Part 102 (2/2)
”Mus'n't Paul 'peak?” asked the child, feeling for Pelle's face.
”Yes, to-night Paul can do just as he likes,” replied Pelle. Then the youngster chattered on and kicked out at the darkness with his little legs.
”Now you can come!” cried Marie, and she opened the door leading to the gangway. In the children's room everything had been cleared away. The Christmas-tree stood in the middle, on the floor, and was blazing with light. And how splendid it was--and how tall! Now they could have a proper good look! The lights were reflected in their eyes, and in the window-panes, and in the old mahogany-framed mirror, and the gla.s.s of the cheap pictures, so that they seemed suddenly to be moving about in the midst of myriads of stars, and forgot all their miseries. It was as though they had escaped from all their griefs and cares, and had entered straightway into glory, and all of a sudden a pure, clear voice arose, tremulous with embarra.s.sment, and the voice sang:
”O little angel, make us glad!
Down from high Heaven's halls Through suns.h.i.+ne flown, in splendor clad, Earth's shadow on thee falls!”
It sounded like a greeting from the clouds. They closed their eyes and wandered, hand in hand, about the tree. Then the seamstress fell silent, blus.h.i.+ng. ”You aren't singing with me!” she cried.
”We'll sing the Yule Song--we all know that,” said Pelle.
”Down, down from the high green tree!”--It was Karl who struck up. And they just did sing that! It fitted in so admirably--even the name of Peter fitted in! And it was great fun, too, when all the presents cropped up in the song; every single person was remembered! Only, the lines about the purse, at the end, were all too true! There wasn't much more to be said for that song! But suddenly the boys set the ring-dance going; they stamped like a couple of soldiers, and then they all went whirling round in frantic movement--a real witches' dance!
”Hey d.i.c.ker d.i.c.k, My man fell smack; It was on Christmas Eve!
I took a stick And broke it on his back, It was on Christmas Eve!”
How hot all the candles made it, and how it all went to one's head! They had to open the door on to the gangway.
And there outside stood the inmates of the garrets, listening and craning their necks. ”Come inside,” cried the boys. ”There's room enough if we make two rings!” So once again they moved round the tree, singing Christmas carols. Every time there was a pause somebody struck up a new carol, that had to be sung through. The doors opposite were open too, the old rag-picker sat at the head of his table singing on his own account. He had a loaf of black bread and a plate of bacon in front of him, and after every carol he took a mouthful. In the other doorway sat three coal-porters playing ”sixty-six” for beer and brandy. They sat facing toward the Christmas-tree, and they joined in the singing as they played; but from time to time they broke off in the middle of a verse in order to say something or to cry ”Trumped!” Now they suddenly threw down their cards and came into the room. ”We don't want to sit here idle and look on while others are working,” they said, and they joined the circle.
Finally they had all had enough of circling round the tree and singing.
So chairs and stools were brought in from the other rooms; they had to squeeze close together, right under the sloping roof, and some sat up on the window-sill. There was a clear circle left round the Christmas-tree.
And there they sat gossiping, crouching in all sorts of distorted postures, as though that was the only way in which their bodies could really find repose, their arms hanging loosely between their knees. But their faces were still eager and excited; and the smoke from the candles and the crackling fir-boughs of the tree veiled them in a bluish cloud, through which they loomed as round as so many moons. The burning turpentine gave the smoke a mysterious, alluring fragrance, and the devout and attentive faces were like so many murmuring spirits, hovering in the clouds, each above its outworn body.
Pelle sat there considering them till his heart bled for them--that was his Christmas devotion. Poor storm-beaten birds, what was this splendid experience which outweighed all their privations? Only a little light!
And they looked as though they could fall down before it and give up their lives! He knew the life's story of each one of them better than they knew. But their faces were still eager and excited; and they themselves; when they approached the light they always burned themselves in it, like the moths, they were so chilled!
”All the same, that's a queer invention, when one thinks about it,” said one of the dockers, nodding toward the Christmas-tree. ”But it's fine.
G.o.d knows what it really is supposed to mean!”
”It means that now the year is returning toward the light again,” said the old night-watchman.
”No; it stands for the joy of the shepherds over the birth of Christ,”
said the rag-picker, stepping into the doorway.
”The shepherds were poor folks, like ourselves, who lived in the darkness. That's why they rejoiced so over Him, because He came with the light.”
”Well, it don't seem to me we've been granted such a terrible deal of light! Oh, yes, the Christmas-tree here, that's splendid, Lord knows it is, and we should all of us like to thank the children for it--but one can't have trees like that to set light to every day; and as for the sun--well, you see, the rich folks have got a monopoly of that!”
”Yes, you are right there, Jacob,” said Pelle, who was moving about round the tree, taking down the hearts and packages for the children, who distributed the sweets. ”You are all three of you right--curiously enough. The Christmas-tree is to remind us of Christ's birth, and also that the year is returning toward the sun--but that's all the same thing. And then it's to remind us, too, that we too ought to have a share in things; Christ was born especially to remind the poor of their rights! Yes, that is so! For the Lord G.o.d isn't one to give long-winded directions as to how one should go ahead; He sends the sun rolling round the earth every day, and each of us must look out for himself, and see how best he himself can get into the suns.h.i.+ne. It's just like the wife of a public-house keeper I remember at home, who used to tell travellers, 'What would you like to eat? You can have ducks or pork chops or sweets--anything you've brought with you!'”
”That was a devilish funny statement!” said his hearers, laughing.
”Yes, it's easy enough to invite one to all sorts of fine things when all the time one has to bring them along one's self! You ought to have been a preacher.”
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