THE GREAT STRUGGLE
by Martin Andersen Nexö
Translated from the Danish by Bernard Miall.
Pelle the Conqueror
III. THE GREAT STRUGGLE
I
A swarm of children was playing on the damp floor of the shaft. They hung fromthe lower portions of the timber-work, or ran in and out between the uprightsupports, humming tunes, with bread-and-dripping in their hands; or they sat onthe ground and pushed themselves forward across the sticky flagstones. The airhung clammy and raw, as it does in an old well, and already it had made thelittle voices husky, and had marked their faces with the scars of scrofula. Yetout of the tunnel- like passage which led to the street there blew now andagain a warm breath of air and the fragrance of budding trees—from theworld that lay behind those surrounding walls.
They had finished playing “Bro-bro-brille,” for the last rider hadentered the black cauldron; and Hansel and Gretel had crept safely out of thedwarf Vinslev’s den, across the sewer-grating, and had reached thepancake-house, which, marvelously enough, had also a grating in front of thedoor, through which one could thrust a stick or a cabbage- stalk, in order tostab the witch. Sticks of wood and cabbage-stalks were to be found in plenty inthe dustbins near the pancake-house, and they knew very well who the witch was!Now and again she would pop up out of the cellar and scatter the whole crowdwith her kitchen tongs! It was almost a little too lifelike; even the smell ofpancakes came drifting down from where the well-to-do Olsens lived, so that onecould hardly call it a real fairy tale. But then perhaps the dwarf Vinslevwould come out of his den, and would once again tell them the story of how hehad sailed off with the King’s gold and sunk it out yonder, in theKing’s Deep, when the Germans were in the land. A whole ship’s crewtook out the King’s treasure, but not one save Vinslev knew where it wassunk, and even he did not know now. A terrible secret that, such as well mightmake a man a bit queer in the head. He would explain the whole chart on hisdouble-breasted waistcoat; he had only to steer from this button to that, andthen down yonder, and he was close above the treasure. But now some of thebuttons had fallen off, and he could no longer make out the chart. Day by daythe children helped him to trace it; this was an exciting bit of work, for theKing was getting impatient!
There were other wonderful things to do; for instance, one could lie flat downon the slippery flagstones and play Hanne’s game—the“Glory” game. You turned your eyes from the darkness down below,looking up through the gloomy shaft at the sky overhead, which floated thereblazing with light, and then you suddenly looked down again, so that everythingwas quite dark. And in the darkness floated blue and yellow rings of color,where formerly there had been nothing but dustbins and privies. This dizzy fluxof colors before the eyes was the journey far out to the land of happiness, insearch of all the things that cannot be told. “I can see somethingmyself, and I know quite well what it is, but I’m just not going totell,” they murmured, blinking mysteriously up into the blue.
However, one could have too much of a good thing…. But the round grating underthe timbers yonder, where Hanne’s father drowned himself, was a thing onenever grew weary of. The depths were forever bubbling upward, filling thelittle children with a secret horror; and the half- grown girls would standa-straddle over the grating, shuddering at the cold breath that came murmuringup from below. The grating was sure enough the way down to hell, and if yougazed long enough you could see the faintest glimmer of the inky stream thatwas flowing down below. Every moment it sent its putrid breath up into yourface; that was the Devil, who sat panting down there in a corner. If you turnedyour eyes away from the depths the twilight of the well had turned to brightestday, so you could make the world light or dark just as you wished.
A few children always lay there, on all fours, gazing down with anxious faces;and all summer through, directly over the grating, hung a cloud of midges,swaying in the breath of the depths. They would rise to a certain height, thensuddenly fall, and rise again, just like a juggler’s balls. Sometimes thebreathing from below sucked the whole swarm right down, but it rose up again,veering hither and thither like a dancing wraith in the draught from thetunnel-like entry. The little girls would gaze at it, lift their petticoats,and take a few graceful steps. Olsen’s Elvira had learned her firstdance-steps here, and now she was dancing respectable citizens into thepoor-house. And the furniture broker’s daughter was in Petersburg, andwas almost a Grand Duchess!
On the walls of the narrow shaft projecting porches hung crazily, so that theyleft only a small free space, and here the clothes-lines ran to and fro, loadedwith dishclouts and children’s clothing. The decaying wooden staircasesran zig-zag up the walls, disappearing into the projecting porches and comingout again, until they reached the very garrets.
From the projecting porches and the galleries, doors led into the varioustenements, or to long corridors that connected the inner portions of the house.Only in Pipman’s side there were neither porches nor galleries, from thesecond story upward; time had devoured them, so that the stairs alone remainedin place. The ends of the joists stuck out of the wall like decaying toothstumps, and a rope hung from above, on which one could obtain a hold. It wasblack and smooth from the grip of many hands.
On one of those hot June days when the heavens shone like a blazing fire abovethe rift overhead, the heavy, mouldering timbers came to life again, as iftheir forest days had returned. People swarmed in and out on the stairs,shadows came and went, and an incessant chattering filled the twilight. Fromporch to porch dropped the sour-smelling suds from the children’swashing, until at last it reached the ground, where the children were playingby the sluggish rivulets which ran from the gutters. The timbers groanedcontinually, like ancient boughs that rub together, and a clammy smell as ofearth and moist vegetation saturated the air, while all that one touched wore acoating of slime, as in token of its exuberant fertility.
One’s gaze could not travel a couple of steps before it was checked bywooden walls, but one felt conscious of the world that lay behind them. Whenthe doors of the long passages opened and shut, one heard the rumor of theinnumerable creatures that lived in the depths of the “Ark”; thecrying of little children, the peculiar fidgeting sound of marred, eccentricindividuals, for many a whole life’s history unfolded itself withinthere, undisturbed, never daring the light of day. On Pipman’s side thewaste-pipes stuck straight out of the wall, like wood-goblins grinning from thethicket with wide-open mouths, and long gray beards, which bred rose-pinkearthworms, and from time to time fell with a heavy smack into the yard. Greenhanging bushes grew out of holes in the wall. The waste water trickled throughthem and dripped continually as though from the wet locks of the forest.Inside, in the greenish, dripping darkness, sat curiously marked toads, likelittle water-nymphs, each in her grotto, shining with unwholesome humidity. Andup among the timbers of the third story hung Hanne’s canary, singingquite preposterously, its beak pointing up toward the spot of fiery lightoverhead. Across the floor of the courtyard went an endless procession ofpeople, light-shy creatures who emerged from the womb of the “Ark”or disappeared into it. Most of them were women, weirdly clad, unwholesomelypale, but with a layer of grime as though the darkness had worked into theirskins, with drowsy steps and fanatical, glittering eyes.
Little old men, who commonly lay in their dark corners waiting for death, camehobbling out on the galleries, lifted their noses toward the blazing speck ofsky overhead, and sneezed three times. “That’s the sun!” theytold one another, delighted. “Artishu! One don’t catch cold so easyin winter!”
II
High up, out of Pipman’s garret, a young man stepped out onto theplatform. He stood there a moment turning his smiling face toward the brightheavens overhead. Then he lowered his head and ran down the break-neck stairs,without holding on by the rope. Under his arm he carried something wrapped in ablue cloth.
“Just look at the clown! Laughing right into the face of the sun asthough there was no such thing as blindness!” said the women, thrustingtheir heads out of window. “But then, of course, he’s from thecountry. And now he’s going to deliver his work. Lord, how long is hegoing to squat up there and earn bread for that sweater? The red’ll soongo from his cheeks if he stops there much longer!” And they looked afterhim anxiously.
The children down in the courtyard raised their heads when they heard his stepsabove them.
“Have you got some nice leather for us to-day, Pelle?” they cried,clutching at his legs.
He brought out of his pockets some little bits of patent-leather and redimitation morocco.
“That’s from the Emperor’s new slippers,” he said, ashe shared the pieces among the children. Then the youngsters laughed untiltheir throats began to wheeze.
Pelle was just the same as of old, except that he was more upright and elasticin his walk, and had grown a little fair moustache. His protruding ears hadwithdrawn themselves a little, as though they were no longer worked so hard.His blue eyes still accepted everything as good coin, though they now had afaint expression that seemed to say that all that happened was no longer totheir liking. His “lucky curls” still shone with a golden light.
The narrow streets lay always brooding in a dense, unbearable atmosphere thatnever seemed to renew itself. The houses were grimy and crazy; where a patch ofsunlight touched a window there were stained bed- clothes hung out to dry. Upone of the side streets was an ambulance wagon, surrounded by women andchildren who were waiting excitedly for the bearers to appear with their uneasyburden, and Pelle joined them; he always had to take part in everything.
It was not quite the shortest way which he took. The capital was quite a newworld to him; nothing was the same as at home; here a hundred different thingswould happen in the course of the day, and Pelle was willing enough to beginall over again; and he still felt his old longing to take part in it all and toassimilate it all.
In the narrow street leading down to the canal a thirteen-year-old girl placedherself provocatively in his way. “Mother’s ill,” she said,pointing up a dark flight of steps. “If you’ve got any money, comealong!” He was actually on the point of following her, when he discoveredthat the old women who lived in the street were flattening their noses againsttheir windowpanes. “One has to be on one’s guard here!” hetold himself, at least for the hundredth time. The worst of it was that it wasso easy to forget the necessity.
He strolled along the canal-side. The old quay-wall, the apple-barges, and thegranaries with the high row of hatchways overhead and the creaking pulleysright up in the gables awakened memories of home. Sometimes, too, there werevessels from home lying here, with cargoes of fish or pottery, and then he wasable to get news. He wrote but seldom. There was little success to be reported;just now he had to make his way, and he still owed Sort for his passage-money.
But it would soon come…. Pelle hadn’t the least doubt as to the future.The city was so monstrously large and incalculable; it seemed to haveundertaken the impossible; but there could be no doubt of such an obviousmatter of course as that he should make his way. Here wealth was simply lyingin great heaps, and the poor man too could win it if only he grasped at itboldly enough. Fortune here was a golden bird, which could be captured by alittle adroitness; the endless chances were like a fairy tale. And one dayPelle would catch the bird; when and how he left confidingly to chance.
In one of the side streets which ran out of the Market Street there was acrowd; a swarm of people filled the whole street in front of the iron- foundry,shouting eagerly to the blackened iron-workers, who stood grouped together bythe gateway, looking at one another irresolutely.
“What’s up here?” asked Pelle.
“This is up—that they can’t earn enough to live on,”said an old man. “And the manufacturers won’t increase their pay.So they’ve taken to some new-fangled fool’s trick which they sayhas been brought here from abroad, where they seem to have done well with it.That’s to say, they all suddenly chuck up their work and rush bareheadedinto the street and make a noise, and then back to work again, just like schoolchildren in play-time. They’ve already been in and out two or threetimes, and now half of them’s outside and the others are at work, and thegate is locked. Nonsense! A lot that’s going to help their wages! No; inmy time we used to ask for them prettily, and we always got something, too.But, anyhow, we’re only working-folks, and where’s it going to comefrom? And now, what’s more, they’ve lost their whole week’swages!”
The workmen were at a loss as to what they should do; they stood there gazingmechanically up at the windows of the counting-house, from which all decisionswere commonly issued. Now and again an impatient shudder ran through the crowd,as it made threats toward the windows and demanded what was owing it. “Hewon’t give us the wages that we’ve honestly earned, thetyrant!” they cried. “A nice thing, truly, when one’s got awife and kids at home, and on a Saturday afternoon, too! What a shark, to takethe bread out of their mouths! Won’t the gracious gentleman give us ananswer—just his greeting, so that we can take it home with us?—justhis kind regards, or else they’ll have to go hungry to bed!” Andthey laughed, a low, snarling laugh, spat on the pavement, and once more turnedtheir masterless faces up to the counting-house windows.
Proposals were showered upon them, proposals of every kind; and they were aswise as they were before. “What the devil are we to do if there’sno one who can lead us?” they said dejectedly, and they stood staringagain. That was the only thing they knew how to do.
“Choose a few of your comrades and send them in to negotiate with themanufacturer,” said a gentleman standing by.
“Hear, hear! Forward with Eriksen! He understands the deaf-and-dumbalphabet!” they shouted. The stranger shrugged his shoulders anddeparted.
A tall, powerful workman approached the group. “Have you got your killerwith you, Eriksen?” cried one, and Eriksen turned on the staircase andexhibited his clenched fist.
“Look out!” they shouted at the windows. “Look out wedon’t set fire to the place!” Then all was suddenly silent, and theheavy house-door was barred.
Pelle listened with open mouth. He did not know what they wanted, and theyhardly knew, themselves; none the less, there was a new note in all this! Thesepeople didn’t beg for what they wanted; they preferred to use their fistsin order to get it, and they didn’t get drunk first, like the strong manEriksen and the rest at home. “This is the capital!” he thought,and again he congratulated himself for having come thither.
A squad of policemen came marching up. “Room there!” they cried,and began to hustle the crowd in order to disperse it. The workmen would not bedriven away. “Not before we’ve got our wages!” they said, andthey pressed back to the gates again. “This is where we work, andwe’re going to have our rights, that we are!” Then the police beganto drive the onlookers away; at each onset they fell back a few steps,hesitating, and then stood still, laughing. Pelle received a blow in the back;he turned quickly round, stared for a moment into the red face of a policeman,and went his way, muttering and feeling his back.
“Did he hit you?” asked an old woman. “Devil take him, thefilthy lout! He’s the son of the mangling-woman what lives in the househere, and now he takes up the cudgels against his own people! Devil takehim!”
“Move on!” ordered the policeman, winking, as he pushed her asidewith his body. She retired to her cellar, and stood there using her tongue tosuch purpose that the saliva flew from her toothless mouth.
“Yes, you go about bullying old people who used to carry you in theirarms and put dry clouts on you when you didn’t know enough to ask…. Areyou going to use your truncheon on me, too? Wouldn’t you like to,Fredrik? Take your orders from the great folks, and then come yelping at us,because we aren’t fine enough for you!” She was shaking with rage;her yellowish gray hair had become loosened and was tumbling about her face;she was a perfect volcano.
The police marched across the Knippel Bridge, escorted by a swarm of streeturchins, who yelled and whistled between their fingers. From time to time apoliceman would turn round; then the whole swarm took to its heels, but nextmoment it was there again. The police were nervous: their fingers were openingand closing in their longing to strike out. They looked like a party ofcriminals being escorted to the court-house by the extreme youth of the town,and the people were laughing.
Pelle kept step on the pavement. He was in a wayward mood. Somewhere within himhe felt a violent impulse to give way to that absurd longing to leap into theair and beat his head upon the pavement which was the lingering result of hisillness. But now it assumed the guise of insolent strength. He saw quiteplainly how big Eriksen ran roaring at the bailiff, and how he was struck tothe ground, and thereafter wandered about an idiot. Then the “GreatPower” rose up before him, mighty in his strength, and was hurled to hisdeath; they had all been like dogs, ready to fall on him, and to fawn uponeverything that smelt of their superiors and the authorities. And he himself,Pelle, had had a whipping at the court-house, and people had pointed the fingerat him, just as they pointed at the “Great Power.” “See,there he goes loafing, the scum of humanity!” Yes, he had learned whatrighteousness was, and what mischief it did. But now he had escaped from theold excommunication, and had entered a new world, where respectable men neverturned to look after the police, but left such things to the street urchins andold women. There was a great satisfaction in this; and Pelle wanted to takepart in this world; he longed to understand it.
It was Saturday, and there was a crowd of journeymen and seamstresses in thewarehouse, who had come to deliver their work. The foreman went round as usual,grumbling over the work, and before he paid for it he would pull at it andcrumple it so that it lost its shape, and then he made the most infernal to-dobecause it was not good enough. Now and again he would make a deduction fromthe week’s wages, averring that the material was ruined; and he wasespecially hard on the women, who stood there not daring to contradict him.People said he cheated all the seamstresses who would not let him have his waywith them.
Pelle stood there boiling with rage. “If he says one word to me, we shallcome to blows!” he thought. But the foreman took the work withoutglancing at it—ah, yes, that was from Pipman!
But while he was paying for it a thick-set man came forward out of a back room;this was the court shoemaker, Meyer himself. He had been a poor young man withbarely a seat to his breeches when he came to Copenhagen from Germany as awandering journeyman. He did not know much about his craft, but he knew how tomake others work for him! He did not answer the respectful greetings of theworkers, but stationed himself before Pelle, his belly bumping against thecounter, wheezing loudly through his nose, and gazing at the young man.
“New man?” he asked, at length. “That’s Pipman’sassistant,” replied the foreman, smiling. “Ah! Pipman—heknows the trick, eh? You do the work and he takes the money and drinks it,eh?” The master shoemaker laughed as at an excellent joke.
Pelle turned red. “I should like to be independent as soon aspossible,” he said.
“Yes, yes, you can talk it over with the foreman; but no unionists here,mind that! We’ve no use for those folks.”
Pelle pressed his lips together and pushed the cloth wrapper into the breast ofhis coat in silence. It was all he could do not to make some retort; hecouldn’t approve of that prohibition. He went out quickly into KobmagerStreet and turned out of the Coal Market into Hauser Street, where, as he knew,the president of the struggling Shoemakers’ Union was living. He found alittle cobbler occupying a dark cellar. This must be the man he sought; so heran down the steps. He had not understood that the president of the Union wouldbe found in such a miserable dwelling-place.
Under the window sat a hollow-cheeked man bowed over his bench, in the act ofsewing a new sole on to a worn-out shoe. The legs of the passers- by were justabove his head. At the back of the room a woman stood cooking something on thestove; she had a little child on her arm, while two older children lay on theground playing with some lasts. It was frightfully hot and oppressive.
“Good day, comrade!” said Pelle. “Can I become a member ofthe Union?”
The man looked up, astonished. Something like a smile passed over his mournfulface.
“Can you indulge yourself so far?” he asked slowly. “It mayprove a costly pleasure. Who d’you work for, if I may ask?”
“For Meyer, in Kobmager Street.”
“Then you’ll be fired as soon as he gets to know of it!”
“I know that sure enough; all the same, I want to join the Union.He’s not going to tell me what I can and what I can’t do. Besides,we’ll soon settle with him.”
“That’s what I thought, too. But there’s too few of us.You’ll be starved out of the Union as soon as you’ve joined.”
“We must see about getting a bit more numerous,” said Pellecheerfully, “and then one fine day we’ll shut up shop forhim!”
A spark of life gleamed in the tired eyes of the president. “Yes, deviltake him, if we could only make him shut up shop!” he cried, shaking hisclenched fist in the air. “He tramples on all those hereabouts that makemoney for him; it’s a shame that I should sit here now and have come downto cobbling; and he keeps the whole miserable trade in poverty! Ah, what arevenge, comrade!” The blood rushed into his hollow cheeks until theyburned, and then he began to cough. “Petersen!” said the womananxiously, supporting his back. “Petersen!” She sighed and shookher head, while she helped him to struggle through his fit of coughing.“When the talk’s about the Court shoemaker Petersen always getslike one possessed,” she said, when he had overcome it. “He reallydon’t know what he’s doing. No—if everybody would only be asclever as Meyer and just look after his own business, then certain people wouldbe sitting there in good health and earning good money!”
“Hold your tongue!” said Petersen angrily. “You’re awoman—you know nothing about the matter.” At which the woman wentback to her cooking.
Petersen filled out a paper, and Pelle signed his name to it and paid hissubscription for a week. “And now you must try to break away from thatbloodsucker as soon as possible!” said Petersen earnestly. “Arespectable workman can’t put up with such things!”
“I was forced into it,” said Pelle. “And I learned nothing ofthis at home. But now that’s over and done with.”
“Good, comrade! There’s my hand on it—and good luck to you!We must work the cause up, and perhaps we shall succeed yet; I tell you,you’ve given me back my courage! Now you persuade as many as you can, anddon’t miss the meetings; they’ll be announced in The WorkingMan.” He shook Pelle’s hand eagerly. Pelle took a brisk walkout to the northward. He felt pleased and in the best of spirits.
It was about the time when the workers are returning home; they drifted alongsingly and in crowds, stooping and loitering, shuffling a little after thefatigue of the day. There was a whole new world out here, quite different fromthat of the “Ark.” The houses were new and orderly, built withlevel and plumb-line; the men went their appointed ways, and one could see at aglance what each one was.
This quarter was the home of socialism and the new ideas. Pelle often strolledout thither on holidays in order to get a glimpse of these things; what theywere he didn’t know, and he hadn’t dared to thrust himself forward,a stranger, as he still felt himself to be there; but it all attracted himpowerfully. However, to-day he forgot that he was a stranger, and he wentonward with a long, steady stride that took him over the bridge and into NorthBridge Street. Now he himself was a trades unionist; he was like all theseothers, he could go straight up to any one if he wished and shake him by thehand. There was a strong and peculiar appeal about the bearing of these people,as though they had been soldiers. Involuntarily he fell into step with them,and felt himself stronger on that account, supported by a feeling of community.He felt solemnly happy, as on his birthday; and he had a feeling as though hemust do something. The public houses were open, and the workmen were enteringthem in little groups. But he had no desire to sit there and pour spirits downhis throat. One could do that sort of thing when everything had gone to thedogs.
He stationed himself in front of a pastry cook’s window, eagerly occupiedin comparing the different kinds of cakes. He wanted to go inside and expendfive and twenty öre in celebration of the day. But first of all the wholeaffair must be properly and methodically planned out, so that he should not bedisappointed afterward. He must, of course, have something that he had nevereaten before, and that was just the difficult part. Many of the cakes werehollow inside too, and the feast would have to serve as his evening meal.
It was by no means easy, and just as Pelle was on the point of solving thedifficulty he was startled out of the whole affair by a slap on the shoulder.Behind him was Morten, smiling at him with that kindly smile of his, as thoughnothing had gone wrong between them. Pelle was ashamed of himself and could notfind a word to say. He had been unfaithful to his only friend; and it was noteasy for him to account for his behavior. But Morten didn’t want anyexplanations; he simply shook Pelle by the hand. His pale face was shining withjoy. It still betrayed that trace of suffering which was so touching, and Pellehad to surrender at discretion. “Well, to think we should meethere!” he cried, and laughed good-naturedly.
Morten was working at the pastry cook’s, and had been out; now he wasgoing in to get some sleep before the night’s work. “But come inwith me; we can at least sit and talk for half an hour; and you shall have acake too.” He was just the same as in the old days.
They went in through the gate and up the back stairs; Morten went into the shopand returned with five “Napoleons.” “You see I know yourtaste,” he said laughing.
Morten’s room was right up under the roof; it was a kind of turret-roomwith windows on both sides. One could look out over the endless mass of roofs,which lay in rows, one behind the other, like the hotbeds in a monstrousnursery garden. From the numberless flues and chimneys rose a thin bluishsmoke, which lay oppressively over all. Due south lay the Kalvebod Strand, andfurther to the west the hill of Frederiksberg with its castle rose above themist. On the opposite side lay the Common, and out beyond the chimneys of thelimekilns glittered the Sound with its many sails. “That’ssomething like a view, eh?” said Morten proudly.
Pelle remained staring; he went from one window to another and said nothing.This was the city, the capital, for which he and all other poor men from thefarthest corners of the land, had longed so boundlessly; the Fortunate Land,where they were to win free of poverty!
He had wandered through it in all directions, had marvelled at its palaces andits treasures, and had found it to be great beyond all expectation. Everythinghere was on the grand scale; what men built one day they tore down again on themorrow, in order to build something more sumptuous. So much was going on here,surely the poor man might somehow make his fortune out of it all!
And yet he had had no true conception of the whole. Now for the first time hesaw the City! It lay there, a mighty whole, outspread at his feet, withpalaces, churches, and factory chimneys rising above the mass of houses. Downin the street flowed a black, unending stream, a stream of people continuallyrenewed, as though from a mighty ocean that could never be exhausted. They allhad some object; one could not see it, but really they were running along likeants, each bearing his little burden to the mighty heap of precious things,which was gathered together from all the ends of the earth.
“There are millions in all this!” said Pelle at last, drawing adeep breath. “Yes,” said Morten standing beside him. “Andit’s all put together by human hands—by the hands of workingpeople!”
Pelle started. That was a wonderful idea. But it was true enough, if onethought about it.
“But now it has fallen into very different hands!” he exclaimed,laughing. “Yes, they’ve got it away from us by trickery, just asone wheedles a child out of a thing,” cried Morten morosely. “Butthere’s no real efficiency in anything that children do—and thepoor have never been anything more than children! Only now they are beginningto grow up, look you, and one fine day they’ll ask for their ownback.”
“It would go ill with us if we went and tried to take it forourselves,” said Pelle.
“Not if we were united about it—but we are only the many.”
Pelle listened; it had never occurred to him that the question of organizationwas so stupendous. Men combined, sure enough, but it was to secure betterconditions in their trade.
“You are like your father!” he said. “He always had bigideas, and wanted to get his rights. I was thinking about him a little whileago, how he never let himself be trampled on. Then you used to be ashamed ofhim; but….”
Morten hung his head. “I couldn’t bear the contempt of respectablefolks,” he said half under his breath. “I understood nothing beyondthe fact that he was destroying our home and bringing disgrace on us. And I washorribly afraid, too, when he began to lay about him; I wake up sometimes nowquite wet and cold with sweat, when I’ve been dreaming of my childhood.But now I’m proud that I’m the son of the ‘GreatPower.’ I haven’t much strength myself; yet perhaps I’ll dosomething to surprise the city folks after all.”
“And I too!”
Power! It was really extraordinary that Morten should be the son of the giantstone-cutter, so quiet and delicate was he. He had not yet quite recovered thestrength of which Bodil had robbed him in his early boyhood; it was as thoughthat early abuse was still wasting him.
He had retained his girlish love of comfort. The room was nicely kept; andthere were actually flowers in a vase beneath the looking-glass. Flowers, goodLord! “How did you get those?” asked Pelle.
“Bought them, of course!”
Pelle had to laugh. Was there another man in the world who would pay money forflowers?
But he did not laugh at the books. There seemed to be a sort of mysteriousconnection between them and Morten’s peculiar, still energy. He had now awhole shelf full. Pelle took a few down and looked into them.
“What sort of stuff is this, now?” he asked doubtfully. “Itlooks like learning!”
“Those are books about us, and how the new conditions are coming, and howwe must make ready for them.”
“Ah, you’ve got the laugh of me,” said Pelle. “In amoment of depression you’ve got your book-learning to help you along. Butwe other chaps can just sit where we are and kick our heels.” Mortenturned to him hastily.
“That’s the usual complaint!” he cried irritably. “Aman spits on his own class and wants to get into another one. But that’snot the point at stake, damn it all! We want to stay precisely where we are,shoemakers and bakers, all together! But we must demand proper conditions!Scarcely one out of thousands can come out on top; and then the rest can sitwhere they are and gape after him! But do you believe he’d get a chanceof rising if it wasn’t that society needs him—wants to use him tostrike at his own people and keep them down? ‘Now you can see foryourself what a poor man can do if he likes!’ That’s what they tellyou. There’s no need to blame society.
“No, the masses themselves are to blame if they aren’t all richmen! Good God! They just don’t want to be! So they treat you like a fool,and you put up with it and baa after them! No, let them all together demandthat they shall receive enough for their work to live on decently. I say aworking man ought to get as much for his work as a doctor or a barrister, andto be educated as well. That’s my Lord’s Prayer!”
“Now I’ve set you off finely!” said Pelle good-naturedly.“And it’s just the same as what your father was raving about whenhe lay dying in the shed. He lay there delirious, and he believed the ordinaryworkman had got pictures on the wall and a piano, just like the finefolks.”
“Did he say that?” cried Morten, and he raised his head. Then hefell into thought. For he understood that longing. But Pelle sat therebrooding. Was this the “new time” all over again? Then there wasreally some sense in banding people together—yes, and as many aspossible.
“I don’t rightly understand it,” he said at last. “Butto-day I joined the trade union. I shan’t stand still and look on whenthere’s anything big to be done.”
Morten nodded, faintly smiling. He was tired now, and hardly heard what Pellewas saying. “I must go to bed now so that I can get up at one. But wheredo you live? I’ll come and see you some time. How queer it is that weshould have run across one another here!”
“I live out in Kristianshavn—in the ‘Ark,’ if you knowwhere that is!”
“That’s a queer sort of house to have tumbled into! I know the‘Ark’ very well, it’s been so often described in the papers.There’s all sorts of people live there!”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said Pelle, halfoffended. “I like the people well enough…. But it’s capital that weshould have run into one another’s arms like this! What bit of luck, eh?And I behaved like a clown and kept out of your way? But that was when I wasgoing to the dogs, and hated everybody! But now nothing’s going to comebetween us again, you may lay to that!”
“That’s good, but now be off with you,” replied Morten,smiling; he was already half-undressed.
“I’m going, I’m going!” said Pelle, and he picked uphis hat, and stood for a moment gazing out over the city. “But it’smagnificent, what you were saying about things just now!” he criedsuddenly. “If I had the strength of all us poor folks in me, I’dbreak out right away and conquer the whole of it! If such a mass of wealth wereshared out there’d never be any poverty any more!” He stood therewith his arms uplifted, as though he held it all in his hands. Then he laugheduproariously. He looked full of energy. Morten lay half asleep, staring at himand saying nothing. And then he went.
Pipman scolded Pelle outrageously when at last he returned. “Curse itall, what are you thinking of? To go strolling about and playing the duke whilesuch as we can sit here working our eyes out of our heads! And we have to gothirsty too! Now don’t you dream of being insolent to me, orthere’ll be an end of the matter. I am excessively annoyed!”
He held out his hand in pathetic expostulation, although Pelle had no intentionof answering him. He no longer took Pipman seriously. “Devil fry me, buta man must sit here and drink the clothes off his body while a lout like yougoes for a stroll!”
Pelle was standing there counting the week’s earnings when he suddenlyburst into a loud laugh as his glance fell upon Pipman. His blue naked shanks,miserably shivering under his leather apron, looked so enormously ridiculouswhen contrasted with the fully-dressed body and the venerable beard.
“Yes, you grin!” said Pipman, laughing too. “But suppose itwas you had to take off your trousers in front of the old clothes’ man,and wanted to get upstairs respectably! Those damned brats!‘Pipman’s got D. T.,’ they yell. ‘Pipman’s got D.T. And God knows I haven’t got D. T., but I haven’t got anytrousers, and that’s just the trouble! And these accursed openstaircases! Olsen’s hired girl took the opportunity, and you may be sureshe saw all there was to see! You might lend me your old bags!”
Pelle opened his green chest and took out his work-day trousers.
“You’d better put a few more locks on that spinach-greenlumber-chest of yours,” said Pipman surlily. “After all, theremight be a thief here, near heaven as we are!”
Pelle apparently did not hear the allusion, and locked the chest up again.Then, his short pipe in his hand, he strolled out on to the platform. Above theroofs the twilight was rising from the Sound. A few doves were flying there,catching the last red rays of the sun on their white pinions, while down in theshaft the darkness lay like a hot lilac mist. The hurdy-gurdy man had come homeand was playing his evening tune down there to the dancing children, while theinhabitants of the “Ark” were gossiping and squabbling from galleryto gallery. Now and again a faint vibrating note rose upward, and all fellsilent. This was the dwarf Vinslev, who sat playing his flute somewhere in hisden deep within the “Ark.” He always hid himself right away when heplayed, for at such times he was like a sick animal, and sat quaking in hislair. The notes of his flute were so sweet, as they came trickling out of hishiding place, that they seemed like a song or a lament from another world. Andthe restless creatures in the “Ark” must perforce be silent andlisten. Now Vinslev was in one of his gentle moods, and one somehow felt betterfor hearing him. But at times, in his dark moods, the devil seemed to enterinto him, and breathed such music into his crazy mind that all his hearers felta panic terror. Then the decaying timbers of the “Ark” seemed toexpand and form a vast monstrous, pitch-black forest, in which all terror laylurking, and one must strike out blindly in order to avoid being trampled on.The hearse-driver in the fourth story, who at other times was so gentle in hiscups, would beat his wife shamefully, and the two lay about in their dendrinking and fighting in self-defence. And Vinslev’s devilish flute wasto blame when Johnsen vainly bewailed his miserable life and ended it under thesewer-grating. But there was nothing to be said about the matter; Vinslevplayed the flute, and Johnsen’s suicide was a death like any other.
Now the devil was going about with a ring in his nose; Vinslev’s playingwas like a gentle breeze that played on people’s hearts, so that theyopened like flowers. This was his good time.
Pelle knew all this, although he had not long been here; but it was nothing tohim. For he wore the conqueror’s shirt of mail, such as Father Lasse haddreamed of for him.
Down in the third story, on the built-out gallery, another sort of magic was atwork. A climbing pelargonium and some ivy had wound themselves round the brokenbeams and met overhead, and there hung a little red paper lantern, which cast acheerful glow over it all.
It was as though the summer night had found a sanctuary in the heart of thiswilderness of stone. Under the lantern sat Madam Johnsen and her daughtersewing; and Hanne’s face glowed like a rose in the night, and every nowand then she turned it up toward Pelle and smiled, and made an impatientmovement of her head. Then Pelle turned away a little, re- crossed his leg, andleant over on the other side, restless as a horse in blinkers.
Close behind him his neighbor, Madam Frandsen, was bustling about her littlekitchen. The door stood open on to the platform, and she chattered incessantly,half to herself and half to Pelle, about her gout, her dead husband, and herlout of a son. She needed to rest her body, did this old woman. “My God,yes; and here I have to keep slaving and getting his food ready for Ferdinandfrom morning to night and from night to morning again. And he doesn’teven trouble himself to come home to it. I can’t go looking into his wildways; all I can do is to sit here and worry and keep his meals warm. Nowthat’s a tasty little bit; and he’ll soon come when he’shungry, I tell myself. Ah, yes, our young days, they’re soon gone. Andyou stand there and stare like a baa-lamb and the girl down there is nodding atyou fit to crick her neck! Yes, the men are a queer race; they pretend theywouldn’t dare—and yet who is it causes all the misfortunes?”
“She doesn’t want anything to do with me!” said Pellegrumpily; “she’s just playing with me.”
“Yes, a girl goes on playing with a white mouse until she gets it! Youought to be ashamed to stand there hanging your head! So young and well- grownas you are too! You cut her tail-feathers off, and you’ll get a goodwife!” She nudged him in the side with her elbow.
Then at last Pelle made up his mind to go clattering down the stairs to thethird story, and along the gallery.
“Why have you been so stand-offish to-day?” said Madam Johnsen,making room for him. “You know you are always very welcome. What are allthese preliminaries for?”
“Pelle is short-sighted; he can’t see as far as this,” saidHanne, tossing her head. She sat there turning her head about; she gazed at himsmiling, her head thrown back and her mouth open. The light fell on her whiteteeth.
“Shall we get fine weather to-morrow?” asked the mother.
Pelle thought they would; he gazed up at the little speck of sky in aweather-wise manner. Hanne laughed.
“Are you a weather-prophet, Pelle? But you haven’t anycorns!”
“Now stop your teasing, child!” said the mother, pretending to slapher. “If it’s fine to-morrow we want to go into the woods. Will youcome with us?”
Pelle would be glad to go; but he hesitated slightly before answering.
“Come with us, Pelle,” said Hanne, and she laid her hand invitinglyon his shoulder. “And then you shall be my young man. It’s sotedious going to the woods with the old lady; and then I want to be able to doas I like.” She made a challenging movement with her head.
“Then we’ll go from the North Gate by omnibus; I don’t care abit about going by train.”
“From the North Gate? But it doesn’t exist any longer, mummy! Butthere are still omnibuses running from the Triangle.”
“Well then, from the Triangle, you clever one! Can I help it if they gopulling everything down? When I was a girl that North Gate was a splendidplace. From there you could get a view over the country where my home was, andthe summer nights were never so fine as on the wall. One didn’t know whatit was to feel the cold then. If one’s clothes were thin one’sheart was young.”
Hanne went into the kitchen to make coffee. The door stood open. She hummed ather task and now and again joined in the conversation. Then she came out,serving Pelle with a cracked tea-tray. “But you look very peculiartonight!” She touched Pelle’s face and gazed at him searchingly.
“I joined the trade union to-day,” answered Pelle; he still had thefeeling that of something unusual, and felt as though everybody must noticesomething about him.
Hanne burst out laughing. “Is that where you got that black sign on yourforehead? Just look, mother, just look at him! The trade mark!” Sheturned her head toward the old woman.
“Ah, the rogue!” said the old woman, laughing. “Nowshe’s smeared soot over your face!” She wetted her apron with hertongue and began to rub the soot away, Hanne standing behind him and holdinghis head in both hands so that he should not move. “Thank your stars thatPelle’s a good- natured fellow,” said the old woman, as she rubbed.“Or else he’d take it in bad part!”
Pelle himself laughed shamefacedly.
The hearse-driver came up through the trap in the gallery and turned round tomount to the fourth story. “Good evening!” he said, in his deepbass voice, as he approached them; “and good digestion, too, I ought tosay!” He carried a great ham under his arm.
“Lord o’ my body!” whispered Madam Johnsen. “There heis again with his ham; that means he’s wasted the whole week’swages again. They’ve always got more than enough ham and bacon up there,poor things, but they’ve seldom got bread as well.”
Now one sound was heard in the “Ark,” now another. The crying ofchildren which drifted so mournfully out of the long corridors whenever a doorwas opened turned to a feeble clucking every time some belated mother camerushing home from work to clasp the little one to her breast. And there was onethat went on crying whether the mother was at home or at work. Her milk hadfailed her.
From somewhere down in the cellars the sleepy tones of a cradle-song rose upthrough the shaft; it was only “Grete with the child,” who wassinging her rag-doll asleep. The real mothers did not sing.
“She’s always bawling away,” said Hanne; “thosewho’ve got real children haven’t got strength left to sing. But herbrat doesn’t need any food; and that makes a lot of difference when oneis poor.”
“To-day she was washing and ironing the child’s things to make herfine for to-morrow, when her father comes. He is a lieutenant,” saidHanne.
“Is he coming to-morrow, then?” asked Pelle naively.
Hanne laughed loudly. “She expects him every Sunday, but she has neverseen him yet!”
“Well, well, that’s hardly a thing to laugh about,” said theold woman. “She’s happy in her delusions, and her pension keeps herfrom need.”
III
Pelle awoke to find Hanne standing by his bed and pulling his nose, andimitating his comical grimaces. She had come in over the roof. “Why areyou stopping here, you?” she said eagerly. “We are waiting foryou!”
“I can’t get up!” replied Pelle piteously. “Pipman wentout overnight with my trousers on and hasn’t come back, so I lay down tosleep again!” Hanne broke into a ringing laugh. “What if he nevercomes back at all? You’ll have to lie in bed always, like MotherJahn!”
At this Pelle laughed too.
“I really don’t know what I shall do! You must just go withoutme.”
“No, that we shan’t!” said Hanne very decidedly. “No,we’ll fetch the picnic-basket and spread the things on your counterpane!After all, it’s green! But wait now, I know what!” And she slippedthrough the back door and out on to the roof. Half an hour later she came againand threw a pair of striped trousers on the bed. “He’s obliging, isHerr Klodsmajor! Now just hurry yourself a bit. I ran round to see thehearse-driver’s Marie, where she works, and she gave me a pair of hermaster’s week-day breeches. But she must have them again early to-morrowmorning, so that his lordship doesn’t notice it.”
Directly she had gone Pelle jumped into the trousers. Just as he was ready heheard a terrific creaking of timbers. The Pipman was coming up the stairs. Heheld the rope in one hand, and at every turn of the staircase he bowed a fewtimes outward over the rope. The women were shrieking in the surroundinggalleries and landings. That amused him. His big, venerable head beamed with anexpression of sublime joy.
“Ah, hold your tongue!” he said good-naturedly, as soon as he seteyes on Pelle. “You hold your tongue!” He propped himself up in thedoorway and stood there staring.
Pelle seized him by the collar. “Where are my Sunday trousers?” heasked angrily. The Pipman had the old ones on, but where were the new?
The Pipman stared at him uncomprehending, his drowsy features working in theeffort to disinter some memory or other. Suddenly he whistled. “Trousers,did you say, young man? What, what? Did you really say trousers? And you ask mewhere your trousers have got to? Then you might have said so at once! Because,d’you see, your bags … I’ve … yes … why, I’ve pawnedthem!”
“You’ve pawned my best trousers?” cried Pelle, so startledthat he loosed his hold.
“Yes, by God, that’s what I did! You can look foryourself—there’s no need to get so hot about it! You can’teat me, you know. That goes without saying. Yes, that’s about it. Onejust mustn’t get excited!”
“You’re a scoundrelly thief!” cried Pelle.“That’s what you are!”
“Now, now, comrade, always keep cool! Don’t shout yourself hoarse.Nothing’s been taken by me. Pipman’s a respectable man, I tell you.Here, you can see for yourself! What’ll you give me for that, eh?”He had taken the pawnticket from his pocket and held it out to Pelle, deeplyoffended.
Pelle fingered his collar nervously; he was quite beside himself with rage. Butwhat was the use? And now Hanne and her mother had come out over yonder. Hannewas wearing a yellow straw hat with broad ribbons. She looked bewitching; theold lady had the lunch-basket on her arm. She locked the door carefully and putthe key under the doorstep. Then they set out.
There was no reasoning with this sot of a Pipman! He edged round Pelle with anuncertain smile, gazed inquisitively into his face, and kept carefully just outof his reach. “You’re angry, aren’t you?” he saidconfidingly, as though he had been speaking to a little child.“Dreadfully angry? But what the devil do you want with two pairs oftrousers, comrade? Yes, what do you want with two pairs of trousers?” Hisvoice sounded quite bewildered and reproachful.
Pelle pulled out a pair of easy-looking women’s shoes from under his bed,and slipped out through the inner door. He squeezed his way between the steeproof and the back wall of the room, ducked under a beam or two, and tumbledinto the long gangway which ran between the roof- buildings and had rooms oneither side of it. A loud buzzing sound struck suddenly on his ears. The doorsof all the little rooms stood open on to the long gangway, which served as acommon livingroom. Wrangling and chattering and the crying of children surgedtogether in a deafening uproar; here was the life of a bee-hive. Hereit’s really lively, thought Pelle. To-morrow I shall move over here! Hehad thought over this for a long time, and now there should be an end of hislodging with Pipman.
In front of one of the doors stood a little eleven-years-old maiden, who waspolishing a pair of plump-looking boy’s boots; she wore an apron ofsacking which fell down below her ankles, so that she kept treading on it.Within the room two children of nine and twelve were moving backward andforward with mighty strides, their hands in their pockets. Then enjoyedSundays. In their clean shirt-sleeves, they looked like a couple of littlegrown-up men. This was the “Family”; they were Pelle’srescuers.
“Here are your shoes, Marie,” said Pelle. “I couldn’tdo them any better.”
She took them eagerly and examined the soles. Pelle had repaired them with oldleather, and had therefore polished the insteps with cobbler’s wax.“They’re splendid now!” she whispered, and she looked at himgratefully. The boys came and shook hands with Pelle. “What will theshoes cost?” asked the elder, feeling for his purse with a solemncountenance.
“We’d better let that stand over, Peter; I’m in a hurryto-day,” said Pelle, laughing. “We’ll put it on the accountuntil the New Year.”
“I’m going out, too, to-day with the boys,” said Marie,beaming with delight. “And you are going to the woods with Hanne and hermother, we know all about it!” Hopping and skipping, she accompanied himto the steps, and stood laughing down at him. To-day she was really like achild; the shrewd, old, careful woman was as though cast to the winds.“You can go down the main staircase,” she cried.
A narrow garret-stairs led down to the main staircase, which lay inside thebuilding and was supposed to be used only by those who lived on the side facingthe street. This was the fashionable portion of the “Ark”; herelived old sea-dogs, shipbuilders, and other folks with regular incomes. Thetradesmen who rented the cellars—the coal merchant, the old ironmerchant, and the old clothes dealer, also had their dwellings here.
These dwellings were composed of two splendid rooms; they had no kitchen orentry, but in a corner of the landing on the main staircase, by the door, eachfamily had a sink with a little board cover. When the cover was on one coulduse the sink as a seat; this was very convenient.
The others had almost reached the Knippels Bridge when he overtook them.“What a long time you’ve been!” said Hanne, as she took hisarm. “And how’s the ‘Family?’ Was Marie pleased withthe shoes? Poor little thing, she hasn’t been out for two Sundays becauseshe had no soles to her shoes.”
“She had only to come to me; I’m ever so much in her debt!”
“No, don’t you believe she’d do that. The‘Family’ is proud. I had to go over and steal the shoessomehow!”
“Poor little things!” said Madam Johnsen, “it’s reallytouching to see how they hold together! And they know how to get along. But whyare you taking Pelle’s arm, Hanne? You don’t mean anything byit.”
“Must one always mean something by it, little mother? Pelle is my youngman to-day, and has to protect me.”
“Good Lord, what is he to protect you from? From yourself, mostly, andthat’s not easy!”
“Against a horde of robbers, who will fall upon me in the forest andcarry me away. And you’ll have to pay a tremendous ransom!”
