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

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 Copenhagen2 we see over there?” asked Anders.

“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 scrapheap 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, “everyone 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 anyone?” 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 anyone from the village yet.”

“Don’t you think Madam Olsen’ll be here today?”

“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 tomorrow, 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