Pelle the Conqueror Part 106

"Our young party-member, Pelle, to-day celebrates his nuptials with the daughter of one of the oldest and most respected members of the party, Mason Stolpe. This young man, who has already done a great deal of work for the Cause, was last night unanimously proposed as President of his organization. We give the young couple our best wishes for the future."

"That speaks for itself, eh?" Stolpe handed the paper to his guests.

"Yes, that looks well indeed," they said, pa.s.sing the paper from hand to hand. La.s.se moved his lips as though he, too, were reading the notice through. "Yes, devilish good, and they know how to put these things," he said, delighted.

"But what's wrong with Petersen--is he going to resign?" asked Stolpe.

"He is ill," replied Pelle. "But I wasn't there last night, so I don't know anything about it." Stolpe gazed at him, astonished.

Madam Stolpe came in and drew Pelle into the bedroom, where Ellen stood like a snow-white revelation, with a long veil and a myrtle-wreath in her hair. "Really you two are supposed not to see one another, but I think that's wrong," she said, and with a loving glance she pushed them into each other's arms.

Frederik, who was leaning out of the window, in order to watch for the carriage, came and thundered on the door. "The carriage is there, children!" he roared, in quite a needlessly loud voice. "The carriage is there!"

And they drove away in it, although the church was only a few steps distant. Pelle scarcely knew what happened to him after that, until he found himself back in the carriage; they had to nudge him every time he had to do anything. He saw no one but Ellen.

She was his sun; the rest meant nothing to him. At the altar he had seized her hand and held it in his during the whole service.

Frederik had remained at home, in order to admit, receive messages and people who came to offer their congratulations. As they returned he leaned out of the window and threw crackers and detonating pellets under the horses' feet, as a salute to the bridal pair.

People drank wine, touched gla.s.ses with the young couple, and examined the wedding-presents. Stolpe looked to see the time; it was still quite early. "You must go for a bit of a stroll, father," said Madam Stolpe.

"We can't eat anything for a couple of hours yet." So the men went across to VenteG.o.dt's beer-garden, in order to play a game of skittles, while the women prepared the food.

Pelle would rather have stopped in the house with Ellen, but he must not; he and La.s.se went together. La.s.se had not yet properly wished Pelle happiness; he had waited until they should be alone.

"Well, happiness and all blessings, my boy," he said, much moved, as he pressed Pelle's hand. "Now you, too, are a man with a family and responsibilities. Now don't you forget that the women are like children.

In serious matters you mustn't be too ceremonious with them, but tell them, short and plain. This is to be so! It goes down best with them.

If once a man begins discussing too much with them, then they don't know which way they want to go. Otherwise they are quite all right, and it's easy to get on with them--if one only treats them well. I never found it any trouble, for they like a firm hand over them. You've reason to be proud of your parents-in-law; they are capital people, even if they are a bit proud of their calling. And Ellen will make you a good wife--if I know anything of women. She'll attend to her own affairs and she'll understand how to save what's left over. Long in the body she is, like a fruitful cow--she won't fail you in the matter of children."

Outdoors in the beer-garden Swedish punch was served, and La.s.se's spirits began to rise. He tried to play at skittles--he had never done so before; and he plucked up courage to utter witticisms.

The others laughed, and La.s.se drew himself up and came out of his sh.e.l.l.

"Splendid people, the Copenhageners!" he whispered to Pelle. "A ready hand for spending, and they've got a witty word ready for everything."

Before any one noticed it had grown dark, and now they must be home!

At home the table was laid, and the rest of the guests had come. Madam Stolpe was already quite nervous, they had stopped away so long. "Now we'll all wobble a bit on our legs," whispered Stolpe, in the entry; "then my wife will go for us! Well, mother, have you got a warm welcome ready for us?" he asked, as he tumbled into the room.

"Ah, you donkey, do you think I don't know you?" cried Madam Stolpe, laughing. "No, one needn't go searching in the taverns for my man!"

Pelle went straight up to Ellen in the kitchen and led her away. Hand in hand they went round the rooms, looking at the last presents to arrive. There was a table-lamp, a dish-cover in German silver, and some enamelled cooking-utensils. Some one, too, had sent a little china figure of a child in swaddling-clothes, but had forgotten to attach his name.

Ellen led Pelle out into the entry, in order to embrace him, but there stood Morten, taking off his things. Then they fled into the kitchen, but the hired cook was in possession; at length they found an undisturbed haven in the bedroom. Ellen wound her arms round Pelle's neck and gazed at him in silence, quite lost in happiness and longing.

And Pelle pressed the beloved, slender, girlish body against his own, and looked deep in her eyes, which were dark and shadowy as velvet, as they drank in the light in his. His heart swelled within him, and he felt that he was unspeakably fortunate--richer than any one else in the whole world--because of the treasure that he held in his arms. Silently he vowed to himself that he would protect her and cherish her and have no other thought than to make her happy.

An impatient trampling sounded from the other room. "The young couple--the young couple!" they were calling. Pelle and Ellen hastened in, each by a different door. The others were standing in their places at the table, and were waiting for Pelle and Ellen to take their seats.

"Well, it isn't difficult to see what she's been about!" said Stolpe teasingly. "One has only to look at the la.s.s's peepers--such a pair of glowing coals!"