“Good Lord, I’d much rather pay money to get rid of you! If I hadany money at all! But have you noticed how blue the sky is? It’s splendidwith all this sun on your back—it warms you right through the cockles ofyour heart.”
At the Triangle they took an omnibus and bowled along the sea-front. Thevehicle was full of cheerful folk; they sat there laughing at a couple ofgood-natured citizens who were perspiring and hurling silly witticisms at oneanother. Behind them the dust rolled threateningly, and hung in a lazy cloudround the great black waterbutts which stood on their high trestles along theedge of the road. Out in the Sound the boats lay with sails outspread, but didnot move; everything was keeping the Sabbath.
In the Zoological Gardens it was fresh and cool. The beech-leaves stillretained their youthful brightness, and looked wonderfully light and festiveagainst the century-old trunks. “Heigh, how beautiful the forestis!” cried Pelle. “It is like an old giant who has taken a youngbride!”
He had never been in a real beech-wood before. One could wander about here asin a church. There were lots of other people here as well; all Copenhagen wason its legs in this fine weather. The people were as though intoxicated by thesunshine; they were quite boisterous, and the sound of their voices lingeredabout the tree-tops and only challenged them to give vent to their feelings.People went strolling between the tree-trunks and amusing themselves in theirown way, laying about them with great boughs and shouting with no other objectthan to hear their own voices. On the borders of the wood, a few men werestanding and singing in chorus; they wore white caps, and over the grassymeadows merry groups were strolling or playing touch or rolling in the grasslike young kittens.
Madam Johnsen walked confidently a few steps in advance; she was the most athome out here and led the way. Pelle and Hanne walked close together, in orderto converse. Hanne was silent and absent; Pelle took her hand in order to makeher run up a hillock, but she did not at first notice that he was touching her,and the hand was limp and clammy. She walked on as in a sleep, her wholebearing lifeless and taciturn. “She’s dreaming!” said Pelle,and released her hand, offended. It fell lifelessly to her side.
The old woman turned round and looked about her with beaming eyes.
“The forest hasn’t been so splendid for many years,” shesaid. “Not since I was a young girl.”
They climbed up past the Hermitage and thence out over the grass and into theforest again, until they came to the little ranger’s house where theydrank coffee and ate some of the bread-and-butter they had brought with them.Then they trudged on again. Madam Johnsen was paying a rare visit to the forestand wanted to see everything. The young people raised objections, but she wasnot to be dissuaded. She had girlhood memories of the forest, and she wanted torenew them; let them say what they would. If they were tired of running afterher they could go their own way. But they followed her faithfully, lookingabout them wearily and moving along dully onward, moving along rather morestupidly than was justifiable.
On the path leading to Raavad there were not so many people.
“It’s just as forest-like here as in my young days!” said theold woman. “And beautiful it is here. The leaves are so close, it’sjust the place for a loving couple of lovers. Now I’m going to sit downand take my boots off for a bit, my feet are beginning to hurt me. You lookabout you for a bit.”
But the young people looked at one another strangely and threw themselves downat her feet. She had taken off her boots, and was cooling her feet in the freshgrass as she sat there chatting. “It’s so warm to-day the stonesfeel quite burning—but you two certainly won’t catch fire. Why doyou stare in that funny way? Give each other a kiss in the grass, now!There’s no harm in it, and it’s so pretty to see!”
Pelle did not move. But Hanne moved over to him on her knees, put her handsgently round his head, and kissed him. When she had done so she looked into hiseyes, lovingly, as a child might look at her doll. Her hat had slipped on toher shoulders. On her white forehead and her upper lip were little clear dropsof sweat. Then, with a merry laugh, she suddenly released him. Pelle and theold woman had gathered flowers and boughs of foliage; these they now began toarrange. Hanne lay on her back and gazed up at the sky.
“You leave that old staring of yours alone,” said the mother.“It does you no good.”
“I’m only playing at ‘Glory’; it’s such a heighthere,” said Hanne. “But at home in the ‘Ark’ you seemore. Here it’s too light.”
“Yes, God knows, one does see more—a sewer and two privies. A goodthing it’s so dark there. No, one ought to have enough money to be ableto go into the forests every Sunday all the summer. When one has grown up inthe open air it’s hard to be penned in between dirty walls allone’s life. But now I think we ought to be going on. We waste so muchtime.”
“Oh Lord, and I’m so comfortable lying here!” said Hannelazily. “Pelle, just push my shawl under my head!”
Out of the boughs high above them broke a great bird. “There, there, whata chap!” cried Pelle, pointing at it. It sailed slowly downward, on itsmighty outspread wings, now and again compressing the air beneath it with a fewpowerful strokes, and then flew onward, close above the tree- tops, with ascrutinizing glance.
“Jiminy, I believe that was a stork!” said Madam Johnsen. Shereached for her boots, alarmed. “I won’t stay here any longer now.One never knows what may happen.” She hastily laced up her boots, with aprudish expression on her face. Pelle laughed until the tears stood in hiseyes.
Hanne raised her head. “That was surely a crane, don’t you thinkso? Stupid bird, always to fly along like that, staring down at everything asthough he were short-sighted. If I were he I should fly straight up in the airand then shut my eyes and come swooping down. Then, wherever one got to,something or other would happen.”
“Sure enough, this would happen, that you’d fall into the sea andbe drowned. Hanne has always had the feeling that something has got to happen;and for that reason she can never hold on to what she’s got in herhands.”
“No, for I haven’t anything in them!” cried Hanne, showingher hands and laughing. “Can you hold what you haven’t got,Pelle?”
About four o’clock they came to the Schleswig Stone, where the Social-Democrats were holding a meeting. Pelle had never yet attended any big meetingat which he could hear agitators speaking, but had obtained his ideas of thenew movements at second hand. They were in tune with the blind instinct withinhim. But he had never experienced anything really electrifying—only thatconfused, monotonous surging such as he had heard in his childhood when helistened with his ear to the hollow of the wooden shoe.
“Well, it looks as if the whole society was here!” said MadamJohnsen half contemptuously. “Now you can see all the Social-Democrats ofCopenhagen. They never have been more numerous, although they pretend the wholeof society belongs to them. But things don’t always go so smoothly asthey do on paper.”
Pelle frowned, but was silent. He himself knew too little of the matter to beable to convert another.
The crowd affected him powerfully; here were several thousands of peoplegathered together for a common object, and it became exceedingly clear to himthat he himself belonged to this crowd. “I belong to them too!”Over and over again the words repeated themselves rejoicingly in his mind. Hefelt the need to verify it all himself, and to prove himself grateful for thequickly-passing day. If the Court shoemaker hadn’t spoken the words thatdrove him to join the Union he would still have been standing apart from itall, like a heathen. The act of subscribing the day before was like a baptism.He felt quite different in the society of these men—he felt as he did notfeel with others. And as the thousands of voices broke into song, a song ofjubilation of the new times that were to come, a cold shudder went through him.He had a feeling as though a door within him had opened, and as thoughsomething that had lain closely penned within him had found its way to thelight.
Up on the platform stood a darkish man talking earnestly in a mighty voice.Shoulder to shoulder the crowd stood breathless, listening open- mouthed, withevery face turned fixedly upon the speaker. A few were so completely under hisspell that they reproduced the play of his features. When he made someparticular sally from his citadel a murmur of admiration ran through the crowd.There was no shouting. He spoke of want and poverty, of the wearisome, endlesswandering that won no further forward. As the Israelites in their faith borethe Ark of the Covenant through the wilderness, so the poor bore their hopethrough the unfruitful years. If one division was overthrown another was readywith the carrying-staves, and at last the day was breaking. Now they stood atthe entrance to the Promised Land, with the proof in their hands that they werethe rightful dwellers therein. All that was quite a matter of course; if therewas anything that Pelle had experienced it was that wearisome wandering ofGod’s people through the wilderness. That was the great symbol ofpoverty. The words came to him like something long familiar. But the greatnessof the man’s voice affected Pelle; there was something in the speech ofthis man which did not reach him through the understanding, but seemed somehowto burn its way in through the skin, there to meet something that lay expandingwithin him. The mere ring of anger in his voice affected Pelle; his words beatupon one’s old wounds, so that they broke open like poisonous ulcers, andone heaved a deep breath of relief. Pelle had heard such a voice, ringing overall, when he lived in the fields and tended cows. He felt as though he too mustlet himself go in a great shout and subdue the whole crowd by his voice—he too! To be able to speak like that, now thundering and now mild, likethe ancient prophets!
A peculiar sense of energy was exhaled by this dense crowd of men, thisthinking and feeling crowd. It produced a singular feeling of strength. Pellewas no longer the poor journeyman shoemaker, who found it difficult enough tomake his way. He became one, as he stood there, with that vast being; he feltits strength swelling within him; the little finger shares in the strength ofthe whole body. A blind certainty of irresistibility went out from this mightygathering, a spur to ride the storm with. His limbs swelled; he became a vast,monstrous being that only needed to go trampling onward in order to conquereverything. His brain was whirling with energy, with illimitable, unconquerablestrength!
Pelle had before this gone soaring on high and had come safely to earth again.And this time also he came to ground, with a long sigh of relief, as though hehad cast off a heavy burden. Hanne’s arm lay in his; he pressed itslightly. But she did notice him; she too now was far away. He looked at herpretty neck, and bent forward to see her face. The great yellow hat threw agolden glimmer over it. Her active intelligence played restlessly behind herstrained, frozen features; her eyes looked fixedly before her. It has takenhold of her too, he thought, full of happiness; she is far away from here. Itwas something wonderful to know that they were coupled together in the sameinterests—were like man and wife!
At that very moment he accidentally noticed the direction of her fixed gaze,and a sharp pain ran through his heart. Standing on the level ground, quiteapart from the crowd, stood a tall, handsome man, astonishingly like the ownerof Stone Farm in his best days; the sunlight was coming and going over hisbrown skin and his soft beard. Now that he turned his face toward Pelle hisbig, open features reminded him of the sea.
Hanne started, as though awakening from a deep sleep, and noticed Pelle.
“He is a sailor!” she said, in a curious, remote voice, althoughPelle had not questioned her. God knows, thought Pelle, vexedly, how is it sheknows him; and he drew his arm from hers. But she took it again at once andpressed it against her soft bosom. It was as though she suddenly wanted to givehim a feeling of security.
She hung heavily on his arm and stood with her eyes fixed unwaveringly on thespeakers’ platform. Her hands busied themselves nervously about her hair.“You are so restless, child,” said the mother, who had seatedherself at their feet. “You might let me lean back against your knee; Iwas sitting so comfortably before.”
“Yes,” said Hanne, and she put herself in the desired position. Hervoice sounded quite excited.
“Pelle,” she whispered suddenly, “if he comes over to us Ishan’t answer him. I shan’t.”
“Do you know him, then?”
“No, but it does happen sometimes that men come and speak to one. Butthen you’ll say I belong to you, won’t you?”
Pelle was going to refuse, but a shudder ran through her. She’s feverish,he thought compassionately; one gets fever so easily in the “Ark.”It comes up with the smell out of the sewer. She must have lied to me nicely,he thought after a while. Women are cunning, but he was too proud to questionher. And then the crowd shouted “Hurrah!” so that the air rang.Pelle shouted with them; and when they had finished the man had disappeared.
They went over to the Hill, the old woman keeping her few steps in advance.Hanne hummed as she went; now and then she looked questioningly atPelle—and then went on humming.
“It’s nothing to do with me,” said Pelle morosely. “Butit’s not right of you to have lied to me.”
“I lie to you? But Pelle!” She gazed wonderingly into his eyes.
“Yes, that you do! There’s something between you and him.”
Hanne laughed, a clear, innocent laugh, but suddenly broken off. “No,Pelle, no, what should I have to do with him? I have never even seen himbefore. I have never even once kissed a man—yes, you, but you are mybrother.”
“I don’t particularly care about being your brother—not astraw, and you know that!”
“Have I done anything to offend you? I’m sorry if I have.”She seized his hand.
“I want you for my wife!” cried Pelle passionately.
Hanne laughed. “Did you hear, mother? Pelle wants me for his wife!”she cried, beaming.
“Yes, I see and hear more than you think,” said Madam Johnsenshortly.
Hanne looked from one to the other and became serious. “You are so good,Pelle,” she said softly, “but you can’t come to me bringingme something from foreign parts—I know everything about you, butI’ve never dreamed of you at night. Are you a fortunate person?”
“I’ll soon show you if I am,” said Pelle, raising his head.“Only give me a little time.”
“Lord, now she’s blethering about fortune again,” cried themother, turning round. “You really needn’t have spoiled this lovelyday for us with your nonsense. I was enjoying it all so.”
Hanne laughed helplessly. “Mother will have it that I’m not quiteright in my mind, because father hit me on the head once when I was a littlegirl,” she told Pelle.
“Yes, it’s since then she’s had these ideas. She’ll donothing but go rambling on at random with her ideas and her wishes.She’ll sit whole days at the window and stare, and she used to make thechildren down in the yard even crazier than herself with her nonsense. And shewas always bothering me to leave everything standing—poor as we wereafter my man died—just to go round and round the room with her and thedolls and sing those songs all about earls. Yes, Pelle, you may believeI’ve wept tears of blood over her.”
Hanne wandered on, laughing at her mother’s rebuke, and humming—itwas the tune of the “Earl’s Song.”
“There, you hear her yourself,” said the old woman, nudging Pelle.“She’s got no shame in her—there’s nothing to be donewith her!”
Up on the hill there was a deafening confusion of people in playful mood;wandering to and fro in groups, blowing into children’s trumpets and“dying pigs,” and behaving like frolicsome wild beasts. At everymoment some one tooted in your ear, to make you jump, or you suddenlydiscovered that some rogue was fixing something on the back of your coat. Hannewas nervous; she kept between Pelle and her mother, and could not stand still.“No, let’s go away somewhere—anywhere!” she said,laughing in bewilderment.
Pelle wanted to treat them to coffee, so they went on till they found a tentwhere there was room for them. Hallo! There was the hurdy-gurdy man from home,on a roundabout, nodding to him as he went whirling round. He held his hand infront of his mouth like a speaking-trumpet in order to shout above the noise.“Mother’s coming up behind you with the Olsens,” he roared.
“I can’t hear what he says at all,” said Madam Johnsen. Shedidn’t care about meeting people out of the “Ark” to-day.
When the coffee was finished they wandered up and down between the booths andamused themselves by watching the crowd. Hanne consented to have her fortunetold; it cost five and twenty öre, but she was rewarded by an unexpected suitorwho was coming across the sea with lots of money. Her eyes shone.
“I could have done it much better than that!” said Madam Johnsen.
“No, mother, for you never foretell me anything but misfortune,”replied Hanne, laughing.
Madam Johnsen met an acquaintance who was selling “dying pigs.” Shesat down beside her. “You go over there now and have a bit of a dancewhile I rest my tired legs,” she said.
The young people went across to the dancing marquee and stood among theonlookers. From time to time they had five öre worth of dancing. When other mencame up and asked Hanne to dance, she shook her head; she did not care to dancewith any one but Pelle.
The rejected applicants stood a little way off, their hats on the backs oftheir heads, and reviled her. Pelle had to reprove her. “You haveoffended them,” he said, “and perhaps they’re screwed andwill begin to quarrel.”
“Why should I be forced to dance with anybody, with somebody Idon’t know at all?” replied Hanne. “I’m only going todance with you!” She made angry eyes, and looked bewitching in herunapproachableness. Pelle had nothing against being her only partner. He wouldgladly have fought for her, had it been needful.
When they were about to go he discovered the foreigner right at the back of thedancing-tent. He urged Hanne to make haste, but she stood there, staringabsent-mindedly in the midst of the dancers as though she did not know what washappening around her. The stranger came over to them. Pelle was certain thatHanne had not seen him.
Suddenly she came to herself and gripped Pelle’s arm. “Shan’twe go, then?” she said impatiently, and she quickly dragged him away.
At the doorway the stranger came to meet them and bowed before Hanne. She didnot look at him, but her left arm twitched as though she wanted to lay itacross his shoulders.
“My sweetheart isn’t dancing any more; she is tired,” saidPelle shortly, and he led her away.
“A good thing we’ve come out from there,” she cried, with afeeling of deliverance, as they went back to her mother. “There were noamusing dancers.”
Pelle was taken aback; then she had not seen the stranger, but merely believedthat it had been one of the others who had asked her to dance! It wasinconceivable that she should have seen him; and yet a peculiar knowledge hadenveloped her, as though she had seen obliquely through her down-droppedeyelids; and then it was well known women could see round corners! And thattwitch of the arm! He did not know what to think. “Well, it’s allone to me,” he thought, “for I’m not going to be led by thenose!”
He had them both on his arm as they returned under the trees to the station.The old woman was lively; Hanne walked on in silence and let them both talk.But suddenly she begged Pelle to be quiet a moment; he looked at her insurprise.
“It’s singing so beautifully in my ears; but when you talk then itstops!”
“Nonsense! Your blood is too unruly,” said the mother, “andmouths were meant to be used.”
During the journey Pelle was reserved. Now and again he pressed Hanne’shand, which lay, warm and slightly perspiring, in his upon the seat.
But the old woman’s delight was by no means exhausted, the light shiningfrom the city and the dark peaceful Sound had their message for her secludedlife, and she began to sing, in a thin, quavering falsetto:
“Gently the Night upon her silent wings
Comes, and the stars are bright in east and west;
And lo, the bell of evening rings;
And men draw homewards, and the birds all rest.”
But from the Triangle onward it was difficult for her to keep step; she had runherself off her legs.
“Many thanks for to-day,” she said to Pelle, down in the courtyard.“To- morrow one must start work again and clean old uniform trousers. Butit’s been a beautiful outing.” She waddled forward and up thesteps, groaning a little at the numbers of them, talking to herself.
Hanne stood hesitating. “Why did you say ‘mysweetheart’?” she asked suddenly. “I’m not.”
“You told me to,” answered Pelle, who would willingly have saidmore.
“Oh, well!” said Hanne, and she ran up the stairs.“Goodnight, Pelle!” she called down to him.
IV
Pelle was bound to the “Family” by peculiar ties. The three orphanswere the first to reach him a friendly helping hand when he stood in the openstreet three days after his landing, robbed of his last penny.
He had come over feeling important enough. He had not slept all night on hisbench between decks among the cattle. Excitement had kept him awake; and he laythere making far-reaching plans concerning himself and his twenty-five kroner.He was up on deck by the first light of morning, gazing at the shore, where thegreat capital with its towers and factory-chimneys showed out of the mist.Above the city floated its misty light, which reddened in the morning sun, andgave a splendor to the prospect. And the passage between the forts and thenaval harbor was sufficiently magnificent to impress him. The crowd on thelanding-stage before the steamer laid alongside and the cabmen and portersbegan shouting and calling, was enough to stupefy him, but he had made up hismind beforehand that nothing should disconcert him. It would have beendifficult enough in any case to disentangle himself from all this confusion.
And then Fortune herself was on his side. Down on the quay stood a thick-set,jovial man, who looked familiarly at Pelle; he did not shout and bawl, butmerely said quietly, “Good-day, countryman,” and offered Pelleboard and lodging for two kroner a day. It was good to find a countryman in allthis bustle, and Pelle confidingly put himself in his hands. He was remarkablyhelpful; Pelle was by no means allowed to carry the green chest.“I’ll soon have that brought along!” said the man, and heanswered everything with a jolly “I’ll soon arrange that; you justleave that to me!”
When three days had gone by, he presented Pelle with a circumstantial account,which amounted exactly to five and twenty kroner. It was a curious chance thatPelle had just that amount of money. He was not willing to be done out of it,but the boarding-house keeper, Elleby, called in a policeman from the street,and Pelle had to pay.
He was standing in the street with his green box, helpless and bewildered, notknowing what to be about. Then a little boy came whistling up to him and askedif he could not help him. “I can easily carry the box alone, to whereveryou want it, but it will cost twenty- five öre and ten öre for the barrow. Butif I just take one handle it will be only ten öre,” he said, and helooked Pelle over in a business- like manner. He did not seem to be more thannine or ten years old.
“But I don’t know where I shall go,” said Pelle, almostcrying. “I’ve been turned out on the street and have nowhere whereI can turn. I am quite a stranger here in the city and all my money has beentaken from me.”
The youngster made a gesture in the air as though butting something with hishead. “Yes, that’s a cursed business. You’ve fallen into thehands of the farmer-catchers, my lad. So you must come home with us—youcan very well stay with us, if you don’t mind lying on the floor.”
“But what will your parents say if you go dragging me home?”
“I haven’t any parents, and Marie and Peter, they’ll saynothing. Just come with me, and, after all, you can get work with old Pipman.Where do you come from?”
“From Bornholm.”
“So did we! That’s to say, a long time ago, when we were quitechildren. Come along with me, countryman!” The boy laughed delightedlyand seized one handle of the chest.
It was also, to be sure, a fellow-countryman who had robbed him; but none theless he went with the boy; it was not in Pelle’s nature to bedistrustful.
So he had entered the “Ark,” under the protection of a child. Thesister, a little older than the other two, found little Karl’s actionentirely reasonable, and the three waifs, who had formerly been shy andretiring, quickly attached themselves to Pelle. They found him in the streetand treated him like an elder comrade, who was a stranger, and neededprotection. They afforded him his first glimpse of the great city, and theyhelped him to get work from Pipman.
On the day after the outing in the forest, Pelle moved over to the row ofattics, into a room near the “Family,” which was standing emptyjust then. Marie helped him to get tidy and to bring his things along, and withan easier mind he shook himself free of his burdensome relations with Pipman.There was an end of his profit-sharing, and all the recriminations which wereinvolved in it. Now he could enter into direct relations with the employers andlook his comrades straight in the eyes. For various reasons it had been ahumiliating time; but he had no feeling of resentment toward Pipman; he hadlearned more with him in a few months than during his whole apprenticeship athome.
He obtained a few necessary tools from an ironmonger, and bought a bench and abed for ready money. From the master-shoemaker he obtained as a beginning somematerial for children’s shoes, which he made at odd times. His principalliving he got from Master Beck in Market Street.
Beck was a man of the old school; his clientele consisted principally of nightwatchmen, pilots, and old seamen, who lived out in Kristianshavn. Although hewas born and had grown up in Copenhagen, he was like a country shoemaker tolook at, going about in canvas slippers which his daughter made for him, and inthe mornings he smoked his long pipe at the house-door. He had old-fashionedviews concerning handwork, and was delighted with Pelle, who could strain anypiece of greased leather and was not afraid to strap a pair of olddubbin’d boots with it. Beck’s work could not well be given out todo at home, and Pelle willingly established himself in the workshop and wasafraid of no work that came his way. But he would not accept bed and board fromhis master in the old-fashioned way.
From the very first day this change was an improvement. He worked heart andsoul and began to put by something with which to pay off his debt to Sort. Nowhe saw the day in the distance when he should be able to send for Father Lasse.
In the morning, when the dwellers on the roof, drunken with sleep, tumbled outinto the long gangway, in order to go to their work, before the quarter-to-sixwhistle sounded, Pelle already sat in his room hammering on his cobbler’slast. About seven o’clock he went to Beck’s workshop, if there wasanything for him to do there. And he received orders too from the dwellers inthe “Ark.”
In connection with this work he acquired an item of practical experience, anidea which was like a fruitful seed which lay germinating where it fell andcontinually produced fresh fruit. It was equivalent to an improvement in hiscircumstances to discover that he had shaken off one parasite; if only he couldsend the other after him and keep all his profits for himself!
That sounded quite fantastic, but Pelle had no desire to climb up to theheights only to fall flat on the earth again. He had obtained certain tangibleexperience, and he wanted to know how far it would take him. While he sat thereworking he pursued the question in and out among his thoughts, so that he couldproperly consider it.
Pipman was superfluous as a middleman; one could get a little work without thenecessity of going to him and pouring a flask of brandy down his thirstygullet. But was it any more reasonable that the shoes Pelle made should go tothe customer by way of the Court shoemaker and yield him carriages and highliving? Could not Pelle himself establish relations with his customers? Andshake off Meyer as he had shaken off Pipman? Why, of course! It was said thatthe Court shoemaker paid taxes on a yearly income of thirty thousand kroner.“That ought to be evenly divided among all those who work for him!”thought Pelle, as he hammered away at his pegs. “Then Father Lassewouldn’t need to stay at home a day longer, or drag himself through lifeso miserably.”
Here was something which he could take in hand with the feeling that he wassetting himself a practical problem in economics—and one that apparentlyhad nothing to do with his easy belief in luck. This idea was always lurkingsomewhere in secrecy, and held him upright through everything—although itdid not afford him any definite assistance. A hardly earned instinct told himthat it was only among poor people that this idea could be developed. Thisbelief was his family inheritance, and he would retain it faithfully throughall vicissitudes; as millions had done before him, always ready to cope withthe unknown, until they reached the grave and resigned the inherited dream.There lay hope for himself in this, but if he miscarried, the hope itself wouldremain in spite of him. With Fortune there was no definite promise of tangiblesuccess for the individual, but only a general promise, which was maintainedthrough hundreds of years of servitude with something of the long patience ofeternity.
Pelle bore the whole endless wandering within himself: it lay deep in hisheart, like a great and incomprehensible patience. In his world, capacity wasoften great enough, but resignation was always greater. It was thoroughlyaccustomed to see everything go to ruin and yet to go on hoping.
Often enough during the long march, hope had assumed tones like those of“David’s City with streets of gold,” or“Paradise,” or “The splendor of the Lord returns.” Hehimself had questioningly given ear; but never until now had the voice of hopesounded in a song that had to do with food and clothing, house and farm; so howwas he to find his way?
He could only sit and meditate the problem as to how he should obtain, quicklyand easily, a share in the good things of this world; presumptuously, and withan impatience for which he himself could not have accounted.
And round about him things were happening in the same way. An awakening shudderwas passing through the masses. They no longer wandered on and on with blindand patient surrender, but turned this way and that in bewildered consultation.The miracle was no longer to be accomplished of itself when the time wasfulfilled. For an evil power had seized upon their great hope, and pressed herknees together so that she could not bring forth; they themselves must help tobring happiness into the world!
The unshakable fatalism which hitherto had kept them on their difficult pathwas shattered; the masses would no longer allow themselves to be held down instupid resignation. Men who all their lives had plodded their accustomed way toand from their work now stood still and asked unreasonable questions as to theaim of it all. Even the simple ventured to cast doubts upon the establishedorder of things. Things were no longer thus because they must be; there was apainful cause of poverty. That was the beginning of the matter; and now theyconceived a desire to master life; their fingers itched to be tearing downsomething that obstructed them—but what it was they did not know.
All this was rather like a whirlpool; all boundaries disappeared. Unfamiliarpowers arose, and the most good-natured became suspicious or were franklybewildered. People who had hitherto crawled like dogs in order to win theirfood were now filled with self-will, and preferred to be struck down ratherthan bow down of their own accord. Prudent folks who had worked all their livesin one place could no longer put up with the conditions, and went at a word.Their hard-won endurance was banished from their minds, and those who hadquietly borne the whole burden on their shoulders were now becoming restive;they were as unwilling and unruly as a pregnant woman. It was as though theywere acting under the inward compulsion of an invisible power, and werestriving to break open the hard shell which lay over something new within them.One could perceive that painful striving in their bewildered gaze and in theirsudden crazy grasp at the empty air.
There was something menacing in the very uncertainty which possessed themasses. It was as though they were listening for a word to sound out of thedarkness. Swiftly they resolved to banish old custom and convention from theirminds, in order to make room there. On every side men continually spoke of newthings, and sought blindly to find their way to them; it was a matter of coursethat the time had come and the promised land was about to be opened to them.They went about in readiness to accomplish something—what, they did notknow; they formed themselves into little groups; they conducted unfortunatestrikes, quite at random. Others organized debating societies, and began inweighty speech to squabble about the new ideas—which none of them knewanything about. These were more particularly the young men. Many of them hadcome to the city in search of fortune, as had Pelle himself, and these werefull of burning restlessness. There was something violent and feverish aboutthem.
Such was the situation when Pelle entered the capital. It was chaotic; therewas no definite plan by which they could reach their goal. The masses no longersupported one another, but were in a state of solution, bewildered and driftingabout in the search for something that would weld them together. In the upperranks of society people noted nothing but the insecurity of the position of theworkers; people complained of their restlessness, a senseless restlessnesswhich jeopardized revenue and aggravated foreign competition. A few thoughtfulindividuals saw the people as one great listening ear; new preachers werearising who wanted to lead the crowd by new ways to God. Pelle now and againallowed the stream to carry him into such quarters, but he did allow himself tobe caught; it was only the old story over again; there was nothing in it.Nobody now was satisfied with directions how to reach heaven—the newprophets disappeared as quickly as they had arisen.
But in the midst of all this confusion there was one permanent center, onecommunity, which had steadily increased during the years, and had fanaticallyendured the scorn and the persecution of those above and below, until it atlast possessed several thousand of members. It stood fast in the maelstrom andobstinately affirmed that its doctrines were those of the future. And now thewind seemed to be filling its sails; it replied after its own fashion to theimpatient demands for a heaven to be enjoyed here on earth and an attainablehappiness.
Pelle had been captured by the new doctrines out by the Schleswig Stone, andhad thrown himself, glowing and energetic, into the heart of the movement. Heattended meetings and discussions, his ears on the alert to absorb anythingreally essential; for his practical nature called for something palpablewhereupon his mind could get to work. Deep within his being was a mighty flux,like that of a river beneath its ice; and at times traces of it rose to thesurface, and alarmed him. Yet he had no power to sound the retreat; and when heheard the complaint, in respect of the prevailing unrest, that it endangeredthe welfare of the nation, he was not able to grasp the connection.
“It’s preposterous that they should knock off work without anyreason,” he once told Morten, when the baker’s driver had thrown uphis place. “Like your driver, for example—he had no ground forcomplaint.”
“Perhaps he suddenly got a pain between the legs because his ancestorgreat-grandfather was once made to ride on a wooden horse—he came fromthe country,” said Morten solemnly.
Pelle looked at him quickly. He did not like Morten’s ambiguous manner ofexpressing himself. It made him feel insecure.
“Can’t you talk reasonably?” he said. “I can’tunderstand you.”
“No? And yet that’s quite reason enough—there have been lotsof reasons since his great-grandfather’s days. What the devil—whyshould they want a reason referring to yesterday precisely? Don’t yourealize that the worker, who has so long been working the treadmill in thebelief that the movement was caused by somebody else, has suddenly discoveredthat it’s he that keeps the whole thing in motion? For that’s whatis going on. The poor man is not merely a slave who treads the wheel, and had ahandful of meal shoved down his gullet now and again to keep him from starvingto death. He is on the point of discovering that he performs a higher service,look you! And now the movement is altering—it is continuing of itself!But that you probably can’t see,” he added, as he notedPelle’s incredulous expression.
“No, for I’m not one of the big-bellies,” said Pelle,laughing, “and you’re no prophet, to prophesy such great things.And I have enough understanding to realize that if you want to make a row youmust absolutely have something definite to make a fuss about, otherwise itwon’t work. But that about the wooden horse isn’t goodenough!”
“That’s just the point about lots of fusses,” Morten replied.“There’s no need to give a pretext for anything thateverybody’s interested in.”
Pelle pondered further over all this while at work. But these deliberations didnot proceed as in general; as a rule, such matters as were considered in hisworld of thought were fixed by the generations and referred principally to lifeand death. He had to set to work in a practical manner, and to return to hisown significant experience.
Old Pipman was superfluous; that Pelle himself had proved. And there was reallyno reason why he should not shake off the Court shoemaker as well; thejourneymen saw to the measuring and the cutting-out; indeed, they did the wholework. He was also really a parasite, who had placed himself at the head of themall, and was sucking up their profits. But then Morten was right with hisunabashed assertion that the working-man carried on the whole business! Pellehesitated a little over this conclusion; he cautiously verified the fact thatit was in any case valid in his craft. There was some sense in winning back hisown—but how?
His sound common-sense demanded something that would take the place of Meyerand the other big parasites. It wouldn’t do for every journeyman to sitdown and botch away on his own account, like a little employer; he had seenthat plainly enough in the little town at home; it was mere bungling.
So he set himself to work out a plan for a cooperative business. A number ofcraftsmen should band together, each should contribute his little capital, anda place of business would be selected. The work would be distributed accordingto the various capacities of the men, and they would choose one from theirmidst who would superintend the whole. In this way the problem could besolved—every man would receive the full profit of his work.
When he had thoroughly thought out his plan, he went to Morten.
“They’ve already put that into practice!” cried Morten, andhe pulled out a book. “But it didn’t work particularly well. Wheredid you get the idea from?”
“I thought it out myself,” answered Pelle self-consciously.
Morten looked a trifle incredulous; then he consulted the book, and showedPelle that his idea was described there—almost word for word—as aphase of the progressive movement. The book was a work on Socialism.
But Pelle did not lose heart on that account! He was proud to have hit onsomething that others had worked out before him—and learned people, too!He began to have confidence in his own ideas, and eagerly attended lectures andmeetings. He had energy and courage, that he knew. He would try to make himselfefficient, and then he would seek out those at the head of things, who werepreparing the way, and would offer them his services.
Hitherto Fortune had always hovered before his eyes, obscurely, like afairy-tale, as something that suddenly swooped down upon a man and lifted himto higher regions, while all those who were left behind gazed longingly afterhim—that was the worst of it! But now he perceived new paths, which forall those that were in need led on to fortune, just as the “GreatPower” had fancied in the hour of his death. He did not quite understandwhere everything was to come from, but that was just the thing he mustdiscover.
All this kept his mind in a state of new and unaccustomed activity. He was notused to thinking things out for himself, but had until now always adhered tothe ideas which had been handed down from generation to generation asestablished—and he often found it difficult and wearisome. Then he wouldtry to shelve the whole subject, in order to escape from it; but it alwaysreturned to him.
When he was tired, Hanne regained her influence over him, and then he went overto see her in the evenings. He knew very well that this would lead to nothinggood. To picture for himself a future beside Hanne seemed impossible; for heronly the moment existed. Her peculiar nature had a certain power overhim—that was all. He often vowed to himself that he would not allow herto make a fool of him—but he always went over to see her again. He musttry to conquer her—and then take the consequences.
One day, when work was over, he strolled across to see her. There was no one onthe gallery, so he went into the little kitchen.
“Is that you, Pelle?” Hanne’s voice sounded from theliving-room. “Come in, then!”
She had apparently been washing her body, and was now sitting in a whitepetticoat and chemise, and combing her beautiful hair. There was something ofthe princess about her; she took such care of her body, and knew how it shouldbe done. The mirror stood before her, on the window- sill; from the little backroom one could see, between the roofs and the mottled party-wall, the prisonand the bridge and the canal that ran beneath it. Out beyond the Exchange theair was gray and streaked with the tackle of ships.
Pelle sat down heavily by the stove, his elbows on his knees, and gazed on thefloor. He was greatly moved. If only the old woman would come! “I believeI’ll go out,” he thought, “and behave as though I werelooking out for her.” But he remained sitting there. Against the wall wasthe double bed with its red-flowered counterpane, while the table stood by theopposite wall, with the chairs pushed under it. “She shouldn’tdrive me too far,” he thought, “or perhaps it’ll end in myseizing her, and then she’ll have her fingers burnt!”
“Why don’t you talk to me, Pelle?” said Hanne.
He raised his head and looked at her in the mirror. She was holding the end ofher plait in her mouth, and looked like a kitten biting its tail.
“Oh, what should I talk about?” he replied morosely.
“You are angry with me, but it isn’t fair of you—really, itisn’t fair! Is it my fault that I’m so terrified of poverty? Oh,how it does frighten me! It has always been like that ever since I was born,and you are poor too, Pelle, as poor as I am! What would become of us both? Weknow the whole story!”
“What will become of us?” said Pelle.
“That I don’t know, and it’s all the same to me—only itmust be something I don’t know all about. Everything is so familiar ifone is poor—one knows every stitch of one’s clothes by heart; onecan watch them wearing out. If you’d only been a sailor, Pelle!”
“Have you seen him again?” asked Pelle.
Hanne laughingly shook her head. “No; but I believe something willhappen—something splendid. Out there lies a great ship—I can see itfrom the window. It’s full of wonderful things, Pelle.”
“You are crazy!” said Pelle scornfully. “That’s abark—bound for the coal quay. She comes from England with coals.”
“That may well be,” replied Hanne indifferently. “Idon’t mind that. There’s something in me singing, ‘There liesthe ship, and it has brought something for me from foreign parts.’ Andyou needn’t grudge me my happiness.”
But now her mother came in, and began to mimic her.
“Yes, out there lies the ship that has brought me something—outthere lies the ship that has brought me something! Good God! Haven’t youhad enough of listening to your own crazy nonsense? All through your childhoodyou’ve sat there and made up stories and looked out for the ship! Weshall soon have had enough of it! And you let Pelle sit there and watch youuncovering your youth—aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“Pelle’s so good, mother—and he’s my brother, too. Hethinks nothing of it.”
“Thinks nothing of it? Yes, he does; he thinks how soft and white yourbosom is! And he’s fit to cry inside of him because he mustn’t layhis head there. I, too, have known what it is to give joy, in my youngdays.”
Hanne blushed from her bosom upward. She threw a kerchief over her bosom andran into the kitchen.
The mother looked after her.
“She’s got a skin as tender as that of a king’s daughter.Wouldn’t one think she was a cuckoo’s child? Her fathercouldn’t stand her. ‘You’ve betrayed me with some finegentleman’—he used so often to say that. ‘We poor folkscouldn’t bring a piece like that into the world!’ ‘As Godlives, Johnsen,’ I used to say, ‘you and no other are thegirl’s father.’ But he used to beat us—he wouldn’tbelieve me. He used to fly into a rage when he looked at the child, and hehated us both because she was so fine. So its no wonder that she had gone a bitqueer in the head. You can believe she’s cost me tears of blood, Pelle.But you let her be, Pelle. I could wish you could get her, but itwouldn’t be best for you, and it isn’t good for you to have herplaying with you. And if you got her after all, it would be even worse. Awoman’s whims are poor capital for setting up house with.”
Pelle agreed with her in cold blood; he had allowed himself to he fooled, andwas wasting his youth upon a path that led nowhere. But now there should be anend of it.
Hanne came back and looked at him, radiant, full of visions. “Will youtake me for a walk, Pelle?” she asked him.
“Yes!” answered Pelle joyfully, and he threw all his goodresolutions overboard.
V
Pelle and his little neighbor used to compete as to which of them should be upfirst in the morning. When she was lucky and had to wake him her face wasradiant with pride. It sometimes happened that he would lie in bed a littlelonger, so that he should not deprive her of a pleasure, and when she knockedon the wall he would answer in a voice quite stupid with drowsiness. Butsometimes her childish years demanded the sleep that was their right, whenPelle would move about as quietly as possible, and then, at half-past six, itwould be his turn to knock on the wall. On these occasions she would feelashamed of herself all the morning. Her brothers were supposed to get theirearly coffee and go to work by six o’clock. Peter, who was the elder,worked in a tin-plate works, while Earl sold the morning papers, and undertookevery possible kind of occasional work as well; this he had to hunt for, andyou could read as much in his whole little person. There was something restlessand nomadic about him, as though his thoughts were always seeking some outlet.
It was quite a lively neighborhood at this time of day; across the floor of thewell, and out through the tunnel-like entry there was an endless clattering offootsteps, as the hundreds of the “Ark” tumbled out into thedaylight, half tipsy with sleep, dishevelled, with evidence of hasty rising intheir eyes and their garments, smacking their lips as though they relished thecontrast between the night and day, audibly yawning as they scuttled away. Upin Pelle’s long gangway factory girls, artisans, and newspaper women cametumbling out, half naked; they were always late, and stood there scolding untiltheir turn came to wash themselves. There was only one lavatory at either endof the gangway, and there was only just time to sluice their eyes and wakethemselves up. The doors of all the rooms stood open; the odors of night wereheavy on the air.
On the days when Pelle worked at home little Marie was in high spirits. Shesang and hummed continually, with her curiously small voice, and every fewminutes she would run in and offer Pelle her services. At such times she wouldstation herself behind him and stand there in silence, watching the progress ofhis work, while her breathing was audibly perceptible, as a faint, whistlingsound. There was a curious, still, brooding look about her little under-grownfigure that reminded Pelle of Morten’s unhappy sister; something hard andundeveloped, as in the fruit of a too-young tree. But the same shadow did notlie upon her; childish toil had not steeped her as with a bitter sap; only herouter shell was branded by it. There was about her, on the contrary, a gleam ofcareful happiness, as though things had turned out much better than she hadexpected. Perhaps this was because she could see the result of her hardchildish labors; no one could scatter that to the winds.
She was a capable little housewife, and her brothers respected her, andfaithfully brought home what they earned. Then she took what she needed, laidsomething by toward the rent, in a box which was put away in the chest ofdrawers, and gave them something wherewith to amuse themselves. “Theymust have something!” she told people; “besides, men always needmoney in their pockets. But they deserve it, for they have never yet spent afarthing in drink. On Saturday nights they always come straight home with theirearnings. But now I must get on with my work; it’s dreadful how the timeruns through one’s hands.”
She talked just like a young married woman, and Pelle inwardly chuckled overher.
After a while she would peep in again; it was time for Pelle to have a bite ofsomething; or else she would bring her mending with her and sit down on theedge of a chair.
She was always in a fidget lest a saucepan should boil over, or something elsego amiss.
At such times they had long, sensible talks. Little Marie did not care aboutgossip; but there were plenty of serious things which had to be talked over;the difficult times, Marie’s parents, and then the wonderful fact thatthey had met one another once before, a long time ago; that was an event whichprovided her with an inexhaustible mine of discussion, although she herselfcould not remember the occasion.
But Pelle remembered it all quite well, and over and over again he had to tellher how one day at home he had gone down to the harbor, in order to show oldThatcher Holm the steamers; and she always laughed when she heard how Holm hadrun away in his alarm every time the steam-crane blew off steam. And then? Yes,the steamer was just on the point of taking on board a heap of furniture, oldbeds, tables, and the like.
“That was all ours!” cried Marie, clapping her hands. “Westill had a few things then. We took them to the pawn-shop when father lay illafter his fall.” And then she would meet his gaze, asking for more.
And in the midst of all the furniture stood a man with a fine old mirror in hisarms. Thatcher Holm knew him, and had a talk with him.
“He was crying, wasn’t he?” asked Marie compassionately.“Father was so unhappy, because things were going so badly withus.”
And then she herself would talk about the hotel, down among the cliffs of theeast coast, and of the fine guests who came there in summer. Three years theyhad kept the hotel, and Pelle had to name the sum out of which her father hadbeen cheated. She was proud that they had once possessed so much. Ten thousandkroner!
Over here her father had found work as a stonemason’s laborer, but oneday he trod on a loose beam and fell. For a few months he lay sick, and alltheir household goods found their way to the pawn-shop; then he died, and thenthey came to the “Ark.” Their mother did washing out of doors, butat last she became queer in the head. She could not bear unhappiness, andneglected her housework, to run about seeking consolation from all sorts ofreligious sects. At last she was quite demented, and one day she disappeared.It was believed that she had drowned herself in the canal. “But thingsare going well with us now,” Marie always concluded; “nowthere’s nothing to worry about.”
“But don’t you get tired of having all this to look after?”Pelle would ask, wondering.
She would look at him in astonishment. “Why should I be tired?There’s not more than one can manage—if one only knows how tomanage. And the children never make things difficult for me; they are pleasedwith everything I do.”
The three orphans struggled on as well as they could, and were quite proud oftheir little household. When things went badly with them, they went hungry, andtook serious counsel together; but they accepted help from no one. They livedin the continual fear that the police would get to know of their position, andhaul them off to school. Then they would be forcibly separated and brought upat the expense of the poor-rates. They were shy, and “kept themselves tothemselves.” In the “Ark” everybody liked them, and helpedthem to keep their secret. The other inmates managed their family affairs asbest they could; there was always a scandal somewhere. It was a sort ofsatisfaction to have these three children living so decently in the midst ofall this hotch-potch. People thought a great deal of their little modelhousehold, and protected it as though it had been a sanctuary.
To Pelle they attached themselves blindly. They had picked him up out of thestreets, and they certainly regarded him to some extent as a foundling who wasstill under their protection. When Marie had given the boys their morningcoffee, she carried some in to Pelle—it was no use protesting. And in themornings, when she was busy indoors by herself, she would go round to him withbroom and bucket. Her precocious, intelligent face was beaming withcircumspection and the desire to help. She did not ask permission, but set towork where need was. If Pelle was away at Beck’s workshop, he alwaysfound his room clean and tidy in the evening.
If he had work at home, she would bring coffee for the two of them during themorning. He did not dare to drive her away, for she would take that to heart,and would go about offended all the rest of the day; so he would run below tofetch a roll of white bread. Marie always found some pretext for putting asideher share for the boys; it gave her no real pleasure to enjoy anything byherself.
