast. “On Sundays we always have a solid breakfast,” said young Madam Stolpe; “it does one such a lot of good!” While she was speaking her eyes involuntarily followed Ellen’s every moment, as though she could tell thereby how soon the coffee would be ready.

Ellen chatted as she lit the fire. But of course they must have a cup of coffee; they weren’t to go away with dry throats!

Pelle sat by listening in melancholy surprise; her innocent boasting only made their poverty more glaring. He could see that Ellen was desperately perplexed, and he followed her into the kitchen.

“Pelle, Pelle!” she said, in desperation. “They’ve counted on stopping here and eating until the evening. And I haven’t a scrap in the house. What’s to be done?”

“Tell them how it is, of course!”

“I can’t! And they’ve had nothing to eat today⁠—can’t you see by looking at them?” She burst into tears.

“Now, now, let me see to the whole thing!” he said consolingly. “But what are you going to give us with our coffee?”

“I don’t know! I have nothing but black bread and a little butter.”

“Lord, what a little donkey!” he said, smiling, and he took her face between his hands. “And you stand there lamenting! Just you be cutting the bread-and-butter!”

Ellen set to work hesitatingly. But before she appeared with the refreshments they heard her bang the front door and go running down the steps. After a time she returned. “Oh, Lord! Now the baker has sold out of white bread,” she said, “so you must just have black bread-and-butter with your coffee.”

“But that’s