Pelle the Conqueror Part 154

The spring was beautiful, and they were much out in it; when no one could see them they walked hand-in-hand along the dikes like two young lovers. Then Pelle talked and showed her things. Look! there it grew in that way, and here in quite a different way. Was it not strange?

He lived over again all his childhood's excitement in spring. Ellen listened to him, smiling; she was not astonished at anything so natural as that things grew; she was merely _transformed!_ The earth simply sent up its juices into her too.

The fresh air and the work in the garden tanned her bare arms, and gave strength and beauty to her figure, while her easy circ.u.mstances freed her from care. One day a new being showed in her eyes, and looked at Pelle with the inquisitiveness of a kid. "Shall we play?" it said. Was it he or the spring that set fire to her? No matter! The pleasure was his! The suns.h.i.+ne entered the innermost corners of his soul, the musty corners left by the darkness of his prison-cell, and cured him completely; her freedom from care infected him, and he was entirely happy. It was Ellen who had done it all; at last she had taken upon herself to be the messenger between joy and him!

She became gentler and more vigorous in disposition every day. The sun and the wind across the open country called forth something in her that had never been there before, an innocent pleasure in her own body and a physical appet.i.te that made her teeth white and gleaming. She was radiant with delight when Pelle brought her little things to adorn herself with; she did not use them for the children now! "Look!" she said once, holding up a piece of dark velvet to her face which in the evening gave out again the warmth of the sun, as hay its scent. "You must give me a dress like this when we become rich." And her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, full of promises of abundant returns.

He thought he belonged to the soil, and yet it was through her that he first really came into contact with it! There was wors.h.i.+p of nature in the appet.i.te with which she crunched the first radishes of the year and delighted in their juicy freshness; and when in the evening he sprang from his bicycle and took her in his arms, she herself exhaled the fresh perfume of all that had pa.s.sed through the spring day--the wind and the products of the soil. He could smell in her breath the perfume of wild honey, mixed with the pollen and nectar of wild flowers; and she would close her eyes as though she herself were intoxicated with it.

Their dawning affection became pa.s.sionate first love out here. Ellen was always standing at the gate waiting for him. As soon as Pelle had had his supper, the children dragged him round the garden to show him what had taken place during the day. They held his hands and Ellen had to walk by herself. Pelle and she had an intense desire to be close together, but the little ones would not submit to be set aside. "He's our father!" they said; and Pelle and Ellen were like two young people that are kept cruelly apart by a remorseless fate, and they looked at one another with eyes that were heavy with expression.

When the little ones had gone to bed they stole away from it all, leaving La.s.se Frederik in charge of the house. He had seen an artist sitting outside the hedge and painting the smoky city in the spring light, and had procured himself a paintbox. He sat out there every evening now, daubing away busily. He did not mean to be a sailor now!

They went up past the farm and on toward the evening sun, walked hand-in-hand in the dewy gra.s.s, gazing silently in front of them. The ruddy evening light colored their faces and made their eyes glow. There was a little grove of trees not far off, to which they often went so as to be quite away from the world. With their arms round one another they pa.s.sed into the deep twilight, whispering together. Now and then she bent her head back for him to kiss her, when an invisible ray would strike her eye and be refracted into a rainbow-colored star, in the darkness.

A high dike of turfs ran along the edge of the wood, and low over it hung hazel and young beech trees. In under the branches there were little bowers where they hid themselves; the dead leaves had drifted together in under the dike and made a soft couch. The birds above their heads gave little sleepy chirps, turned on the branch and twittered softly as though they dreamed the day's melodies over again.

Sometimes the moon peeped in at them with a broad smile. The heavy night-exhalations of the leaves lulled them to sleep, and sometimes they were only wakened by the tremor that pa.s.ses through everything when the sun rises. Pelle would be cold then, but Ellen's body was always warm although she had removed some of her clothing to make a pillow for their heads.

She still continued to be motherly; her devotion only called forth new sides of her desire for self-sacrifice. How rich she was in her motherliness! She demanded nothing but the hard ground, and could not make herself soft enough: everything was for him. And she could make herself so incomprehensibly soft! Providence had thrown all His riches and warmth into her lap; it was no wonder that both life and happiness had made their nesting-place there.

Their love increased with the suns.h.i.+ne, and made everything bright and good; there was no room for any darkness. Pelle met all troubles with a smile. He went about in a state of semi-stupor, and even his most serious business affairs could not efface Ellen's picture from his mind.

Her breath warmed the air around him throughout the day, and made him hasten home. At table at home they had secret signs that referred to their secret world. They were living in the first love of youth with all its sweet secrecy, and smiled at one another in youthful, stealthy comprehension, as though the whole world were watching them and must learn nothing. If their feet touched under the table, their eyes met and Ellen would blush like a young girl. Her affection was so great that she could not bear it to be known, even to themselves. A red flame pa.s.sed over her face, and her eyes were veiled as though she hid in them the unspeakable sweetness of her tryst from time to time. She rarely spoke and generally answered with a smile; she sang softly to herself, filled with the happiness of youth.

One afternoon when he came cycling home Ellen did not meet him as usual.

He became anxious, and hurried in. The sofa was made into a bed, and Ellen was standing by it, bending over Johanna, who lay s.h.i.+vering with fever. Ellen raised her head and said, "Hus.h.!.+" The children were sitting in a corner gazing fearfully at the sick girl, who lay with closed eyes, moaning slightly.