Pelle felt that he was making headway; and he was conscious of his own youth.He was continually in the rosiest of humors, and even Hanne could not throw anyreal shadow over his existence. In his relations with her there was somethingof a beautiful unreality; they left no permanent scar upon his heart.
He felt quite simply ashamed in the presence of this much tried child, wheneversomething cropped up to put him out of temper. He felt it was his duty tobrighten her poverty-stricken life with his high spirits. He chatted merrily toher, chaffed her, teased her, to charm her from her unnatural solemnity. Andshe would smile, in her quiet, motherly fashion, as one smiles at a much-lovedchild who seeks to drive away our cares—and would then offer to dosomething for him.
“Shall I wash out your blouse or do up your shirt?” she would ask.Her gratitude always found its expression in some kind of work.
“No, thanks, Marie; Hanne and her mother look after that.”
“But that’s not work for the Princess—I can do it muchbetter.”
“The Princess?” said Pelle, raising his head. “Is that whatthey call her?”
“Only us children—we don’t mean it unkindly. But we alwaysplayed at there being a princess when she was with us—and she was alwaysthe princess. But do you know what? Some one will come and take her away—some one very distinguished. She has been promised from the cradle to a finegentleman.”
“What nonsense!” said Pelle crossly.
“But that’s really true! When it rained we used to sit under thegallery—in the corner by the dustbin—and she used to tellus—and it’s really true! And, besides, don’t you thinkshe’s fascinating? She’s really just like a princess—likethat!” Marie made a gesture in the air with her fingers outspread.“And she knows everything that is going to happen. She used to run downto us, in the courtyard, in her long dress, and her mother used to stand upabove and call her; then she’d sit on the grating as if it was a throneand she was the queen and we were her ladies. She used to braid our hair, andthen dress it beautifully with colored ribbons, and when I came up here againmother used to tear it all down and make my hair rough again. It was a sinagainst God to deck one’s self out like that, she said. And when motherdisappeared I hadn’t time to play down there any more.”
“Poor little girl!” said Pelle, stroking her hair.
“Why do you say that?” she asked him, looking at him inastonishment.
He enjoyed her absolute confidence, and was told things that the boys were notallowed to know. She began to dress more carefully, and her fine fair hair wasalways brushed smoothly back from her forehead. She was delighted when theyboth had some errand in the city. Then she put on her best and went through thestreets at his side, her whole face smiling. “Now perhaps people willthink we are a couple of lovers—but what does it matter? Let them thinkit!” Pelle laughed; with her thirteen years she was no bigger than achild of nine, so backward in growth was she.
She often found it difficult to make both ends meet; she would say little ornothing about it, but a kind of fear would betray itself in her expression.Then Pelle would speak cheerfully of the good times that would soon be comingfor all poor people. It cost him a great deal of exertion to put this in wordsso as to make it sound as it ought to sound. His thoughts were still sonew—even to himself. But the children thought nothing of his unwieldyspeech; to them it was easier to believe in the new age than it was to him.
VI
Pelle was going through a peculiar change at this time. He had seen enough needand poverty in his life; and the capital was simply a battlefield on which armyupon army had rushed forward and had miserably been defeated. Round about himlay the fallen. The town was built over them as over a cemetery; one had totread upon them in order to win forward and harden one’s heart. Such waslife in these days; one shut one’s eyes—like the sheep when theysee their comrades about to be slaughtered—and waited until one’sown turn came. There was nothing else to do.
But now he was awake and suffering; it hurt him with a stabbing pain wheneverhe saw others suffer; and he railed against misfortune, unreasonable though itmight be.
There came a day when he sat working at home. At the other end of the gangway afactory girl with her child had moved in a short while before. Every morningshe locked the door and went to work—and she did not return until theevening. When Pelle came home he could hear the sound of crying within theroom.
He sat at his work, wrestling with his confused ideas. And all the time acurious stifled sound was in his ears—a grievous sound, as thoughsomething were incessantly complaining. Perhaps it was only the dirge ofpoverty itself, some strophe of which was always vibrating upon the air.
Little Marie came hurrying in. “Oh, Pelle, it’s cryingagain!” she said, and she wrung her hands anxiously upon her hollowchest. “It has cried all day, ever since she came here—it ishorrible!”
“We’ll go and see what’s wrong,” said Pelle, and hethrew down his hammer.
The door was locked; they tried to look through the keyhole, but could seenothing. The child within stopped its crying for a moment, as though it heardthem, but it began again at once; the sound was low and monotonous, as thoughthe child was prepared to hold out indefinitely. They looked at one another; itwas unendurable.
“The keys on this gangway do for all the doors,” said Marie, underher breath. With one leap Pelle had rushed indoors, obtained his key, andopened the door.
Close by the door sat a little four-year-old boy; he stared up at them, holdinga rusty tin vessel in his hand. He was tied fast to the stove; near him, on anold wooden stool, was a tin plate containing a few half- nibbled crusts ofbread. The child was dressed in filthy rags and presented a shockingappearance. He sat in his own filth; his little hands were covered with it. Histearful, swollen face was smeared all over with it. He held up his hands tothem beseechingly.
Pelle burst into tears at the horrible sight and wanted to pick the child up.“Let me do that!” cried Marie, horrified. “You’ll makeyourself filthy!”
“What then?” said Pelle stupidly. He helped to untie the child; hishands were trembling.
To some extent they got the child to rights and gave him food. Then they lethim loose in the long gangway. For a time he stood stupidly gaping by thedoorpost; then he discovered that he was not tied up, and began to rush up anddown. He still held in his hand the old tea-strainer which he had been graspingwhen they rescued him; he had held on to it convulsively all the time. Mariehad to dip his hand in the water in order to clean the strainer.
From time to time he stood in front of Pelle’s open door, and peepedinside. Pelle nodded to him, when he went storming up and down again—hewas like a wild thing. But suddenly he came right in, laid the tea- strainer inPelle’s lap and looked at him. “Am I to have that?” askedPelle. “Look, Marie, he is giving me the only thing he’sgot!”
“Oh, poor little thing!” cried Marie pityingly. “He wants tothank you!”
In the evening the factory girl came rushing in; she was in a rage, and beganto abuse them for breaking into her room. Pelle wondered at himself, that hewas able to answer her so quietly instead of railing back at her. But heunderstood very well that she was ashamed of her poverty and did not want anyone else to see it. “It is unkind to the child,” was all he said.“And yet you are fond of it!”
Then she began to cry. “I have to tie him up, or he climbs out over thewindow-sill and runs into the street—he got to the corner once before.And I’ve no clothes, to take him to the crêche!”
“Then leave the door open on the gangway! We will look after him, Marieand I.”
After this the child tumbled about the gangway and ran to and fro. Marie lookedafter him, and was like a mother to him. Pelle bought some old clothes, andthey altered them to fit him. The child looked very droll in them; he was alittle goblin who took everything in good part. In his loneliness he had notlearned to speak, but now speech came quickly to him.
In Pelle this incident awakened something quite novel. Poverty he had knownbefore, but now he saw the injustice that lay beneath it, and cried to heaven.His hands would suddenly clench with anger as he sat so quietly in his room.Here was something one must hasten forward, without intermission, day andnight, as long as one drew breath—Morten was right about that! Thischild’s father was a factory hand, and the girl dared not summon himbefore the magistrates in order to make him pay for its support for fear ofbeing dismissed from her place. The whole business seemed sohopeless—society seemed so unassailable—yet he felt that he muststrike a blow. His own hands alone signified so little; but if they could onlystrike the blow all together—then perhaps it would have some effect.
In the evenings he and Morten went to meetings where the situation waspassionately discussed. Those who attended these meetings were mostly youngpeople like himself. They met in some inn by the North Bridge. But Pelle longedto see some result, and applied himself eagerly to the organization of his owncraft.
He inspired the weary president with his own zeal, and they prepared together alist of all the members of their trade—as the basis of a more vigorousagitation. When the “comrades” were invited to a meeting throughthe press, they turned lazy and failed to appear. More effectual means wereneeded; and Pelle started a house-to-house agitation. This helped immediately;they were in a dilemma when one got them face to face, and the Union wasconsiderably increased, in spite of the persecution of the big masters.
Morten began to treat him with respect; and wanted him to read about themovement. But Pelle had no time for that. Together with Peter and Karl, whowere extremely zealous, he took in The Working Man, and that was enoughfor him. “I know more about poverty than they write there,” hesaid.
There was no lack of fuel to keep this fire burning. He had participated in themarch of poverty, from the country to the town and thence to the capital, andthere they stood and could go no farther for all their longing, but perished ona desert shore. The many lives of the “Ark” lay always before hiseyes as a great common possession, where no one need conceal himself, and wherethe need of the one was another’s grief.
His nature was at this time undergoing a great change. There was an end of hisold careless acceptance of things. He laughed less and performed apparentlytrivial actions with an earnestness which had its comical side. And he began todisplay an appearance of self-respect which seemed ill-justified by hisposition and his poverty.
One evening, when work was over, as he came homeward from Beck’sworkshop, he heard the children singing Hanne’s song down in thecourtyard. He stood still in the tunnel-like entry; Hanne herself stood in themidst of a circle, and the children were dancing round her and singing:
“I looked from the lofty mountain
Down over vale and lea,
And I saw a ship come sailing,
Sailing, sailing,
I saw a ship come sailing,
And on it were lordlings three.”
On Hanne’s countenance lay a blind, fixed smile; her eyes were tightlyclosed. She turned slowly about as the children sang, and she sang softly withthem:
“The youngest of all the lordlings
Who on the ship did stand…”
But suddenly she saw Pelle and broke out of the circle. She went up the stairswith him. The children, disappointed, stood calling after her.
“Aren’t you coming to us this evening?” she asked. “Itis so long since we have seen you.”
“I’ve no time. I’ve got an appointment,” replied Pellebriefly.
“But you must come! I beg you to, Pelle.” She looked at himpleadingly, her eyes burning.
Pelle’s heart began to thump as he met her gaze. “What do you wantwith me?” he asked sharply.
Hanne stood still, gazing irresolutely into the distance.
“You must help me, Pelle,” she said, in a toneless voice, withoutmeeting his eye.
“Yesterday I met…. Yesterday evening, as I was coming out of the factory… he stood down below here … he knows where I live. I went across to the otherside and behaved as though I did not see him; but he came up to me and said Iwas to go to the New Market this evening!”
“And what did you say to that?” answered Pelle sulkily.
“I didn’t say anything—I ran as hard as I could!”
“Is that all you want me for?” cried Pelle harshly. “You cankeep away from him, if you don’t want him!”
A cold shudder ran through her. “But if he comes here to look for me?…And you are so…. I don’t care for anybody in the world but you andmother!” She spoke passionately.
“Well, well, I’ll come over to you,” answered Pellecheerfully.
He dressed himself quickly and went across. The old woman was delighted to seehim. Hanne was quite frolicsome; she rallied him continually, and it was notlong before he had abandoned his firm attitude and allowed himself to be drawninto the most delightful romancing. They sat out on the gallery under the greenfoliage, Hanne’s face glowing to rival the climbing pelargonium; she kepton swinging her foot, and continually touched Pelle’s leg with the tip ofher shoe.
She was nervously full of life, and kept on asking the time. When her motherwent into the kitchen to make coffee, she took Pelle’s hand and smilinglystroked it.
“Come with me,” she said. “I should so like to see if he isreally so silly as to think I’d come. We can stand in a corner somewhereand look out.”
Pelle did not answer.
“Mother,” said Hanne, when Madam Johnsen returned with the coffee,“I’m going out to buy some stuff for my bodice. Pelle’scoming with me.”
The excuse was easy to see through. But the old woman betrayed no emotion. Shehad already seen that Hanne was well disposed toward Pelle to-day; somethingwas going on in the girl’s mind, and if Pelle only wanted to, he couldnow bridle her properly. She had no objection to make if both the young peoplekicked over the traces a little. Perhaps then they would find peace together.
“You ought to take your shawl with you,” she told Hanne. “Theevening air may turn cold.”
Hanne walked so quickly that Pelle could hardly follow her. “It’llbe a lark to see his disappointment when we don’t turn up,” shesaid, laughing. Pelle laughed also. She stationed herself behind one of thepillars of the Town Hall, where she could peep out across the market. She wasquite out of breath, she had hurried so.
Gradually, as the time went by and the stranger did not appear, her animationvanished; she was silent, and her expression was one of disappointment.
“No one’s going to come!” she said suddenly, and she laughedshortly.
“I only made up the whole thing to tell you, to see what you’dsay.”
“Then let’s go!” said Pelle quietly, and he took her hand.
As they went down the steps, Hanne started; and her hand fell limply from his.The stranger came quickly up to her. He held out his hand to Hanne, quietly andas a matter of course, as though he had known her for years. Pelle, apparently,he did not see.
“Will you come somewhere with me—where we can hear music, forexample?” he asked, and he continued to hold her hand. She lookedirresolutely at Pelle.
For a moment Pelle felt an inordinate longing to throw himself upon this manand strike him to the ground, but then he met Hanne’s eyes, which wore anexpression as though she was longing for some means of shaking him off.“Well, it looks as if one was in the way here!” he thought.“And what does it all matter to me?” He turned away from her andsauntered off down a side street.
Pelle strolled along to the quays by the gasworks, and he stood there, sunk inthought, gazing at the ships and the oily water. He did not suffer; it was onlyso terribly stupid that a strange hand should appear out of the unknown, andthat the bird which he with all his striving could not entice, should havehopped right away on to that hand.
Below the quay-wall the water plashed with a drowsy sound; fragments of woodand other rubbish floated on it; it was all so home-like! Out by the coal-quaylay a three-master. It was after working hours; the crew were making an uproarbelow decks, or standing about on deck and washing themselves in a bucket. Onewell-grown young seaman in blue clothes and a white neckerchief came out of thecabin and stared up at the rigging as though out of habit, and yawned. Then hestrolled ashore. His cap was on the back of his head, and between his teeth wasa new pipe. His face was full of freakish merriment, and he walked with a swingof the hips. As he came up to Pelle he swayed to and fro a few times and thenbumped into him. “Oh, excuse me!” he said, touching his cap.“I thought it was a scratching-post, the gentleman stood so stiff. Well,you mustn’t take it amiss!” And he began to go round and roundPelle, bending far forward as though he were looking for something on him, andfinally he pawed his own ears, like a friendly bear, and shook with laughter.He was overflowing with high spirits and good humor.
Pelle had not shaken off his feeling of resentment; he did not know whether tobe angry or to laugh at the whole thing.
He turned about cautiously, so as to keep his eye on the sailor, lest thelatter should pull his feet from under him. He knew the grip, and also how itshould be parried; and he held his hands in readiness. Suddenly something inthe stooping position struck him as familiar. This was Per Kofod—HowlingPeter, from the village school at home, in his own person! He who used to roarand blubber at the slightest word! Yes, this was he!
“Good evening, Per!” he cried, delighted, and he gave him a thumpin the back.
The seaman stood up, astonished. “What the devil! Good evening! Well,that I should meet you here, Pelle; that’s the most comical thingI’ve ever known! You must excuse my puppy-tricks! Really!” He shookPelle heartily by the hand.
They loafed about the harbor, chatting of old times. There was so much torecall from their schooldays. Old Fris with his cane, and the games on thebeach! Per Kofod spoke as though he had taken part in all of them; he had quiteforgotten that he used always to stand still gripping on to something andbellowing, if the others came bawling round him. “And Nilen, too, I methim lately in New Orleans. He is second mate on a big American full-riggedship, and is earning big money. A smart fellow he is. But hang it all,he’s a tough case! Always with his revolver in his hand. But that’show it has to be over there—among the niggers. Still, one fine daythey’ll slit his belly up, by God they will! Now then, what’s thematter there?”
From some stacks of timber near by came a bellowing as of some one in torment,and the sound of blows. Pelle wanted, to turn aside, but Per Kofod seized hisarm and dragged him forward.
In among the timber-stacks three “coalies” were engaged in beatinga fourth. He did not cry out, but gave vent to a muffled roar every time hereceived a blow. The blood was flowing down his face.
“Come on!” shouted Per Kofod, hitching up his trousers. And then,with a roar, he hurled himself into their midst, and began to lay about him inall directions. It was like an explosion with its following hail of rocks.Howling Peter had learned to use his strength; only a sailor could lay abouthim in that fashion. It was impossible to say where his blows were going tofall; but they all went home. Pelle stood by for a moment, mouth and eyes openin the fury of the fray; then he, too, tumbled into the midst of it, and thethree dock-laborers were soon biting the dust.
“Damn it all, why did you interfere!” said Pelle crossly, when itwas over, as he stood pulling his collar straight.
“I don’t know,” said Howling Peter. “But it does one noharm to bestir one’s self a bit for once!”
After the heat of the battle they had all but forgotten the man originallyattacked; he lay huddled up at the foot of a timber-stack and made no sound.They got him on his legs again, but had to hold him upright; he stood as limpas though asleep, and his eyes were staring stupidly. He was making a heavysnoring sound, and at every breath the blood made two red bubbles at hisnostrils. From time to time he ground his teeth, and then his eyes turnedupward and the whites gleamed strangely in his coal-blackened face.
The sailor scolded him, and that helped him so far that he was able to stand onhis feet. They drew a red rag from his bulging jacket-pocket, and wiped theworst of the blood away. “What sort of a fellow are you, damn it all,that you can’t stand a drubbing?” said Per Kofod.
“I didn’t call for help,” said the man thickly. His lips wereswollen to a snout.
“But you didn’t hit back again! Yet you look as if you’dstrength enough. Either a fellow manages to look after himself or he sings outso that others can come to help him. D’ye see, mate?”
“I didn’t want to bring the police into it; and I’d earned athrashing. Only they hit so damned hard, and when I fell they used theirclogs.”
He lived in the Saksogade, and they took each an arm. “If only Idon’t get ill now!” he groaned from time to time. “I’mall a jelly inside.” And they had to stop while he vomited.
There was a certain firm for which he and his mates had decided no longer tounload, as they had cut down the wages offered. There were only four of themwho stuck to their refusal; and what use was it when others immediately tooktheir place? The four of them could only hang about and play the gentleman atlarge; nothing more came of it. But of course he had given his word—thatwas why he had not hit back. The other three had found work elsewhere, so hewent back to the firm and ate humble pie. Why should he hang about idle andkilling time when there was nothing to eat at home? He was damned if heunderstood these new ways; all the same, he had betrayed the others, for he hadgiven his word. But they had struck him so cursedly hard, and had kicked him inthe belly with their clogs.
He continued rambling thus, like a man in delirium, as they led him along. Inthe Saksogade they were stopped by a policeman, but Per Kofod quickly told hima story to the effect that the man had been struck on the head by a fallingcrane. He lived right up in the attics. When they opened the door a woman wholay there in child-bed raised herself up on the iron bedstead and gazed at themin alarm. She was thin and anemic. When she perceived the condition of herhusband she burst into a heartrending fit of crying.
“He’s sober,” said Pelle, in order to console her; “hehas only got a bit damaged.”
They took him into the kitchen and bathed his head over the sink with coldwater. But Per Kofod’s assistance was not of much use; every time thewoman’s crying reached his ears he stopped helplessly and turned his headtoward the door; and suddenly he gave up and tumbled head-foremost down theback stairs.
“What was really the matter with you?” asked Pelle crossly, whenhe, too, could get away. Per was waiting at the door for him.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear her hymn-singing, you blockhead! But,anyhow, you saw her sitting up in bed and looking like wax? It’s beastly,I tell you; it’s infamous! He’d no need to go making her cry likethat! I had the greatest longing to thrash him again, weak as a baby though hewas. The devil—what did he want to break his word for?”
“Because they were starving, Per!” said Pelle earnestly.“That does happen at times in this accursed city.”
Kofod stared at him and whistled. “Oh, Satan! Wife and child, and thewhole lot without food—what? And she in childbed. They were married,right enough, you can see that. Oh, the devil! What a honeymoon! Whatmisery!”
He stood there plunging deep into his trouser pockets; he fetched out a handfulof things: chewing-tobacco, bits of flock, broken matches, and in the midst ofall a crumpled ten-kroner note. “So I thought!” he said, fishingout the note. “I was afraid the girls had quite cleaned me out lastnight! Now Pelle, you go up and spin them some sort of a yarn; I can’t doit properly myself; for, look you, if I know that woman she won’t stopcrying day and night for another twenty-four hours! That’s the last of mypay. But—oh, well, blast it … we go to sea to-morrow!”
“She stopped crying when I took her the money,” said Pelle, when hecame down again.
“That’s good. We sailors are dirty beasts; you know; we do ourbusiness into china and eat our butter out of the tarbucket; all the same,we—I tell you, I should have left the thing alone and used the money tohave made a jolly night of it to-night….” He was suddenly silent; hechewed at his quid as though inwardly considering his difficult philosophy.“Damn it all, to-morrow we put to sea!” he cried suddenly.
They went out to Alleenberg and sat in the gardens. Pelle ordered beer.“I can very well stand a few pints when I meet a good pal,” hesaid, “but at other times I save like the devil. I’ve got to seeabout getting my old father over here; he’s living on charity athome.”
“So your father’s still living? I can see him still soplainly—he had a love-affair with Madam Olsen for some time, but thenbo’sun Olsen came home unexpectedly; they thought he’d remainabroad.”
Pelle laughed. Much water had run into the sea since those days. Now he was nolonger ashamed of Father Lasse’s foolish prank.
Light was gleaming from the booths in the garden. Young couples wandered aboutand had their fortunes told; they ventured themselves on the Wheel ofHappiness, or had their portraits cut out by the silhouette artist. By theroundabout was a mingled whirl of cries and music and brightly coloredpetticoats. Now and again a tremendous outcry arose, curiously dreadful, overall other sounds, and from the concert-pavilion one heard the cracked,straining voices of one-time “stars.” Wretched little worldlingscame breathlessly hurrying thither, pushing through the crowd, and disappearedinto the pavilion, nodding familiarly to the man in the ticket-office window.
“It’s really quite jolly here,” said Per Kofod. “Youhave a damn good time of it on land!”
On the wide pathway under the trees apprentices, workmen, soldiers, and now andagain a student, loitered up and down, to and fro, looking sideways at theservant-girls, who had stationed themselves on either side of the walk,standing there arm-in-arm, or forming little groups. Their eyes sent many amessage before ever one of them stopped and ventured to speak. Perhaps themaiden turned away; if so, that was an end of the matter, and the youngsterbegan the business all over again. Or perhaps she ran off with him to one ofthe closed arbors, where they drank coffee, or else to the roundabouts. Severalof the young people were from Pelle’s home; and every time he heard theconfident voices of the Bornholm girls Pelle’s heart stirred like a birdabout to fly away.
Suddenly his troubles returned to his mind. “I really felt inclined, thisevening, to have done with the whole thing…. Just look at those two,Per!” Two girls were standing arm-in-arm under a tree, quite close totheir table. They were rocking to and fro together, and now and again theyglanced at the two young men.
“Nothing there for me—that’s only for youland-lubbers,” said Per Kofod. “For look you now, they’relike so many little lambs whose ears you’ve got to tickle. And then itall comes back to you in the nights when you take the dog-watch alone;you’ve told her lies, or you promised to come back again when she undidher bodice…. And in the end there she is, planted, and goin’ to have akid! It don’t do. A sailor ought to keep to the naughty girls.”
“But married women can be frisky sometimes,” said Pelle.
“That so, really? Once I wouldn’t have believed that any one couldhave kicked a good woman; but after all they strangle little children…. Andthey come and eat out of your hand if you give ’em a kindword—that’s the mischief of it…. D’you remember HowlingPeter?”
“Yes, as you ask me, I remember him very well.”
“Well, his father was a sailor, too, and that’s just what he did….And she was just such a girl, one who couldn’t say no, and believedeverything a man told her. He was going to come back again—of course.‘When you hear the trap-door of the loft rattle, that’ll beme,’ he told her. But the trap-door rattled several times, and hedidn’t come. Then she hanged herself from the trap-door with a rope.Howling Peter came on to the parish. And you know how they all scorned him.Even the wenches thought they had the right to spit at him. He could do nothingbut bellow. His mother had cried such a lot before he was born, d’ye see?Yes, and then he hanged himself too—twice he tried to do it. He’dinherited that! After that he had a worse time than ever; everybody thought ithonorable to ill-use him and ask after the marks on his throat. No, not you;you were the only one who didn’t raise a hand to him. That’s whyI’ve so often thought about you. ‘What has become of him?’ Iused to ask myself. ‘God only knows where he’s gotto!’” And he gazed at Pelle with a pair of eyes full of trust.
“No, that was due to Father Lasse,” said Pelle, and his tone wasquite childlike. “He always said I must be good to you because you werein God’s keeping.”
“In God’s keeping, did he say?” repeated Per Kofodthoughtfully. “That was a curious thing to say. That’s a feelingI’ve never had. There was nothing in the whole world at that time thatcould have helped me to stand up for myself. I can scarcely understand how itis that I’m sitting here talking to you—I mean, that theydidn’t torment the life out of my body.”
“Yes, you’ve altered very much. How does it really come about thatyou’re such a smart fellow now?”
“Why, such as I am now, that’s really my real nature. It has justwaked up, that’s what I think. But I don’t understand really whatwas the matter with me then. I knew well enough I could knock you down if I hadonly wanted to. But I didn’t dare strike out, just out of sheerwretchedness. I saw so much that you others couldn’t see. Damn it all, Ican’t make head nor tail of it! It must have been my mother’sdreadful misery that was still in my bones. A horror used to come overme—quite causeless—so that I had to bellow aloud; and then thefarmers used to beat me. And every time I tried to get out of it all by hangingmyself, they beat me worse than ever. The parish council decided I was to bebeaten. Well, that’s why I don’t do it, Pelle—a sailor oughtto keep to women that get paid for it, if they have anything to do withhim—that is, if he can’t get married. There, you have myopinion.”
“You’ve had a very bad time,” said Pelle, and he took hishand. “But it’s a tremendous change that’s come overyou!”
“Change! You may well say so! One moment Howling Peter—and thenext, the strongest man on board! There you have the whole story! For look herenow, at sea, of course, it was just the same; even the ship’s boy feltobliged to give me a kick on the shins in passing. Everybody who got a blow ona rowing passed it on to me. And when I went to sea in an American bark, therewas a nigger on board, and all of them used to hound him down; he crawledbefore them, but you may take your oath he hated them out of the whites of hisdevil’s eyes. But me, who treated him with humanity, he played all mannerof tricks on—it was nothing to him that I was white. Yet even with him Ididn’t dare to fetch him one— there was always like a flabby lumpin my midriff. But once the thing went too far—or else the still-bornsomething inside me was exhausted. I just aimed at him a bit with one arm, sothat he fell down. That really was a rummy business. It was, let’s say,like a fairy tale where the toad suddenly turns into a man. I set to then andthere and thrashed him till he was half dead. And while I was about it, and inthe vein, it seemed best to get the whole thing over, so I went right ahead andthrashed the whole crew from beginning to end. It was a tremendous moment,there was such a heap of rage inside me that had got to come out!”
Pelle laughed. “A lucky thing that I knew you a little while ago, or youwould have made mincemeat of me, after all!”
“Not me, mate, that was only a little joke. A fellow is in such highspirits when he comes ashore again. But out at sea it’s—thrash theothers, or they’ll thrash you! Well, that’s all right, but oneought to be good to the women. That’s what I’ve told the old man onboard; he’s a fellow-countryman, but a swine in his dealings with women.There isn’t a single port where he hasn’t a love-affair. In theSouth, and on the American coast. It’s madman’s work often, and Ihave to go along with him and look out that he doesn’t get a knifebetween his ribs. ‘Per,’ he says, ‘this evening we’llgo on the bust together.’ ‘All right, cap’n,’ I say.‘But it’s a pity about all the women.’ ‘Shut yourmouth, Per,’ he says; ‘they’re most of them married safeenough.’ He’s one of us from home, too—from a little cottageup on the heath.”
“What’s his name, then?” said Pelle, interested.
“Albert Karlsen.”
“Why, then he’s Uncle Kalle’s eldest, and in a way mycousin—Kalle, that is to say, isn’t really his father. His wife hadhim before she was married—he’s the son of the owner of StoneFarm.”
“So he’s a Kongstrup, then!” cried Per Kofod, and he laughedloudly. “Well, that’s as it should be!”
Pelle paid, and they got up to go. The two girls were still standing by thetree. Per Kofod went up to one of them as though she had been a bird that mightescape him. Suddenly he seized her round the waist; she withdrew herself slowlyfrom his grip and laughed in his big fair face. He embraced her once again, andnow she stood still; it was still in her mind to escape, for she laughinglyhalf-turned away. He looked deep into her eyes, then released her and followedPelle.
“What’s the use, Pelle—why, I can hear her complainingalready! A fellow ought to be well warned,” he said, with a despairingaccent. “But, damn it all, why should a man have so much compassion whenhe himself has been so cruelly treated? And the others; they’ve nocompassion. Did you see how gentle her eyes were? If I’d money I’dmarry her right away.”
“Perhaps she wouldn’t have you,” replied Pelle. “Itdoesn’t do to take the girls for granted.”
In the avenue a few men were going to and fro and calling; they were lookingfor their young women, who had given them the slip. One of them came up to Perand Pelle—he was wearing a student’s cap. “Have the gentlemenseen anything of our ladies?” he asked. “We’ve been sittingwith them and treating them all the evening, and then they said they’djust got to go to a certain place, and they’ve gone off.”
They went down to the harbor. “Can’t you come on board with me andsay how d’ye-do to the old man?” said Per. “But of course,he’s ashore to- night. I saw him go over the side about the time weknocked off—rigged out for chasing the girls.”
“I don’t know him at all,” said Pelle; “he was at seaalready when I was still a youngster. Anyhow, I’ve got to go home to bednow—I get to work early in the mornings.”
They stood on the quay, taking leave of one another. Per Kofod promised to lookPelle up next time he was in port. While they were talking the door of theafter-cabin rattled. Howling Peter drew Pelle behind a stack of coal. Apowerful, bearded man came out, leading a young girl by the hand. She wentslowly, and appeared to resist. He set her ceremoniously ashore, turned back tothe cabin, and locked the door behind him. The girl stood still for a moment. Alow ’plaint escaped her lips. She stretched her arms pleadingly towardthe cabin. Then she turned and went mournfully along the quay.
“That was the old man,” whispered Per Kofod. “That’show he treats them all—and yet they don’t want to give himup.”
Pelle could not utter a word; he stood there cowering, oppressed as by someterrible burden. Suddenly he pulled himself together, pressed hiscomrade’s hand, and set off quickly between the coal-stacks.
After a time he turned aside and followed the young girl at a little distance.Like a sleep-walker, she staggered along the quay and went over the longbridge. He feared she would throw herself in the water, so strangely did shebehave.
On the bridge she stood gazing across at the ship, with a frozen look on herface. Pelle stood still; turned to ice by the thought that she might see him.He could not have borne to speak to her just then—much less look into hereyes.
But then she moved on. Her bearing was broken; from behind she looked like oneof those elderly, shipwrecked females from the “Ark,” who shuffledalong by the house-walls in trodden-down men’s shoes, and always boasteda dubious past. “Good God!” thought Pelle, “is her dream overalready? Good God!”
He followed her at a short distance down the narrow street, and as soon as heknew that she must have reached her dwelling he entered the tunnel.
VII
In the depths of Pelle’s soul lay a confident feeling that he wasdestined for something particular; it was his old dream of fortune, which wouldnot be wholly satisfied by the good conditions for all men which he wanted tohelp to bring about. His fate was no longer in his eyes a grievous and crushingpredestination to poverty, which could only be lifted from him by a miracle; hewas lord of his own future, and already he was restlessly building it up!
But in addition to this there was something else that belonged only to him andto life, something that no one else in the world could undertake. What it washe had not yet figured to himself; but it was something that raised him aboveall others, secretly, so that only he was conscious of it. It was the sameobscure feeling of being a pioneer that had always urged him forward; and whenit did take the form of a definite question he answered it with the confidentnod of his childhood. Yes, he would see it through all right! As though thatwhich was to befall him was so great and so wonderful that it could not be putinto words, nor even thought of. He saw the straight path in front of him, andhe sauntered on, strong and courageous. There were no other enemies than thosea prudent man might perceive; those lurking forces of evil which in hischildhood had hovered threateningly above his head were the shadows of the poorman’s wretchedness. There was nothing else evil, and that was sinisterenough. He knew now that the shadows were long. Morten was right. Although hehimself when a child had sported in the light, yet his mind was saddened by themisery of all those who were dead or fighting in distant parts of the earth;and it was on this fact that the feeling of solidarity must be based. Themiraculous simply had no existence, and that was a good thing for those who hadto fight with the weapon of their own physical strength. No invisible deity satoverhead making his own plans for them or obstructing others. What one willed,that could one accomplish, if only he had strength enough to carry it through.Strength—it was on that and that alone that everything depended. Andthere was strength in plenty. But the strength of all must be united, must actas the strength of one. People always wondered why Pelle, who was soindustrious and respectable, should live in the “Ark” instead of inthe northern quarter, in the midst of the Movement. He wondered at himself whenhe ever thought about it at all; but he could not as yet tear himself away fromthe “Ark.” Here, at the bottom of the ladder, he had found peace inhis time of need. He was too loyal to turn his back on those among whom he hadbeen happy.
He knew they would feel it as a betrayal; the adoration with which the inmatesof the “Ark” regarded the three orphan children was also bestowedupon him; he was the foundling, the fourth member of the “Family,”and now they were proud of him too!
It was not the way of the inmates of the “Ark” to make plans forthe future. Sufficient to the day was the evil thereof; to-morrow’s careswere left for the morrow. The future did not exist for them. They were likecareless birds, who had once suffered shipwreck and had forgotten it. Many ofthem made their living where they could; but however down in the world theywere, let the slightest ray of sunlight flicker down to them, and all wasforgotten. Of the labor movement and other new things they gossiped asfrivolously as so many chattering starlings, who had snapped up the news on thewind.
But Pelle went so confidently out into the world, and set his shoulders againstit, and then came back home to them. He had no fear; he could look Lifestraight in the face, he grappled boldly with the future, before which theyshudderingly closed their eyes. And thereby his name came to be spoken with aparticular accent; Pelle was a prince; what a pity it was that hewouldn’t, it seemed, have the princess!
He was tall and well-grown, and to them he seemed even taller. They went to himin their misery, and loaded it all on his strong young shoulders, so that hecould bear it for them. And Pelle accepted it all with an increasing sense thatperhaps it was not quite aimlessly that he lingered here—so near thefoundations of society!
At this time Widow Frandsen and her son Ferdinand came upon the scene.Misfortune must house itself somewhere!
Ferdinand was a sturdy young fellow of eighteen years, with a powerfullymodelled head, which looked as though it had originally been intended to absorball the knowledge there is in all the world. But he used it only for dispensingblows; he had no other use for it whatever.
Yet he was by no means stupid; one might even call him a gifted young man. Buthis gifts were of a peculiar quality, and had gradually become even morepeculiar.
As a little child he had been forced to fight a besotted father, in order toprotect his mother, who had no other protector. This unequal battle hadto be fought; and it necessarily blunted his capacity for feeling pain, andparticularly his sense of danger. He knew what was in store for him, but herushed blindly into the fray the moment his mother was attacked; just as a dogwill attack a great beast of prey, so he hung upon the big man’s fists,and would not be shaken off. He hated his father, and he longed in his heart tobe a policeman when he was grown up. With his blind and obtuse courage he wasparticularly adapted to such a calling; but he actually became a homelessvagabond.
Gradually as he grew in height and strength and the battle was no longer sounequal, his father began to fear him and to think of revenge; and once, whenFerdinand had thoroughly thrashed him, he reported him, and the boy wasflogged. The boy felt this to be a damnable piece of injustice; the floggingleft scars behind it, and another of its results was that his mother was nolonger left in peace.
From that time onward he hated the police, and indulged his hatred at everyopportunity. His mother was the only being for whom he still cared. It was likea flash of sunshine when his father died. But it came too late to effect anytransformation; Ferdinand had long ago begun to look after his mother in hisown peculiar way—which was partly due to the conditions of his life.
He had grown up in the streets, and even when quite a child was one of thosewho are secretly branded. The police knew him well, and were only awaitingtheir opportunity to ask him inside. Ferdinand could see it in theireyes—they reckoned quite confidently on that visit, and had got a bedalready for him in their hotel on the New Market.
But Ferdinand would not allow himself to be caught. When he had anythingdoubtful in hand, he always managed to clear himself. He was an unusuallystrong and supple young fellow, and was by no means afraid to work; he obtainedall kinds of occasional work, and he always did it well. But whenever he gotinto anything that offered him a future, any sort of regular work which must belearned and attacked with patience, he could never go on with it.
“You speak to him, Pelle!” said his mother. “You are sosensible, and he does respect you!” Pelle did speak to him, and helpedhim to find some calling for which he was suited; and Ferdinand set to workwith a will, but when he got to a certain point he always threw it up.
His mother never lacked actual necessaries; although sometimes he only procuredthem at the last moment. When not otherwise engaged, he would stand in somedoorway on the market-place, loafing about, his hands in his pockets, hissupple shoulders leaning against the wall. He was always in clogs and mittens;at stated intervals he spat upon the pavement, his sea-blue eyes following thepassers-by with an unfathomable expression. The policeman, who was aggressivelypacing up and down his beat, glanced at him in secret every time he passed him,as much as to say, “Shan’t we ever manage to catch the rogue? Whydoesn’t he make a slip?”
And one day the thing happened—quite of itself, and not on account of anyclumsiness on his part—in the “Ark” they laid particularstress upon that. It was simply his goodness of heart that was responsible. HadFerdinand not been the lad he was, matters had not gone awry, for he was agifted young man.
He was in the grocer’s shop on the corner of the Market buying a fewcoppers’ worth of chewing-tobacco. An eight-year-old boy from the“Ark” was standing by the counter, asking for a little flour oncredit for his mother. The grocer was making a tremendous fuss about theaffair. “Put it down—I dare say! One keeps shop on the corner herejust to feed all the poor folks in the neighborhood! I shall have the moneyto-morrow? Peculiar it is, that in this miserable, poverty-stricken quarterfolks are always going to have money the very next day! Only the next day nevercomes!”
“Herre Petersen can depend on it,” said the child, in a low voice.
The grocer continued to scoff, but began to weigh the meal. Before the scalesthere was a pile of yard brooms and other articles, but Ferdinand could seethat the grocer was pressing the scale with his fingers. He’s givingfalse weight because it’s for a poor person, thought Ferdinand, and hefelt an angry pricking in his head, just where his thoughts were.
The boy stood by, fingering something concealed in his hand. Suddenly a coinfell on the floor and went rolling round their feet. Quick as lightning thegrocer cast a glance at the till, as he sprang over the counter and seized theboy by the scruff of the neck. “Ay, ay,” he said sharply, “aclever little rogue!”
“I haven’t stolen anything!” cried the boy, trying to wrenchhimself loose and to pick up his krone-piece. “That’smother’s money!”
“You leave the kid alone!” said Ferdinand threateningly. “Hehasn’t done anything!”
The grocer struggled with the boy, who was twisting and turning in order torecover his money. “Hasn’t done anything!” he growled,panting, “then why did he cry out about stealing before ever I hadmentioned the word? And where does the money come from? He wanted credit,because they hadn’t got any! No, thanks—I’m not to be caughtlike that.”
“The money belongs to mother!” shrieked the youngster, twistingdesperately in the grocer’s grip. “Mother is ill—I’m toget medicine with it!” And he began to blubber.
“It’s quite right—his mother is ill!” said Ferdinand,with a growl. “And the chemist certainly won’t give credit.You’d best let him go, Petersen.” He took a step forward.
“You’ve thought it out nicely!” laughed the grocerscornfully, and he wrenched the shop-door open. “Here, policeman,here!”
The policeman, who was keeping watch at the street corner, came quickly over tothe shop. “Here’s a lad who plays tricks with other folks’money,” said the grocer excitedly. “Take care of him for a bit,Iversen!”
The boy was still hitting out in all directions; the policeman had to hold himoff at arm’s length. He was a ragged, hungry little fellow. The policemansaw at a glance what he had in his fingers, and proceeded to drag him away; andthere was no need to have made any more ado about the matter.
Ferdinand went after him and laid his hand on the policeman’s arm.“Mister Policeman, the boy hasn’t done anything,” he said.“I was standing there myself, and I saw that he did nothing, and I knowhis mother!”
The policeman stood still for a moment, measuring Ferdinand with a threateningeye; then he dragged the boy forward again, the latter still struggling to getfree, and bellowing: “My mother is ill; she’s waiting for me andthe medicine!” Ferdinand kept step with them, in his thin canvas shoes.
“If you drag him off to the town hall, I shall come with you, at allevents, and give evidence for him,” he continued; “the boyhasn’t done anything, and his mother is lying sick and waiting for themedicine at home.”
The policeman turned about, exasperated. “Yes, you’re a nicewitness. One crow don’t pick another’s eyes out. You mind your ownbusiness—and just you be off!”
Ferdinand stood his ground. “Who are you talking to, you Laban?” hemuttered, angrily looking the other up and down. Suddenly he took a run andcaught the policeman a blow in the neck so that he fell with his face upon thepavement while his helmet rolled far along the street. Ferdinand and the boydashed off, each in a different direction, and disappeared.
And now they had been hunting him for three weeks already. He did not dare gohome. The “Ark” was watched night and day, in the hope of catchinghim—he was so fond of his mother. God only knew where he might be in thatrainy, cold autumn. Madam Frandsen moved about her attic, lonely and forsaken.It was a miserable life. Every morning she came over to beg Pelle to look inThe Working Man, to see whether her son had been caught. He was in thecity—Pelle and Madam Frandsen knew that. The police knew it also; andthey believed him responsible for a series of nocturnal burglaries. He mightwell be sleeping in the outhouses and the kennels of the suburban villas.
The inmates of the “Ark” followed his fate with painful interest.He had grown up beneath their eyes. He had never done anything wrong there; hehad always respected the “Ark” and its inhabitants; that at leastcould be said of him, and he loved his mother dearly. And he had been entirelyin the right when he took the part of the boy; a brave little fellow he was!His mother was very ill; she lived at the end of one of the long gangways, andthe boy was her only support. But it was a mad undertaking to lay hands on thepolice; that was the greatest crime on earth! A man had far better murder hisown parents—as far as the punishment went. As soon as they got hold ofhim, he would go to jail, for the policeman had hit his handsome face againstthe flagstones; according to the newspaper, anybody but a policeman would havehad concussion of the brain.
Old Madam Frandsen loved to cross the gangway to visit Pelle, in order to talkabout her son.
“We must be cautious,” she said. At times she would purse up hermouth, tripping restlessly to and fro; then he knew there was somethingparticular in the wind.
“Shall I tell you something?” she would ask, looking at himimportantly.
“No; better keep it to yourself,” Pelle would reply. “Whatone doesn’t know one can’t give evidence about.”
“You’d better let me chatter, Pelle—else I shall go runningin and gossiping with strangers. Old chatterbox that I am, I go fidgeting roundhere, and I’ve no one I can trust; and I daren’t even talk tomyself! Then that Pipman hears it all through the wooden partition; it’salmost more than I can bear, and I tremble lest my toothless old mouth shouldget him into trouble!”
“Well, then, tell it me!” said Pelle, laughing. “But youmustn’t speak loud.”
“He’s been here again!” she whispered, beaming. “Thismorning, when I got up, there was money for me in the kitchen. Do you knowwhere he had put it? In the sink! He’s such a sensible lad! He must havecome creeping over the roofs—otherwise I can’t think how he doesit, they are looking for him so. But you must admit that—he’s agood lad!”
“If only you can keep quiet about it!” said Pelle anxiously. Shewas so proud of her son!
“M—m!” she said, tapping her shrunken lips. “No need totell me that— and do you know what I’ve hit on, so that thebloodhounds shan’t wonder what I live on? I’m sewing canvasslippers.”
Then came little Marie with mop and bucket, and the old woman hobbled away.
It was a slack time now in Master Beck’s workshop, so Pelle was workingmostly at home. He could order his hours himself now, and was able to use theday, when people were indoors, in looking up his fellow- craftsmen and winningthem for the organization. This often cost him a lengthy argument, and he wasproud of every man he was able to inscribe. He very quickly learned to classifyall kinds of men, and he suited his procedure to the character of the man hewas dealing with; one could threaten the waverers, while others had to beenticed or got into a good humor by chatting over the latest theories withthem. This was good practice, and he accustomed himself to think rapidly, andto have his subject at his fingers’ ends. The feeling of mastery over hismeans continually increased in strength, and lent assurance to his bearing.
He had to make up for neglecting his work, and at such times he was doublybusy, rising early and sitting late at his bench.
He kept away from his neighbors on the third story; but when he heardHanne’s light step on the planking over there, he used to peep furtivelyacross the well. She went her way like a nun—straight to her work andstraight home again, her eyes fixed on the ground. She never looked up at hiswindow, or indeed anywhere. It was as though her nature had completed its airyflutterings, as though it now lay quietly growing.