Otto Stolpe, the slater, was spokesman, and opened the banquet by offering brandy. "A drop of spirits," he said to each: "we must make sure there's a vent to the gutter, or the whole thing will soon get stopped up."

"Now, take something, people!" cried Stolpe, from the head of the table, where he was carving a loin of roast pork. "Up with the bricks there!"

He had the young couple on his right and the newly-baked journeyman on his left. On the table before him stood a new bedroom chamber with a white wooden cover to it; the guests glanced at it and smiled at one another. "What are you staring at?" he asked solemnly. "If you need anything, let the cat out of the bag!"

"Ah, it's the tureen there!" said his brother, the carpenter, without moving a muscle. "My wife would be glad to borrow it a moment, she says."

His wife, taken aback, started up and gave him a thwack on the back.

"Monster!" she said, half ashamed, and laughing. "The men must always make a fool of somebody!"

Then they all set to, and for a while eating stopped their mouths. From time to time some droll remark was made. "Some sit and do themselves proud, while others do the drudging," said the Vanis.h.i.+ng Man, Otto's comrade. Which was to say that he had finished his pork. "Give him one in the mouth, mother!" said Stolpe.

When their hunger was satisfied the witticisms began to fly. Morten's present was a great wedding-cake. It was a real work of art; he had made it in the form of a pyramid. On the summit stood a youthful couple, made of sugar, who held one another embraced, while behind them was a highly glazed representation of the rising sun. Up the steps of the pyramid various other figures were scrambling to the top, holding their arms outstretched toward the summit. Wine was poured out when they came to the cake, and Morten made a little speech in Pelle's honor, in which he spoke of loyalty toward the new comrade whom he had chosen. Apparently the speech concerned Ellen only, but Pelle understood that his words were meant to be much more comprehensive; they had a double meaning all the time.

"Thank you, Morten," he said, much moved, and he touched gla.s.ses with him.

Then Stolpe delivered a speech admonis.h.i.+ng the newly-married pair. This was full of precious conceits and was received with jubilation.

"Now you see how father can speak," said Madam Stolpe. "When nothing depends on it then he can speak!"

"What's that you say, mother?" cried Stolpe, astonished. He was not accustomed to criticism from that source. "Just listen to that now--one's own wife is beginning to pull away the scaffolding-poles from under one!"

"Well, that's what I say!" she rejoined, looking at him boldly. Her face was quite heated with wine. "Does any one stand in the front of things like father does? He was the first, and he has been always the most zealous; he has done a good stroke of work, more than most men. And to-day he might well have been one of the leaders and have called the tune, if it weren't for that d.a.m.ned hiccoughing. He's a clever man, and his comrades respect him too, but what does all that signify if a man hiccoughs? Every time he stands on the speaker's platform he has the hiccoughs."

"And yet it isn't caused by brandy?" said the thick-set little Vanis.h.i.+ng Man, Albert Olsen.

"Oh, no, father has never gone in for bottle agitation," replied Madam Stolpe.

"That was a fine speech that mother made about me," said Stolpe, laughing, "and she didn't hiccough. It is astonis.h.i.+ng, though--there are some people who can't. But now it's your turn, Frederik. Now you have become a journeyman and must accept the responsibility yourself for doing things according to plumb-line and square. We have worked on the scaffold together and we know one another pretty well. Many a time you've been a clown and many a time a sheep, and a box on the ears from your old man has never been lacking. But that was in your fledgling years. When only you made up your mind there was no fault to be found with you. I will say this to your credit--that you know your trade--you needn't be shamed by anybody. Show what you can do, my lad! Do your day's work so that your comrades don't need to take you in tow, and never s.h.i.+rk when it comes to your turn!"

"Don't cheat the drinker of his bottle, either," said Albert Olsen, interrupting. Otto nudged him in the ribs.

"No, don't do that," said Stolpe, and he laughed. "There are still two things," he added seriously. "Take care the girls don't get running about under the scaffold in working hours, that doesn't look well; and always uphold the fellows.h.i.+p. There is nothing more despicable than the name of strikebreaker."

"Hear, hear!" resounded about the table. "A true word!"

Frederik sat listening with an embarra.s.sed smile.

He was dressed in a new suit of the white clothes of his calling, and on his round chin grew a few dark downy hairs, which he fingered every other moment. He was waiting excitedly until the old man had finished, so that he might drink brotherhood with him.

"And now, my lad," said Stolpe, taking the cover from the "tureen,"

"now you are admitted to the corporation of masons, and you are welcome!

Health, my lad." And with a sly little twinkle of his eye, he set the utensil to his mouth, and drank.

"Health, father!" replied Frederik, with s.h.i.+ning eyes, as his father pa.s.sed him the drinking-bowl. Then it went round the table. The women shrieked before they drank; it was full of Bavarian beer, and in the amber fluid swam Bavarian sausages. And while the drinking-bowl made its cheerful round, Stolpe struck up with the Song of the Mason:

"The man up there in snowy cap and blouse, He is a mason, any fool could swear.

Just give him stone and lime, he'll build a house Fine as a palace, up in empty air!

Down in the street below stands half the town: Ah, ah! Na, na!

The scaffold sways, but it won't fall down!

"Down in the street he's wobbly in his tread, He tumbles into every cellar door; That's 'cause his home is in the clouds o'erhead, Where all the little birds about him soar.