"She came running out here this afternoon," whispered

Ellen, looking strangely at him; "I can't think why. She's terribly ill!

I've sent La.s.se Frederik in to Morten, so that he may know she's with us."

"Have you sent for the doctor?" asked Pelle, bending down over Johanna.

"Yes. La.s.se Frederik will tell Morten to bring his doctor with him. He must know her best. I should think they'll soon be here."

A s.h.i.+vering fit came over Johanna. She lay working her tongue against the dry roof of her mouth, now and then uttering a number of disconnected words, and tossing to and fro upon the bed. Suddenly she raised herself in terror, her wide-open eyes fixed upon Pelle, but with no recognition in them. "Go away! I won't!" she screamed, pus.h.i.+ng him away. His deep voice calmed her, however, and she allowed herself to be laid down once more, and then lay still with closed eyes.

"Some one has been after her," said Ellen, weeping. "What can it be?"

"It's the old story," Pelle whispered with emotion. "Morten says that it constantly reappears in her.--Take the children out into the garden, Ellen. I'll stay here with her."

Ellen went out with the little ones, who could hardly be persuaded to come out of their corner; but it was not long before their chattering voices could be heard out on the gra.s.s.

Pelle sat with his hand on Johanna's forehead, staring straight before him. He had been rudely awakened to the horror of life once more.

Convulsive tremors pa.s.sed through her tortured brow. It was as if he held in his hand a fluttering soul that had been trodden in the mire beneath heavy heels--a poor crushed fledgeling that could neither fly nor die.

He was roused by the sound of a carriage driving quickly up to the garden gate, and went out to meet the men.

The doctor was very doubtful about Johanna's condition. "I'm afraid that the fits will increase rather than decrease," he said in a whisper. "It would be better if she were sent to the hospital as soon as she's able to be moved."

"Would it be better for her?" asked Ellen.

"No, not exactly for her, but--she'll be a difficult patient, you know!"

"Then she shall remain here," said Ellen; "she shall be well looked after."

La.s.se Frederik had to take his bicycle and ride to the chemist's, and immediately after the doctor drove away.

They sat outside the garden door, so that they could hear any sound from the sick girl, and talked together in low tones. It was sad to see Morten; Johanna's flight from him had wounded him deeply.

"I wonder why she did it?" said Pelle.

"She's been strange ever since you came up and proposed that she should come out to you," said Morten sadly. "She got it into her head that she was a burden to me and that I would like to get rid of her. Two or three days ago she got up while I was out, and began working in the house--I suppose as a return for my keeping her. She's morbidly sensitive. When I distinctly forbade her she declared that she wouldn't owe me anything and meant to go away. I knew that she might very likely do it in spite of her being ill, so I stayed at home. At midday to-day I just went down to fetch milk, and when I came up she was gone. It was a good thing she came out here; I think she'd do anything when once the idea's taken her that she's a burden."

"She must be very fond of you," said Ellen, looking at him.

"I don't think so," answered Morten, with a sad smile. "At any rate, she's hidden it well. My impression is that she's hated me ever since the day we spoke of her coming out here.--May I stay here for the night?"

"If you can put up with what we have," answered Ellen. "It won't be a luxurious bed, but it'll be something to lie down on."

Morten did not want a bed, however. "I'll sit up and watch over Johanna," he said.

XIV

The house was thus transformed into a nursing home. It was a hard hit at their careless happiness, but they took it as it came. Neither of them demanded more of life than it was capable of.

Ellen was with the sick girl day and night until the worst was over; she neglected both Pelle and the children to give all her care to Johanna.

"You've got far too much to do," said Pelle anxiously. "It'll end in your being ill too. Do let us have help!" And as Ellen would not hear of it, he took the matter into his own hands, and got "Queen Theresa" to be out there during the day.

In the course of a few days Morten arranged his affairs, got rid of his flat, and moved out to them. "You won't be able to run away from me, after all," he said to Johanna, who was sitting up in bed listening to the carrying upstairs of his things. "When you're well enough you shall be moved up into the big attic; and then we two shall live upstairs and be jolly again, won't we?"

She made no answer, but flushed with pleasure.

Ellen now received from Morten the amount he usually spent in a month on food and house-rent. She was quite disconcerted. What was she to do with all that money? It was far too much! Well, they need no longer be anxious about their rent.

Johanna was soon so far recovered as to be able to get up for a little.

The country air had a beneficial effect upon her nerves, and Ellen knew how to keep her in good spirits. Old Brun made her a present of a beautiful red and yellow reclining chair of basket work; and when the sun shone she was carried out onto the gra.s.s, where she lay and watched the children's play, sometimes joining in the game from her chair, and ordering them hither and thither. Boy Comfort submitted to it good-naturedly, but Sister was a little more reserved. She did not like this stranger to call Pelle "father"; and when she was in a teasing mood she would stand a little way off and repeat again and again: "He's not your father, for he's mine!" until Ellen took her away.

Johanna mostly lay, however, gazing into s.p.a.ce with an expression of the utmost weariness. For a moment her attention would be attracted by anything new, but then her eyes wandered away again. She was never well enough to walk about; even when she felt well, her legs would not support her. Brun came out to "Daybreak" every afternoon to see her. The old man was deeply affected by her sad fate, and had given up his usual holiday trip in order to keep himself acquainted with her condition.

"We must do something for her," he said to the doctor, who paid a daily visit at his request. "Is there nothing that can be done?"

The doctor shook his head. "She couldn't be better off anywhere than she is here," he said.