It surprised him that he should now regard her with such strange andindifferent eyes, as though she had never been anything to him. And he gazedcuriously into his own heart—no, there was nothing wrong with him. Hisappetite was good, and there was nothing whatever the matter with his heart. Itmust all have been a pleasant illusion, a mirage such as the traveller seesupon his way. Certainly she was beautiful; but he could not possibly seeanything fairy-like about her. God only knew how he had allowed himself to beso entangled! It was a piece of luck that he hadn’t beencaught—there was no future for Hanne.
Madam Johnsen continued to lean on him affectionately, and she often came overfor a little conversation; she could not forget the good times they had hadtogether. She always wound up by lamenting the change in Hanne; the old womanfelt that the girl had forsaken her.
“Can you understand what’s the matter with her, Pelle? She goesabout as if she were asleep, and to everything I say she answers nothing but‘Yes, mother; yes, mother!’ I could cry, it sounds so strange andempty, like a voice from the grave. And she never says anything about goodfortune now—and she never decks herself out to be ready for it! Ifshe’d only begin with her fool’s tricks again—if she onlycared to look out and watch for the stranger—then I should have my childagain. But she just goes about all sunk into herself, and she stares about heras if she was half asleep, as though she were in the middle of empty space; andshe’s never in any spirits now. She goes about so unmeaning—likewith her own dreary thoughts, it’s like a wandering corpse. Can youunderstand what’s wrong with her?”
“No, I don’t know,” answered Pelle.
“You say that so curiously, as if you did know something andwouldn’t come out with it—and I, poor woman, I don’t knowwhere to turn.” The good-natured woman began to cry. “And whydon’t you come over to see us any more?”
“Oh, I don’t know—I’ve so much on hand, MadamJohnsen,” answered Pelle evasively.
“If only she’s not bewitched. She doesn’t enter into anythingI tell her; you might really come over just for once; perhaps that would cheerher up a little. You oughtn’t to take your revenge on us. She was veryfond of you in her way—and to me you’ve been like a son.Won’t you come over this evening?”
“I really haven’t the time. But I’ll see, some time,”he said, in a low voice.
And then she went, drooping and melancholy. She was showing her fifty years.Pelle was sorry for her, but he could not make up his mind to visit her.
“You are quite detestable!” said Marie, stamping angrily on thefloor. “It’s wretched of you!”
Pelle wrinkled his forehead. “You don’t understand, Marie.”
“Oh, so you think I don’t know all about it? But do you know whatthe women say about you? They say you’re no man, or you would havemanaged to clip Hanne’s feathers.”
Pelle gazed at her, wondering; he said nothing, but looked at her and shook hishead.
“What are you staring at me for?” she said, placing herselfaggressively in front of him. “Perhaps you think I’m afraid to saywhat I like to you? Don’t you stare at me with that face, or you’llget one in the mouth!” She was burning red with shame. “Shall I saysomething still worse? with you staring at me with that face? Eh? No one needthink I’m ashamed to say what I like!” Her voice was hard andhoarse; she was quite beside herself with rage.
Pelle was perfectly conscious that it was shame that was working in her. Shemust be allowed to run down. He was silent, but did not avert his reproachfulgaze. Suddenly she spat in his face and ran into her own room with a maliciouslaugh.
There she was very busy for a time.
There for a time she worked with extreme vigor, but presently grew quieter.Through the stillness Pelle could hear her gently sobbing. He did not go in toher. Such scenes had occurred between them before, and he knew that for therest of the day she would be ashamed of herself, and it would he misery for herto look him in the face. He did not wish to lessen that feeling.
He dressed himself and went out.
VIII
The “Ark” now showed as a clumsy gray mass. It was always dark; theautumn daylight was unable to penetrate it. In the interior of the mass thepitch-black night brooded continually; those who lived there had to grope theirway like moles. In the darkness sounds rose to the surface which failed to makethemselves noticeable in the radiance of summer. Innumerable sounds ofcreatures that lived in the half-darkness were heard. When sleep had laidsilence upon it all, the stillness of night unveiled yet another world: thenthe death-watches audibly bored their way beneath the old wall-papers, whilerats and mice and the larvae of wood-beetles vied with one another in theirefforts. The darkness was full of the aromatic fragrance of the fallingworm-dust. All through this old box of a building dissolution was at work, withthousands of tiny creatures to aid it. At times the sound of it all rose to atremendous crash which awoke Pelle from sleep, when some old worm-eaten timberwas undermined and sagged in a fresh place. Then he would turn over on theother side.
When he went out of an evening he liked to make his way through the cheerful,crowded streets, in order to share in the brightness of it all; the rich luxuryof the shops awakened something within him which noted the startling contrastbetween this quarter of the town and his own. When he passed from the brightlylit city into his own quarter, the streets were like ugly gutters to drain thedarkness, and the “Ark” rose mysteriously into the sky of nightlike a ponderous mountain. Dark cellar-openings led down into the roots of themountain, and there, in its dark entrails, moved wan, grimy creatures withsmoky lamps; there were all those who lived upon the poverty of the“Ark”—the old iron merchant, the old clothes merchant, andthe money-lender who lent money upon tangible pledges. They moved fearfully,burrowing into strange- looking heaps. The darkness was ingrained in them;Pelle was always reminded of the “underground people” at home. Sothe base of the cliffs had opened before his eyes in childhood, and he hadshudderingly watched the dwarfs pottering about their accursed treasure. Herethey moved about like greedy goblins, tearing away the foundations from underthe careless beings in the “Ark,” so that one day these might wellfall into the cellars—and in the meantime they devoured them hair andhide. At all events, the bad side of the fairy tale was no lie!
One day Pelle threw down his work in the twilight and went off to carry out hismission. Pipman had some days earlier fallen drunk from the rickety steps, anddown in the well the children of the quarter surrounded the place where he haddropped dead, and illuminated it with matches. They could quite plainly see thedark impress of a shape that looked like a man, and were all full of thespectacle.
Outside the mouth of the tunnel-like entry he stopped by the window of the oldclothes dealer’s cellar. Old Pipman’s tools lay spread out there inthe window. So she had got her claws into them too! She was rummaging aboutdown there, scurfy and repulsive to look at, chewing an unappetizing slice ofbread-and-butter, and starting at every sound that came from above, so anxiouswas she about her filthy money! Pelle needed a new heel-iron, so he went in andpurchased that of Pipman. He had to haggle with her over the price.
“Well, have you thought over my proposal?” she asked, when the dealwas concluded.
“What proposal?” said Pelle, in all ignorance.
“That you should leave your cobbling alone and be my assistant in thebusiness.”
So that was what she meant? No, Pelle hadn’t thought over itsufficiently.
“I should think there isn’t much to think over. I have offered youmore than you could earn otherwise, and there’s not much to do. And Ikeep a man who fetches and carries things. It’s mostly that I have afancy to have a male assistant. I am an old woman, going about alone here, andyou are so reliable, I know that.”
She needed some one to protect all the thousands of kroner which she hadconcealed in these underground chambers. Pelle knew that well enough— shehad approached him before on the subject.
“I should scarcely be the one for that—to make my living out of thepoverty of others,” said Pelle, smiling. “Perhaps I might knock youover the head and distribute all your pennies to the poor!”
The old woman stared at him for a moment in alarm. “Ugh, what a horriblething to say!” she cried, shuddering. “You libel your good heart,joking about such things. Now I shan’t like to stay here in the cellarany longer when you’ve gone. How can you jest so brutally about life anddeath? Day and night I go about here trembling for my life, and yet I’venothing at all, the living God knows I’ve nothing. That is just gossip!Everybody looks at me as much as to say, ‘I’d gladly strike youdead to get your money!’ And that’s why I’d like to have atrustworthy man in the business; for what good is it to me that I’ve gotnothing when they all believe I have? And there are so many worthless fellowswho might fall upon one at any moment.”
“If you have nothing, you can be easy,” said Pelle teasingly.“No need for an empty stomach to have the nightmare!”
“Have nothing! Of course one always has something! AndPelle”—she leaned confidentially over him with a smirk on herface—“now Mary will soon come home, perhaps no later than thissummer. She has earned so much over there that she can live on it, andshe’ll still be in the prime of her youth. What do you think of that? Inher last letter she asked me to look out for a husband for her. He need only behandsome, for she has money enough for two. Then she’d rent a big housein the fine part of the city, and keep her own carriage, and live only for herhandsome husband. What do you say to that, Pelle?”
“Well, that is certainly worth thinking over!” answered Pelle; hewas in overflowing high spirits.
“Thinking over? Is that a thing to think over? Many a poor lord wouldaccept such an offer and kiss my hand for it, if only he were here.”
“But I’m not a lord, and now I must be going.”
“Won’t you just see her pictures?” The old woman began torummage in a drawer.
“No.” Pelle only wanted to be gone. He had seen these picturesoften enough, grimed with the air of the cellar and the old woman’sfilthy hands; pictures which represented Mary now as a slim figure, stripedlike a tiger-cat, as she sang in the fashionable variety theaters of St.Petersburg, now naked, with a mantle of white furs, alone in the midst of acrowd of Russian officers—princes, the old woman said. There was also apicture from the aquarium, in which she was swimming about in a great glasstank amid some curious-looking plants, with nothing on her body but goldenscales and diamond ornaments. She had a magnificent body—that he couldplainly see; but that she could turn the heads of fabulously wealthy princesand get thousands out of their pockets merely by undressing herself—thathe could not understand. And he was to take her to wife, was he?—and toget all that she had hoarded up! That was tremendously funny! That beateverything!
He went along the High Street with a rapid step. It was raining a little; thelight from the street lamps and shop-windows was reflected in the wetflagstones; the street wore a cheerful look. He went onward with a feeling thathis mind was lifted above the things of everyday; the grimy old woman who livedas a parasite on the poverty of the “Ark” and who had a wonderfuldaughter who was absorbing riches like a leech. And on top of it all the littlePelle with the “lucky curl,” like the curly-haired apprentice inthe story! Here at last was the much-longed- for fairy tale!
He threw back his head and laughed. Pelle, who formerly used to feel insults sobitterly, had achieved a sense of the divinity of life.
That evening his round included the Rabarber ward. Pelle had made himself alist, according to which he went forth to search each ward of the cityseparately, in order to save himself unnecessary running about. First of all,he took a journeyman cobbler in Smith Street; he was one of Meyer’sregular workers, and Pelle was prepared for a hard fight. The man was not athome. “But you can certainly put him down,” said his wife.“We’ve been talking it over lately, and we’ve come to seeit’s really the best thing.” That was a wife after Pelle’sheart. Many would deny that their husbands were at home when they learned whatPelle wanted; or would slam the door in his face; they were tired of hisrunning to and fro.
He visited various houses in Gardener Street, Castle Street, Norway Street,making his way through backyards and up dark, narrow stairs, up to the garretsor down to the cellars.
Over all was the same poverty; without exception the cobblers were lodged inthe most miserable holes. He had not a single success to record. Some had goneaway or were at fresh addresses; others wanted time to consider or gave him adirect refusal. He promised himself that he would presently give the wobblersanother call; he would soon bring them round; the others he ticked off, keepingthem for better times— their day too would come before long! It did notdiscourage him to meet with refusals; he rejoiced over the single sheep. Thiswas a work of patience, and patience was the one thing in which he had alwaysbeen rich.
He turned into Hunter Street and entered a barrack-like building, climbinguntil he was right under the roof, when he knocked on a door. It was opened bya tall thin man with a thin beard. This was Peter, his fellow-’prenticeat home. They were speedily talking of the days of their apprenticeship, andthe workshop at home with all the curious company there. There was not muchthat was good to be said of Master Jeppe. But the memory of the young masterfilled them with warmth. “I often think of him in the course of theyear,” said Peter. “He was no ordinary man. That was why hedied.”
There was something abstracted about Peter; and his den gave one an impressionof loneliness. Nothing was left to remind one of the mischievous fellow whomust always be running; but something hostile and obstinate glowed within hisclose-set eyes. Pelle sat there wondering what could really be the matter withhim. He had a curious bleached look as though he had shed his skin; but hewasn’t one of the holy sort, to judge by his conversation.
“Peter, what’s the truth of it—are you one of us?” saidPelle suddenly.
A disagreeable smile spread over Peter’s features. “Am I one ofyou? That sounds just like when they ask you—have you found Jesus? Haveyou become a missionary?”
“You are welcome to call it that,” replied Pelle frankly, “ifyou’ll only join our organization. We want you.”
“You won’t miss me—nobody is missed, I believe, if he onlydoes his work. I’ve tried the whole lot of them—churches and sectsand all—and none of them has any use for a man. They want one morelistener, one more to add to their list; it’s the same everywhere.”He sat lost in thought, looking into vacancy. Suddenly he made a gesture withhis hands as though to wave something away. “I don’t believe inanything any longer, Pelle—there’s nothing worth believingin.”
“Don’t you believe in improving the lot of the poor, then? Youhaven’t tried joining the movement?” asked Pelle.
“What should I do there? They only want to get more to eat—and thelittle food I need I can easily get. But if they could manage to make me feelthat I’m a man, and not merely a machine that wants a bit more greasing,I’d as soon be a thin dog as a fat one.”
“They’d soon do that!” said Pelle convincingly. “If weonly hold together, they’ll have to respect the individual as well, andlisten to his demands. The poor man must have his say with the rest.”
Peter made an impatient movement. “What good can it do me to club folkson the head till they look at me? It don’t matter a damn to me! Butperhaps they’d look at me of their own accord—and say, of their ownaccord—‘Look, there goes a man made in God’s image, whothinks and feels in his heart just as I do!’ That’s what Iwant!”
“I honestly don’t understand what you mean with your‘man,’” said Pelle irritably. “What’s the good ofrunning your head against a wall when there are reasonable things in store forus? We want to organize ourselves and see if we can’t escape fromslavery. Afterward every man can amuse himself as he likes.”
“Well, well, if it’s so easy to escape from slavery! Why not? Putdown my name for one!” said Peter, with a slightly ironical expression.
“Thanks, comrade!” cried Pelle, joyfully shaking his hand.“But you’ll do something for the cause?”
Peter looked about him forlornly. “Horrible weather for you to be outin,” he said, and he lighted Pelle down the stairs.
Pelle went northward along Chapel Street. He wanted to look up Morten. The windwas chasing the leaves along by the cemetery, driving the rain in his face. Hekept close against the cemetery wall in order to get shelter, and chargedagainst the wind, head down. He was in the best of humors. That was two newmembers he had won over; he was getting on by degrees! What an odd fish Peterhad become; the word, “man, man,” sounded meaningless toPelle’s ears. Well, anyhow, he had got him on the list.
Suddenly he heard light, running steps behind him. The figure of a man reachedhis side, and pushed a little packet under Pelle’s arm without stoppingfor a moment. At a short distance he disappeared. It seemed to Pelle as thoughhe disappeared over the cemetery wall.
Under one of the street lamps he stopped and wonderingly examined the parcel;it was bound tightly with tape. “For mother” was written upon it inan awkward hand. Pelle was not long in doubt—in that word“mother” he seemed plainly to hear Ferdinand’s hoarse voice.“Now Madam Frandsen will be delighted,” he thought, and he put itin his pocket. During the past week she had had no news of Ferdinand. He daredno longer venture through Kristianshavn. Pelle could not understand howFerdinand had lit upon him. Was he living out here in the Rabarber ward?
Morten was sitting down, writing in a thick copybook. He closed it hastily asPelle entered.
“What is that?” asked Pelle, who wanted to open the book;“are you still writing in your copybook?”
Morten, confused, laid his hand on the book. “No. Besides—oh, asfar as that goes,” he said, “you may as well know. I have written apoem. But you mustn’t speak of it.”
“Oh, do read it out to me!” Pelle begged.
“Yes; but you must promise me to be silent about it, or the others willjust think I’ve gone crazy.”
He was quite embarrassed, and he stammered as he read. It was a poem about poorpeople, who bore the whole world on their upraised hands, and with resignationwatched the enjoyment of those above them. It was called, “Let themdie!” and the words were repeated as the refrain of every verse. And nowthat Morten was in the vein, he read also an unpretentious story of thestruggle of the poor to win their bread.
“That’s damned fine!” cried Pelle enthusiastically.“Monstrously good, Morten! I don’t understand how you put ittogether, especially the verse. But you’re a real poet. But I’vealways thought that—that you had something particular in you.You’ve got your own way of looking at things, and they won’t clipyour wings in a hurry. But why don’t you write about something big andthrilling that would repay reading— there’s nothing interestingabout us!”
“But I find there is!”
“No, I don’t understand that. What can happen to poor fellows likeus?”
“Then don’t you believe in greatness?”
To be sure Pelle did. “But why shouldn’t we have splendid thingsright away?”
“You want to read about counts and barons!” said Morten. “Youare all like that. You regard yourself as one of the rabble, if it comes tothat! Yes, you do! Only you don’t know it! That’s the slave-naturein you; the higher classes of society regard you as such and you involuntarilydo the same. Yes, you may pull faces, but it’s true, all the same! Youdon’t like to hear about your own kind, for you don’t believe theycan amount to anything! No, you must have fine folks— always rich folks!One would like to spit on one’s past and one’s parents and climb upamong the fine folks, and because one can’t manage it one asks for it inbooks.” Morten was irritated.
“No, no,” said Pelle soothingly, “it isn’t as bad asall that!”
“Yes, it is as bad as all that!” cried Morten passionately.“And do you know why? Because you don’t yet understand thathumanity is holy, and that it’s all one where a man is found!”
“Humanity is holy?” said Pelle, laughing. “But I’m notholy, and I didn’t really think you were!”
“For your sake, I hope you are,” said Morten earnestly, “forotherwise you are no more than a horse or a machine that can do so muchwork.” And then he was silent, with a look that seemed to say that thematter had been sufficiently discussed.
Morten’s reserved expression made Pelle serious. He might jestinglypretend that this was nonsense, but Morten was one of those who looked intothings—perhaps there was something here that he didn’t understand.
“I know well enough that I’m a clown compared with you,” hesaid good- naturedly, “but you needn’t be so angry on that account.By the way, do you still remember Peter, who was at Jeppe’s with yourbrother Jens and me? He’s here, too—I—I came across him alittle while ago. He’s always looking into things too, but he can’tfind any foundation to anything, as you can. He believes in nothing in thewhole world. Things are in a bad way with him. It would do him good if he couldtalk with you.”
“But I’m no prophet—you are that rather than I,” saidMorten ironically.
“But you might perhaps say something of use to him. No, I’m only atrades unionist, and that’s no good.”
On his way home Pelle pondered honestly over Morten’s words, but he hadto admit that he couldn’t take them in. No, he had no occasion tosurround his person with any sort of holiness or halo; he was only a healthybody, and he just wanted to do things.
IX
Pelle came rushing home from Master Beck’s workshop, threw off his coatand waistcoat, and thrust his head into a bucket of water. While he wasscrubbing himself dry, he ran over to the “Family.” “Wouldyou care to come out with me? I have some tickets for an eveningentertainment—only you must hurry up.”
The three children were sitting round the table, doing tricks with cards. Thefire was crackling in the stove, and there was a delicious smell of coffee.They were tired after the day’s work and they didn’t feel inclinedto dress themselves to go out. One could see how they enjoyed feeling that theywere at home. “You should give Hanne and her mother the tickets,”said Marie, “they never go out.”
Pelle thought the matter over while he was dressing. Well, why not? After all,it was stupid to rake up an old story.
Hanne did not want to go with him. She sat with downcast eyes, like a lady inher boudoir, and did not look at him. But Madam Johnsen was quite ready togo—the poor old woman quickly got into her best clothes.
“It’s a long time since we two have been out together,Pelle,” she said gaily, as they walked through the city.“You’ve been so frightfully busy lately. They say you go about tomeetings. That is all right for a young man. Do you gain anything by it?”
“Yes, one could certainly gain something by it—if only one usedone’s strength!”
“What can you gain by it, then? Are you going to eat up the Germansagain, as in my young days, or what is it you are after?”
“We want to make life just a little happier,” said Pelle quietly.
“Oh, you don’t want to gain anything more than happiness?That’s easy enough, of course!” said Madam Johnsen, laughingloudly. “Why, to be sure, in my pretty young days too the men wanted togo to the capital to make their fortunes. I was just sixteen when I came herefor purposes of my own—where was a pretty girl to find everythingsplendid, if not here? One easily made friends—there were plenty to gowalking with a nice girl in thin shoes, and they wanted to give her all sortsof fine things, and every day brought its happiness with it. But then I met aman who wanted to do the best thing by me, and who believed in himself, too. Hegot me to believe that the two of us together might manage something lasting.And he was just such a poor bird as I was, with empty hands—but he set tovaliantly. Clever in his work he was, too, and he thought we could makeourselves a quiet, happy life, cozy between our four walls, if only we’dwork. Happiness—pooh! He wanted to be a master, at all costs—forwhat can a journeyman earn! And more than once we had scraped a littletogether, and thought things would be easier now; but misfortune always fell onus and took it all away. It’s always hovering like a great bird over thepoor man’s home; and you must have a long stick if you want to drive itaway! It was always the same story whenever we managed to get on a little. Awhole winter he was ill. We only kept alive by pawning all we’d got,stick by stick. And when the last thing had gone to the devil we borrowed a biton the pawn-ticket.” The old woman had to pause to recover her breath.
“Why are we hurrying like this?” she said, panting. “Any onewould think the world was trying to run away from us!”
“Well, there was nothing left!” she continued, shuffling on again.“And he was too tired to begin all over again, so we moved into the‘Ark.’ And when he’d got a few shillings he soughtconsolation—but it was a poor consolation for me, who was carrying Hanne,that you may believe! She was like a gift after all that misfortune; but hecouldn’t bear her, because our fancy for a little magnificence was bornagain in her. She had inherited that from us—poor littlething!—with rags and dirt to set it off. You should just have seen her,as quite a little child, making up the fine folks’ world out of the ragsshe got together out of the dustbins. ‘What’s that?’ Johnsenhe said once—he was a little less full than usual. ‘Oh,that’s the best room with the carpet on the floor, and there by the stoveis your room, father. But you mustn’t spit on the floor, because we arerich people.’”
Madam Johnsen began to cry. “And then he struck her on the head.‘Hold your tongue!’ he cried, and he cursed and swore at the childsomething frightful. ‘I don’t want to hear your infernalchatter!’ That’s the sort he was. Life began to be a bit easierwhen he had drowned himself in the sewer. The times when I might have amusedmyself he’d stolen from me with his talk of the future, and now I sitthere turning old soldiers’ trousers that fill the room with filth, andwhen I do two a day I can earn a mark. And Hanne goes about like asleep-walker. Happiness! Is there a soul in the ‘Ark’ thatdidn’t begin with a firm belief in something better? One doesn’tmove from one’s own choice into such a mixed louse’s nest, but oneends up there all the same. And is there anybody here who is really sure of hisdaily bread? Yes, Olsens with the warm wall, but they’ve got theirdaughter’s shame to thank for that.”
“All the more reason to set to work,” said Pelle.
“Yes, you may well say that! But any one who fights against theunconquerable will soon be tired out. No, let things be and amuse yourselfwhile you are still young. But don’t you take any notice of mycomplaining—me—an old whimperer, I am—walking with you andbeing in the dumps like this—now we’ll go and amuseourselves!” And now she looked quite contented again.
“Then take my arm—it’s only proper with a pair ofsweethearts,” said Pelle, joking. The old woman took his arm and wenttripping youthfully along. “Yes, if it had been in my young days, I wouldsoon have known how to dissuade you from your silly tricks,” she saidgaily. “I should have been taking you to the dance.”
“But you didn’t manage to get Johnsen to give them up,” saidPelle in reply.
“No, because then I was too credulous. But no one would succeed inrobbing me of my youth now!”
The meeting was held in a big hall in one of the side streets by the NorthBridge. The entertainment, which was got up by some of the agitators, wasdesigned principally for young people; but many women and young girls werepresent. Among other things a poem was read which dealt with an old respectableblacksmith who was ruined by a strike. “That may be very fine andtouching,” whispered Madam Johnsen, polishing her nose in her emotion,“but they really ought to have something one can laugh over. We seemisfortune every day.”
Then a small choir of artisans sang some songs, and one of the older leadersmounted the platform and told them about the early years of the movement. Whenhe had finished, he asked if there was no one else who had something to tellthem. It was evidently not easy to fill out the evening.
There was no spirit in the gathering. The women were not finding it amusing,and the men sat watching for anything they could carp at. Pelle knew most ofthose present; even the young men had hard faces, on which could be read anobstinate questioning. This homely, innocent entertainment did not appease theburning impatience which filled their hearts, listening for a promise of betterthings.
Pelle sat there pained by the proceedings; the passion for progress andagitation was in his very blood. Here was such an opportunity to strike a blowfor unification, and it was passing unused. The women only needed a littlerousing, the factory-girls and the married women too, who held back theirhusbands. And they stood up there, frittering away the time with their singingand their poetry-twaddle! With one leap he stood on the platform.
“All these fine words may be very nice,” he cried passionately,“but they are very little use to all those who can’t live on them!The clergyman and the dog earn their living with their mouths, but the rest ofus are thrown on our own resources when we want to get anything. Why do weslink round the point like cats on hot bricks, why all this palaver andpreaching? Perhaps we don’t yet know what we want? They say we’vebeen slaves for a thousand years! Then we ought to have had time enough tothink it out! Why does so little happen, although we are all waiting forsomething, and are ready? Is there no one anywhere who has the courage to leadus?”
Loud applause followed, especially from the young men; they stamped andshouted. Pelle staggered down from the platform; he was covered with sweat.
The old leader ascended the platform again and thanked his colleagues for theiracceptable entertainment. He turned also with smiling thanks to Pelle. It wasgratifying that there was still fire glowing in the young men; although theoccasion was unsuitable. The old folks had led the movement through evil times;but they by no means wished to prevent youth from testing itself.
Pelle wanted to stand up and make some answer, but Madam Johnsen held him fastby his coat. “Be quiet, Pelle,” she whispered anxiously;“you’ll venture too far.” She would not let go of him, so hehad to sit down again to avoid attracting attention. His cheeks were burning,and he was as breathless as though he had been running up a hill. It was thefirst time he had ventured on a public platform; excitement had sent himthither.
The people began to get up and to mix together. “Is it overalready?” asked Madam Johnsen. Pelle could see that she was disappointed.
“No, no; now we’ll treat ourselves to something,” he said,leading the old woman to a table at the back of the hall. “What can Ioffer you?”
“Coffee, please, for me! But you ought to have a glass of beer, you areso warm!”
Pelle wanted coffee too. “You’re a funny one for a man!” shesaid, laughing. “First you go pitching into a whole crowd of men, andthen you sit down here with an old wife like me and drink coffee! What a crowdof people there are here; it’s almost like a holiday!” She satlooking about her with shining eyes and rosy cheeks, like a young girl at adance. “Take some more of the skin of the milk, Pelle; you haven’tgot any. This really is cream!”
The leader came up to ask if he might make Pelle’s acquaintance.“I’ve heard of you from the president of your Union,” hesaid, giving Pelle his hand. “I am glad to make your acquaintance; youhave done a pretty piece of work.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” said Pelle, blushing. “But itreally would be fine if we could really get to work!”
“I know your impatience only too well,” retorted the oldcampaigner, laughing. “It’s always so with the young men. But thosewho really want to do something must be able to see to the end of theroad.” He patted Pelle on the shoulders and went.
Pelle felt that the people were standing about him and speaking of him. Godknows whether you haven’t made yourself ridiculous, he thought. Close byhim two young men were standing, who kept on looking at him sideways. Suddenlythey came up to him.
“We should much like to shake hands with you,” said one of them.“My name is Otto Stolpe, and this is my brother Frederik. That was good,what you said up there, we want to thank you for it!” They stood by forsome little while, chatting to Pelle. “It would please my father andmother too, if they could make your acquaintance,” said Otto Stolpe.“Would you care to come home with us?”
“I can’t very well this evening; I have some one with me,”replied Pelle.
“You go with them,” said Madam Johnsen. “I see some folksfrom Kristianshavn back there, I can go home with them.”
“But we were meaning to go on the spree a bit now that we’ve atlast come out!” said Pelle, smiling.
“God forbid! No, we’ve been on the spree enough for one evening, myold head is quite turned already. You just be off; that’s a thing Ihaven’t said for thirty years! And many thanks for bringing me withyou.” She laughed boisterously.
The Stolpe family lived in Elm Street, on the second floor of one of the newworkmen’s tenement houses. The stairs were roomy, and on the door therewas a porcelain plate with their name on it. In the entry an elderly,well-dressed woman up to them.
“Here is a comrade, mother,” said Otto.
“Welcome,” she said, as she took Pelle’s hand. She held it amoment in her own as she looked at him.
In the living room sat Stolpe, a mason, reading The Working Man. He wasin shirt sleeves, and was resting his heavy arms on the table. He readwhispering to himself, he had not noticed that a guest was in the room.
“Here’s some one who would like to say how-d’ye-do tofather,” said Otto, laying his hand on his father’s arm.
Stolpe raised his head and looked at Pelle. “Perhaps you would like tojoin the Union?” he asked, rising with difficulty, with one hand pressedon the table. He was tall, his hair was sprinkled with gray; his eyes weremottled from the impact of splinters of limestone.
“You and your Union!” said Madam Stolpe. “Perhaps you thinkthere’s no one in it but you!”
“No, mother; little by little a whole crowd of people have entered it,but all the same I was the first.”
“I’m already in the Union,” said Pelle. “But not inyours. I’m a shoemaker, you know.”
“Shoemaker, ah, that’s a poor trade for a journeyman; but all thesame a man can get to be a master; but to-day a mason can’t dothat—there’s a great difference there. And if one remains ajourneyman all his life long, he has more interest in modifying his position.Do you understand? That’s why the organization of the shoemakers hasnever been of more than middling dimensions. Another reason is that they workin their own rooms, and one can’t get them together. But nowthere’s a new man come, who seems to be making things move.”
“Yes, and this is he, father,” said Otto, laughing.
“The deuce, and here I stand making a fool of myself! Then I’ll sayhow- d’ye-do over again! And here’s good luck to your plans, youngcomrade.” He shook Pelle by the hand. “I think we might have a dropof beer, mother?”
Pelle and Stolpe were soon engaged in a lively conversation; Pelle was in hiselement. Until now he had never found his way to the heart of the movement.There was so much he wanted to ask about, and the old man incontinently toldhim of the growth of the organization from year to year, of their firstbeginning, when there was only one trades unionist in Denmark, namely, himself,down to the present time. He knew all the numbers of the various trades, andwas precisely informed as to the development of each individual union. The sonssat silent, thoughtfully listening. When they had something to say, they alwayswaited until the old man nodded his head to show that he had finished. Theyounger, Frederik, who was a mason’s apprentice, never said“thou” to his father; he addressed him in the third person, and hiscontinual “father says, father thinks,” sounded curious toPelle’s ears.
While they were still talking Madam Stolpe opened the door leading into an evenprettier room, and invited them to go in and to drink their coffee. Theliving-room had already produced an extremely pleasant impression on Pelle,with its oak-grained dining-room suite and its horse-hair sofa. But here was ared plush suite, an octagonal table of walnut wood, with a black inlaid borderand twisted wooden feet, and an étagère full of knick-knacks and pieces ofchina; mostly droll, impudent little things. On the walls hung pictures oftrades unions and assemblies and large photographs of workshops; one of abuilding during construction, with the scaffolding full of the bricklayers andtheir mortar-buckets beside them, each with a trowel or a beer-bottle can inhis hand. On the wall over the sofa hung a large half-length portrait of adark, handsome man in a riding-cloak. He looked half a dreamy adventurer, halfa soldier.
“That’s the grand master,” said Stolpe proudly, standing atPelle’s side. “There was always a crowd of women at his heels. Butthey kept themselves politely in the background, for a fire went out of him atsuch times—do you understand? Then it was—Men to the front! Andeven the laziest fellow pricked up his ears.”
“Then he’s dead now, is he?” asked Pelle, with interest.
Stolpe did not answer. “Well,” he said briefly, “shall wehave our coffee now?” Otto winked at Pelle; here evidently was a matterthat must not be touched upon.
Stolpe sat staring into his cup, but suddenly he raised his head. “Thereare things one doesn’t understand,” he cried earnestly. “Butthis is certain, that but for the grand master here I and a whole host of othermen wouldn’t perhaps be respectable fathers of families to-day. Therewere many smart fellows among us young comrades, as is always the case; but asa rule the gifted ones always went to the dogs. For when a man has noopportunity to alter things, he naturally grows impatient, and then one fineday he begins to pour spirit on the flames in order to stop his mouth. I myselfhad that accursed feeling that I must do something, and little by little Ibegan to drink. But then I discovered the movement, before it existed, I mightventure to say; it was in the air like, d’you see. It was as thoughsomething was coming, and one sniffed about like a dog in order to catch aglimpse of it. Presently it was, Here it is! There it is! But when one lookedinto it, there was just a few hungry men bawling at one another about somethingor other, but the devil himself didn’t know what it was. But then thegrand master came forward, and that was like a flash of light for all of us.For he could say to a nicety just where the shoe pinched, although hedidn’t belong to our class at all. Since that time there’s been noneed to go searching for the best people—they were always to be found inthe movement! Although there weren’t very many of them, the best peoplewere always on the side of the movement.”
“But now there’s wind in the sails,” said Pelle.
“Yes, now there’s talk of it everywhere. But to whom is that due?God knows, to us old veterans—and to him there!”
Stolpe began to talk of indifferent matters, but quite involuntarily theconversation returned to the movement; man and wife lived and breathed fornothing else. They were brave, honest people, who quite simply divided mankindinto two parts: those who were for and those who were against the movement.Pelle seemed to breathe more freely and deeply in this home, where the air wasas though steeped in Socialism.
He noticed a heavy chest which stood against the wall on four twisted legs. Itwas thickly ornamented with nail-heads and looked like an old muniment chest.
“Yes—that’s the standard!” said Madam Stolpe, but shechecked herself in alarm. Mason Stolpe knitted his brows.
“Ah, well, you’re a decent fellow, after all,” he said.“One needn’t slink on tiptoe in front of you!” He took a keyout of a secret compartment in his writing-table. “Now the danger’sa thing of the past, but one still has to be careful. That’s a vestige ofthe times when things used to go hardly with us. The police used to be down onall our badges of common unity. The grand master himself came to me one eveningwith the flag under his cloak, and said to me, ‘You must look out for it,Stolpe, you are the most reliable of us all.’”
He and his wife unfolded the great piece of bunting. “See, that’sthe banner of the International. It looks a little the worse for wear, for ithas undergone all sorts of treatment. At the communist meetings out in thefields, when the troops were sent against us with ball cartridge, it waved overthe speaker’s platform, and held us together. When it flapped over ourheads it was as though we were swearing an oath to it. The police understoodthat, and they were mad to get it. They went for the flag during a meeting, butnothing came of it, and since then they’ve hunted for it so, it’shad to be passed from man to man. In that way it has more than once come tome.”
“Yes, and once the police broke in here and took father away as we weresitting at supper. They turned the whole place upside down, and dragged him offto the cells without a word of explanation. The children were little then, andyou can imagine how miserable it seemed to me. I didn’t know when theywould let him out again.”
“Yes, but they didn’t get the colors,” said Stolpe, and helaughed heartily. “I had already passed them on, they were never verylong in one place in those days. Now they lead a comparatively quiet life, andmother and the rest of us too!”
The young men stood in silence, gazing at the standard that had seen so manyvicissitudes, and that was like the hot red blood of the movement. Before Pellea whole new world was unfolding itself; the hope that had burned in the depthsof his soul was after all not so extravagant. When he was still running, wildat home, playing the games of childhood or herding the cows, strong men hadalready been at work and had laid the foundations of the cause…. A peculiarwarmth spread through him and rose to his head. If only it had been he who hadwaved the glowing standard in the face of the oppressor—he, Pelle!
“And now it lies here in the chest and is forgotten!” he saiddejectedly.
“It is only resting,” said Stolpe. “Forgotten, yes; thepolice have no idea that it still exists. But fix it on a staff, and you willsee how the comrades flock about it! Old and young alike. There’s fire inthat bit of cloth! True fire, that never goes out!”
Carefully they folded the colors and laid them back in the chest. “Itwon’t do even now to speak aloud of the colors! You understand?”said Stolpe.
There was a knock, and Stolpe made haste to lock the chest and hide the key,while Frederik went to the door. They looked at one another uneasily and stoodlistening.
“It is only Ellen,” said Frederik, and he returned, followed by atall dark girl with an earnest bearing. She had a veil over her face, andbefore her mouth her breath showed like a pearly tissue.
“Ah, that’s the lass!” cried Stolpe, laughing. “Whatfolly—we were quite nervous, just as nervous as in the old days. Andyou’re abroad in the streets at this hour of night! And in thisweather?” He looked at her affectionately; one could see that she was hisdarling. Outwardly they were very unlike.
She greeted Pelle with the tiniest nod, but looked at him earnestly. There wassomething still and gracious about her that fascinated him. She wore darkclothes, without the slightest adornment, but they were of good sound stuff.
“Won’t you change?” asked the mother, unbuttoning her cloak.“You are quite wet, child.”
“No, I must go out again at once,” Ellen replied. “I onlywanted to peep in.”
“But it’s really very late,” grumbled Stolpe. “Are youonly off duty now?”
“Yes, it’s not my going-out day.”
“Not to-day again? Yes, it’s sheer slavery, till eleven atnight!”
“That’s the way things are, and it doesn’t make it any betterfor you to scold me,” said Ellen courageously.
“No, but you needn’t go out to service. There’s no sense inour children going out to service in the houses of the employers. Don’tyou agree with me?” He turned to Pelle.
Ellen laughed brightly. “It’s all the same—father works forthe employers as well.”
“Yes, but that’s a different thing. It’s from one fixed hourto another, and then it’s over. But this other work is a home; she goesfrom one home to another and undertakes all the dirty work.”
“Father’s not in a position to keep me at home.”
“I know that very well, but all the same I can’t bear it. Besides,you could surely get some other kind of work.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to! I claim the right to dispose ofmyself!” she replied heatedly.
The others sat silent, looking nervously at one another. The veins swelled onStolpe’s forehead; he was purple, and terribly angry. But Ellen looked athim with a little laugh. He got up and went grumbling into the other room.
Her mother shook her head at Ellen. She was quite pale. “Oh, child,child!” she whispered.
After a while Stolpe returned with some old newspapers, which he wanted to showPelle. Ellen stood behind his chair, looking down at them; she rested her armon his shoulders and idly ruffled his hair. The mother pulled at her skirt. Thepapers were illustrated, and went back to the stirring times.
The clock struck the half-hour; it was half-past eleven. Pelle rose inconsternation; he had quite forgotten the time.
“Take the lass with you,” said Stolpe. “You go the same way,don’t you, Ellen? Then you’ll have company. There’s no dangergoing with her, for she’s a saint.” It sounded as though he wantedto make up for his scolding. “Come again soon; you will always be welcomehere.”
They did not speak much on the way home. Pelle was embarrassed, and he had afeeling that she was considering him and thinking him over as they walked,wondering what sort of a fellow he might be. When he ventured to say something,she answered briefly and looked at him searchingly. And yet he found it was aninteresting walk. He would gladly have prolonged it.
“Many thanks for your company,” he said, when they stood at herhouse- door. “I should be very glad to see you again.”
“You will if we meet,” she said taciturnly; but she gave him herhand for a moment.
“We are sure to meet again! Be sure of that!” cried Pelle jovially.“But you are forgetting to reward me for my escort?” He bent overher.
She gazed at him in astonishment—with eyes that were turning him tostone, he thought. Then she slowly turned and went indoors.
X
One day, after his working hours, Pelle was taking some freshly completed workto the Court shoemaker’s. The foreman took it and paid for it, andproceeded to give out work to the others, leaving Pelle standing. Pelle waitedimpatiently, but did no more than clear his throat now and again. This was theway of these people; one had to put up with it if one wanted work. “Haveyou forgotten me?” he said at last, a little impatiently.
“You can go,” said the foreman. “You’ve finishedhere.”
“What does that mean?” asked Pelle, startled.
“It means what you hear. You’ve got the sack—if youunderstand that better.”
Pelle understood that very well, but he wanted to establish the fact of hispersecution in the presence of his comrades. “Have you any fault to findwith my work?” he asked.
“You mix yourself up too much with things that don’t concern you,my good fellow, and then you can’t do the work you ought to do.”
“I should like very much to know what fault you have to find with mywork,” said Pelle obstinately.
“Go to the devil! I’ve told you already!” roared the foreman.
The Court shoemaker came down through the door of the back room and lookedabout him. When he saw Pelle, he went up to him.
“You get out of here, and that at once!” he cried, in a rage.“Do you think we give bread to people that undermine us? Out, out of myplace of business, Mossoo Trades-Unionist!”
Pelle stood his ground, and looked his employer in the eyes; he would havestruck the man a blow in the face rather than allow himself to be sent away.“Be cool, now; be cool!” he said to himself. He laughed, but hisfeatures were quivering. The Court shoemaker kept a certain distance, andcontinued to shout, “Out with him! Here, foreman, call the police atonce!”
“Now you can see, comrades, how they value one here,” said Pelle,turning his broad back on Meyer. “We are dogs; nothing more!”
They stood there, staring at the counter, deaf and dumb in their dread oftaking sides. Then Pelle went.
He made his way northward. His heart was full of violent emotion. Indignationraged within him like a tempest, and by fits and starts found utterance on hislips. Meyer’s work was quite immaterial to him; it was badly paid, and heonly did it as a stop-gap. But it was disgusting to think they could buy hisconvictions with badly-paid work! And there they stood not daring to show theircolors, as if it wasn’t enough to support such a fellow with their skilland energy! Meyer stood there like a wall, in the way of any real progress, buthe needn’t think he could strike at Pelle, for he’d get a blow inreturn if he did!
He went straight to Mason Stolpe, in order to talk the matter over with him;the old trades unionist was a man of great experience.
“So he’s one of those who go in for the open slave-trade!”said Stolpe. “We’ve had a go at them before now. ‘We’vedone with you, my good man; we can make no use of agitators!’ And if onesteals a little march on them ‘Off you go; you’re done withhere!’ I myself have been like a hunted cur, and at home mother used togo about crying. I could see what she was feeling, but when I put the matterbefore her she said, ‘Hold out, Stolpe, you shan’t give in!’‘You’re forgetting our daily bread, mother,’ I say.‘Oh, our daily bread. I can just go out washing!’ That was in thosedays—they sing another tune to us now! Now the master politely raises hishat to old Stolpe! If he thinks he can allow himself to hound a man down, anembargo must be put on him!”
Pelle had nothing to say against that. “If only it works,” he said.“But our organization looks weak enough as yet.”
“Only try it; in any case, you can always damage him. He attacks yourlivelihood in order to strike at your conscience, so you hit back at hispurse—that’s where his conscience is! Even if it does no good, atleast it makes him realize that you’re not a slave.”
Pelle sat a while longer chatting. He had secretly hoped to meet Ellen again,but he dared not ask whether that was her day for coming home. Madam Stolpeinvited him to stay and to have supper with them she was only waiting for hersons. But Pelle had no time; he must be off to think out instructions for theembargo. “Then come on Sunday,” said the mother; “Sunday isEllen’s birthday.”
With rapid strides he went off to the president of the Union; the invitationfor the following Sunday had dissipated the remains of his anger. The prospectof a tussle with Meyer had put him in the best of tempers. He was certain ofwinning the president, Petersen, for his purpose, if only he could find him outof bed; he himself had in his time worked for wholesale shoemakers, and hatedthem like the plague. It was said that Petersen had worked out a clever littleinvention—a patent button for ladies’ boots—which he hadtaken to Meyer, as he himself did not know how to exploit it. But Meyer had,without more ado, treated the invention as his own, inasmuch as it was producedby one of his workmen. He took out a patent and made a lot of money by it,trifling as the thing was. When Petersen demanded a share of the profits, hewas dismissed. He himself never spoke of the matter; he just sat in his cellarbrooding over the injustice, so that he never managed to recover his position.Almost his whole time had been devoted to the Union, so that he might revengehimself through it; but it never really made much progress. He fired uppassionately enough, but he was lacking in persistence. And his lungs wereweak.
He trembled with excitement when Pelle explained his plan. “Great God inheaven, if only we could get at him!” he whispered hoarsely, clenchinghis skinny fists which Death had already marked with its dusky shadows.“I would willingly give my miserable life to see the scoundrel ruined!Look at that!” He bent down, whispering, and showed Pelle a file groundto a point, which was fastened into a heavy handle. “If I hadn’tthe children, he would have got that between his ribs long before this!”His gray, restless eyes, which reminded Pelle of Anker, the crazy clockmaker,had a cold, piercing expression.
“Yes, yes,” said Pelle, laying his hand soothingly on theother’s; “but it’s no use to do anything stupid. We shallonly do what we want to do if we all stand together.”
The day was well spent; on the very next evening the members of the Union weresummoned to a meeting. Petersen spoke first, and beginning with a fiery speech.It was like the final efforts of a dying man. “You organize thestruggle,” said Petersen. “I’m no good nowadays forthat— and I’ve no strength. But I’ll sound theassault—ay, and so that they wake up. Then you yourself must see tokeeping the fire alight in them.” His eyes burned in their shadowysockets; he stood there like a martyr upholding the necessity of the conflict.The embargo was agreed upon unanimously!
Then Pelle came forward and organized the necessary plan of campaign. It washis turn now. There was no money in the chest, but every man had to promise acertain contribution to be divided among those who were refusing to work. Everyman must do his share to deprive Meyer of all access to the labor market. Andthere was to be no delirious enthusiasm —which they would regret whenthey woke up next morning. It was essential that every man should formbeforehand a clear conception of the difficulties, and must realize what he waspledging himself to. And then—three cheers for a successful issue!
This business meant a lot of running about. But what of that! Pelle, who had tosit such a lot, wouldn’t suffer from getting out into the fresh air! Heemployed the evenings in making up for lost time. He got work from the smallemployers in Kristianshavn, who were very busy in view of Christmas, which madeup for that which he had lost through the Court shoemaker.
On the second day after his dismissal, the declaration of the embargo appearedunder the “Labor Items” in The Working Man.“Assistance strictly prohibited!” It was like the day’sorders, given by Pelle’s own word of mouth. He cut the notice out, andnow and again, as he sat at his work, he took it out and considered it. Thiswas Pelle—although it didn’t say so—Pelle and the bigemployer were having a bit of a tussle! Now they should see which was thestronger!
Pelle went often to see Stolpe. Strangely enough, his visits always coincidedwith Ellen’s days off. Then he accompanied her homeward, and they walkedside by side talking of serious things. There was nothing impetuous aboutthem—they behaved as though a long life lay before them. His vehemencecooled in the conflict with Meyer. He was sure of Ellen’s character,unapproachable though she was. Something in him told him that she ought to beand would remain so. She was one of those natures to whom it is difficult tocome out of their shell, so as to reveal the kernel within; but he felt thatthere was something that was growing for him within that reserved nature, andhe was not impatient.
One evening he had as usual accompanied her to the door, and they stood therebidding one another good night. She gave him her hand in her shy, awkwardmanner, which might even mean reluctance, and was then about to go indoors.
“But are we going on like this all our lives?” said Pelle, holdingher fingers tightly. “I love you so!”
She stood there a while, with an impenetrable expression, then advanced herface and kissed him mechanically, as a child kisses, with tightly closed lips.She was already on her way to the house when she suddenly started back, drewhim to herself, and kissed him passionately and unrestrainedly. There wassomething so violent, so wild and fanatical in her demeanor, that he was quitebewildered. He scarcely recognized her, and when he had come to himself she wasalready on her way up the kitchen steps. He stood still, as though blinded by arain of fire, and heard her running as though pursued.
Since that day she had been another creature. Her love was like the spring thatcomes in a single night. She could not be without him for a day; when she wentout to make purchases, she came running over to the “Ark.” Hernature had thrown off its restraint; there was tension in her manner and hermovements; and this tension now and again escaped from within in littleexplosions. She did not say very much; when they were together, she clung tohim passionately as though to deaden some pain, and hid her face; if he liftedit, she kept her eyes persistently closed. Then she breathed deeply, and satdown smiling and humming to herself when he spoke to her.
It was as though she was delving deep into his inmost being, and Pelle, whofelt the need to reach and to know that inner nature, drew confidence from hersociety. No matter what confronted him, he had always sought in his inner selffor his natural support, anxiously listening for that which came to thesurface, and unconsciously doubting and inquiring. And now, so surely as sheleaned silently on his arm, she confirmed something deep within him, and hersteadfast gaze vibrated within him like a proud vocation, and he felt himselfinfinitely rich. She spoke to something deep within him when she gazed at himso thoughtfully. But what she said he did not know—nor what answer shereceived. When he recalled her from that gaze of hers, as of one bewitched, sheonly sighed like one awaking, and kissed him.
Ellen was loyal and unselfish and greatly valued by her employers. There was noreal development to be perceived in her—she longed to becomehis—and that was all. But the future was born on Pelle’s own lipsunder her dreamy gaze, as though it was she who inspired him with theilluminating words. And then she listened with an absent smile—as tosomething delightful; but she herself seemed to give no thought to the future.She seemed full of a hidden devotion, that filled Pelle with an inward warmth,so that he held up his head very high toward the light. This constant devotionof Ellen’s made the children “Family” teasingly call her“the Saint.”
It gave him much secret pleasure to be admitted to her home, where the robustCopenhagen humor concealed conditions quite patriarchal in their nature.Everything was founded on order and respect for the parents, especially thefather, who spoke the decisive word in every matter, and had his own place, inwhich no one else ever sat. When he came home from his work, the grown-up sonswould always race to take him his slippers, and the wife always had some extrasnack for him. The younger son, Frederik, who was just out of hisapprenticeship, was as delighted as a child to think of the day when he shouldbecome a journeyman and be able to drink brotherhood with the old man.
They lived in a new, spacious, three-roomed tenement with a servant’sroom thrown in; to Pelle, who was accustomed to find his comrades over hereliving in one room with a kitchen, this was a new experience. The sons boardedand lodged at home; they slept in the servant’s room. The household wasfounded on and supported by their common energies; although the familysubmitted unconditionally to the master of the house, they did not do so out ofservility; they only did as all others did. For Stolpe was the foremost man inhis calling, an esteemed worker and the veteran of the labor movement. His wordwas unchallenged.
Ellen was the only one who did not respect his supremacy, but courageouslyopposed him, often without any further motive than that of contradiction. Shewas the only girl of the family, and the favorite; and she took advantage ofher position. Sometimes it looked as though Stolpe would be driven toextremities; as though he longed to pulverize her in his wrath; but he alwaysgave in to her.
He was greatly pleased with Pelle. And he secretly admired his daughter morethan ever. “You see, mother, there’s something in that lass! Sheunderstands how to pick a man for himself!” he would cryenthusiastically.
“Yes; I’ve nothing against him, either,” Madam Stolpe wouldreply. “A bit countrified still, but of course he’s growing out ofit.”
“Countrified? He? No, you take my word, he knows what he wants.She’s really found her master there!” said Stolpe triumphantly.
In the two brothers Pelle found a pair of loyal comrades, who could not butlook up to him.
XI
With the embargo matters were going so-so. Meyer replied to it by convoking theemployers to a meeting with a view to establishing an employers’ union,which would refuse employment to the members of the trade union. Then thematter would have been settled at one blow.
However, things did not go so far as that. The small employers were afraid thejourneymen would set up for themselves and compete against them. Andinstinctively they feared the big employers more than the journeymen, and wereshy of entering the Union with them. The inner tendency of the industrialmovement was to concentrate everything in a few hands, and to ruin the smallbusiness. The small employers had yet another crow to pluck with Meyer, who hadextended his business at the expense of their own.
Through Master Beck, Pelle learned what was taking place among the employers.Meyer had demanded that Beck should discharge Pelle, but Beck would not submitto him.
“I can’t really complain of you,” he said. “Yourtrades-unionism I don’t like—you would do better to leave it alone.But with your work I am very well satisfied. I have always endeavored to renderjustice to all parties. But if you can knock Meyer’s feet from under him,we small employers will be very grateful to your Union, for he’s freezingus out.”
To knock his feet from under him—that wasn’t an easy thing to do.On the contrary, he was driving the weaker brethren out of the Union, and hadalways enough workers—partly Swedes, with whom he had a written contract,and whom he had to pay high wages. The system of home employment made itimpossible to get to grips with him. Pelle and the president of the Unioncarefully picketed the warehouse about the time when the work was delivered, inorder to discover who was working for him. And they succeeded in snatching afew workers away from him and in bringing them to reason, or else their nameswere published in The Working Man. But then the journeymen sent theirwives or children with the work—and there was really nothing that couldbe done. It cost Meyer large sums of money to keep his business going, but theUnion suffered more. It had not as yet sufficient authority, and the largeemployers stood by Meyer and would not employ members of the Union as long asthe embargo lasted. So it was finally raised.
That was a defeat; but Pelle had learned something, none the less! The victorywas to the strong, and their organization was not as yet sufficient. They musttalk and agitate, and hold meetings! The tendency to embrace the new ideascertainly inclined the men to organize themselves, but their sense of honor wasas yet undeveloped. The slightest mishap dispersed them.
Pelle did not lose heart; he must begin all over again, that was all.
On the morning after the defeat was an accomplished fact he was up early. Hisresolution to go ahead with redoubled energies, he had, so to speak, slept intohim, so that it pervaded his body and put energy and decision into hishammer-strokes.
He whistled as the work progressed rapidly under his hands. The window stoodopen so that the night air might escape; hoar frost lay on the roofs, and thestars twinkled overhead in the cold heavens. But Pelle was not cold! He hadjust awakened the “Family” and could hear them moving about intheir room. People were beginning to tumble out into the gangway, still drunkenwith sleep. Pelle was whistling a march. On the previous evening he had sentoff the last instalment of his debt to Sort, and at the same time had writtendefinitely to Father Lasse that he was to come. And now the day was dawning!
Marie came and reached him his coffee through the door. “Goodmorning!” she cried merrily, through the crack of the door.“We’re going to have fine weather to-day, Pelle!” She was notquite dressed yet and would not let herself be seen. The boys nodded goodmorning as they ran out. Karl had his coat and waistcoat under his arm. Thesearticles of clothing he always used to put on as he ran down the stairs.
When it was daylight Marie came in to set the room in order. She conversed withhim as she scrubbed.
“Look here, Marie!” cried Pelle suddenly. “Ellen came hereyesterday and asked you to bring me a message when I came home. Youdidn’t do it.”
Marie’s face became set, but she did not reply.
“It was only by pure chance that I met her yesterday, otherwise we shouldhave missed one another.”
“Then I must have forgotten it,” said Marie morosely.
“Why, of course you forgot it. But that’s the second time thisweek. You must be in love!” he added, smiling.
Marie turned her back on him. “I’ve got nothing to do withher—I don’t owe her anything!” suddenly she cried defiantly.“And I’m not going to clean your room any longer, either—lether do it—so there!” She seized her pail and scrubbing-brush andran into her own room. After a time he heard her voice from within the room; atfirst he thought she was singing a tune to herself, but then he heard sobs.
He hurried into the room; she was lying on the bed, weeping, biting the pillowand striking at it angrily with her roughened hands. Her thin body burned as ifwith fever.
“You are ill, Marie dear,” said Pelle anxiously, laying his hand onher forehead. “You ought to go to bed and take something to make yousweat. I’ll warm it up for you.”
She was really ill; her eyes were dry and burning, and her hands were cold andclammy. But she would agree to nothing. “Go away!” she saidangrily, “and attend to your own work! Leave me alone!” She hadturned her back on him and nudged him away defiantly with her shoulder.“You’d best go in and cuddle Ellen!” she cried suddenly, witha malicious laugh.
“Why are you like this, Marie?” said Pelle, distressed. “Youare quite naughty!”
She buried her face in the bed and would neither look at him nor answer him. Sohe went back to his work.
After a time she came into his room again and resumed her work of cleaning. Shebanged the things about; pulling down some work of his that he had set to dryby the stove, and giving him a malicious sidelong look. Then a cup containingpaste fell to the ground and was broken. “She did that on purpose,”he thought unhappily, and he put the paste into an empty box. She stoodwatching him with a piercing, malicious gaze.
He turned to his work again, and made as though nothing had happened. Suddenlyhe felt her thin arms about his neck. “Forgive me!” she said,weeping, and she hid her face against his shoulder.
“Come, come, nothing very dreadful has happened! The silly oldcup!” he said consolingly, as he stroked her head. “Youcouldn’t help it!”
But at that she broke down altogether, and it seemed as though her crying woulddestroy her meager body. “Yes, I did it on purpose!” she bellowed.“And I threw down the boots on purpose, and yesterday I didn’t giveyou the message on purpose. I would have liked to hurt you still more,I’m so bad, bad, bad! Why doesn’t some one give me a good beating?If you’d only once be properly angry with me!”
She was quite beside herself and did not know what she was saying.
“Now listen to me at once—you’ve got to be sensible!”said Pelle decidedly, “for this sort of thing is not amusing. I waspleased to think I was going to be at home to-day, so as to work beside you,and then you go and have an attack just like a fine lady!”
She overcame her weeping by a tremendous effort, and went back to her room,gently sobbing. She returned at once with a cracked cup for the paste and asmall tin box with a slit in the lid. This was her money- box.
“Take it,” she said, pushing the box onto his lap. “Then youcan buy yourself lasts and needn’t go asking the small employers forwork. There’s work enough here in the ‘Ark.’”
“But, Marie—that’s your rent!” said Pelle, aghast.
“What does that matter? I can easily get the money together again by thefirst.”
Oh, she could easily do that! Pelle laughed, a bewildered laugh. How cheerfullyshe threw her money about, the money that cost her thirty days of painfulthought and saving, in order to have it ready each month!
“What do you think Peter and Karl would say to your chucking your moneyabout like that? Put the box away again safely—and be quick aboutit!”
“Oh, take it!” she cried persistently, thrusting the box upon himagain. “Yes—or I’ll throw it out of the window!” Shequickly opened one of the sashes. Pelle stood up.
“It’s true I still owe you for the last washing,” he said,offering to put a krone in the box.
“A good thing you reminded me.” She stared at him with animpenetrable expression and ran back to her room.
In there she moved about singing in her harsh voice. After a while she went outto make some purchases clad in a gray shawl, with her house- wife’sbasket on her arm. He could follow her individual step, which was light as achild’s, and yet sounded so old—right to the end of the tunnel.Then he went into the children’s room and pulled out the third drawer inthe chest of drawers. There she always hid her money-box, wrapped up in herlinen. He still possessed two kroner, which he inserted in the box.
He used always to pay her in this way. When she counted out her money and foundthere was too much, she believed the good God had put the money in her box, andwould come jubilantly into his room to tell him about it. The child believedblindly in Fortune, and accepted the money as a sign of election; and for herthis money was something quite different to that which she herself had saved.
About noon she came to invite him into her room. “There’s friedherring, Pelle, so you can’t possibly say no,” she saidpersuasively, “for no Bornholmer could! Then you needn’t go and buythat stuffy food from the hawker, and throw away five and twenty öre.”She had bought half a score of the fish, and had kept back five for herbrothers when they came home. “And there’s coffee after,” shesaid. She had set out everything delightfully, with a clean napkin at one endof the table.
The factory girl’s little Paul came in and was given a mouthful of food.Then he ran out into the gangway again and tumbled about there, for the littlefellow was never a moment still from the moment his mother let him out in themorning; there was so much to make up for after his long imprisonment. From thelittle idiot whom his mother had to tie to the stove because he had water onthe brain and wanted to throw himself out of the window, he had become aregular vagabond. Every moment he would thrust his head in at the door and lookat Pelle; and he would often come right in, put his hand on Pelle’s knee,and say, “You’s my father!” Then he would rush off again.Marie helped him in all his infantile necessities—he always appealed toher!
After she had washed up, she sat by Pelle with her mending, chattering awayconcerning her household cares. “I shall soon have to get jackets for theboys—it’s awful what they need now they’re grown up. I peepin at the second-hand clothes shop every day. And you must have a new blouse,too, Pelle; that one will soon be done for; and then you’ve none to go tothe wash. If you’ll buy the stuff, I’ll soon make it up foryou—I can sew! I made my best blouse myself—Hanne helped me withit! Why, really, don’t you go to see Hanne any longer?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Hanne has grown so peculiar. She never comes down into the courtyard nowto dance with us. She used to. Then I used to watch out of the window, and rundown. It was so jolly, playing with her. We used to go round and round her andsing! ‘We all bow to Hanne, we curtsy all to Hanne, we all turn roundbefore her!’ And then we bowed and curtsied and suddenly we all turnedround. I tell you, it was jolly! You ought to have taken Hanne.”
“But you didn’t like it when I took Ellen. Why should I have takenHanne?”
“Oh, I don’t know … Hanne….” Marie stopped, listened, andsuddenly wrenched the window open.
Down in the “Ark” a door slammed, and a long hooting sound rose upfrom below, sounding just like a husky scream from the crazy Vinslev’sflute or like the wind in the long corridors. Like a strange, disconnectedsnatch of melody, the sound floated about below, trickling up along the woodenwalls, and breaking out into the daylight with a note of ecstasy:“Hanne’s with child! The Fairy Princess is going to beconfined!”
Marie went down the stairs like a flash. The half-grown girls were shriekingand running together in the court below; the women on the galleries weremurmuring to others above and below. Not that this was in itself anythingnovel; but in this case it was Hanne herself, the immaculate, whom as yet notongue had dared to besmirch. And even now they dared hardly speak of itopenly; it had come as such a shock. In a certain sense they had all enteredinto her exaltation, and with her had waited for the fairy-tale to come true;as quite a child she had been elected to represent the incomprehensible; andnow she was merely going to have a child! It really was like a miracle just atfirst; it was such a surprise to them all!
Marie came back with dragging steps and with an expression of horror andastonishment. Down in the court the grimy-nosed little brats were screeching,as they wheeled hand in hand round the sewer-grating—it was splendid fordancing round—
“Bro-bro-brille-brid
Hanne’s doin’ to have a tid!”
They couldn’t speak plainly yet.
And there was “Grete with the baby,” the mad-woman, tearing hercellar- window open, leaning out of it backward, with her doll on her arm, andyelling up through the well, so that it echoed loud and shrill: “TheFairy Princess has got a child, and Pelle’s its father!”
Pelle bent over his work in silence. Fortunately he was not the king’sson in disguise in this case! But he wasn’t going to wrangle with women.
Hanne’s mother came storming out onto her gallery. “That’s ashameless lie!” she cried. “Pelle’s name ain’t going tobe dragged into this—the other may be who he likes!”
Overhead the hearse-driver came staggering out onto his gallery. “Theprincess there has run a beam into her body,” he rumbled, in his good-natured bass. “What a pity I’m not a midwife! They’ve gothold of the wrong end of it!”
“Clear off into your hole and hold your tongue, you body-snatcher!”cried Madam Johnsen, spitting with rage. “You’ve got to stick yourbrandy-nose into everything!”
He stood there, half drunk, leaning over the rail, babbling, teasing, withoutreturning Madam Johnsen’s vituperation. But then little Marie flung up awindow and came to her assistance, and up from her platform Ferdinand’smother emerged. “How many hams did you buy last month? Fetch out yourbear hams, then, and show us them! He kills a bear for every corpse, thedrunkard!” From all sides they fell upon him. He could do nothing againstthem, and contented himself with opening his eyes and his mouth and giving ventto a “Ba-a-a!” Then his red-haired wife came out and hailed him in.
XII
From the moment when the gray morning broke there was audible a peculiar notein the buzzing of the “Ark,” a hoarse excitement, which thrust allcare aside. Down the long corridors there was a sound of weeping and scrubbing;while the galleries and the dark wooden stair-cases were sluiced with water.“Look out there!” called somebody every moment from somewhere, andthen it was a question of escaping the downward-streaming flood. During thewhole morning the water poured from one gallery to another, as over amill-race.
But now the “Ark” stood freezing in its own cleanliness, with anexpression that seemed to say the old warren didn’t know itself. Here andthere a curtain or a bit of furniture had disappeared from a window —ithad found its way to the pawn shop in honor of the day. What was lacking inthat way was made up for by the expectation and festive delight on the faces ofthe inmates.
Little fir-trees peeped out of the cellar entries in the City Ward, and in themarket-place they stood like a whole forest along the wall of the prison. Inthe windows of the basement-shops hung hearts and colored candles, and thegrocer at the corner had a great Christmas goblin in his window—it wasmade of red and gray wool-work and had a whole cat’s skin for its beard.
On the stairs of the “Ark” the children lay about cleaning knivesand forks with sand sprinkled on the steps.
Pelle sat over his work and listened in secret. His appearance usually had aquieting effect on these crazy outbursts of the “Ark,” but he didnot want to mix himself up with this affair. And he had never even dreamed thatHanne’s mother could be like this! She was like a fury, turning her head,quick as lightning, now to one side, now to the other, and listening to everysound, ready to break out again!
Ah, she was protecting her child now that it was too late! She was like aspitting cat.
“The youngest of all the lordlin’s,”
sang the children down in the court. That was Hanne’s song. Madam Johnsenstood there as though she would like to swoop down on their heads. Suddenly sheflung her apron over her face and ran indoors, sobbing.
“Ah!” they said, and they slapped their bellies every time an odorof something cooking streamed out into the court. Every few minutes they had torun out and buy five or ten öre worth of something or other; there was no endto the things that were needed in preparation for Christmas Eve.“We’re having lovely red beetroot!” said one little child,singing, making a song of it—“We’re having lovely redbeetroot, aha, aha, aha!” And they swayed their little bodies to and froas they scoured.
“Frederik!” a sharp voice cried from one of the corridors.“Run and get a score of firewood and a white roll—a ten-öre one.But look out the grocer counts the score properly and don’t pick out thecrumb!”
Madam Olsen with the warm wall was frying pork. She couldn’t pull herrange out onto the gallery, but she did let the pork burn so that the wholecourtyard was filled with bluish smoke. “Madam Olsen! Your pork isburning!” cried a dozen women at once.
“That’s because the frying-pan’s too small!” repliedFrau Olsen, thrusting her red head out through the balusters.“What’s a poor devil to do when her frying-pan’s toosmall?” And Madam Olsen’s frying-pan was the biggest in the whole“Ark”!
Shortly before the twilight fell Pelle came home from the workshop. He saw thestreets and the people with strange eyes that diffused a radiance over allthings; it was the Christmas spirit in his heart. But why? he asked himselfinvoluntarily. Nothing in particular was in store for him. To-day he would haveto work longer than usual, and he would not be able to spend the evening withEllen, for she had to be busy in her kitchen, making things jolly for others.Why, then, did this feeling possess him? It was not a memory; so far as hecould look back he had never taken part in a genuine cheerful Christmas Eve,but had been forced to content himself with the current reports of suchfestivities. And all the other poor folks whom he met were in the same mood ashe himself. The hard questioning look had gone from their faces; they weresmiling to themselves as they went. To-day there was nothing of that wan, heavydepression which commonly broods over the lower classes like the foreboding ofdisaster; they could not have looked more cheerful had all their hopes beenfulfilled! A woman with a feather-bed in her arms passed him and disappearedinto the pawn-shop; and she looked extremely well pleased. Were they really socheerful just because they were going to have a bit of a feast, while to do sothey were making a succession of lean days yet leaner? No, they were going tokeep festival because the Christmas spirit prevailed in their hearts, becausethey must keep holiday, however dearly it might cost them!
It was on this night to be sure that Christ was born. Were the people so kindand cheerful on that account?
Pelle still knew by heart most of the Bible texts of his school-days. They hadremained stowed away somewhere in his mind, without burdening him or taking upany room, and now and again they reappeared and helped to build up hisknowledge of mankind. But of Christ Himself he had formed his own privatepicture, from the day when as a boy he first stumbled upon the command given tothe rich: to sell all that they had and to give to the starving. But they tookprecious good care not to do so; they took the great friend of the poor man andhanged him on high! He achieved no more than this, that He became a promise tothe poor; but perhaps it was this promise that, after two thousand years, theywere now so solemnly celebrating!
They had so long been silent, holding themselves in readiness, like the wisevirgins in the Bible, and now at last it was coming! Now at last they werebeginning to proclaim the great Gospel of the Poor—it was a goodly motivefor all this Christmas joy! Why did they not assemble the multitudes on thenight of Christ’s birth and announce the Gospel to them? Then they wouldall understand the Cause and would join it then and there! There was a whirl ofnew living thoughts in Pelle’s head. He had not hitherto known that thatin which he was participating was so great a thing. He felt that he was servingthe Highest.
He stood a while in the market-place, silently considering theChristmas-trees—they led his thoughts back to the pasture on which he hadherded the cows, and the little wood of firs. It pleased him to buy a tree, andto take the children by surprise; the previous evening they had sat togethercutting out Christmas-tree decorations, and Karl had fastened four fir-treeboughs together to make a Christmas-tree.
At the grocer’s he bought some sweets and Christmas candles. The grocerwas going about on tip-toe in honor of the day, and was serving the dirtylittle urchins with ceremonious bows. He was “throwing things in,”and had quite forgotten his customary, “Here, you, don’t forgetthat you still owe for two lots of tea and a quarter of coffee!” But hewas cheating with the scales as usual.
Marie was going about with rolled-up sleeves, and was very busy. But shedropped her work and came running when she saw the tree. “It won’tstand here yet, Pelle,” she cried, “it will have to be cut shorter.It will have to be cut still shorter even now! Oh, how pretty it is! No, at theend there—at the end! We had a Christmas-tree at home; father went outhimself and cut it down on the cliffs; and we children went with him. But thisone is much finer!” Then she ran out into the gangway, in order to tellthe news, but it suddenly occurred to her that the boys had not come home yet,so she rushed in to Pelle once more.
Pelle sat down to his work. From time to time he lifted his head and lookedout. The seamstress, who had just moved into Pipman’s old den, and whowas working away at her snoring machine, looked longingly at him. Of course shemust be lonely; perhaps there was nowhere where she could spend the evening.
Old Madam Frandsen came out on her platform and shuffled down the steep stairsin her cloth slippers. The rope slipped through her trembling hands. She had alittle basket on her arm and a purse in her hand—she too looked solonely, the poor old worm! She had now heard nothing of her son for threemonths. Madam Olsen called out to her and invited her in, but the old womanshook her head. On the way back she looked in on Pelle.
“He’s coming this evening,” she whispered delightedly.“I’ve been buying brandy and beefsteak for him, because he’scoming this evening!”
“Well, don’t be disappointed, Madam Frandsen,” said Pelle,“but he daren’t venture here any more. Come over to us instead andkeep Christmas with us.”
She nodded confidently. “He’ll come tonight. On Christmas Eve hehas always slept in mother’s bed, ever since he could crawl, and hecan’t do without it, not if I know my Ferdinand!” She had alreadymade up a bed for herself on the chairs, so certain was she.
The police evidently thought as she did, for down in the court strangefootsteps were heard. It was just about twilight, when so many were coming andgoing unremarked. But at these steps a female head popped back over thebalustrade, a sharp cry was heard, and at the same moment every gallery wasfilled with women and children. They hung over the rails and made anear-splitting din, so that the whole deep, narrow shaft was filled with anunendurable uproar. It sounded as though a hurricane came raging down throughthe shaft, sweeping with it a hailstorm of roofing-slates. The policeman leapedback into the tunnel- entry, stupefied. He stood there a moment recoveringhimself before he withdrew. Upstairs, in the galleries, they leaned on therails and recovered their breath, exhausted by the terrific eruption; and thenfell to chattering like a flock of small birds that have been chasing a flyinghawk.
“Merry Christmas!” was now shouted from gallery to gallery.“Thanks, the same to you!” And the children shouted to one another,“A jolly feast and all the best!” “A dainty feast for man andbeast!”
Christmas Eve was here! The men came shuffling home at a heavy trot, and thefactory-girls came rushing in. Here and there a feeble wail filtered out of oneof the long corridors, so that the milk-filled breast ached. Childrenincessantly ran in and out, fetching the last ingredients of the feast. Down bythe exit into the street they had to push two tramps, who stood thereshuddering in the cold. They were suspicious-looking people. “There aretwo men down there, but they aren’t genuine,” said Karl.“They look as if they came out of a music-hall.”
“Run over to old Madam Frandsen and tell her that,” said Pelle. Buther only answer was, “God be thanked, then they haven’t caught himyet!”
Over at Olsen’s their daughter Elvira had come home. The blind was notdrawn, and she was standing at the window with her huge hat with flowers in it,allowing herself to be admired. Marie came running in. “Have you seen howfine she is, Pelle?” she said, quite stupefied. “And she gets allthat for nothing from the gentlemen, just because they think she’s sopretty. But at night she paints her naked back!”
The children were running about in the gangway, waiting until Pelle should havefinished. They would not keep Christmas without him. But now he, too, hadfinished work; he pulled on a jacket, wrapped up his work, and ran off.
Out on the platform he stood still for a moment. He could see the light of thecity glimmering in the deep, star-filled sky. The night was so solemnlybeautiful. Below him the galleries were forsaken; they were creaking in thefrost. All the doors were closed to keep the cold out and the joy in.“Down, down from the green fir-trees!”—it sounded from everycorner. The light shone through the window and in all directions through thewoodwork. Suddenly there was a dull booming sound on the stairs—it wasthe hearse-driver staggering home with a ham under either arm. Then all grewquiet—quiet as it never was at other times in the “Ark,”where night or day some one was always complaining. A child came out and lifteda pair of questioning eyes, in order to look at the Star of Bethlehem! Therewas a light at Madam Frandsen’s. She had hung a white sheet over thewindow today, and had drawn it tight; the lamp stood close to the window, sothat any one moving within would cast no shadow across it.
The poor old worm! thought Pelle, as he ran past; she might have spared herselfthe trouble! When he had delivered his work he hurried over to Holberg Street,in order to wish Ellen a happy Christmas.
The table was finely decked out in his room when he got home; there was porkchops, rice boiled in milk, and Christmas beer. Marie was glowing with prideover her performance; she sat helping the others, but she herself took nothing.
“You ought to cook a dinner as good as this every day, lass!” saidKarl, as he set to. “God knows, you might well get a situation in theKing’s kitchen.”
“Why don’t you eat any of this nice food?” said Pelle.
“Oh, no, I can’t,” she replied, touching her cheeks; her eyesbeamed upon him.
They laughed and chattered and clinked their glasses together. Karl came outwith the latest puns and the newest street-songs; so he had gained something byhis scouring of the city streets. Peter sat there looking impenetrably now atone, now at another; he never laughed, but from time to time he made a dryremark by which one knew that he was amusing himself. Now and again they lookedover at old Madam Frandsen’s window— it was a pity that shewouldn’t be with them.
Five candles were now burning over there—they were apparently fixed on alittle Christmas tree which stood in a flowerpot. They twinkled like distantstars through the white curtain, and Madam Frandsen’s voice soundedcracked and thin: “O thou joyful, O thou holy, mercy-bringingChristmas-tide!” Pelle opened his window and listened; he wondered thatthe old woman should be so cheerful.
Suddenly a warning voice sounded from below: “Madam Frandsen, there arevisitors coming!”
Doors and windows flew open on the galleries round about. People tumbled out ofdoorways, their food in their hands, and leaned over the railings. “Whodares to disturb our Christmas rejoicings?” cried a deep, threateningvoice.
“The officers of the law!” the reply came out of the darkness.“Keep quiet, all of you—in the name of the law!”
Over on Madam Frandsen’s side two figures became visible, noiselesslyrunning up on all fours. Upstairs nothing was happening; apparently they hadlost their heads. “Ferdinand, Ferdinand!” shrieked a girl’svoice wildly; “they’re coming now!”
At the same moment the door flew open, and with a leap Ferdinand stood on theplatform. He flung a chair down at his pursuers, and violently swayed thehand-rope, in order to sweep them off the steps. Then he seized the gutter andswung himself up onto the roof. “Good-bye, mother!” he cried fromabove, and his leap resounded in the darkness. “Good-bye, mother, and amerry Christmas!” A howl like that of a wounded beast flung the alarm farout into the night, and they heard the stumbling pursuit of the policemen overthe roofs. And then all was still.
They returned unsuccessful. “Well, then you haven’t got him!”cried Olsen, leaning out of his window down below.
“No; d’you think we are going to break our necks for the like ofhim?” retorted the policemen, as they scrambled down. “Any onegoing to stand a glass of Christmas beer?” As no response followed, theydeparted.
Old Madam Frandsen went into her room and locked up; she was tired and worriedand wanted to go to bed. But after a time she came shuffling down the longgangway. “Pelle,” she whispered, “he’s in bed in myroom! While they were scrambling about on the roofs he slipped quietly backover the garrets and got into my bed! Good God, he hasn’t slept in a bedfor four months! He’s snoring already!” And she slipped out again.
Yes, that was an annoying interruption! No one felt inclined to begin all overagain excepting Karl, and Marie did not count him, as he was always hungry. Soshe cleared away, gossiping as she went in and out; she did not like to seePelle so serious.
“But the secret!” she cried of a sudden, quite startled. The boysran in to her; then they came back, close together, with Marie behind them,carrying something under her apron. The two boys flung themselves upon Pelleand closed his eyes, while Marie inserted something in his mouth. “Guessnow!” she cried, “guess now!” It was a porcelain pipe with agreen silken tassel. On the bowl of the pipe, which was Ellen’s Christmasgift, was a representation of a ten-kroner note. The children had inserted ascrew of tobacco. “Now you’ll be able to smoke properly,”said Marie, pursing her lips together round the mouthpiece; “you are soclever in everything else.”
The children had invited guests for the Christmas-tree; the seamstress, the oldnight-watchman from the courtyard, the factory-hand with her little boy; allthose who were sitting at home and keeping Christmas all alone. Theydidn’t know themselves, there were so many of them! Hanne and her motherwere invited too, but they had gone to bed early—they were not inclinedfor sociability. One after another they were pulled into the room, and theycame with cheerful faces. Marie turned the lamp out and went in to light up theChristmas tree.
They sat in silence and expectation. The light from the stove flickeredcheerfully to and fro in the room, lighting up a face with closed eyelids andeager features, and dying away with a little crash. The factory hand’slittle boy was the only one to chatter; he had sought a refuge on Pelle’sknee and felt quite safe in the darkness; his childish voice sounded strangelybright in the firelight. “Paul must be quite good and quiet,”repeated the mother admonishingly.
“Mus’n’t Paul ’peak?” asked the child, feelingfor Pelle’s face.
“Yes, to-night Paul can do just as he likes,” replied Pelle. Thenthe 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 tothe gangway. In the children’s room everything had been cleared away. TheChristmas-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 goodlook! The lights were reflected in their eyes, and in the window-panes, and inthe old mahogany-framed mirror, and the glass of the cheap pictures, so thatthey seemed suddenly to be moving about in the midst of myriads of stars, andforgot all their miseries. It was as though they had escaped from all theirgriefs and cares, and had entered straightway into glory, and all of a sudden apure, clear voice arose, tremulous with embarrassment, and the voice sang:
“O little angel, make us glad!
Down from high Heaven’s halls
Through sunshine flown, in splendor clad,
Earth’s shadow on thee falls!”
It sounded like a greeting from the clouds. They closed their eyes andwandered, hand in hand, about the tree. Then the seamstress fell silent,blushing. “You aren’t singing with me!” she cried.
“We’ll sing the Yule Song—we all know that,” saidPelle.
“Down, down from the high green tree!”—It was Karl who struckup. And they just did sing that! It fitted in so admirably—even the nameof Peter fitted in! And it was great fun, too, when all the presents cropped upin the song; every single person was remembered! Only, the lines about thepurse, at the end, were all too true! There wasn’t much more to be saidfor that song! But suddenly the boys set the ring-dance going; they stampedlike a couple of soldiers, and then they all went whirling round in franticmovement—a real witches’ dance!
“Hey dicker dick,
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! Theyhad to open the door on to the gangway.
And there outside stood the inmates of the garrets, listening and craning theirnecks. “Come inside,” cried the boys. “There’s roomenough 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 newcarol, that had to be sung through. The doors opposite were open too, the oldrag-picker sat at the head of his table singing on his own account. He had aloaf of black bread and a plate of bacon in front of him, and after every carolhe took a mouthful. In the other doorway sat three coal-porters playing“sixty-six” for beer and brandy. They sat facing toward theChristmas-tree, and they joined in the singing as they played; but from time totime they broke off in the middle of a verse in order to say something or tocry “Trumped!” Now they suddenly threw down their cards and cameinto the room. “We don’t want to sit here idle and look on whileothers are working,” they said, and they joined the circle.
Finally they had all had enough of circling round the tree and singing. Sochairs and stools were brought in from the other rooms; they had to squeezeclose together, right under the sloping roof, and some sat up on thewindow-sill. There was a clear circle left round the Christmas-tree. And therethey sat gossiping, crouching in all sorts of distorted postures, as thoughthat was the only way in which their bodies could really find repose, theirarms hanging loosely between their knees. But their faces were still eager andexcited; and the smoke from the candles and the crackling fir-boughs of thetree veiled them in a bluish cloud, through which they loomed as round as somany moons. The burning turpentine gave the smoke a mysterious, alluringfragrance, and the devout and attentive faces were like so many murmuringspirits, hovering in the clouds, each above its outworn body.
Pelle sat there considering them till his heart bled for them—that washis Christmas devotion. Poor storm-beaten birds, what was this splendidexperience which outweighed all their privations? Only a little light! And theylooked as though they could fall down before it and give up their lives! Heknew the life’s story of each one of them better than they knew. Buttheir faces were still eager and excited; and they themselves; when theyapproached the light they always burned themselves in it, like the moths, theywere so chilled!
“All the same, that’s a queer invention, when one thinks aboutit,” said one of the dockers, nodding toward the Christmas-tree.“But it’s fine. God knows what it really is supposed tomean!”
“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 ofChrist,” said the rag-picker, stepping into the doorway.
“The shepherds were poor folks, like ourselves, who lived in thedarkness. That’s why they rejoiced so over Him, because He came with thelight.”
“Well, it don’t seem to me we’ve been granted such a terribledeal of light! Oh, yes, the Christmas-tree here, that’s splendid, Lordknows it is, and we should all of us like to thank the children forit—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 ofthat!”
“Yes, you are right there, Jacob,” said Pelle, who was moving aboutround the tree, taking down the hearts and packages for the children, whodistributed the sweets. “You are all three of you right—curiouslyenough. The Christmas-tree is to remind us of Christ’s birth, and alsothat the year is returning toward the sun—but that’s all the samething. And then it’s to remind us, too, that we too ought to have a sharein things; Christ was born especially to remind the poor of their rights! Yes,that is so! For the Lord God isn’t one to give long-winded directions asto 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 getinto the sunshine. It’s just like the wife of a public-house keeper Iremember at home, who used to tell travellers, ‘What would you like toeat? You can have ducks or pork chops or sweets—anything you’vebrought 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 thingswhen all the time one has to bring them along one’s self! You ought tohave been a preacher.”
“He’d far better be the Devil’s advocate!” said the oldrag-picker. “For there’s not much Christianity in what hesays!”
“But you yourself said that Christ came bringing light for thepoor,” said Pelle; “and He Himself said as much, quite plainly;what He wanted was to make the blind to see and the dead to walk, and torestore consideration to the despised and rejected. Also, He wanted men to havefaith!”
“The blind shall see, the lame shall walk, the leper shall be clean, thedeaf shall hear, and the dead shall arise, and the Word shall be preached tothe poor,” said the rag-picker, correcting Pelle. “You aredistorting the Scriptures, Pelle.”
“But I don’t believe He meant only individual cripples—no, Hemeant all of us in our misery, and all the temptations that lie in wait for us.That’s how Preacher Sort conceived it, and he was a godly, upright man.He believed the millennium would come for the poor, and that Christ was alreadyon the earth making ready for its coming.”
The women sat quite bemused, listening with open mouths; they dared scarcelybreathe. Paul was asleep on his mother’s lap.
“Can He really have thought about us poor vermin, and so longbeforehand?” cried the men, looking from one to another. “Then whyhaven’t we long ago got a bit more forward than this?”
“Yes, I too don’t understand that,” said Pelle, hesitating.“Perhaps we ourselves have got to work our way in the rightdirection—and that takes time.”
“Yes, but—if He would only give us proper conditions of life. Butif we have to win them for ourselves we don’t need any Christ forthat!”
This was something that Pelle could not explain even to himself, although hefelt it within him as a living conviction, A man must win what was due to himhimself—that was clear as the day, and he couldn’t understand howthey could be blind to the fact; but why he must do so hecouldn’t—however he racked his brains—explain to anotherperson. “But I can tell you a story,” he said.
“But a proper exciting story!” cried Earl, who was feeling bored.“Oh, if only Vinslev were here—he has such droll ideas!”
“Be quiet, boy!” said Marie crossly. “Pelle makes properspeeches— before whole meetings,” she said, nodding solemnly to theothers. “What is the story called?”
“Howling Peter.”
“Oh, it’s a story with Peter in it—then it’s afairy-tale! What is it about?”
“You’ll know that when you hear it, my child,” said the oldnight- watchman.
“Yes, but then one can’t enjoy it when it comes out right.Isn’t it a story about a boy who goes out into the world?”
“The story is about”—Pelle bethought himself a moment;“the story is about the birth of Christ,” he said quickly, and thenblushed a deep red at his own audacity. But the others looked disappointed, andsettled themselves decently and stared at the floor, as though they had been inchurch.
And then Pelle told them the story of Howling Peter; who was born and grew upin poverty and grief, until he was big and strong, and every man’s cur tokick. For it was the greatest pity to see this finely-made fellow, who was sofull of fear and misery that if even a girl so much as touched him he mustflood himself with tears; and the only way out of his misery was the rope. Whata disgrace it was, that he should have earned his daily bread and yet have beenkept in the workhouse, as though they did him a kindness in allowing him a holeto creep into there, when with his capacity for work he could have got onanywhere! And it became quite unendurable as he grew up and was still misusedby all the world, and treated like a dog. But then, all of a sudden, he brokethe magic spell, struck down his tormentors, and leaped out into the daylightas the boldest of them all!
They drew a deep breath when he had finished. Marie clapped her hands.“That was a real fairy-tale!” she cried. Karl threw himself uponPeter and pummeled away at him, although that serious-minded lad was anythingbut a tyrant!
They cheerfully talked the matter over. Everybody had something to say aboutHowling Peter. “That was damned well done,” said the men; “hethrashed the whole crew from beginning to end; a fine fellow that! And a strongone too! But why the devil did he take such a long time about it? And put upwith all that?”
“Yes, it isn’t quite so easy for us to understand that—notfor us, who boast such a lot about our rights!” said Pelle, smiling.
“Well, you’re a clever chap, and you’ve told it usproperly!” cried the cheerful Jacob. “But if ever you need a fist,there’s mine!” He seized and shook Pelle’s hand.
The candles had long burned out, but they did not notice it.
Their eyes fastened on Pelle’s as though seeking something, with apeculiar expression in which a question plainly came and went. And suddenlythey overwhelmed him with questions. They wanted to know enough, anyhow! Hemaintained that a whole world of splendors belonged to them, and now they werein a hurry to get possession of them. Even the old rag-picker let himself becarried away with the rest; it was too alluring, the idea of giving way to alittle intoxication, even if the everyday world was to come after it.
Pelle stood among them all, strong and hearty, listening to all their questionswith a confident smile. He knew all that was to be theirs— even if itcouldn’t come just at once. It was a matter of patience and perseverance;but that they couldn’t understand just now. When they had at last enteredinto their glory they would know well enough how to protect it. He had nodoubts; he stood there among them like their embodied consciousness, happilygrowing from deeply-buried roots.
XIII
From the foundations of the “Ark” rose a peculiar sound, astumbling, countrified footstep, dragging itself in heavy footgear over theflagstones. All Pelle’s blood rushed to his heart; he threw down hiswork, and with a leap was on the gallery, quite convinced that this was only anempty dream…. But there below in the court stood Father Lasse in the flesh,staring up through the timbers, as though he couldn’t believe his owneyes. He had a sack filled with rubbish on his back.
“Hallo!” cried Pelle, taking the stairs in long leaps.“Hallo!”
“Good-day, my lad!” said Lasse, in a voice trembling with emotion,considering his son with his lashless eyes. “Yes, here you have FatherLasse—if you will have him. But where, really, did you come from? Seemsto me you fell down from heaven?”
Pelle took his father’s sack. “You just come up with me,” hesaid. “You can trust the stairs all right; they are stronger than theylook.”
“Then they are like Lasse,” answered the old man, trudging up closebehind him; the straps of his half-Wellingtons were peeping out at the side,and he was quite the old man. At every landing he stood still and uttered hiscomments on his surroundings. Pelle had to admonish him to be silent.
“One doesn’t discuss everything aloud here. It might so easily beregarded as criticism,” he said.
“No, really? Well, one must learn as long as one lives. But just look howthey stand about chattering up here! There must be a whole courtyard-full!Well, well. I won’t say any more. I knew they lived one on top ofanother, but I didn’t think there’d be so little room here. To hangthe backyard out in front of the kitchen door, one on top of another,that’s just like the birds that build all on one bough. Lord God, supposeit was all to come tumbling down one fine day!”
“And do you live here?” he cried, gazing in a disillusioned mannerround the room with its sloping ceiling. “I’ve often wondered howyou were fixed up over here. A few days ago I met a man at home who said theywere talking about you already; but one wouldn’t think so from yourlodgings. However, it isn’t far to heaven, anyhow!”
Pelle was silent. He had come to love his den, and his whole life here; butFather Lasse continued to enlarge upon his hopes of his son’srespectability and prosperity, and he felt ashamed. “Did you imagine Iwas living in one of the royal palaces?” he said, rather bitterly.
Lasse looked at him kindly and laid both hands on his shoulders. “So bigand strong as you’ve grown, lad,” he said, wondering. “Well,and now you have me here too! But I won’t be a burden to you. No, but athome it had grown so dismal after what happened at Due’s, that I gotready without sending you word. And then I was able to come over with one ofthe skippers for nothing.”
“But what’s this about Due?” asked Pelle. “I hopenothing bad?”
“Good God, haven’t you heard? He revenged himself on his wifebecause he discovered her with the Consul. He had been absolutely blind, andhad only believed the best of her, until he surprised her in her sin. Then hekilled her, her and the children they had together, and went to the authoritiesand gave himself up. But the youngest, whom any one could see was theConsul’s, he didn’t touch. Oh, it was a dreadful misfortune! Beforehe gave himself up to the police he came to me; he wanted just one last time tobe with some one who would talk it over with him without hypocrisy.‘I’ve strangled Anna,’ he said, as soon as he had sat down.‘It had to be, and I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry. The childrenthat were mine, too. I’ve dealt honestly with them.’ Yes, yes, hehad dealt honestly with the poor things! ‘I just wanted to say goodbye toyou, Lasse, for my life’s over now, happy as I might have been, with mycontented nature. But Anna always wanted to be climbing, and if I got on it washer shame I had to thank for it. I never wanted anything further than thesimple happiness of the poor man—a good wife and a few children—andnow I must go to prison! God be thanked that Anna hasn’t lived to seethat! She was finer in her feelings than the rest, and she had to deceive inorder to get on in the world.’ So he sat there, talking of the dead, andone couldn’t notice any feeling in him. I wouldn’t let him see howsick at heart he made me feel. For him it was the best thing, so long as hisconscience could sleep easy. ‘Your eyes are watering, Lasse,’ hesaid quietly; ‘you should bathe them a bit; they say urine isgood.’ Yes, God knows, my eyes did water! God of my life, yes! Then hestood up. ‘You, too, Lasse, you haven’t much longer life grantedyou,’ he said, and he gave me his hand. ‘You are growing old now.But you must give Pelle my greetings—he’s safe to geton!’”
Pelle sat mournfully listening to the dismal story. But he shuddered at thelast words. He had so often heard the expression of that anticipation of hisgood fortune, which they all seemed to feel, and had rejoiced to hear it; itwas, after all, only an echo of his own self- confidence. But now it weighedupon him like a burden. It was always those who were sinking who believed inhis luck; and as they sank they flung their hopes upward toward him. A grievousfashion was this in which his good fortune was prophesied! A terrible andgrievous blessing it was that was spoken over him and his success in life bythis man dedicated to death, even as he stepped upon the scaffold. Pelle satstaring at the floor without a sign of life, a brooding expression on his face;his very soul was shuddering at the foreboding of a superhuman burden; andsuddenly a light was flashed before his eyes; there could never be happinessfor him alone—the fairy-tale was dead! He was bound up with all theothers—he must partake of happiness or misfortune with them; that was whythe unfortunate Due gave him his blessing. In his soul he was conscious ofDue’s difficult journey, as though he himself had to endure the horror ofit. And Fine Anna, who must clamber up over his own family and tread them inthe dust! Never again could he wrench himself quite free as before! He hadalready encountered much unhappiness and had learned to hate its cause. Butthis was something more—this was very affliction itself!
“Yes,” sighed Lasse, “a lucky thing that Brother Kalle didnot live to see all this. He worked himself to skin and bone for his children,and now, for all thanks, he lied buried in the poorhouse burying-ground.Albinus, who travels about the country as a conjurer, was the only one who hada thought for him; but the money came too late, although it was sent bytelegraph. Have you ever heard of a conjuring-trick like that— to sendmoney from England to Bornholm over the telegraph cable? A devilish cleveracrobat! Well, Brother Kalle, he knew all sorts of conjuring-tricks too, but hedidn’t learn them abroad. They had heard nothing at all of Alfred at thefuneral. He belongs to the fine folks now and has cut off all connection withhis poor relations. He has been appointed to various posts of honor, and theysay he’s a regular bloodhound toward the poor—a man’s alwaysworst toward his own kind. But the fine folks, they say, they think greatthings of him.”
Pelle heard the old man’s speech only as a monotonous trickle of sound.
Due, Due, the best, the most good-natured man he knew, who championedAnna’s illegitimate child against her own mother, and loved her like hisown, because she was defenceless and needed his love—Due was now to layhis head on the scaffold! So dearly bought was the fulfilment of his wish, toobtain a pair of horses and become a coachman! He had obtained the horses and acarriage on credit, and had himself made up for the instalments and theinterest—the Consul had merely stood security for him. And for thishumble success he was now treading the path of shame! His steps echoed inPelle’s soul; Pelle did not know how he was going to bear it. He longedfor his former obtuseness.
Lasse continued to chatter. For him it was fate—grievous and heavy, butit could not be otherwise. And the meeting with Pelle had stirred up so manymemories; he was quite excited. Everything he saw amused him. However didanybody hit on the idea of packing folks away like this, one on top of another,like herrings in a barrel? And at home on Bornholm there were whole stretchesof country where no one lived at all! He did not venture to approach thewindow, but prudently stood a little way back in the room, looking out over theroofs. There, too, was a crazy arrangement! One could count the ears in acornfield as easily as the houses over here!
Pelle called Marie, who had discreetly remained in her own room. “This ismy foster-mother,” he said, with his arm round her shoulders. “Andthat is Father Lasse, whom you are fond of already, so you always say. Now canyou get us some breakfast?” He gave her money.
“She’s a good girl, that she is,” said Lasse, feeling in hissack. “She shall have a present. There’s a red apple,” hesaid to Marie, when she returned; “you must eat it, and then you’llbe my sweetheart.” Marie smiled gravely and looked at Pelle.
They borrowed the old clothes dealer’s handcart and went across to theapple barges to fetch Lasse’s belongings. He had sold most of them inorder not to bring too great a load to the city. But he had retained a bedsteadwith bedding, and all sorts of other things. “And then I have still togive you greetings from Sort and Marie Nielsen,” he said.
Pelle blushed. “I owe her a few words, but over here I quite forgot itsomehow! And I have half promised her my portrait. I must see now about sendingit.”
“Yes, do,” said Father Lasse. “I don’t know how closeyou two stand to each other, but she was a good woman. And those who staybehind, they’re sad when they’re forgotten. Remember that.”
At midday Lasse had tidied himself a trifle and began to brush his hat.
“What now?” inquired Pelle. “You don’t want to go outall alone?”
“I want to go out and look at the city a bit,” replied Lasse, asthough it were quite a matter of course. “I want to find some work, andperhaps I’ll go and have a peep at the king for once. You need onlyexplain in which direction I must go.”
“You had better wait until I can come with you—you’ll onlylose yourself.”
“Shall I do that?” replied Lasse, offended. “But I found myway here alone, I seem to remember!”
“I can go with the old man!” said Marie.
“Yes, you come with the old man, then no one can say he has lost hisyouth!” cried Lasse jestingly, as he took her hand. “I think we twoshall be good friends.”
Toward evening they returned. “There are folks enough here,” saidLasse, panting, “but there doesn’t seem to be a superfluity ofwork. I’ve been asking first this one and then that, but no one will haveme. Well, that’s all right! If they won’t, I can just put a spikeon my stick and set to work collecting the bits of paper in the streets, likethe other old men; I can at least do that still.”
“But I can’t give my consent to that,” replied Pelleforcibly. “My father shan’t become a scavenger!”
“Well—but I must get something to do, or I shall go back homeagain. I’m not going to go idling about here while you work.”
“But you can surely rest and enjoy a little comfort in your old days,father. However, we shall soon see.”
“I can rest, can I? I had better lie on my back and let myself be fedlike a long-clothes child! Only I don’t believe my back would standit!”
They had placed Lasse’s bed with the footboard under the sloping ceiling;there was just room enough for it. Pelle felt like a little boy when he went tobed that night; it was so many years since he had slept in the same room asFather Lasse. But in the night he was oppressed by evil dreams; Due’sdreadful fate pursued him in his sleep. His energetic, good-humored face wentdrifting through the endless grayness, the head bowed low, the hands chainedbehind him, a heavy iron chain was about his neck, and his eyes were fixed onthe ground as though he were searching the very abyss. When Pelle awoke it wasbecause Father Lasse stood bending over his bed, feeling his face, as in thedays of his childhood.
XIV
Lasse would not sit idle, and was busily employed in running about the city insearch of work. When he spoke to Pelle he put a cheerful face on a badbusiness; and looked hopeful; but the capital had already disillusioned him. Hecould not understand all this hubbub, and felt that he was too old to enterinto it and fathom its meaning—besides, perhaps it had none! It reallylooked as though everybody was just running to and fro and following his ownnose, without troubling in the least about all the rest. And there were nogreetings when you passed folks in the street; the whole thing was more thanLasse could understand. “I ought to have stayed at home,” he wouldoften think.
And as for Pelle—well, Pelle was taken up with his own affairs! That wasonly to be expected in a man. He ran about going to meetings and agitating, andhad a great deal to do; his thoughts were continually occupied, so that therewas no time for familiar gossip as in the old days. He was engaged, moreover,so that what time was not devoted to the Labor movement was given to hissweetheart. How the boy had grown, and how he had altered, bodily and in everyway! Lasse had a feeling that he only reached up to Pelle’s beltnowadays. He had grown terribly serious, and was quite the man; he looked asthough he was ready to grasp the reins of something or other; you would never,to look at him, have thought that he was only a journeyman cobbler. There wasan air of responsibility about him—just a little too much may be!
Marie got into the way of accompanying the old man. They had become goodfriends, and there was plenty for them to gossip over. She would take him tothe courtyard of the Berlingske Tidende, where the people in search of workeddied about the advertisement board, filling up the gateway and forming acrowd in the street outside.
“We shall never get in there!” said Lasse dejectedly. But Marieworked herself forward; when people scolded her she scolded them back. Lassewas quite horrified by the language the child used; but it was a great help!
Marie read out the different notices, and Lasse made his comments on every one,and when the bystanders laughed Lasse gazed at them uncomprehendingly, thenlaughed with them, and nodded his head merrily. He entered into everything.
“What do you say? Gentleman’s coachman? Yes, I can drive a pair ofhorses well enough, but perhaps I’m not fine enough for thegentry—I’m afraid my nose would drip!”
He looked about him importantly, like a child that is under observation.“But errand boy—that isn’t so bad. We’ll make a note ofthat. There’s no great skill needed to be everybody’s dog! Houseporter! Deuce take it—there one need only sit downstairs and make angryfaces out of a basement window! We’ll look in there and try ourluck.”
They impressed the addresses on their minds until they knew them by heart, andthen squeezed their way out through the crowd. “Damn funny oldcodger!” said the people, looking after him with a smile—Lasse wasquite high-spirited. They went from house to house, but no one had any use forhim. The people only laughed at the broken old figure with the wide-toed boots.
“They laugh at me,” said Lasse, quite cast down; “perhapsbecause I still look a bit countrified. But that after all can soon beovercome.
“I believe it’s because you are so old and yet want to getwork,” said Marie.
“Do you think it can be on that account? Yet I’m only just seventy,and on both my father’s and mother’s side we have almost all livedto ninety. Do you really think that’s it? If they’d only let me setto work they’d soon see there’s still strength in old Lasse! Many ayounger fellow would sit on his backside for sheer astonishment. But what arethose people there, who stand there and look so dismal and keep their hands intheir pockets?”
“Those are the unemployed; it’s a slack time for work, and they sayit will get still worse.”
“And all those who were crowding round the notice-board—were theyidle hands too?”
Marie nodded.
“But then it’s worse here than at home—there at least wealways have the stone-cutting when there is nothing else. And I had reallybelieved that the good time had already begun over here!”
“Pelle says it will soon come,” said Marie consolingly.
“Yes, Pelle—he can well talk. He is young and healthy and has thetime before him.”
Lasse was in a bad temper; nothing seemed right to him. In order to give himpleasure, Marie took him to see the guard changed, which cheered him a little.
“Those are smart fellows truly,” he said. “Hey, hey, how theyhold themselves! And fine clothes too. But that they know well enoughthemselves! Yes—I’ve never been a king’s soldier. I went upfor it when I was young and felt I’d like it; I was a smart fellow then,you can take my word for it! But they wouldn’t have me; my figurewouldn’t do, they said; I had worked too hard, from the time I was quitea child. They’d got it into their heads in those days that a man ought tobe made just so and so. I think it’s to please the fine ladies. OtherwiseI, too, might have defended my country.”
Down by the Exchange the roadway was broken up; a crowd of navvies were at workdigging out the foundation for a conduit. Lasse grew quite excited, and hurriedup to them.
“That would be the sort of thing for me,” he said, and he stoodthere and fell into a dream at the sight of the work. Every time the workersswung their picks he followed the movement with his old head. He drew closerand closer. “Hi,” he said to one of the workers, who was taking abreath, “can a man get taken on here?”
The man took a long look at him. “Get taken on here?” he cried,turning more to his comrades than to Lasse. “Ah, you’d like to,would you? Here you foreigners come running, from Funen and Middlefart, andwant to take the bread out of the mouths of us natives. Get away with you, youJutland carrion!” Laughing, he swung his pick over his head.
Lasse drew slowly hack. “But he was angry!” he said dejectedly toMarie.
In the evening Pelle had to go to all his various meetings, whatever they mightbe. He had a great deal to do, and, hard as he worked, the situation stillremained unfavorable. It was by no means so easy a thing, to break the back ofpoverty!
“You just look after your own affairs,” said Lasse. “I sithere and chat a little with the children—and then I go to bed. Idon’t know why, but my body gets fonder and fonder of bed, althoughI’ve never been considered lazy exactly. It must be the gravethat’s calling me. But I can’t go about idle anylonger—I’m quite stiff in my body from doing it.”
Formerly Lasse never used to speak of the grave; but now he had seeminglyreconciled himself to the idea. “And the city is so big and soconfusing,” he told the children. “And the little one has put bysoon runs through one’s fingers.”
He found it much easier to confide his troubles to them. Pelle had grown so bigand so serious that he absolutely inspired respect. One could take no realpleasure in worrying him with trivialities.
But with the children he found himself in tune. They had to contend with littleobstacles and difficulties, just as he did, and could grasp all his troubles.They gave him good, practical advice, and in return he gave them his senilewords of wisdom.
“I don’t exactly know why it is so,” he said, “but thisgreat city makes me quite confused and queer in the head. To mention nothingelse, no one here knows me and looks after me when I go by. That takes all thecourage out of my knees. At home there was always one or another who would turnhis head and say to himself, ‘Look, there goes old Lasse, he’ll begoing down to the harbor to break stone; devil take me, but how he holdshimself! Many a man would nod to me too, and I myself knew every second man.Here they all go running by as if they were crazy! I don’t understand howyou manage to find employment here, Karl?”
“Oh, that’s quite easy,” replied the boy. “About six inthe morning I get to the vegetable market; there is always something to bedelivered for the small dealers who can’t keep a man. When the vegetablemarket is over I deliver flowers for the gardeners. That’s a veryuncertain business, for I get nothing more than the tips. And besides that Irun wherever I think there’s anything going. To the East Bridge and outto Frederiksburg. And I have a few regular places too, where I go everyafternoon for an hour and deliver goods. There’s always something if oneruns about properly.”
“And does that provide you with an average good employment everyday?” said Lasse wonderingly. “The arrangement looks to me a littleuncertain. In the morning you can’t be sure you will have earned anythingwhen the night comes.”
“Ah, Karl is so quick,” said Marie knowingly. “When the timesare ordinarily good he can earn a krone a day regularly.”
“And that could really be made a regular calling?” No, Lassecouldn’t understand it.
“Very often it’s evening before I have earned anything at all, butone just has to stir one’s stumps; there’s always something orother if one knows where to look for it.”
“What do you think—suppose I were to go with you?” said Lassethoughtfully.
“You can’t do that, because I run the whole time. Reallyyou’d do much better to hide one of your arms.”
“Hide one of my arms?” said Lasse wonderingly.
“Yes—stick one arm under your coat and then go up to people and askthem for something. That wouldn’t be any trouble to you, you look like aninvalid.”
“Do I, indeed?” asked Lasse, blinking his eyes. “I never knewthat before. But even if that were so I shouldn’t like to beg atpeople’s doors. I don’t think any one will get old Lasse to dothat.”
“Then go along to the lime works—they are looking forstone-breakers these days,” said the omniscient youngster.
“Now you are talking!” said Lasse; “so they have stone here?Yes, I brought my stone-cutter’s tools with me, and if there’s onething on earth I long to do it is to be able to bang away at a stoneagain!”
XV
Pelle was now a man; he was able to look after his own affairs and a littlemore besides; and he was capable of weighing one circumstance against another.He had thrust aside his horror concerning Due’s fate, and once again sawlight in the future. But this horror still lurked within his mind, corrodingeverything else, lending everything a gloomy, sinister hue. Over his browbrooded a dark cloud, as to which he himself was not quite clear. But Ellen sawit and stroked it away with her soft fingers, in order to make it disappear. Itformed a curious contrast to his fresh, ruddy face, like a meaningless threatupon a fine spring day.
He began to be conscious of confidence like a sustaining strength. It was notonly in the “Ark” that he was idolized; his comrades looked up tohim; if there was anything important in hand their eyes involuntarily turned tohim. Although he had, thoughtlessly enough, well-nigh wrecked the organism inorder to come to grips with Meyer, he had fully made up for his action, and theUnion was now stronger than ever, and this was his doing. So he could stretchhis limbs and give a little thought to his own affairs.
He and Ellen felt a warm longing to come together and live in their own littlehome. There were many objections that might be opposed to such a course, and hewas not blind to them. Pelle was a valiant worker, but his earnings were not solarge that one could found a family on them; it was the naked truth that even agood worker could not properly support a wife and children. He counted onchildren as a matter of course, and the day would come also when Father Lassewould no longer be able to earn his daily bread. But that day lay still in theremote future, and, on the other hand, it was no more expensive to live with acompanion than alone—if that companion was a good and saving wife. If aman meant to enjoy some little share of the joy of life, he must close his eyesand leap over all obstacles, and for once put his trust in the exceptional.
“It’ll soon be better, too,” said Mason Stolpe. “Thingslook bad now in most trades, but you see yourself, how everything is drawing toa great crisis. Give progress a kick behind and ask her to hurry herself alittle—there’s something to be gained by that. A man ought to marrywhile he’s still young; what’s the good of going about andhankering after one another?”
Madam Stolpe was, as always, of his opinion. “We married and enjoyed thesweetness of it while our blood was still young. That’s why we havesomething now that we can depend on,” she said simply, looking at Pelle.
So it was determined that the wedding should be held that spring. In March theyoungest son would complete his apprenticeship, so that the wedding feast andthe journeyman’s feast could be celebrated simultaneously.
On the canal, just opposite the prison, a little two-roomed dwelling wasstanding vacant, and this they rented. Mason Stolpe wanted to have the youngcouple to live out by the North Bridge, “among respectable people,”but Pelle had become attached to this quarter. Moreover, he had a host ofcustomers there, which would give him a foothold, and there, too, were thecanals. For Pelle, the canals were a window opening on the outer world; theygave his mind a sense of liberty; he always felt oppressed among the stonewalls by the North Bridge. Ellen let him choose—it was indifferent to herwhere they lived. She would gladly have gone to the end of the world with him,in order to yield herself.
She had saved a little money in her situation, and Pelle also had a little putby; he was wise in his generation, and cut down all their necessities. WhenEllen was free they rummaged about buying things for their home. Many thingsthey bought second-hand, for cheapness, but not for the bedroom; thereeverything was to be brand-new!
It was a glorious time, in which every hour was full of its own richsignificance; there was no room for brooding or for care. Ellen often camerunning in to drag him from his work; he must come with her and look atsomething or other—one could get it so cheap—but quickly, quickly,before it should be gone! On her “off” Sundays she would reduce thelittle home to order, and afterward they would walk arm in arm through thecity, and visit the old people.
Pelle had had so much to do with the affairs of others, and had given so littlethought to his own, that it was delightful, for once in a way, to be able torest and think of himself. The crowded outer world went drifting far away fromhim; he barely glanced at it as he built his nest; he thought no more aboutsocial problems than the birds that nest in spring.
And one day Pelle carried his possessions to his new home, and for the lasttime lay down to sleep in the “Ark.” There was no future for anyone here; only the shipwrecked sought an abiding refuge within these walls. Itwas time for Pelle to move on. Yet from all this raggedness and overcrowdingrose a voice which one did not hear elsewhere; a careless twittering, like thatof unlucky birds that sit and plume their feathers when a little sunlight fallson them. He looked back on the time he had spent here with pensive melancholy.
On the night before his wedding he lay restlessly tossing to and fro. Somethingseemed to follow him in his sleep. At last he woke, and was sensible of astifled moaning, that came and went with long intervals in between, as thoughthe “Ark” itself were moaning in an evil dream. Suddenly he stoodup, lit the lamp, and began to polish his wedding- boots, which were still onthe lasts, so that they might retain their handsome shape. Lasse was stillasleep, and the long gangway outside lay still in slumber.
The sound returned, louder and more long-drawn, and something about it remindedhim of Stone Farm, and awaked the horror of his childish days. He sat andsweated at his work. Suddenly he heard some one outside—some one whogroped along the gangway and fumbled at his door. He sprang forward and openedit. Suspense ran through his body like an icy shudder. Outside stoodHanne’s mother, shivering in the morning cold.
“Pelle,” she whispered anxiously, “it’s so nearnow—would you run and fetch Madam Blom from Market Street? I can’tleave Hanne. And I ought to be wishing you happiness, too.”
The errand was not precisely convenient, nevertheless, he ran oft. And then hesat listening, working still, but as quietly as possible, in order not to wakeFather Lasse. But then it was time for the children to get up; for the lasttime he knocked on the wall and heard Marie’s sleepy“Ye—es!” At the same moment the silence of night was broken;the inmates tumbled out and ran barefooted to the lavatories, slamming theirdoors. “The Princess is lamenting,” they told one another.“She’s lamenting because she’s lost what she’ll neverget again.” Then the moaning rose to a loud shriek, and suddenly it wassilent over there.
Poor Hanne! Now she had another to care for—and who was its father? Hardtimes were in store for her.
Lasse was not going to work to-day, although the wedding-feast was not to beheld until the afternoon. He was in a solemn mood, from the earliest morning,and admonished Pelle not to lay things cross-wise, and the like. Pelle laughedevery time.
“Yes, you laugh,” said Lasse, “but this is an importantday—perhaps the most important in your life. You ought to take care lestthe first trifling thing you do should ruin everything.”
He pottered about, treating everything as an omen. He was delighted with thesun—it rose out of a sack and grew brighter and brighter in the course ofthe day. It was never lucky for the sun to begin too blazing.
Marie went to and fro, considering Pelle with an expression of suppressedanxiety, like a mother who is sending her child into the world, and striveshard to seem cheerful, thought Pelle. Yes, yes, she had been like a mother tohim in many senses, although she was only a child; she had taken him into hernest as a little forsaken bird, and with amazement had seen him grow. He hadsecretly helped her when he could. But what was that in comparison with thesinging that had made his work easy, when he saw how the three waifs acceptedthings as they were, building their whole existence on nothing? Who would helpthem now over the difficult places without letting them see the helping hand?He must keep watchful eye on them.
Marie’s cheeks were a hectic red, and her eyes were shining when he heldher roughened hands in his and thanked her for being such a good neighbor. Hernarrow chest was working, and a reflection of hidden beauty rested upon her.Pelle had taught her blood to find the way to her colorless face; whenever shewas brought into intimate contact with him or his affairs, her cheeks glowed,and every time a little of the color was left behind. It was as though hisvitality forced the sap to flow upward in her, in sympathy, and now she stoodbefore him, trying to burst her stunted shell, and unfold her graciouscapacities before him, and as yet was unable to do so. Suddenly she fell uponhis breast. “Pelle, Pelle,” she said, hiding her face against him.And then she ran into her own room.
Lasse and Pelle carried the last things over to the new home, and puteverything tidy; then they dressed themselves in their best and set out for theStoples’ home. Pelle was wearing a top-hat for the first time in hislife, and looked quite magnificent in it. “You are like a big citychap,” said Lasse, who could not look at him often enough. “Butwhat do you think they’ll say of old Lasse? They are half-way fine folksthemselves, and I don’t know how to conduct myself. Wouldn’t itperhaps be better if I were to turn back?”
“Don’t talk like that, father!” said Pelle.
Lasse was monstrously pleased at the idea of attending the wedding- feast, buthe had all sorts of misgivings. These last years had made him shy of strangers,and he liked to creep into corners. His holiday clothes, moreover, were wornout, and his every-day things were patched and mended; his long coat he hadhired expressly for the occasion, while the white collar and cuffs belonged toPeter. He did not feel at all at home in his clothes, and looked like anembarrassed schoolboy waiting for confirmation.
At the Stolpes’ the whole household was topsy-turvy. The guests who wereto go to the church had already arrived; they were fidgeting about in theliving-room and whistling to themselves, or looking out into the street, andfeeling bored. Stople’s writing-table had been turned into a side-board,and the brothers were opening bottles of beer and politely pressing everybody:“Do take a sandwich with it—you’ll get a dry throat standingso long and saying nothing.”
In the best room Stolpe was pacing up and down and muttering. He was in hisshirtsleeves, waiting until it was his turn to use the bedroom, where Ellen andher mother had locked themselves in. Prom time to time the door was opened alittle, and Ellen’s bare white arm appeared, as she threw her father somearticle of attire. Then Pelle’s heart began to thump.
On the window-sill stood Madam Stolpe’s myrtle; it was stripped quitebare.
Now Stolpe came back; he was ready! Pelle had only to button his collar forhim. He took Lasse’s hand and then went to fetch The Working Man.“Now you just ought to hear this, what they say of your son,” hesaid, and began to read:
“Our young party-member, Pelle, to-day celebrates his nuptials with thedaughter of one of the oldest and most respected members of the party, MasonStolpe. This young man, who has already done a great deal of work for theCause, was last night unanimously proposed as President of his organization. Wegive the young couple our best wishes for the future.”
“That speaks for itself, eh?” Stolpe handed the paper to hisguests.
“Yes, that looks well indeed,” they said, passing the paper fromhand to hand. Lasse moved his lips as though he, too, were reading the noticethrough. “Yes, devilish good, and they know how to put thesethings,” 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 lastnight, 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 asnow-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 thinkthat’s wrong,” she said, and with a loving glance she pushed theminto each other’s arms.
Frederik, who was leaning out of the window, in order to watch for thecarriage, came and thundered on the door. “The carriage is there,children!” he roared, in quite a needlessly loud voice. “Thecarriage 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 himselfback 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 herhand and held it in his during the whole service.
Frederik had remained at home, in order to admit, receive messages and peoplewho came to offer their congratulations. As they returned he leaned out of thewindow and threw crackers and detonating pellets under the horses’ feet,as a salute to the bridal pair.
People drank wine, touched glasses with the young couple, and examined thewedding-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 menwent across to Ventegodt’s beer-garden, in order to play a game ofskittles, while the women prepared the food.
Pelle would rather have stopped in the house with Ellen, but he must not; heand Lasse went together. Lasse had not yet properly wished Pelle happiness; hehad 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 familyand responsibilities. Now don’t you forget that the women are likechildren. 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 knowwhich way they want to go. Otherwise they are quite all right, and it’seasy to get on with them—if one only treats them well. I never found itany trouble, for they like a firm hand over them. You’ve reason to beproud of your parents-in-law; they are capital people, even if they are a bitproud of their calling. And Ellen will make you a good wife—if I knowanything of women. She’ll attend to her own affairs and she’llunderstand how to save what’s left over. Long in the body she is, like afruitful cow—she won’t fail you in the matter of children.”
Outdoors in the beer-garden Swedish punch was served, and Lasse’s spiritsbegan 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 Lasse drew himself up and came out of his shell.“Splendid people, the Copenhageners!” he whispered to Pelle.“A ready hand for spending, and they’ve got a witty word ready foreverything.”
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 Stolpewas already quite nervous, they had stopped away so long. “Nowwe’ll all wobble a bit on our legs,” whispered Stolpe, in theentry; “then my wife will go for us! Well, mother, have you got a warmwelcome ready for us?” he asked, as he tumbled into the room.
“Ah, you donkey, do you think I don’t know you?” cried MadamStolpe, laughing. “No, one needn’t go searching in the taverns formy man!”
Pelle went straight up to Ellen in the kitchen and led her away. Hand in handthey went round the rooms, looking at the last presents to arrive. There was atable-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 stoodMorten, taking off his things. Then they fled into the kitchen, but the hiredcook was in possession; at length they found an undisturbed haven in thebedroom. Ellen wound her arms round Pelle’s neck and gazed at him insilence, quite lost in happiness and longing. And Pelle pressed the beloved,slender, girlish body against his own, and looked deep in her eyes, which weredark and shadowy as velvet, as they drank in the light in his. His heartswelled within him, and he felt that he was unspeakably fortunate—richerthan any one else in the whole world—because of the treasure that he heldin his arms. Silently he vowed to himself that he would protect her and cherishher and have no other thought than to make her happy.
An impatient trampling sounded from the other room. “The youngcouple— the young couple!” they were calling. Pelle and Ellenhastened in, each by a different door. The others were standing in their placesat the table, and were waiting for Pelle and Ellen to take their seats.“Well, it isn’t difficult to see what she’s beenabout!” said Stolpe teasingly. “One has only to look at thelass’s peepers—such a pair of glowing coals!”
Otto Stolpe, the slater, was spokesman, and opened the banquet by offeringbrandy. “A drop of spirits,” he said to each: “we must makesure there’s a vent to the gutter, or the whole thing will soon getstopped up.”
“Now, take something, people!” cried Stolpe, from the head of thetable, where he was carving a loin of roast pork. “Up with the bricksthere!” He had the young couple on his right and the newly-bakedjourneyman on his left. On the table before him stood a new bedroom chamberwith a white wooden cover to it; the guests glanced at it and smiled at oneanother. “What are you staring at?” he asked solemnly. “Ifyou 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 menmust always make a fool of somebody!”
Then they all set to, and for a while eating stopped their mouths. From time totime some droll remark was made. “Some sit and do themselves proud, whileothers do the drudging,” said the Vanishing Man, Otto’s comrade.Which was to say that he had finished his pork. “Give him one in themouth, mother!” said Stolpe.
When their hunger was satisfied the witticisms began to fly. Morten’spresent was a great wedding-cake. It was a real work of art; he had made it inthe 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 glazedrepresentation of the rising sun. Up the steps of the pyramid various otherfigures were scrambling to the top, holding their arms outstretched toward thesummit. Wine was poured out when they came to the cake, and Morten made alittle speech in Pelle’s honor, in which he spoke of loyalty toward thenew comrade whom he had chosen. Apparently the speech concerned Ellen only, butPelle understood that his words were meant to be much more comprehensive; theyhad a double meaning all the time.
“Thank you, Morten,” he said, much moved, and he touched glasseswith him.
Then Stolpe delivered a speech admonishing the newly-married pair. This wasfull of precious conceits and was received with jubilation.
“Now you see how father can speak,” said Madam Stolpe. “Whennothing depends on it then he can speak!”
“What’s that you say, mother?” cried Stolpe, astonished. Hewas not accustomed to criticism from that source. “Just listen to thatnow— one’s own wife is beginning to pull away the scaffolding-polesfrom under one!”
“Well, that’s what I say!” she rejoined, looking at himboldly. Her face was quite heated with wine. “Does any one stand in thefront of things like father does? He was the first, and he has been always themost 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 itweren’t for that damned hiccoughing. He’s a clever man, and hiscomrades respect him too, but what does all that signify if a man hiccoughs?Every time he stands on the speaker’s platform he has thehiccoughs.”
“And yet it isn’t caused by brandy?” said the thick-setlittle Vanishing Man, Albert Olsen.
“Oh, no, father has never gone in for bottle agitation,” repliedMadam Stolpe.
“That was a fine speech that mother made about me,” said Stolpe,laughing, “and she didn’t hiccough. It is astonishing,though—there are some people who can’t. But now it’s yourturn, Frederik. Now you have become a journeyman and must accept theresponsibility yourself for doing things according to plumb-line and square. Wehave worked on the scaffold together and we know one another pretty well. Manya time you’ve been a clown and many a time a sheep, and a box on the earsfrom 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 willsay this to your credit—that you know your trade—you needn’tbe shamed by anybody. Show what you can do, my lad! Do your day’s work sothat your comrades don’t need to take you in tow, and never shirk when itcomes to your turn!”
“Don’t cheat the drinker of his bottle, either,” said AlbertOlsen, 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 carethe girls don’t get running about under the scaffold in working hours,that doesn’t look well; and always uphold the fellowship. There isnothing more despicable than the name of strikebreaker.”
“Hear, hear!” resounded about the table. “A true word!”
Frederik sat listening with an embarrassed smile.
He was dressed in a new suit of the white clothes of his calling, and on hisround 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 drinkbrotherhood 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 ofhis eye, he set the utensil to his mouth, and drank.
“Health, father!” replied Frederik, with shining eyes, as hisfather passed him the drinking-bowl. Then it went round the table. The womenshrieked before they drank; it was full of Bavarian beer, and in the amberfluid swam Bavarian sausages. And while the drinking-bowl made its cheerfulround, 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.
Up there he works away with peaceful mind:
Ah, ah. Na, na!
The scaffold swings in the boisterous wind!
“What it is to be giddy no mason knows:
Left to himself he’d build for ever,
Stone upon stone, till in Heaven, I s’pose!
But up comes the Law, and says—Stop now, clever!
There lives the Almighty, so just come off!
Ah, ah! Na, na!
Sheer slavery this, but he lets them scoff!
“Before he knows it the work has passed:
He measures all over and reckons it up.
His wages are safe in his breeches at last,
And he clatters off home to rest and to sup.
And a goodly wage he’s got in his pocket:
Ah, ah! Na, na!
The scaffold creaks to the winds that rock it!”
The little thick-set slater sat with both arms on the table, staring right infront of him with veiled eyes. When the song was over he raised his head alittle. “Yes, that may be all very fine—for those it concerns. Butthe slater, he climbs higher than the mason.” His face was purple.
“Now, comrade, let well alone,” said Stolpe comfortably. “Itisn’t the question, to-night, who climbs highest, it’s a questionof amusing ourselves merely.”
“Yes, that may be,” replied Olsen, letting his head sink again.“But the slater, he climbs the highest.” After which he sat theremurmuring to himself.
“Just leave him alone,” whispered Otto. “Otherwisehe’ll get in one of his Berserker rages. Don’t be so grumpy, oldfellow,” he said, laying his arm on Olsen’s shoulders. “Noone can compete with you in the art of tumbling down, anyhow!”
The Vanishing Man was so called because he was in the habit—while lyingquite quietly on the roof at work—of suddenly sliding downward anddisappearing into the street below. He had several times fallen from the roofof a house without coming to any harm; but on one occasion he had broken bothlegs, and had become visibly bow-legged in consequence. In order to appeasehim, Otto, who was his comrade, related how he had fallen down on the lastoccasion.
“We were lying on the roof, working away, he and I, and damned cold itwas. He, of course, had untied the safety-rope, and as we were lying therequite comfortably and chatting, all of a sudden he was off. ‘Thedevil!’ I shouted to the others, ‘now the Vanishing Man has fallendown again!’ And we ran down the stairs as quick as we could. Weweren’t in a humor for any fool’s tricks, as you may suppose. Butthere was no Albert Olsen lying on the pavement. ‘Damn and blast it all,where has the Vanisher got to?’ we said, and we stared at one another,stupefied. And then I accidentally glanced across at a beer-cellar opposite,and there, by God, he was sitting at the basement window, winking at us so,with his forefinger to his nose, making signs to us to go down and have a glassof beer with him. ‘I was so accursedly thirsty,’ was all he said;‘I couldn’t wait to run down the stairs!’”
The general laughter appeased the Vanishing Man. “Who’ll give me aglass of beer?” he said, rising with difficulty. He got his beer and satdown in a corner.
Stolpe was sitting at the table playing with his canary, which had to partakeof its share in the feast. The bird sat on his red ear and fixed its claws inhis hair, then hopped onto his arm and along it onto the table. Stolpe kept onasking it, “What would you like to smoke, Hansie?”“Peep!” replied the canary, every time. Then they all laughed.“Hansie would like a pipe!”
“How clever he is, to answer like that!” said the women.
“Clever?—ay, and he’s sly too! Once we bought a little wifefor him; mother didn’t think it fair that he shouldn’t know whatlove is. Well, they married themselves very nicely, and the little wife lay twoeggs. But when she wanted to begin to sit Hansie got sulky; he kept on callingto her to come out on the perch. Well, she wouldn’t, and one fine day,when she wanted to get something to eat, he hopped in and threw the eggs outbetween the bars! He was jealous—the rascal! Yes, animals are wonderfullyclever—stupendous it is, that such a little thing as that could thinkthat out! Now, now, just look at him!”
Hansie had hopped onto the table and had made his way to the remainder of thecake. He was sitting on the edge of the dish, cheerfully flirting his tail ashe pecked away. Suddenly something fell upon the table- cloth. “Lordbless me,” cried Stolpe, in consternation, “if that had been anyone else! Wouldn’t you have heard mother carry on!”
Old Lasse was near exploding at this. He had never before been in such pleasantcompany. “It’s just as if one had come upon a dozen of BrotherKalle’s sort,” he whispered to Pelle. Pelle smiled absently. Ellenwas holding his hand in her lap and playing with his fingers.
A telegram of congratulation came for Pelle from his Union, and this broughtthe conversation back to more serious matters. Morten and Stolpe becameinvolved in a dispute concerning the labor movement; Morten considered thatthey did not sufficiently consider the individual, but attached too muchimportance to the voice of the masses. In his opinion the revolution must comefrom within.
“No,” said Stolpe, “that leads to nothing. But if we couldget our comrades into Parliament and obtain a majority, then we should build upthe State according to our own programme, and that is in every respect a legalone!”
“Yes, but it’s a question of daily bread,” said Morten, withenergy. “Hungry people can’t sit down and try to become a majority;while the grass grows the cow starves! They ought to help themselves. If theydo not, their self-consciousness is imperfect; they must wake up to theconsciousness of their own human value. If there were a law forbidding the poorman to breathe the air, do you think he’d stop doing so? He simply couldnot. It’s painful for him to look on at others eating when he getsnothing himself. He is wanting in physical courage. And so society profits byhis disadvantage. What has the poor man to do with the law? He stands outsideall that! A man mustn’t starve his horse or his dog, but the State whichforbids him to do so starves its own workers. I believe they’ll have topay for preaching obedience to the poor; we are getting bad material for thenow order of society that we hope to found some day.”
“Yes, but we don’t obey the laws out of respect for the commands ofa capitalist society,” said Stolpe, somewhat uncertainly, “but outof regard for ourselves. God pity the poor man if he takes the law into his ownhands!”
“Still, it keeps the wound fresh! As for all the others, who go hungry insilence, what do they do? There are too few of them, alas—there’sroom in the prisons for them! But if every one who was hungry would stick hisarm through a shop window and help himself—then the question ofmaintenance would soon be solved. They couldn’t put the whole nation inprison! Now, hunger is yet another human virtue, which is often practised untilmen die of it—for the profit of those who hoard wealth. They pat thepoor, brave man on the back because he’s so obedient to the law. Whatmore can he want?”
“Yes, devil take it, of course it’s all topsy-turvy,” repliedStolpe. “But that’s precisely the reason why——No, no,you won’t persuade me, my young friend! You seem to me a good deal too‘red.’ It wouldn’t do! Now I’ve been concerned in themovement from the very first day, and no one can say that Stolpe is afraid torisk his skin; but that way wouldn’t suit me. We have always held to thesame course, and everything that we have won we have taken on account.”
“Yes, that’s true,” interrupted Frau Stolpe. “When Ilook back to those early years and then consider these I can scarcely believeit’s true. Then it was all we could do to find safe shelter, even amongpeople of our own standing; they annoyed us in every possible way, and hatedfather because he wasn’t such a sheep as they were, but used to concernhimself about their affairs. Every time I went out of the kitchen doorI’d find a filthy rag of dishcloth hung over the handle, and they smearedmuch worse things than that over the door—and whose doing was it? I nevertold father; he would have been so enraged he would have torn the whole housedown to find the guilty person. No, father had enough to contend againstalready. But now: ‘Ah, here comes Stolpe— Hurrah! Long live Stolpe!One must show respect to Stolpe, the veteran!’”
“That may be all very fine,” muttered Albert Olsen, “but theslater, he climbs the highest.” He was sitting with sunken head, staringangrily before him.
“To be sure he climbs highest,” said the women. “No one sayshe doesn’t.”
“Leave him alone,” said Otto; “he’s had a drop toomuch!”
“Then he should take a walk in the fresh air and not sit there and makehimself disagreeable,” said Madam Stolpe, with a good deal of temper.
The Vanishing Man rose with an effort. “Do you say a walk in the freshair, Madam Stolpe? Yes, if any one can stand the air, by God, it’s AlbertOlsen. Those big-nosed masons, what can they do?” He stood with benthead, muttering angrily to himself. “Yes, then we’ll take a walk inthe fresh air. I don’t want to have anything to do with your fools’tricks.” He staggered out through the kitchen door.
“What’s he going to do there?” cried Madam Stolpe, in alarm.
“Oh, he’ll just go down into the yard and turn himself insideout,” said Otto. “He’s a brilliant fellow, but he can’tcarry much.”
Pelle, still sitting at table, had been drawing with a pencil on a scrap ofpaper while the others were arguing. Ellen leaned over his shoulder watchinghim. He felt her warm breath upon his ear and smiled happily as he used hispencil. Ellen took the drawing when he had finished and pushed it across thetable to the others. It showed a thick-set figure of a man, dripping withsweat, pushing a wheelbarrow which supported his belly.“Capitalism—when the rest of us refuse to serve him anylonger!” was written below. This drawing made a great sensation.“You’re a deuce of a chap!” cried Stolpe. “I’llsend that to the editor of the humorous page—I know him.”
“Yes, Pelle,” said Lasse proudly, “there’s nothing hecan’t do; devil knows where he gets it from, for he doesn’t get itfrom his father.” And they all laughed.
Carpenter Stolpe’s good lady sat considering the drawing with amazement,quite bewildered, looking first at Pelle’s fingers and then at thedrawing again. “I can understand how people can say funny things withtheir mouths,” she said, “but with their fingers—that Idon’t understand. Poor fellow, obliged to push his belly in front of him!It’s almost worse than when I was going to have Victor.”
“Cousin Victor, her youngest, who is so deucedly clever,” saidOtto, in explanation, giving Pelle a meaning wink.
“Yes, indeed he is clever, if he is only six months old. The other day Itook him downstairs with me when I went to buy some milk. Since then hewon’t accept his mother’s left breast any more. The rascal noticedthat the milkman drew skim milk from the left side of the cart and full-creammilk from the tap on the right side. And another time——”
“Now, mother, give over!” said Carpenter Stolpe; “don’tyou see they’re sitting laughing at you? And we ought to see aboutgetting home presently.” He looked a trifle injured.
“What, are you going already?” said Stolpe. “Why, bless mysoul, it’s quite late already. But we must have another songfirst.”
“It’ll be daylight soon,” said Madam Stolpe; she was so tiredthat she was nodding.
When they had sung the Socialist marching song, the party broke up. Lasse hadhis pockets filled with sweets for the three orphans.
“What’s become of the Vanishing Man?” said Otto suddenly.
“Perhaps he’s been taken bad down in the yard,” said Stolpe.“Run down and see, Frederick.” They had quite forgotten him.
Frederik returned and announced that Albert Olsen was not in the yard—and the gate was locked.
“Surely he can’t have gone on the roof?” said one. They ranup the back stairs; the door of the loft was open, and the skylight also.
Otto threw off his coat and swung himself up through the opening. On theextreme end of the ridge of the roof sat Albert Olsen, snoring.
He was leaning against the edge of the party-wall, which projected upward abouteighteen inches. Close behind him was empty space.
“For God’s sake don’t call him,” said Mother Stolpe,under her breath; “and catch hold of him before he wakes.”
But Otto went straight up to his comrade. “Hullo, mate! Time’sup!” he cried.
“Righto!” said the Vanisher, and he rose to his feet. He stoodthere a moment, swaying above the abyss, then, giving the preference to the wayleading over the roof, he followed in Otto’s track and crept through thewindow.
“What the dickens were you really doing there?” asked Stolpe,laughing. “Have you been to work?”
“I just went up there and enjoyed the fresh air a bit. Have you got abottle of beer? But what’s this? Everybody going home already?”
“Yes, you’ve been two hours sitting up there and squinting at thestars,” replied Otto.
Now all the guests had gone. Lasse and the young couple stood waiting to sayfarewell. Madam Stolpe had tears in her eyes. She threw her arms round Ellen.“Take good care of yourself, the night is so cold,” she said, in achoking voice, and she stood nodding after them with eyes that were blindedwith tears.
“Why, but there’s nothing to cry about!” said Mason Stolpe,as he led her indoors. “Go to bed now—I’ll soon sing theVanishing Man to sleep! Thank God for to-day, mother!”
XVI
Pelle had placed his work-bench against the wall-space between the two windowsof the living-room. There was just room to squeeze past between the edge of thebench and the round table which stood in the middle of the room. Against thewall by the door stood an oak-stained sideboard, which was Ellen’s pride,and exactly opposite this, on the opposing wall, stood the chest of drawers ofher girlhood, with a mirror above it and a white embroidered cover on the top.On this chest of drawers stood a polished wooden workbox, a few photographs,and various knick-knacks; with its white cover it was like a little altar.
Pelle went to Master Beck’s only every other day; the rest of the time hesat at home playing the little master. He had many acquaintances hereabouts,really poor folks, who wore their boots until their stockings appeared beforethey had them repaired; nevertheless, it was possible to earn a day’s payamong them. He obtained work, too, from Ellen’s family and theiracquaintances. These were people of another sort; even when things went badlywith them they always kept up appearances and even displayed a certain amountof luxury. They kept their troubles to themselves.
He could have obtained plenty of journeyman work, but he preferred thisarrangement, which laid the foundation of a certain independence; there wasmore chance of a future in it. And there was a peculiar feeling about work donewith his home as the background. When he lifted his eyes from his work as hesat at home a fruitful warmth came into his heart; things looked so familiar;they radiated comfort, as though they had always belonged together. And whenthe morning sun shone into the room everything wore a smile, and in the midstof it all Ellen moved busily to and fro humming a tune. She felt a need alwaysto be near him, and rejoiced over every day which he spent at home. On thosedays she hurried through her work in the kitchen as quickly as possible, andthen sat down to keep him company. He had to teach her how to make a patch, andhow to sew a sole on, and she helped him with his work.
“Now you are the master and I’m the journeyman!” she wouldsay delightedly. She brought him customers too; her ambition was to keep himalways at home. “I’ll help you all I can. And one fine dayyou’ll have so much work you’ll have to take anapprentice—and then a journeyman.” Then he would take her in hisarms, and they worked in emulation, and sang as they worked.
Pelle was perfectly happy, and had cast off all his cares and burdens. This washis nest, where every stick and stone was worth more than all else in the worldbesides. They had their work cut out to keep it together and feed themselves alittle daintily; and Pelle tackled his work as joyfully as though he had atlast found his true vocation. Now and again a heavy wave came rolling up fromthe struggling masses, making his heart beat violently, and then he would breakout into fiery speech; or his happiness would weave radiant pictures before hiseyes, and he would describe these to Ellen. She listened to him proudly, andwith her beloved eyes upon him he would venture upon stronger expression andmore vivid pictures, as was really natural to him. When at last he was silentshe would remain quietly gazing at him with those dark eyes of hers that alwaysseemed to be looking at something in him of which he himself was unaware.
“What are you thinking of now?” Pelle would ask, for he would haveenjoyed an exposition of the ideas that filled his mind. There was no one forhim but Ellen, and he wanted to discuss the new ideas with her, and to feel thewonderful happiness of sharing these too with her.
“I was thinking how red your lips are when you speak! They certainly wantto be kissed!” she replied, throwing her arms round his neck.
What happened round about her did not interest her; she could only speak oftheir love and of what concerned herself. But the passionate gaze of her eyeswas like a deep background to their life. It had quite a mysterious effect uponhis mind; it was like a lure that called to the unknown depths of his being.“The Pelle she sees must be different to the one I know,” hethought happily. There must be something fine and strong in him for her tocling to him so closely and suffer so when parted from him only for a moment.When she had gazed at him long enough she would press herself against him,confused, and hide her face.
Without his remarking it, she directed his energies back to his own calling. Hecould work for two when she sat at the bench facing him and talked to him asshe helped him. Pelle really found their little nest quite comfortable, butEllen’s mind was full of plans for improvement and progress. His businesswas to support a respectable home with dainty furniture and all sorts of otherthings; she was counting on these already. This home, which to him was like abeloved face that one cannot imagine other than it is, was to her only atemporary affair, which would by degrees be replaced by something finer andbetter. Behind her intimate gossip of every-day trivialities she concealed afar-reaching ambition. He must do his utmost if he was to accomplish all sheexpected of him!
Ellen by no means neglected her housekeeping, and nothing ever slipped throughher fingers. When Pelle was away at the workshop she turned the whole placeupside down, sweeping and scrubbing, and had always something good on the tablefor him. In the evening she was waiting for him at the door of the workshop.Then they would take a stroll along the canal, and across the green rampartwhere the children played. “Oh, Pelle, how I’ve longed for youto-day!” she would say haltingly. “Now, I’ve got you, and yetI’ve still got quite a pain in my breasts; they don’t know yet thatyou’re with me!”
“Shan’t we work a little this evening—just a quarter of anhour?” she would say, when they had eaten, “so that you can becomea master all the sooner and make things more comfortable for yourself.”Pelle perhaps would rather have taken a walk through the city with her, or havegone somewhere where they could enjoy the sunset, but her dark eyes fixedthemselves upon him.
She was full of energy from top to toe, and it was all centered on him. Therewas something in her nature that excluded the possibility of selfishness. Inrelation to herself, everything was indifferent; she only wanted to be withhim—and to live for him. She was beneficent and intact as virgin soil;Pelle had awakened love in her—and it took the shape of a perpetual needof giving. He felt, humbly, that she brought all she had and was to him as agift, and all he did was done to repay her generosity.
He had refused to undertake the direction of the labor organization. His lifetogether with Ellen and the maintenance of the newly established household lefthim no time for any effectual efforts outside his home. Ellen did not interferein the matter; but when he came home after spending the evening at a meeting hecould see she had been crying. So he stopped at home with her; it was weak ofhim, but he did not see what else he could do. And he missed nothing; Ellenmore than made amends. She knew how to make their little home close itselfabout him, how to turn it into a world of exuberant inner life. There was nogreater pleasure than to set themselves to achieve some magnificentobject—as, for instance, to buy a china flower-pot, which could stand onthe window-sill and contain an aspidistra. That meant a week of saving, andwhen they had got it they would cross over to the other side of the canal, armin arm, and look up at the window in order to see the effect. And thensomething else would be needed; a perforating machine, an engraved nameplatefor the door; every Saturday meant some fresh acquisition.
The Working Man lay unread. If Pelle laid down his work a moment inorder to glance at it, there was Ellen nipping his ear with her lips; his freetime belonged to her, and it was a glorious distraction in work-time, to frolicas carelessly as a couple of puppies, far more delightful than shouldering theburden of the servitude of the masses! So the paper was given up; Ellenreceived the money every week for her savings-bank. She had discovered a cornerin Market Street where she wanted to set up a shop and work-room with three orfour assistants— that was what she was saving for. Pelle wondered at hersagacity, for that was a good neighborhood.
After their marriage they did not visit Ellen’s parents so often. Stolpefound Pelle was cooling down, and used to tease him a little, in order to makehim answer the helm; but that angered Ellen, and resulted inexplosions—she would tolerate no criticism of Pelle. She went to see themonly when Pelle proposed it; she herself seemed to feel no desire to see herfamily, but preferred staying at home. Often they pretended they were not athome when “the family” knocked, in order to go out alone, to theZoological Gardens or to Lyngby.
They did not see much of Lasse. Ellen had invited him once for all to eat hissupper with them. But when he came home from work he was too tired to changehis clothes, and wash himself, and make himself tidy, and Ellen was particularabout her little home. He had a great respect for her, but did not feelproperly at home in her living-room.
He had taken Pelle’s old room, and was boarding with the three orphans.They thought great things of him, and all their queer care for the bigfoundling Pelle was now transferred to old Lasse. And here they fell on bettersoil. Lasse was becoming a child again, and had felt the need of a littlepampering. With devout attention he would listen to Marie’s littletroubles, and the boy’s narrations of everything that they did and saw.In return he told them the adventures of his boyhood, or related hisexperiences in the stone-breaking yard, swaggering suitably, in order not to beoutdone. When Pelle came to fetch his father the four of them would be sittingdown to some childish game. They would wrangle as to how the game should beplayed, for Lasse was the most skilful. The old man would excuse himself.
“You mustn’t be angry, lad, because I neglect you—butI’m tired of an evening and I go to bed early.”
“Then come on Sunday—and breakfast with us; afterward we goout.”
“No, I’ve something on for Sunday—an assignation,” saidLasse roguishly, in order to obviate further questions. “Enjoy youryouthful happiness; it won’t last forever.”
He would never accept help. “I earn what I need for my food and a fewclothes; I don’t need much of either, and I am quite contented. Andyou’ve enough to see to yourself,” was his constant answer.
Lasse was always gentle and amiable, and appeared contented, but there was acurious veil over his eyes, as though some disappointment were gnawing at hisheart.
And Pelle knew well what it was—it had always been an understood thingthat Lasse should spend his old age at Pelle’s fireside. In his childishdreams of the future, however various they might be, Father Lasse was always athand, enjoying a restful old age, in return for all he had done for Pelle.
That was how it should be; at home in the country in every poor home agray-headed old man sat in the chimney-corner—for children among the poorare the only comfort of age.
For the time being this could not be arranged; there was no room in their twolittle rooms. Ellen was by no means lacking in heart; she often thought of thisor that for the old man’s comfort, but her passionate love would permitof no third person to approach them too closely. Such a thing had never enteredher mind; and Pelle felt that if he were to persuade her to take Father Lasseinto their home, the wonder of their life together would be killed. They livedso fully from hour to hour; theirs was a sacred happiness, that must not besacrificed, but which itself demanded the sacrifice of all else. Their relationwas not the usual practical self-love, but love itself, which seldom touchesthe every-day life of the poor, save that they hear it in tragic and beautifulsongs of unhappy lovers. But here, to them, had come its very self—ashining wonder!
And now Ellen was going to bear a child. Her figure grew fuller and softer.Toward all others she was cold and remote in her behavior; only to Pelle shedisclosed herself utterly. The slight reserve which had always lurked somewherewithin her, as though there was something that he could not yet conquer, haddisappeared. Her gaze was no longer fixed and searching; but sought his ownwith quiet self-surrender. A tender and wonderful harmony was visible in her,as though she had now come into her own, and from day to day she grew morebeautiful.
Pelle was filled with pride to see how luxuriantly she unfolded beneath hiscaresses. He was conscious of a sense of inexhaustible liberality, such as theearth had suddenly inspired in him at times in his childhood; and an infinitetenderness filled his heart. There was an alluring power in Ellen’shelplessness, so rich in promise as it was. He would joyfully have sacrificedthe whole world in order to serve her and that which she so wonderfully borewithin her.
He got up first in the morning, tidied the rooms, and made coffee before hewent to work. He was vexed if when he came home Ellen had been sweeping orscrubbing. He made two of himself in order to spare her, stinted himself ofsleep, and was restlessly busy; his face had assumed a fixed expression ofhappiness, which gave him almost a look of stupidity. His thoughts never wentbeyond the four walls of his home; Ellen’s blessed form entirelyengrossed him.
The buying of new furniture was discontinued; in its place Ellen made curiouspurchases of linen and flannel and material for swaddling-bands, and mysteriousconversations were continually taking place between her and her mother, fromwhich Pelle was excluded; and when they went to see Ellen’s parents MadamStolpe was always burrowing in her chests of drawers, and giving Ellen littlepackages to be taken home.
The time passed only too quickly. Exclusively as they had lived for their ownaffairs, it seemed as if they could never get everything finished. And one dayit was as though the world was shattered about their heads. Ellen lay in bed,turning from side to side and shrieking as though an evil spirit had takenpossession of her body. Pelle bent over her with a helpless expression, whileat the foot of the bed sat Madam Blom; she sat there knitting and reading thepapers as though nothing whatever was amiss. “Shriek away, littlewoman,” she said from time to time, when Ellen became silent;“that’s part of the business!” Ellen looked at her spitefullyand defiantly pressed her lips together, but next moment she opened her mouthwide and roared wildly. A rope was fastened to the foot of the bed, and shepulled on this while she shrieked. Then she collapsed, exhausted. “Youwicked, wicked boy,” she whispered, with a faint smile. Pelle bent overher happily; but she pushed him suddenly away; her beautiful body contorteditself, and the dreadful struggle was raging again. But at last a feeble voicerelieved hers and filled the home with a new note. “Another mouth tofill,” said Madam Blom, holding the new-born child in the air by one leg.It was a boy.
Pelle went about blushing and quite bewildered, as though something hadhappened to him that no one else had ever experienced. At first he took MasterBeck’s work home with him and looked after the child himself at night.Every other moment he had to put down his work and run in to the mother andchild. “You are a wonderful woman, to give me such a child for akiss,” he said, beaming, “and a boy into the bargain! What a manhe’ll be!”
“So it’s a boy!” said the “family.”“Don’t quite lose your head!”
“That would be the last straw!” said Pelle gravely.
The feminine members of the family teased him because he looked after thechild. “What a man—perhaps he’d like to lie in child-bed,too!” they jeered.
“I don’t doubt it,” growled Stolpe. “But he’snear becoming an idiot, and that’s much more serious. And it pains me tosay it, but that’s the girl’s fault. And yet all her life she hasonly heard what is good and proper. But women are like cats—there’sno depending on them.”
Pelle only laughed at their gibes. He was immeasurably happy.
And now Lasse managed to find his way to see them! He had scarcely received thenews of the event, when he made his appearance just as he was. He was full ofaudaciously high spirits; he threw his cap on the ground outside the door, andrushed into the bedroom as though some one were trying to hold him back.
“Ach, the little creature! Did any one ever see such an angel!” hecried, and he began to babble over the child until Ellen was quite rosy withmaternal pride.
His joy at becoming a grandfather knew no limits. “So it’s come atlast, it’s come at last!” he repeated, over and over again.“And I was always afraid I should have to go to my grave without leavinga representative behind me! Ach, what a plump little devil! He’s gotsomething to begin life on, he has! He’ll surely be an important citizen,Pelle! Just look how plump and round he is! Perhaps a merchant or amanufacturer or something of that sort! To see him in his power andgreatness—but that won’t be granted to Father Lasse.” Hesighed. “Yes, yes, here he is, and how he notices one already! Perhapsthe rascal’s wondering, who is this wrinkled old man standing there andcoming to see me in his old clothes? Yes, it’s Father Lasse, so look athim well, he’s won his magnificence by fair means!”
Then he went up to Pelle and fumbled for his hand. “Well, I’vehardly dared to hope for this—and how fine he is, my boy! What are yougoing to call him?” Lasse always ended with that question, lookinganxiously at his son as he asked it. His old head trembled a little now whenanything moved him.
“He’s to be called Lasse Frederik,” said Pelle one day,“after his two grandfathers.”
This delighted the old man. He went off on a little carouse in honor of theday.
And now he came almost every day. On Sunday mornings he made himselfscrupulously tidy, polishing his boots and brushing his clothes, so as to makehimself thoroughly presentable. As he went home from work he would look in toask whether little Lasse had slept well. He eulogized Ellen for bringing such abright, beautiful youngster into the world, and she quite fell in love with theold man, on account of his delight in the child.
She even trusted him to sit with the little one, and he was never so pleased aswhen she wished to go out and sent for him accordingly.
So little Lasse succeeded, merely by his advent, in abolishing allmisunderstandings, and Pelle blessed him for it. He was the deuce of a fellowalready—one day he threw Lasse and Ellen right into one another’sarms! Pelle followed step by step the little creature’s entrance into theworld; he noticed when first his glance showed a watchful attention, andappeared to follow an object, and when first his hand made a grab at something.“Hey, hey, just look! He wants his share of things already!” hecried delightedly. It was Pelle’s fair moustache the child wasafter—and didn’t he give it a tug!
The little hand gripped valiantly and was scarcely to be removed; there werelittle dimples on the fingers and deep creases at the wrist. There was anyamount of strength in Ellen’s milk!
They saw nothing more of Morton. He had visited them at first, but after a timeceased coming. They were so taken up with one another at the time, andEllen’s cool behavior had perhaps frightened him away. He couldn’tknow that that was her manner to everybody. Pelle could never find an idle hourto look him up, but often regretted him. “Can you understand what’samiss with him?” he would ask Ellen wonderingly. “We have so muchin common, he and I. Shall I make short work of it and go and look himup?”
Ellen made no answer to this; she only kissed him. She wanted to have him quiteto herself, and encompassed him with her love; her warm breath made him feelfaint with happiness. Her will pursued him and surrounded him like a wall; hehad a faint consciousness of the fact, but made no attempt to bestir himself.He felt quite comfortable as he was.
The child occasioned fresh expenses, and Ellen had all she could do; there waslittle time left for her to help him. He had to obtain suitable work, so thatthey might not suffer by the slack winter season, but could sit cozily betweentheir four walls. There was no time for loafing about and thinking. It was anobvious truth, which their daily life confirmed, that poor people have all theycan do to mind their own affairs. This was a fact which they had not at oncerealized.
He no longer gave any thought to outside matters. It was really only from oldhabit that, as he sat eating his breakfast in the workshop, he would sometimesglance at the paper his sandwiches were wrapped in—part of some backnumber of The Working Man. Or perhaps it would happen that he feltsomething in the air, that passed him by, something in which he had no part;and then he would raise his head with a listening expression. But Ellen wasfamiliar with the remoteness that came into his eyes at such times, and sheknew how to dispel it with a kiss.
One day he met Morten in the street. Pelle was delighted, but there was asceptical expression in Morten’s eyes. “Why don’t you evercome to see me now?” asked Pelle. “I often long to see you, but Ican’t well get away from home.”
“I’ve found a sweetheart—which is quite an occupation.”
“Are you engaged?” said Pelle vivaciously. “Tell me somethingabout her!”
“Oh, there’s not much to tell,” said Morten, with amelancholy smile. “She is so ragged and decayed that no one else wouldhave her—that’s why I took her.”
“That is truly just like you!” Pelle laughed. “But seriously,who is the girl and where does she live?”
“Where does she live?” Morten stared at him for a momentuncomprehendingly. “Yes, after all you’re right. If you know wherepeople live you know all about them. The police always ask thatquestion.”
Pelle did not know whether Morten was fooling him or whether he was speaking ingood faith; he could not understand him in the least to-day. His pale face boresigns of suffering. There was a curious glitter in his eyes. “One has tolive somewhere in this winter cold.”
“Yes, you are right! And she lives on the Common, when the policemandoesn’t drive her away. He’s the landlord of the unfortunate, youknow! There has been a census lately—well, did you observe what happened?It was given out that everybody was to declare where he lodged on a particularnight. But were the census-papers distributed among the homeless? No—allthose who live in sheds and outhouses, or on the Common, or in newly erectedbuildings, or in the disused manure-pits of the livery stables—they haveno home, and consequently were not counted in the census. That was cleverlymanaged, you know; they simply don’t exist! Otherwise there would be avery unpleasant item on the list—the number of the homeless. Only one manin the city here knows what it is; he’s a street missionary, andI’ve sometimes been out with him at night; it’s horrifying, whatwe’ve seen! Everywhere, wherever there’s a chink, they crowd intoit in order to find shelter; they lie under the iron staircases even, andfreeze to death. We found one like that—an old man—and called up apoliceman; he stuck his red nose right in the corpse’s mouth and said,‘Dead of drink.’ And now that’s put down, where really itought to say, ‘Starved to death!’ It mustn’t be said that anyone really suffers need in this country, you understand. No one freezes todeath here who will only keep moving; no one starves unless it’s his ownfault. It must necessarily be so in one of the most enlightened countries inthe world; people have become too cultivated to allow Want to stalk free aboutthe streets; it would spoil their enjoyment and disturb their night’srest. And they must be kept at a distance too; to do away with them would betoo troublesome; but the police are drilled to chase them back into their holesand corners. Go down to the whaling quay and see what they bring ashore in asingle day at this time of the year—it isn’t far from your place.Accidents, of course! The ground is so slippery, and people go too near theedge of the quay. The other night a woman brought a child into the world in anopen doorway in North Bridge Street—in ten degrees of frost. People whocollected were indignant; it was unpardonable of her to go about in such acondition— she ought to have stopped at home. It didn’t occur tothem that she had no home. Well then, she could have gone to the police; theyare obliged to take people in. On the other hand, as we were putting her in thecab, she began to cry, in terror, ‘Not the maternity hospital—notthe maternity hospital!’ She had already been there some time or other.She must have had some reason for preferring the doorstep—just as theothers preferred the canal to the workhouse.”
Morten continued, regardless of Pelle, as though he had to ease some inwardtorment. Pelle listened astounded to this outburst of lacerating anguish with ashamed feeling that he himself had a layer of fat round his heart. As Mortenspoke poverty once more assumed a peculiar, horrible, living glimmer.
“Why do you tell me all this as if I belonged to the upperclasses?” he said. “I know all this as well as you do.”
“And we haven’t even a bad year,” Morten continued,“the circumstances are as they always are at this time of year. Yesterdaya poor man stole a loaf from the counter and ran off with it; now he’llbe branded all his life. ‘My God, that he should want to make himself athief for so little!’ said the master’s wife—it was atwopenny-ha’penny roll. It’s not easy to grasp—branded forhis whole life for a roll of bread!”
“He was starving,” said Pelle stupidly.
“Starving? Yes, of course he was starving! But to me it’s insanity,I tell you—I can’t take it in; and every one else thinks it’sso easy to understand. Why do I tell you this, you ask? You know it as well asI do. No, but you don’t know it properly, or you’d have to rackyour brains till you were crazy over the frightful insanity of the fact thatthese two words—bread and crime—can belong together! Isn’t itinsane, that the two ends should bend together and close in a ring about ahuman life? That a man should steal bread of all things—bread, do youunderstand? Bread ought not to be stolen. What does any man want with thievingwho eats enough? In the mornings, long before six o’clock, the poorpeople gather outside our shop, and stand there in rows, in order to be thefirst to get the stale bread that is sold at half-price. The police make themstand in a row, just as they do outside the box-office at the theater, and somecome as early as four, and stand two hours in the cold, in order to be sure oftheir place. But besides those who buy there is always a crowd of people stillpoorer; they have no money to buy with, but they stand there and stare asthough it interested them greatly to see the others getting their bread cheap.They stand there waiting for a miracle in the shape of a slice of bread. Onecan see that in the way their eyes follow every movement, with the samedesperate hope that you see in the eyes of the dogs when they stand round thebutcher’s cart and implore Heaven that the butcher may drop a bit ofmeat. They don’t understand that no one will pity them. Not we humanbeings—you should see their surprise when we give themanything!—but chance, some accident. Good God, bread is so cheap, thecheapest of all the important things in this world—and yet theycan’t for once have enough of it! This morning I slipped a loaf into anold woman’s hand— she kissed it and wept for joy! Do you feel thatthat’s endurable?” He stared at Pelle with madness lurking in hisgaze.
“You do me an injustice if you think I don’t feel it too,”said Pelle quietly. “But where is there a quick way out of this evil? Wemust be patient and organize ourselves and trust to time. To seize on ourrights as they’ve done elsewhere won’t do for us.”
“No, that’s just it! They know it won’t do forus—that’s why justice never goes forward. The people get onlywhat’s due to them if the leaders know that if the worst comes to theworst they can provide for themselves.”
“I don’t believe that any good would come of a revolution,”said Pelle emphatically. He felt the old longing to fight within him.
“You can’t understand about that unless you’ve felt it inyourself,” replied Morten passionately. “Revolution is the voice ofGod, which administers right and justice, and it cannot be disputed. If thepoor were to rise to see that justice was done it would be God’sjudgment, and it would not be overthrown. The age has surely the right toredeem itself when it has fallen into arrears in respect of matters soimportant; but it could do so only by a leap forward. But the peopledon’t rise, they are like a damp powder! You must surely some time havebeen in the cellar of the old iron merchant under the ‘Ark,’ andhave seen his store of rags and bones and old iron rubbish? They are mererakings of the refuse-heap, things that human society once needed and thenrejected. He collects them again, and now the poor can buy them. And he buysthe soldiers’ bread too, when they want to go on the spree, and throws iton his muck-heap; he calls it fodder for horses, but the poor buy it of him andeat it. The refuse-heap is the poor man’s larder —that is, when thepigs have taken what they want. The Amager farmers fatten their swine there,and the sanitary commission talks about forbidding it; but no one hascompassion on the Copenhagen poor.”
Pelle shuddered. There was something demoniacal in Morten’s hideousknowledge—he knew more of the “Ark” than Pelle himself.“Have you, too, been down in that loathsome rubbish-store?” heasked, “or how do you know all this?”
“No, I’ve not been there—but I can’t help knowingit—that’s my curse! Ask me even whether they make soup out of therotten bones they get there. And not even the poison of the refuse-heap willinflame them; they lap it up and long for more! I can’t bear it ifnothing is going to happen! Now you’ve pulled yourself out of themire—and it’s the same with everybody who has accomplishedanything—one after another—either because they are contented orbecause they are absorbed in their own pitiful affairs. Those who are of anyuse slink away, and only the needy are left.”
“I have never left you in the lurch,” said Pelle warmly. “Youmust realize that I haven’t.”
“It isn’t to be wondered at that they get weary,” Mortencontinued. “Even God loses patience with those who always let themselvesbe trampled upon. Last night I dreamed I was one of the starving. I was goingup the street, grieving at my condition, and I ran up against God. He wasdressed like an old Cossack officer, and had a knout hanging round his neck.
“‘Help me, dear God!’ I cried, and fell on my knees beforehim. ‘My brothers won’t help me.’
“‘What ails you?’ he asked, ‘and who are you?’
“‘I am one of Thy chosen folk, one of the poor,’ I answered.‘I am starving!’
“‘You are starving and complain of your brothers, who have setforth food for you in abundance?’ he said angrily, pointing to all thefine shops. ‘You do not belong to my chosen people—away withyou!’ And then he lashed me over the back with his knout.”
Morten checked himself and spoke no more; it was as though he neither saw norheard; he had quite collapsed. Suddenly he turned away, without sayinggood-bye.
Pelle went home; he was vexed by Morten’s violence, which was, he felt,an attack upon himself. He knew this of himself—that he was notfaithless; and no one had any right to grudge him the happiness of founding afamily. He was quite indignant—for the first time for a long time. Thatthey should taunt him, who had done more for the cause than most!—justbecause he looked after his own affairs for a time! Something unruly was risingwithin him; he felt a sudden need to lay about him; to fight a good stiffbattle and shake the warm domesticity out of his bones.
Down by the canal they were engaged cutting the ice in order to clear thewater. It was already spring tide, and the ice-cakes were drifting toward thesea, but with unbelievable slowness. After all, that’s the work for you,he told himself as he turned away. He was conscious of that which lay beneaththe surface, but he would not let it rise.
As soon as he was between four walls again he grew calmer. Ellen sat by thestove busied with little Lasse, who lay sprawling on his belly in her lap.
“Only look what a sweet little roly-poly he is! There isn’t a traceof chafing anywhere!”
XVII
From his place at the window Pelle could look out over the canal and the bridgeby the prison, where the prisoners lay on the rafts, washing wool. Herecognized Ferdinand’s tall, powerful figure; shortly after Christmasthey had captured him in an underground vault in the cemetery, where he hadestablished himself; the snow had betrayed his hiding- place. And now he layyonder, so near the “Ark” and his mother! From time to time heraised his closely-shorn head and looked thither.
Beyond the bridge toward the market, was the potter with his barge; he hadpiled up his Jutland wares on the quay, and the women from Kristianshavn cameto deal with him. And behind at the back of all rose the mass of the“Ark.”
It was so huge that it did not give the impression of a barracks, but hadrather the character of a fantastic village—as though a hundred hamletshad been swept together in one inextricable heap. Originally it had been alittle frame building of one story with a gabled roof. Then it had graduallybecome an embryo town; it budded in all directions, upward as well,kaleidoscopically increasing to a vast mass of little bits of facade,high-pitched roofs, deep bays, and overhanging gables, all mingled together inan endless confusion, till in the middle it was five stories high. And there abluish ring of vapor always hovered, revealing the presence of the well, thathidden ventilating shaft for the thronging inmates of the “Ark.”One could recognize Madam Frandsen’s garret with its chimney-cowl, andfarther back, in a deep recess, which ran far into the mass of the building,Pelle could distinguish Hanne’s window. Otherwise he could not place manyof the little windows. They stared like failing eyes. Even the coal-dealer, whowas the deputy landlord of the “Ark,” was imperfectly acquaintedwith all its holes and corners.
He could see the inmates of the “Ark” running to and fro across thebridge, careless and myopic; they always rushed along, having started at thelast moment. There was something tranquilizing about their negligence, whichwas evoked by privation; in the “Ark” a man began to worry abouthis food only when he sat down to table and discovered there wasn’t any!
And among them little groups of workmen wandered in and out across the bridge;that steady march from the North Bridge had travelled hither, as though seekinghim out.
The masses were now no longer vaguely fermenting; a mighty will was in processof formation. Amid the confusion, the chaotic hubbub, definite lines becamevisible; a common consciousness came into being and assumed a direction; thethousands of workers controlled themselves in a remarkable way, and were nowprogressing, slowly and prudently, with the ideal of closing up the ranks. Onewhose hearing was a little dull might have received the impression that nothingwas happening—that they were reconciled with their lot; but Pelle knewwhat was going on. He himself had put his shoulder to the wheel, and wassecretly one of their number.
He was happy in Ellen’s divided love, and all he undertook had referenceto her and the child.
But now again the sound of footsteps echoed through his brain; and it would notbe silenced. They had penetrated further than he himself could go. It was asthough a deadening screen had suddenly been removed and whether he wished it ornot, he heard every step of the wanderers outside.
The hard times forced them to proceed quietly, but work was being done insecret. The new ideas were in process of becoming current, the newspapersintroduced them into the bosom of the family, and they were uttered from thespeaker’s platform, or discussed at meal-times in workshop and factory.The contagion ran up staircases and went from door to door. Organizations whichmore than once had been created and broken up were created afresh—andthis time to endure. The employers fought them, but could not defeat them;there was an inward law working upon the masses, making a structure behindwhich they must defend themselves.
They taxed themselves and stole the bread out of their own mouths in order toincrease the funds of their organization, in the blind conviction thateventually something miraculous would come of it all. The poor achieved powerby means of privation, tears, and self-denial, and had the satisfaction offeeling that they were rich through their organization. When many unitedtogether they tasted of the sweets of wealth; and, grateful as they were, theyregarded that already as a result. A sense of well-being lifted them above theunorganized, and they felt themselves socially superior to the latter. To jointhe trades unions now signified a rise in the social scale. This affected many,and others were driven into the movement by the strong representations of theirhouse-mates. The big tenement buildings were gradually leavened by the newideas; those who would not join the Union must clear out. They were treated asthe scum of society, and could only settle down in certain quarters of thecity. It no longer seemed impossible to establish the organization of labor ina stable fashion, and to accomplish something for the workers—if onlysome courageous worker would place himself at the head of affairs. The factthat most of them worked at home in their lodgings could no longer make theminvisible— the movement had eyes everywhere. Pelle, with surprise, caughthimself sitting at his bench and making plans for the development of themovement.
He put the matter from him, and devoted his whole mind to Ellen and the child.What had he to do with the need of strangers, when these two called for all hisability and all his strength, if he was to provide them merely withnecessities? He had tortured himself enough with the burden ofpoverty—and to no end. And now he had found his release in a blessedactivity, which, if he was to neglect nothing, would entirely absorb him. Whatthen was the meaning of this inward admonition, that seemed to tell him that hewas sinning against his duty?
He silenced the inward voice by dwelling on his joy in his wife and child. Butit returned insidiously and haunted his mind like a shadow.
At times, as he sat quietly working, something called him: “Pelle,Pelle!”—or the words throbbed in his ears in the depth of thenight.
At such times he sat upright in bed, listening. Ellen and the child were fastasleep; he could hear a faint whistling as little Lasse drew his breath. Hewould go to the door and open it, although he shook his head at his own folly.It was surely a warning that some one near to him was in trouble!
At this time Pelle threw himself passionately into his life with Ellen and thechild; he lived for them as wholly as though he had anticipated an immediateparting.
They had purchased a perambulator on the instalment system, and every Sundaythey packed sandwiches under the apron and pushed it before them to the Common,or they turned into some beer-garden in the neighborhood of the city, wherethey ate their provisions and drank coffee. Often too they made their way alongthe coast road, and went right out into the forest. Lasse-Frederik, as Ellencalled him, sat throned in all his splendor in the perambulator, like a littleidol, Pelle and Ellen pushing him alternately. Ellen did not want to permitthis. “It’s no work for a man, pushing a perambulator,” shewould say. “You won’t see any other man doing it! They let theirwives push the family coach.”
“What are other people to me?” replied Pelle. “I don’tkeep a horse yet.”
She gave him a grateful look; nevertheless, she did not like it.
They spent glorious hours out there. Little Lasse was allowed to scramble aboutto his heart’s content, and it was wonderful how he tumbled about; he waslike a frolicsome little bear. “I believe he can smell the earth underhim,” said Pelle, recalling his own childish transports.“It’s a pity he has to live in that barrack there!” Ellengazed at him uncomprehendingly.
They did not move about much; it contented them to lie there and to delight inthe child, when he suddenly sat up and gazed at them in astonishment, as thoughhe had just discovered them. “Now he’s beginning to think!”said Pelle, laughing.
“You take my word for it, he’s hungry.” And little Lassescrambled straight up to his mother, striking at her breast with his clenchedhands, and saying, “Mam, mam!” Pelle and the perambulator had tostation themselves in front of her while he was fed.
When they reached home it was evening. If the doormat was displaced it meantthat some one had been to call on them; and Ellen was able to tell, from itsposition, who the visitor had been. Once it stood upright against the wall.
“That’s Uncle Carpenter,” said Pelle quietly. Little Lassewas sleeping on his arm, his head resting on Pelle’s shoulder.
“No, it will have been Cousin Anna,” said Ellen, opening the door.“Thank the Lord we weren’t at home, or we should have had such abusiness till late in the evening! They never eat anything at home on Sundays,they simply drink a mouthful of coffee and then go round eating their relationsout of house and home.”
XVIII
Pelle often thought with concern of the three orphans in the “Ark.”They were learning nothing that would be of use to them in the future, but hadall they could do to make a living. The bad times had hit them too, and littleKarl in particular; people were stingy with their tips. In these days they werenever more than a day ahead of destitution, and the slightest misfortune wouldhave brought them face to face with it. But they let nothing of this beseen—they were only a little quieter and more solemn than usual. He hadon several occasions made inquiries as to obtaining help for them, but nothingcould be done without immediately tearing them asunder; all those who were in aposition to help them cried out against their little household, and separationwas the worst that could befall them.
When he went to see them Marie always had plenty to tell and to ask him; he wasstill her particular confidant, and had to listen to all her household caresand give her his advice. She was growing tall now, and had a fresher look thanof old; and Pelle’s presence always filled her eyes with joy and broughtthe color to her cheeks. Father Lasse she eulogized, in a voice full ofemotion, as though he were a little helpless child; but when she asked afterEllen a little malice glittered in her eyes.
One morning, as he sat working at home, while Ellen was out with the child,there was a knock at the door. He went out and opened it. In the littleletter-box some one had thrust a number of The Working Man, with aninvitation to take the paper regularly. He opened the paper eagerly, as he satdown to his bench again; an extraordinary feeling of distress caused him firstof all to run through the “Accidents.”
He started up in his chair; there was a heading concerning a fourteen- year-oldboy who worked in a tinplate works and had had the fingers of the right handcut off. A premonition told him that this misfortune had befallen the little“Family”; he quickly drew on a coat and ran over to the“Ark.”
Marie met him anxiously. “Can you understand what has happened to Peter?He never came home last night!” she said, in distress. “Lots ofboys roam about the streets all night, but Peter has never been like that, andI kept his supper warm till midnight. I thought perhaps he’d got into badcompany.”
Pelle showed her The Working Man. In a little while the inmates of the“Ark” would see the report and come rushing up with it. It wasbetter that he should prepare her beforehand. “But it’s by no meanscertain,” he said, to cheer her. “Perhaps it isn’t he atall.”
Marie burst into tears. “Yes, of course it is! I’ve so often goneabout worrying when he’s been telling me about those sharp knives alwayssliding between their fingers. And they can’t take proper care ofthemselves; they must work quickly or they get the sack. Oh, poor dearPeter!” She had sunk into her chair and now sat rocking to and fro withher apron to her eyes, like an unhappy mother.
“Now be grown-up and sensible,” said Pelle, laying his hand on hershoulder. “Perhaps it’s not so bad after all; the papers alwaysexaggerate. Now I’ll run out and see if I can trace him.”
“Go to the factory first, then,” said Marie, jumping to her feet,“for, of course, they’ll know best. But you mustn’t in anycase say where we live—do you hear? Remember, we’ve not been toschool, and he hasn’t been notified to the pastor for confirmation. Wecould be punished if they found that out.”
“I’ll take good care,” said Pelle, and he hurried away.
At the factory he received the information that Peter was lying in hospital. Heran thither, and arrived just at the time for visitors. Peter was sittingupright in bed, his hand in a sling; this gave him a curiously crippledappearance. And on the boy’s face affliction had already left those deep,ineradicable traces which so dismally distinguish the invalided worker. Theterrible burden of the consequences of mutilation could already be read in hispondering, childish gaze.
He cheered up when he saw Pelle, made an involuntary movement with his righthand, and then, remembering, held out his left. “There—I must giveyou my left fist now,” he said, with a dismal smile. “That’llseem queer to me for a bit. If I can do anything at all.Otherwise”—he made a threatening movement of thehead—“I tell you this—I’ll never be a burden to Marieand Karl all my life. Take my word for it, I shall be able to workagain.”
“We shall soon find something for you,” said Pelle, “andthere are kind people, too. Perhaps some one will help you so that you canstudy.” He himself did not know just where that idea came from; hecertainly had never seen such a case. The magical dreams of his childhood hadbeen responsible for a whole class of ideas, which were nourished by theanecdotes of poor boys in the reading-books. He was confronted by theimpossible, and quite simply he reached out after the impossible.
Peter had no reading-books at his back. “Kind people!” he criedscornfully—“they never have anything themselves, and I can’teven read —how should I learn how to study? Karl can read; he taughthimself from the signs in the streets while he was running his errands; and hecan write as well. And Hanne has taught Marie a little. But all my lifeI’ve only been in the factory.” He stared bitterly into space; itwas melancholy to see how changed his face was—it had quite fallen in.
“Don’t worry now,” said Pelle confidently: “we shallsoon find something.”
“Only spare me the poor-relief! Don’t you go begging forme—that’s all!” said Peter angrily. “And, Pelle,”he whispered, so that no one in the room should hear, “it reallyisn’t nice here. Last night an old man lay there and died—close tome. He died of cancer, and they didn’t even put a screen round him. Allthe time he lay there and stared at me! But in a few days I shall be able to goout. Then there’ll be something to be paid—otherwise the businesswill come before the Poor Law guardians, and then they’ll begin to snuffaround—and I’ve told them fibs, Pelle! Can’t you come and getme out? Marie has money for the house-rent by her—you can takethat.”
Pelle promised, and hurried back to his work. Ellen was at home; she was movingabout and seemed astonished. Pelle confided the whole affair to her.“Such a splendid fellow he is,” he said, almost crying. “Alittle too solemn with all his work—and now he’s a cripple! Only achild, and an invalided worker already—it’s horrible to thinkof!”
Ellen went up to him and pulled his head against her shoulder; soothingly shestroked his hair. “We must do something for him, Ellen,” he saiddully.
“You are so good, Pelle. You’d like to help everybody; but what canwe do? We’ve paid away all our savings over my lying-in.”
“We must sell or pawn some of our things.”
She looked at him horrified. “Pelle, our dear home! And there’snothing here but just what is absolutely necessary. And you who love our poorlittle belongings so! But if you mean that, why, of course! Only you are doingsomething for him already in sacrificing your time.”
After that he was silent. She several times referred to the matter again, assomething that must be well deliberated, but he did not reply. Her conversationhurt him—whether he replied to it or was silent.
In the afternoon he invented an errand in the city, and made his way to thefactory. He made for the counting-house, and succeeded in seeing themanufacturer himself. The latter was quite upset by the occurrence, but pleadedin vindication that the accident was entirely the result of negligence. Headvised Pelle to make a collection among the workers in the factory, and heopened it himself with a contribution of twenty kroner. He also held out theprospect that Peter, who was a reliable lad, might take a place as messengerand collector when he was well again.
Peter was much liked by his comrades; a nice little sum was collected. Pellepaid his hospital dues, and there was so much left that he would be able tostay at home and rest with an easy mind until his hand was healed and he couldtake the place of messenger at the factory. The young invalid was in highspirits, knowing that his living was assured; he passed the time in loungingabout the town, wherever there was music to be heard, in order to learn freshtunes. “This is the first holiday I’ve had since I went to thefactory,” he told Pelle.
He did not get the place as messenger—some one stole a march on him; buthe received permission to go back to his old work! With the remains of hisright hand he could hold the sheet of tin-plate on the table, while the lefthand had to accustom itself to moving among the threatening knives. This onlydemanded time and a little extra watchfulness.
This accident was branded on Pelle’s soul, and it aroused his slumberingresentment. Chance had given him the three orphans in the place of brothers andsisters, and he felt Peter’s fate as keenly as if it had been his own. Itwas a scandal that young children should be forced to earn their living by workthat endangered their lives, in order to keep the detested Poor Law guardiansat bay. What sort of a social order was this? He felt a suffocating desire tostrike out, to attack it.
The burden of Due’s fate, aggravated by this fresh misfortune, was oncemore visible in his face; Ellen’s gentle hand, could not smooth it away.“Don’t look so angry, now—you frighten the child so!”she would say, reaching him the boy. And Pelle would try to smile; but it wasonly a grim sort of smile.
He did not feel that it was necessary to allow Ellen to look into his bleedingsoul; he conversed with her about indifferent things. At other times he satgazing into the distance, peering watchfully at every sign; he was once morefull of the feeling that he was appointed to some particular purpose. He wascertain that tidings of some kind were on the way to him.
And then Shoemaker Petersen died, and he was again asked to take over themanagement of the Union.
“What do you say to that?” he asked Ellen, although his mind wasirrevocably made up.
“You must know that yourself,” she replied reservedly. “Butif it gives you pleasure, why, of course!”
“I am not doing it to please myself,” said Pelle gloomily. “Iam not a woman!”
He regretted his words, and went over to Ellen and kissed her. She had tears inher eyes, and looked at him in astonishment.
XIX
There was plenty to be done. The renegades must be shepherded back to theorganization—shepherded or driven; Pelle took the most willing first,allowing numbers to impress the rest. Those who were quite stubborn he left totheir own devices for the time being; when they were isolated and marked meninto the bargain, they could do no further mischief.
He felt well rested, and went very methodically to work. The feeling that hisstrength would hold out to the very end lent him a quiet courage that inspiredconfidence. He was not over-hasty, but saw to everything from the foundationsupward; individual questions he postponed until the conditions for solving themshould be at hand. He knew from previous experience that nothing could beaccomplished unless the ranks were tightly knit together.
So passed the remainder of the summer. And then the organization was complete;it looked as though it could stand a tussle. And the first question was thetariff. This was bad and antiquated; thoroughly behind the times in allrespects; the trade was groaning under a low rate of wages, which had not keptstep with the general development and the augmentation of prices. But Pelleallowed his practical common sense to prevail. The moment was not favorable fora demand for higher wages. The organization could not lend the demandsufficient support; they must for the time being content themselves withcausing the current tariff to be respected. Many of the large employers did notobserve it, although they themselves had introduced it. Meyer was aparticularly hard case; he made use of every possible shift and evasion to beatdown the clearest wages bill.
Complaints were continually coming in, and one day Pelle went to him in orderto discuss the situation and come to some agreement. He was prepared to fightfor the inviolability of the tariff, otherwise Meyer would make big promisesand afterward break them. He had really expected Meyer to show him the door;however, he did not do so, but treated him with a sort of polite effrontery.Hatred of his old enemy awaked in Pelle anew, and it was all he could do tocontrol himself. “The embargo will be declared against you if youdon’t come to an arrangement with your workers within a week,” hesaid threateningly.
Meyer laughed contemptuously. “What’s that you say? Oh, yes, yourembargo, we know something about that! But then the employers will declare alock-out for the whole trade—what do you think of that? Old hats will beselling cheap!”
Pelle was silent, and withdrew; it was the only way in which he could succeedin keeping cool. He had said what had to be said, and he was no diplomat, tosmile quietly with a devil lurking in the corners of his eyes.
Meyer obligingly accompanied him to the door. “Can I oblige you in anyother way—with work, for example? I could very well find room for aworker who will make children’s boots and shoes.”
When Pelle reached the street he drew a long breath. Poof! That was tough work;a little more insolence and he’d have given him one on the jaw! Thatwould have been the natural answer to the fellow’s effrontery! Well, itwas a fine test for his hot temper, and he had stood it all right! He couldalways be master of the situation if he held his tongue.
“Now suppose we do put an embargo on Meyer,” he thought, as he wentdown the street. “What then? Why, then he’ll hit back and declare alock-out. Could we hold out? Not very long, but the employers don’t knowthat—and then their businesses would be ruined. But then they wouldintroduce workers from abroad—or, if that didn’t answer, they wouldget the work done elsewhere; or they would import whole cargoes of machinery,as they have already begun to do on a small scale.”
Pelle stood still in the middle of the street. Damn it all, this wouldn’tdo! He must take care that he didn’t make a hash of the whole affair. Ifthese foreign workers and machines were introduced, a whole host of men wouldin a moment be deprived of their living. But he wanted to have a go at Meyer;there must be some means of giving the bloodsucker a blow that he would feel inhis purse!
Next morning he went as usual to Beck’s. Beck looked at him from over hisspectacles. “I’ve nothing more to do with you, Pelle,” hesaid, in a low voice.
“What!” cried Pelle, startled. “But we’ve such a lot ofwork on hand, master!”
“Yes, but I can’t employ you any longer. I’m not doing thisof my own free will; I have always been very well pleased with you; butthat’s how it stands. There are so many things one has to take intoconsideration; a shoemaker can do nothing without leather, and one can’tvery well do without credit with the leather merchants.”
He would not say anything further.
But Pelle had sufficiently grasped the situation. He was the president of theShoemakers’ Union; Master Beck had been compelled to dismiss him, by thethreat of stopping his source of supplies. Pelle was a marked man because hewas at the head of the organization—although the latter was nowrecognized. This was an offence against the right of combination. Still therewas nothing to be done about the matter; one had the right to dismiss a man ifone had no further need of him. Meyer was a cunning fellow!
For a time Pelle drifted about dejectedly. He was by no means inclined to gohome to Ellen with this melancholy news; so he went to see various employers inorder to ask them for work. But as soon as they heard who he was they foundthey had nothing for him to do. He saw that a black mark had been set againsthis name.
So he must confine himself to home work, and must try to hunt up moreacquaintances of his acquaintances. And he must be ready day and night lestsome small shoemaker who muddled along without assistance should suddenly havemore to do than he could manage.
Ellen took things as they came, and did not complain. But she was mutelyhostile to the cause of their troubles. Pelle received no help from her in hiscampaign; whatever he engaged in, he had to fight it out alone. This did notalter his plans, but it engendered a greater obstinacy in him. There was oneside of his nature that Ellen’s character was unable to reach; well, shewas only a woman, after all. One must be indulgent with her! He was kind toher, and in his thoughts he more and more set her on a level with little Lasse.In that way he avoided considering her opinion concerning seriousmatters—and thereby felt more of a man.
Thanks to his small salary as president of his Union, they suffered no actualprivation. Pelle did not like the idea of accepting this salary; he feltgreatly inclined to refuse the few hundred kroner. There was not a drop ofbureaucratic blood in his veins, and he did not feel that a man should receivepayment for that which he accomplished for the general good. But now this moneycame in very conveniently; and he had other things to do than to make mountainsout of molehills. He had given up the embargo; but he was always racking hisbrains for some way of getting at Meyer; it occupied him day and night.
One day his thoughts blundered upon Meyer’s own tactics. Although he wasquite innocent, they had driven him away from his work. How would it be if hewere to employ the same method and, quite secretly, take Meyer’s workmenaway from him? Meyer was the evil spirit of the shoemaker’s craft. He satthere like a tyrant, thanks to his omnipotence, and oppressed the whole body ofworkers. It would not be so impossible to set a black mark against his name!And Pelle did not mean to be too particular as to the means.
He talked the matter over with his father-in-law, whose confidence in him wasnow restored. Stolpe, who was an old experienced tactician, advised him not toconvoke any meeting on this occasion, but to settle the matter with each manface to face, so that the Union could not be attacked. “You’ve gotplenty of time,” he said. “Go first of all to the trustworthyfellows, and make them understand what sort of a man Karl Meyer is; take hisbest people away first of all; it won’t do him much good to keep the badones. You can put the fear of God into your mates when you want to! Do yourbusiness so well that no one will have the courage any longer to take the placeof those that leave him. He must be branded as what he is—but between manand man.”
Pelle did not spare himself; he went from one comrade to another, fiery andenergetic. And what had proved impossible three years before he was now able toaccomplish; the resentment of Meyer’s injustice had sunk into the mindsof all.
Meyer had been in the habit of letting his workers run about to no purpose; ifthe work was not quite ready for them they could call again. And when the workwas given out to them they had, as a rule, to finish it with a rush; there wasintention in this; it made the people humble and submissive.
But now the boot was on the other leg. The workers did not call; they did notdeliver urgent commissions at the appointed time; Meyer had to send to them,and got his own words as answer; they were not quite ready yet, but they wouldsee what they could do for him! He had to run after his own workers in ordernot to offend his rich customers. In the first instances he settled the matter,as a rule, by dismissal. But that did not help him at all; the devil ofarrogance had entered into the simple journeymen! It looked as though they hadgot their ideas of master and subordinate reversed! He had to give up trustingto the hard hand on the rein; he must seek them out with fair words! Hisbusiness had the whole fashionable world as customer, and always required astaff of the very best workers. But not even friendly approaches availed.Scarcely did he find a good journeyman-worker but he was off again, and if heasked the reason he always received the same jeering answer: they didn’tfeel inclined to work. He offered high wages, and at great expense engagedqualified men from outside; but Pelle was at once informed and immediatelysought them out. When they had been subjected to his influence only for a fewdays they went back to the place they came from, or found other masters, who,now that Meyer’s business was failing, were getting more orders. Peoplewho went to the warehouse said that Meyer was raging about upstairs, abusinginnocent people and driving them away from him.
Meyer was conscious of a hand behind all this, and he demanded that theEmployers’ Union should declare a lock-out. But the other masters scenteda move for his benefit in this.
His own business was moribund, so he wanted to bring theirs to a standstillalso. They had no fundamental objection to the new state of affairs; in anycase they could see no real occasion for a lock-out.
So he was forced to give in, and wrote to Pelle requesting him to enter intonegotiations—in order to put an end to the unrest affecting the craft.Pelle, who as yet possessed no skill in negotiations, answered Meyer in a verycasual manner, practically sending him about his business. He showed his replyto his father-in-law before dispatching it.
“No, deuce take it, that won’t do!” said Stolpe. “Lookyou, my lad, everything depends on the tone you take, if you are dealing withlabor politics! These big folks think such a damn lot about the way a thing iswrapped up! If I were setting about this business I’d come out with thetruth and chuck it in their faces—but that won’t answer;they’d be so wild there’d be no dealing with them. Just a nicelittle lie—that answers much better! Yes, yes, one has to be adiplomatist and set a fox to catch a fox. Now you write what I tell you!I’ll give you an example. Now—”
Stolpe paced up and down the room a while, with a thoughtful expression; he wasin shirt-sleeves and slippers and had thrust both his forefingers in hiswaistcoat pockets. “Are you ready, son-in-law? Then we’llbegin!”
“To the President of the Employers’ Union, Herre H. Meyer,Shoemaker to the Court.
“Being in receipt of your honored favor of yesterday’s datehereby acknowledged, I take the liberty of remarking that so far as is known tome complete quiet and the most orderly conditions prevail throughout the trade.There appears therefore to be no motive for negotiation.
“For the Shoemakers’ Union,
“Your obedient servant,
“PELLE.”
“There, that’s to the point, eh? Napoleon himself might have puthis name to that! And there’s enough sting to it, too!” saidStolpe, much gratified. “Now write that out nicely, and then get a bigenvelope.”
Pelle felt quite important when he had written this out on a big sheet ofpaper; it was like an order of the day issued by a sheriff or burgomaster athome. Only in respect of its maliciousness he entertained a certain doubt.
One morning, a few days later, he was sitting at home working. In the meantimehe had been obliged to undertake casual jobs for sailors in the harbor, and nowhe was soling a pair of sea-boots for a seaman on board a collier. On the otherside of the bench sat little Lasse, chattering and aping his movements, andevery time Pelle drove a peg home the youngster knocked his rattle against theedge of the table, and Pelle smiled at him. Ellen was running in and outbetween the living-room and the kitchen. She was serious and silent.
There was a knock at the door. She ran to the stove, snatching away some of thechild’s linen which was drying there, ran out, and opened the door.
A dark, corpulent gentleman in a fur overcoat entered, bowing, holding his tallhat before him, together with his gloves and stick. Pelle could not believe hiseyes—it was the Court shoemaker! “He’s come to have itout!” thought Pelle, and prepared himself for a tussle. His heart beganto thump, there was a sudden sinking inside him; his old submissiveness was onthe point of coming to the surface and mastering him. But that was only for amoment; then he was himself again. Quietly he offered his guest a chair.
Meyer sat down, looking about the neat, simple room as though he wanted tocompare his enemy’s means with his own before he made a move. Pellegathered something from his wandering glance, and suddenly found himselfconsiderably richer in his knowledge of human nature. “He’s sittingthere staring about him to see if something has gone to the pawnshop,” hethought indignantly.
“H’m! I have received your favor of the other day,” beganMeyer. “You are of opinion that there is no occasion for a discussion ofthe situation; but—however—ah—I think—”
“That is certainly my opinion,” answered Pelle, who had resolved toadhere to the tone of the letter. “The most perfect order prevailseverywhere. But generally speaking it would seem that matters ought to gosmoothly now, when we each have our Union and can discuss affairsimpartially.” He gazed innocently at Meyer.
“Ah, you think so too! It cannot be unknown to you that my workers haveleft me one after another—not to say that they were taken away from me.Even to please you I can’t call those orderly conditions.”
Pelle sat there getting angrier and angrier at his finicking tone. Why thedevil couldn’t he bluster like a proper man instead of sitting there andmaking his damned allusions? But if he wanted that sort of foolery he shouldhave it! “Ah! your people are leaving you?” he said, in aninterested manner.
“They are,” said Meyer, and he looked surprised. Pelle’s tonemade him feel uncertain. “And they are playing tricks on me; theydon’t keep to their engagements, and they keep my messengers runningabout to no purpose. Formerly every man came to get his work and to deliver it,but now I have to keep messengers for that; the business can’t standit.”
“The journeymen have had to run about to no purpose—I myself haveworked for you,” replied Pelle. “But you are perhaps of opinionthat we can better bear the loss of time?”
Meyer shrugged his shoulders. “That’s a condition of yourlivelihood— its conditions are naturally based on order. But if only Icould at least depend on getting hands! Man, this can’t go on!” hecried suddenly, “damn and blast it all, it can’t go on, it’snot honorable!”
Little Lasse gave a jump and began to bellow. Ellen came hurrying in and tookhim into the bedroom.
Pelle’s mouth was hard. “If your people are leaving you, they mustsurely have some reason for it,” he replied; he would far rather havetold Meyer to his face that he was a sweater! “The Union can’tcompel its members to work for an employer with whom perhaps they can’tagree. I myself even have been dismissed from a workshop—but wecan’t bother two Unions on those grounds!” He looked steadily athis opponent as he made this thrust; his features were quivering slightly.
“Aha!” Meyer responded, and he rubbed his hands with an expressionthat seemed to say that—now at last he felt firm ground under his feet.“Aha—so it’s out at last! So you’re a diplomatist intothe bargain—a great diplomatist! You have a clever husband, littlelady!” He turned to Ellen, who was busying herself at the sideboard.“Now just listen, Herre Pelle! You are just the man for me, and we mustcome to an arrangement. When two capable men get talking together somethingalways comes of it— it couldn’t be otherwise! I have room for acapable and intelligent expert who understands fitting and cutting. The placeis well paid, and you can have a written contract for a term of years. What doyou say to that?”
Pelle raised his head with a start. Ellen’s eyes began to sparkle, andthen became mysteriously dark; they rested on him compellingly, as though theywould burn their purpose into him. For a moment he gazed before him,bewildered. The offer was so overpowering, so surprising; and then he laughed.What, what, was he to sell himself to be the understrapper of a sweater!
“That won’t do for me,” he replied.
“You must naturally consider my offer,” said Meyer, rising.“Shall we say three days?”
When the Court shoemaker had gone, Ellen came slowly back and laid her armround Pelle’s shoulders. “What a clever, capable man you are,then!” she said, in a low voice, playing with his hair; there wassomething apologetic in her manner. She said nothing to call attention to theoffer, but she began to sing at her work. It was a long time since Pelle hadheard her sing; and the song was to him like a radiant assurance that this timehe would be the victor.
XX
Pelle continued the struggle indefatigably, contending with opposingcircumstances and with disloyalty, but always returning more boldly to thecharge. Many times in the course of the conflict he found himself back at thesame place; Meyer obtained a new lot of workers from abroad, and he had tobegin all over again; he had to work on them until they went away again, or tomake their position among their housemates so impossible that they resigned.The later winter was hard and came to Meyer’s assistance. He paid hisworkers well now, and had brought together a crowd of non-union hands; for atime it looked as though he would get his business going again. But Pelle hadleft the non-unionists alone only through lack of time; now he began to seekthem out, and he spoke with more authority than before. Already people wereremarking on his strength of will; and most of them surrendered beforehand.“The devil couldn’t stand up against him!” they said. Henever wavered in his faith in an ultimate victory, but went straight ahead; hedid not philosophize about the other aspect of the result, but devoted all hisenergies to achieving it. He was actuated by sheer robust energy, and it ledhim the shortest way. The members of the Union followed him willingly, andwillingly accepted the privations involved in the emptying of the workshops. Hepossessed their confidence, and they found that it was, after all, glorioussport to turn the tables, when for once in a way they could bring the grievancehome to its point of departure! They knew by bitter experience what it was torun about to no purpose, to beg for work, and to beg for their wages, and tohaggle over them—in short, to be the underdog. It was amusing to reversethe roles. Now the mouse was playing with the cat and having a rattling goodtime of it— although the claws did get home now and again!
Pelle felt their confidence, the trust of one and all, in the readiness withwhich they followed him, as though he were only the expression of their ownconvictions. And when he stood up at the general meetings or conferences, inorder to make a report or to conduct an agitation, and the applause of hiscomrades fell upon his ears, he felt an influx of sheer power. He was like theram of a ship; the weight of the whole was behind him. He began to feel that hewas the expression of something great; that there was a purpose within him.
The Pelle who dealt so quietly and cleverly with Meyer and achieved preciselywhat he willed was not the usual Pelle. A greater nature was working withinhim, with more responsibility, according to his old presentiment. He testedhimself, in order to assimilate this as a conviction, and he felt that therewas virtue in the idea.
This higher nature stood in mystical connection with so much in his life; farback into his childhood he could trace it, as an abundant promise. So many hadinvoluntarily expected something from him; he had listened to them with wonder,but now their expectation was proving prophetic.
He paid strict attention to his words in his personal relations, now that theirillimitable importance had been revealed to him. But in his agitator’swork the strongest words came to him most naturally; came like an echo out ofthe illimitable void that lay behind him. He busied himself with hispersonality. All that had hitherto had free and careless play must now becircumscribed and made to serve an end. He examined his relations with Ellen,was indulgent to her, and took pains to understand her demand for happiness. Hewas kind and gentle to her, but inflexible in his resolve.
He had no conscientious scruples in respect of the Court shoemaker. Meyer hadin all respects misused his omnipotence long enough; owing to his huge businesshe had made conditions and ruled them; and the evil of those conditions must bebrought home to him. It was now summer and a good time for the workers, and hisbusiness was rapidly failing. Pelle foresaw his fall, and felt himself to be arighteous avenger.
The year-long conflict absorbed his whole mind. He was always on his feet; camerushing home to the work that lay there waiting for him, threw it aside like amaniac, and hurried off again. He did not see much of Ellen and little Lassethese days; they lived their own life without him.
He dared not rest on what he had accomplished, now that the cohesion of theUnion was so powerful. He was always seeking means to strengthen and toundermine; he did not wish to fall a sacrifice to the unforeseen. Hisindefatigability infected his comrades, they became more eager the longer thestruggle lasted. The conflict was magnified by the sacrifice it demanded, andby the strength of the opposition; Meyer gradually became a colossus whom allmust stake their welfare to hew down. Families were ruined thereby, but themore sacrifice the struggle demanded the more recklessly they struggled on. Andthey were full of jubilation on the day when the colossus fell, and buried someof them in his fall!
Pelle was the undisputed victor. The journeyman-cobbler had laid low thebiggest employer in the trade. They did not ask what the victory had cost, butcarried his name in triumph. They cheered when they caught sight of him or whenhis name was mentioned. Formerly this would have turned his head, but now heregarded his success as entirely natural—as the expression of a higherpower!
A few days later he summoned a general meeting of the Union, laid before themthe draft of a new tariff which was adapted to the times, and proposed thatthey should at once begin the fight for its adoption. “We could neverhave a better opportunity,” he said. “Now they have seen what wecan do! With the tariff question we struck down Meyer! We must strike the ironwhile it is hot!”
He reckoned that his comrades were just in the mood for battle, despite all theprivations that the struggle had entailed, and he was not mistaken. Hisproposal was unanimously accepted.
But there was no fight for better wages. Meyer was now making the rounds of theemployers’ establishments with the sample-box of one of the leatherfirms. The sight of this once so mighty man had a stimulating effect. Themasters’ Union appointed a few employers with whom the workers’Union could discuss the question of the tariff.
XXI
It often happened that Pelle would look back with longing on his quiethome-life with Ellen and the child, and he felt dejectedly that they lived in ahappier world, and were on the point of accustoming themselves to live withouthim. “When once you have got this out of hand you can live reallycomfortably with them again,” he thought.
But one thing inevitably followed on another, and one question arose from thesolution of another, and the poor man’s world unfolded itself like thedevelopment of a story. The fame of his skill as organizer spread itselfabroad; everywhere men were at work with the idea of closing up the ranks, andmany began to look toward him with expectant eyes.
Frequently workers came to him begging him to help them to form anorganization—no one had such a turn for the work as he. Then they calleda meeting together, and Pelle explained the process to them. There was acertain amount of fancifulness and emphasis in his speech, but they understoodhim very well. “He talks so as to make your ears itch,” they toldone another. He was the man they trusted, and he initiated them into thepractical side of the matter.
“But you must sacrifice your wages—so that you can start afund,” he told them continually; “without money nothing can bedone. Remember, it’s capital itself we are fighting against!”
“Will it be any use to understand boxing when the fight comes on?”asked a simple-minded workman one day.
“Yes—cash-boxing!” retorted Pelle swiftly. They laughed, andturned their pitiful pockets inside out. They gazed a moment at the moneybefore they gave it away. “Oh, well, it’s of no consequence,”they said.
“The day will soon come when it will be of consequence—if we onlyhang together,” said Pelle confidently.
It was the dripping they had scraped off their bread—he knew that well,but there was no help for it! In these days he was no better situated than theywere.
His activities were leading him abroad, in wider and wider circles, until hefound himself at length in the very midst of the masses. Their number did notastonish him; he had always really been conscious of that. And he grew by thiscontact, and measured himself and the movement by an ever-increasing standard.
At this time he underwent a noticeable change in his outer man. In his foreheadwere always those deep creases which in young men speak of a gloomy childhood;they were the only bitter token of that which he had taken upon himself, andreminded one of a clouded sky. Otherwise he looked fresh and healthy enough;his hard life was not undermining his strength; he thrived on the sense ofcommunity, and was almost always cheerful. His cheeks grew round as those of acornet-player, and his distended nostrils spoke of his fiery zeal; he neededmuch air, and always wore his clothes open upon his chest. His carriage wasupright and elastic; his whole appearance was arresting, challenging. When hespoke at meetings there was energy in his words; he grew deeply flushed, andwet with perspiration. Something of this flush remained in his face and neck,and there was always a feeling of heat in his body. When he strode forward helooked like a trumpeter at the head of a column.
The many—that was his element. There were many who were to be broughtunder one hat. Yet most of them lacked a clear understanding; old suspicionssuddenly came to light; and many doubts were abroad among the masses. Somebelieved blindly; others said, “It’s all one whether this party orthat does the plucking of us!” Nothing of palpable importance occurred,such as to catch the eye; but they came to trust in his personality as theblind man trusts his leader, and they were forever demanding to hear his voice.Pelle became their darling speaker. He felt that their blind confidence borehim up, and for them he gazed far over the hubbub and confusion. He had alwaysbeen a familiar of Fortune; now he saw it plainly, far out along the route ofmarch, and inflamed them all with his enthusiasm.
One evening he was summoned to rouse a calling that was in low water. It wasthe dustmen who applied to him. In order to stimulate their self- consciousnesshe showed them what a vast power they possessed in their despised activity. Heimagined, as an example, that they refused to work, and painted, with muchhumor, the results which their action would have for the world of rich people.This had a tremendous effect on the meeting. The men stared at one another asif they had just discovered themselves, and then sat laughing like one man. Tofollow up his effect, he showed how one kind of work depends on another, andimagined one calling to support another, until a general strike had laid itsparalyzing hand on the city. What a fantastic picture it was! Pelle knewnothing of the theory of the labor movement, but his energy and enthusiasmlifted the veil from the remotest consequences. Stimulated and startled by theterrible power which lay in their hands, the dustmen went home.
There was something in all this that did not satisfy him; it was in his natureto create, not to destroy. But if only the poor would, they could make societyall over again—so Morten had one day said, and the words had never ceasedto haunt Pelle’s mind. But he could not endure the idea of violentrevolution; and now he had found a good way out of his difficulty. He feltconvinced that cohesion was irresistible, and that life would undergo apeaceful change.
He had welded his own Union together so that the members hung together throughthick and thin. He had accomplished something there, but if a real result wereto be achieved the Unions here must work in conjunction with those of all thecities in the country, and that was being done to a certain small extent, inhis own trade as well as in others. But all these federations of local Unionsmust be combined in a mighty whole, so that the whole country would be of onesingle mind. In other countries matters were progressing as here, so why notsummon all countries to one vast work of cooperation?
Before Pelle was aware, he had included the whole world in his solidarity. Heknew now that poverty is international. And he was convinced that the poor manfelt alike all the world over.
The greatness of this idea did not go to his head. It had evolved naturally onthe lines of his own organization—it was just like the idea at the baseof the latter. But he continued to play with it until it assumed a definiteform. Then he went with his plan to his father-in- law, who was a member of theparty executive, and through him was invited to lay the matter before theCentral Committee.
Pelle was a practised speaker by now, but he was feverishly excited when hestood in the presence of the actual heart of the labor movement. His wordsdelighted the many, but would he succeed in winning over these tried andexperienced men, the leaders who stood behind the whole movement, while quietlygoing about their own business? He felt that this was the most significant dayin his life.
These were men with quieter temperaments than his own. They sat thereimmovable, listening with half-closed eyes; his big words brought the faintestsmile to their lips—they had long got over that sort of thing! They wereartisans and craftsmen who worked hard all day for a living, as did he himself,but several of them had given themselves a considerable education; they must beregarded as scholarly persons. In the evening and on Sundays they worked forthe Cause, devising political schemes and devoting themselves to keepingaccounts and the ever- increasing work of administration. They were awkward atthese unaccustomed tasks, which had hitherto been reserved by quite a differentclass of society, and had had to grow accustomed thereto; their heads were grayand wrinkled.
Pelle felt that he was still only at the beginning. These men gave him theimpression of a great secret council; outside they looked like any one else,but here at the green table they sat creating the vast organization into whichhe merely drove the masses. Here high politics came into play. There wassomething impious in this—as though one saw ants making plans to overturna mountain; and he must do the same if he wanted to accomplish anything! Buthere something more than big words was needed! He involuntarily moderated histone and did his best to speak in a dry, professional manner.
He received no applause when he had finished; the men sat there gazing in frontof them with a slightly pondering expression. The silence and the great emptyroom had the effect of making him feel dizzy. All his faculties were directedoutward, drawing strength from the echo from without of the many who had shapedhim. But at this decisive moment they were silent, leaving him in suspense,without any kind of support. Was the whole stupendous plan of federation apiece of madness, and was he a fool to propound it? No one replied. The leadersquietly asked him the details of his plan, and undertook to consider it.
Pelle left in a state of dreadful suspense. He felt that he had touched uponsomething on which a great decision depended, and he wanted corroboration ofthe fact that he had set about the matter rightly. In this moment of need heturned to himself. It was not his way to ask questions of his inner self, butnow no other could answer him. He must look to himself for recognition.
This was the first time that Pelle had sought refuge in his own ego, or learnedto fall back upon it in critical moments. But solitude did not suit him and hesought it only under the compulsion of necessity. His heart beat uncontrollablywithin him when he learned that his plan was approved. A committee wasappointed to put it into execution, and Pelle was on the committee.
At one stroke the National Federation made a single army of the many divisions,and was effective merely by the attractive virtue of its mass. It became aheavy and fatiguing task to organize the swarms that came streaming in, aswater rushes to the sea, by virtue of a natural law. It needed the talent of agreat general to marshal them for a conclusive battle and to lead them into theline of fire.
Pelle was naturally placed in the front ranks of the organization; his work wasproperly that of the pioneer and agitator; no one possessed the ear of thecrowd as he did. He had received regular employment from one of the largeremployers, which amounted to a recognition of the organization, and theincreased rate of wages meant that he earned a moderate income. He did notobject to the fact that the work had to be done away from home. Life at homehad lost its radiance. Ellen was loving enough, but she had always some purposein view—and he would not allow himself to be tied!
When he went home—and as a rule he managed to include a meal—it wasonly to make himself ready and to rush out again—to general or committeemeetings. Father Lasse was there as a rule in the evenings, and he gazedlongingly after Pelle when the latter left his wife and child; he did notunderstand it, but he did not venture to say anything —he felt a greatrespect for the lad’s undertakings. Ellen and the old man had discoveredone another; they were like a pair of horses in harness; there was a greatconsolation in that.
Pelle went forward in a sort of intoxication of power, produced by the sense ofthe multiplying hosts. He was like an embodiment of those hosts, and he heardtheir step echoing in his own; it was natural that the situation should assumelarge dimensions. He was a product of an ancient culture, but a culture thathad always dwelt in the shadow, and was based on stern and narrow tenets, eachof which summed up a lifetime of bitter experience. The need of light andsunshine, continually suppressed, had been accumulating, through illimitableyears, until it had resulted in a monstrous tension. Now it had exploded, andwas mounting dizzily upward. His mind was reeling in the heights, in a blindingcloud of light!
But fundamentally he was still the sturdy realist and stood with his feet onthe earth! The generations beneath him had been disciplined by the cold, andhad learned to content themselves with bare necessities; a lesson which theyhanded down to him, simply and directly, with no inheritance of frivolity. Inhis world, cause and effect were in a direct line; an obtrusive odor did nottranslate itself into a spectral chattering of the teeth. The result was in adirect line with the cause —but their relation was often that of thematch and the bonfire. Herein lay the strength of his imagination; this was whyhe could encompass all things with so simple a preparation.
He was not afraid to consider the fate of the masses; when he could not seeahead, his old fatalism came to his help. His words flamed high despite himselfand kept the hope alive in many who did not themselves understand the meaningof the whole movement, but saw that its adherents grew ever more numerous, andthat in other respects they were just as well off. Where he himself could notsee he was like a lens that collects the half-darkness and gives it out againas a beam of light.
Morten he preferred to avoid. Pelle had gradually absorbed all the theories ofthe labor movement, and they comfortably filled his mind. And how could oneaccomplish more than by remaining in harmony with the whole? Morten had anunfruitful tendency to undermine the certainty of one’s mind; he alwaysbrought forth his words from his inner consciousness, from places where no oneelse had ever been, and he delivered them as though they had been God’svoice in the Bible, which always made people pause in their designs. Pellerespected his peculiar nature, which never marched with the crowd, and avoidedhim.
But his thoughts often returned to him. Morten had first thrown a light uponchaos—upon the knowledge of Pelle’s world, the poor man’sworld; and when he was confronted by any decisive question he involuntarilyasked himself how Morten would have dealt with it.
At times they met at meetings called together by the workers themselves, and atwhich they both collaborated. Morten had no respect for the existing laws andlittle for the new. He did not play a very zealous part in the work of partyorganization, and was rather held at arm’s length by the leaders. But hisrelations with the man in the street were of the closest. He workedindependently; there was scarcely his match in individual cases of need orinjustice; and he was always laboring to make people think for themselves.
And they loved him. They looked up to Pelle and the rest, and made way for themwith shining eyes; but they smilingly put themselves in Morten’s way.They wanted to press his hand—he could scarcely make his way to thespeaker’s platform. His pale face filled them with joy—women andchildren hung on to him. When he passed through the streets of the poorquarters in his simple clothes, the women smiled at him. “That’shim, the master-journeyman, who is so good and so book-learned,” theywould say. “And now he has sold all his books in order to help a poorchild!” And they gave their own children a little push, and the childrenwent up to him and held out their hands and followed him right to the end ofthe street.
XXII
When Pelle went now and again to the “Ark,” to see his brothers andsister, the news of his visit spread quickly through the building. “Pelleis here!” sounded from gallery to gallery, and they hurried up the stairsin order to nod to him and to seek to entice him to swallow a cup of coffee.Old Madam Frandsen had moved; she disappeared when Ferdinand came out ofprison—no one knew whither. Otherwise there were no changes. A fewfactory women left by night on account of their rent, and others had takentheir places. And from time to time some one completed his term, and wascarried out of the dark corridors and borne away on the dead-cart—asalways. But in the “Ark” there was no change to be observed.
It happened one day that he went over to call on Widow Johnsen. She looked verymelancholy sitting there as she turned her old soldiers’ trousers andattended to Hanne’s child, which promised to be a fine girl. She hadaged; she was always sitting at home and scolding the child; when Pelle visitedher he brought a breath of fresh air into her joyless existence. Then sherecalled the excursion to the forest, and the cozy evenings under the hanginglantern, and sighed. Hanne never looked at Pelle. When she came running homefrom the factory, she had no eyes for anything but her little girl, who threwherself upon her mother and immediately wanted to play. For the remainder ofthe day the child was close under her eyes, and Hanne had to hold her hand asshe moved about, and play with her and the doll.
“Far up the mountain did I climb,”
sang Hanne, and the child sang with her—she could sing already!Hanne’s clear, quiet eyes rested on the child, and her expression was asjoyful as though fortune had really come to her. She was like a young widow whohas lived her share of life, and in the “Ark” every one addressedher as Widow Hanne. This was a mark of respect paid to her character; theythrew a widow’s veil over her fate because she bore it so finely. She hadexpected so much, and now she centered everything in her child, as though theStranger could have brought her no more valuable present.
Peter’s misfortune had struck the little home a serious blow. They hadalways only just kept their heads above water; and now he earned less than everwith his crippled hand. Karl wanted to get on in the world, and was attendingconfirmation classes, which cost money and clothes. They had made up forPeter’s loss of earning power by giving up Father Lasse’s room andmoving his bed into their own room. But all three were growing, and needed foodand clothing.
Peter’s character had taken on a little kink; he was no longer socheerful over his work, and he often played the truant, loafing about thestreets instead of going to the factory. Sometimes he could not be got out ofbed in the morning; he crept under the bedclothes and hid himself. “Ican’t work with my bad hand,” he would say, crying, when Mariewanted to drag him out; “every moment the knives are quite close to itand nearly chop it off.”
“Then stay at home!” said Marie at last. “Look after thehouse and I will go out and see if I can earn something. I can get work as acharwoman in the new buildings in Market Street.”
But at that he got up and slunk away; he would not allow a woman to earn hisfood for him.
Karl was a brisk, merry young vagabond; nothing made any impression on him. Thestreets had brought him up, had covered his outer man with a coating of grime,and had lit the inextinguishable sparks in his eyes. He was like the sparrowsof the capital; black with soot, but full of an urban sharpness, they slip inand out among the heavy wagon-wheels, and know everything. He was alwaysgetting into difficulties, but always came home with a whole skin. Hiscontinual running about seemed to have got into his blood like a never-restingimpulse.
He was full of shifts for lessening the uncertainty of his earnings, and thelittle household depended principally on him. But now he had had enough ofseeking his living in the streets; he wanted to get on; he wanted most of allto be a shopkeeper. The only thing that held him back was his regard for hishome.
Pelle saw that the little home would have to be broken up. Marie was developingrapidly; she must leave the “Ark,” and if Karl could not live hisown life, but was forced to sacrifice himself to his brother and sister, hewould end as a street-loafer. Pelle resolved suddenly to deal with the matterhimself, as his habit was. He obtained an outfit for Karl from a charitablesociety, and placed him as apprentice with a shopkeeper for whom the boy hadrun errands.
One Sunday afternoon he went over to the “Ark” with a big parcelunder his arm. He was holding Young Lasse by the hand; every moment the childstooped down, picked up a little stone, dragged his father to the quay- wall,and threw the stone into the water. He chattered incessantly.
Pelle mechanically allowed himself to be pulled aside, and answered the childat random. He was thinking of the children’s little home, which had oncebeen so hospitably opened to him, and must now be broken up. Perhaps it wouldbe the salvation of Karl and Marie; there was a future for them outside; theywere both young and courageous. And Father Lasse could come to him; it would bequite possible to make up his bed in the living-room at night and put it out ofthe way in the daytime. Ellen was no longer so particular. But Peter—whatwas to become of him? The home was the only thing that still held him.
When Young Lasse looked through the tunnel-entry into the darkness of the“Ark” he did not want to go in. “Ugly, ugly!” he said,in energetic refusal. Pelle had to take him in his arms. “Lasse not likethat!” he said, pushing with his hands against his father’sshoulders. “Lasse wants to go back! get down!”
“What!” said Pelle, laughing, “doesn’t Young Lasse likethe ‘Ark’? Father thinks it’s jolly here!”
“Why?” asked the boy, pouting.
“Why?” Well, Pelle could not at once explain. “Because Ilived here once on a time!” he replied.
“And where was Young Lasse then?”
“Then you used to sit in mother’s eyes and laugh at father.”
At this the child forgot his fear of the darkness and the heavy timbers. Hepressed his round little nose against his father’s, and gazed into hiseyes, in order to see whether a little boy was sitting in them too. He laughedwhen he glimpsed himself in them. “Who sits in mother’s eyesnow?” he asked.
“Now a little sister sits there, who likes to play with YoungLasse,” said Pelle. “But now you must walk again—itdoesn’t do for a man to sit on anybody’s arm!”
The three orphans were waiting for him eagerly; Karl hopped and leaped into theair when he saw Pelle.
“Where is Father Lasse?” asked Pelle.
“He has gone out with the hand-cart for the second-hand dealer,”said Marie; “he had to fetch a sofa.” She had taken Young Lasse onher lap and was almost eating him.
Karl put on his fine new clothes, his fresh face beaming with delight. Thetrousers were fully long enough, but it was quite fashionable to go about withturned-up trousers. That was easily got over.
“Now you look like a real grocer!” said Pelle, laughing.
Karl ran out into the gangway and came back immediately with his head wettedand his hair parted down the middle. “Ach, you fool, why don’t youleave well alone!” cried Marie, ruffling his head. A fight ensued. Petersat in a corner, self-absorbed, staring gloomily out of the window.
“Now, Peter, hold your head up!” cried Pelle, clapping him on theshoulder. “When we’ve got the great Federation together and thingsare working properly, I’ll manage something for you too. Perhaps you canact as messenger for us.”
Peter did not reply, but turned his head away.
“He’s always like that—he’s so grumpy! Do at least be alittle polite, Peter!” said Marie irritably. The boy took his cap andwent out.
“Now he’s going out by the North Bridge, to hissweetheart—and we shan’t see anything of him for the next fewdays,” said Marie, looking after him. “She’s a factorygirl—she’s had a child by one man—he deserted her,”said Marie.
“He has a sweetheart already?” said Pelle.
“What of that? He’s seventeen. But there’s nothing inher.”
“She has red hair! And she drags one leg behind her as though she wantedto take the pavement with her,” said Karl. “She might well be hismother.”
“I don’t think you ought to tease him,” said Pelle seriously.
“We don’t,” said Marie. “But he won’t have itwhen we try to be nice to him. And he can’t bear to see us contented.Lasse says it is as though he were bewitched.”
“I have a situation for you too, Marie,” said Pelle. “WithEllen’s old employers in Holberg Street—you’ll be welltreated there. But you must be ready by October.”
“That will be fine! Then Karl and I can go into situations on the sameday!” She clapped her hands. “But Peter!” she cried suddenly.“Who will look after him? No, I can’t do it, Pelle!”
“We must see if we can’t find nice lodgings for him. You must takethe situation—you can’t go on living here.”
Prom the end of the long gangway came a curious noise, which sounded like amixture of singing and crying. Young Lasse got down onto his feet near the opendoor, and said, “Sh! Singing! Sh!”
“Yes! That’s the pasteboard-worker and her great Jutlander,”said Marie. “They’ve got a funeral to-day. The poor little worm hasceased to suffer, thank God!”
“Is that any one new?” said Pelle.
“No, they are people who moved here in the spring. He hasn’t beenliving here, but every Saturday he used to come here and take her wages.‘You are crazy to give him your wages when he doesn’t even livewith you!’ we told her. ‘He ought to get a thrashing instead ofmoney!’ ‘But he’s the child’s father!’ she said,and she went on giving him her money. And on Sunday, when he had drunk it, heregretted it, and then he used to come and beat her, because she needn’thave given it to him. She was an awful fool, for she could just have been outwhen he came. But she was fond of him and thought nothing of a fewblows—only it didn’t do for the child. She never had food for it,and now it’s dead.”
The door at the end of the gangway opened, and the big Jutlander came out witha tiny coffin under his arm. He was singing a hymn in an indistinct voice, ashe stood there waiting. In the side passage, behind the partition-wall, aboy’s voice was mocking him. The Jutlander’s face was red andswollen with crying, and the debauch of the night before was still heavy in hislegs. Behind him came the mother, and now they went down the gangway withfuneral steps; the woman’s thin black shawl hung mournfully about her,and she held her handkerchief to her mouth; she was crying still. Her lividface had a mildewed appearance.
Pelle and Young Lasse had to be off. “You are always in such ahurry!” said Marie dolefully. “I wanted to make coffee.”
“Yes, I’ve got a lot to do to-day still. Otherwise I’d gladlystay with you a bit.”
“Do you know you are gradually getting quite famous?” said Marie,looking at him in admiration. “The people talk almost as much about youas they do about the big tinplate manufacturer. They say you ruined the biggestemployer in the city.”
“Yes. I ruined his business,” said Pelle, laughing. “Butwhere has the shopwalker got to?”
“He’s gone down into the streets to show himself!”
Karl, sure enough, was strolling about below and allowing the boys and girls toadmire him. “Look, when we come into the shop and the grocer isn’tthere you’ll stand us treat!” Pelle heard one of them say.
“You don’t catch me! And if you dare you’ll get one in thejaw!” replied Karl. “Think I’m going to have you loafingabout?”
At the end of the street the great Jutlander was rolling along, the coffinunder his arm; the girl followed at a distance, and they kept to the middle ofthe road as though they formed part of a funeral procession. It was a dismalsight. The gray, dismal street was like a dungeon.
The shutters were up in all the basement windows, excepting that of thebread-woman. Before the door of her shop stood a crowd of grimy littlechildren, smearing themselves with dainties; every moment one of them slippeddown into the cellar to spend an öre. One little girl, dressed in her Sundaybest, with a tightly braided head, was balancing herself on the edge of thecurbstone with a big jug of cream in her hand; and in a doorway opposite stooda few young fellows meditating some mischief or other.
“Shall we go anywhere to-day?” asked Ellen, when Pelle and youngLasse got home. “The fine season is soon over.”
“I must go to the committee-meeting,” Pelle replied hesitatingly.He was sorry for her; she was going to have another child, and she looked soforsaken as she moved about the home. But it was impossible for him to stay athome.
“When do you think you’ll be back?”
“That I don’t know, Ellen. It is very possible it will take thewhole day.”
Then she was silent and set out his food.
XXIII
That year was, if possible, worse than the preceding. As early as September theunemployed stood in long ranks beside the canals or in the market-place, theirfeet in the wet. The bones of their wrists were blue and prominent and foretolda hard winter, of which the corns of the old people had long ago given warning;and sparks of fire were flying up from under poor folks’ kettles.“Now the hard winter is coming and bringing poverty with it,” saidthe people. “And then we shall have a pretty time!”
In October the frost appeared and began to put an end to all work that had notalready been stopped by the hard times.
In the city the poor were living from hand to mouth; if a man had a bad day itwas visible on his plate the next morning. Famine lay curled up beneath thetable in ten thousand households; like a bear in its winter sleep it had lainthere all summer, shockingly wasted and groaning in its evil dreams; but theywere used to its society and took no notice of it so long as it did not lay itsheavy paw upon the table. One day’s sickness, one day’s loss ofwork—and there it was!
“Ach, how good it would be if we only had a brine-tub that we could goto!” said those who could still remember their life in the country.“But the good God has taken the brine-tub and given us the pawnbrokerinstead!” and then they began to pledge their possessions.
It was sad to see how the people kept together; the city was scattered to thewinds in summer, but now it grew compacter; the homeless came in from theCommon, and the great landowners returned to inhabit their winter palaces.Madam Rasmussen, in her attic, suddenly appeared with a husband; drunken Valdehad returned—the cold, so to speak, had driven him into her arms! At thefirst signs of spring he would be off again, into the arms of his summermistress, Madam Grassmower. But as long as he was here, here he was! He stoodlounging in the doorway downstairs, with feathers sticking in the shaggy hairof his neck and bits of bed- straw adhering to his flat back. His big bootswere always beautifully polished; Madam Rasmussen did that for him before shewent to work in the morning; after which she made two of herself, so that herbig strong handsome protector should have plenty of time to stand and scratchhimself.
Week by week the cold locked up all things more closely; it locked up theearth, so that the husbandmen could not get at it; and it closed the modestcredit account of the poor. Already it had closed all the harbors round about.Foreign trade shrunk away to nothing; the stevedores and waterside workersmight as well stop at home. It tightened the heart- strings—and thestrings of the big purse that kept everything going. The established tradesbegan to work shorter hours, and the less stable trades entirely ceased.Initiative drew in its horns; people began nothing new, and did no work for thewarehouses; fear had entered into them. All who had put out their feelers drewthem back; they were frostbitten, so to speak. The earth had withdrawn its sapinto itself and had laid a crust of ice over all; humanity did the same. Thepoor withdrew their scanty blood into their hearts, in order to preserve thegerm of life. Their limbs were cold and bloodless, their skin gray. Theywithdrew into themselves, and into the darkest corners, packed closelytogether. They spent nothing. And many of those who had enough grudgedthemselves even food; the cold ate their needs away, and set anxiety in theirplace. Consumption was at a standstill.
One could not go by the thermometer, for according to that the frost had beenmuch harder earlier in the year. “What, is it no worse!” said thepeople, taken aback. But they felt just as cold and wretched as ever. What didthe thermometer know of a hard winter? Winter is the companion of hard times,and takes the same way whether it freezes or thaws—and on this occasionit froze!
In the poor quarters of the city the streets were as though depopulated. A fallof snow would entice the dwellers therein out of their hiding- places; it madethe air milder, and made it possible, too, to earn a few kroner for sweepingaway the snow. Then they disappeared again, falling into a kind of numb tranceand supporting their life on incredibly little—on nothing at all. Only inthe mornings were the streets peopled—when the men went out to seek work.But everywhere where there was work for one man hundreds applied and begged forit. The dawn saw the defeated ones slinking home; they slept the time away, orsat all day with their elbows on the table, never uttering a word. The cold,that locked up all else, had an opposite effect upon the heart; there was muchcompassion abroad. Many whose wits had been benumbed by the cold, so that theydid not attempt to carry on their avocations, had suffered no damage at heart,but expended their means in beneficence. Kindly people called the poortogether, and took pains to find them out, for they were not easy to find.
But the Almighty has created beings that live upon the earth and creatures thatlive under the earth; creatures of the air and creatures of the water; even inthe fire live creatures that increase and multiply. And the cold, too, saw thegrowth of a whole swarm of creatures that live not by labor, but on it, asparasites. The good times are their bad times; then they grow thin, and thereare not many of them about. But as soon as cold and destitution appear theycome forth in their swarms; it is they who arouse beneficence—and get thebest part of what is going. They scent the coming of a bad year and inundatethe rich quarters of the city. “How many poor people come to the doorthis year!” people say, as they open their purses. “These are hardtimes for the poor!”
In the autumn Pelle had removed; he was now dwelling in a little two- roomedapartment on the Kapelvej. He had many points of contact with this part of thecity now; besides, he wanted Ellen to be near her parents when she should bebrought to bed. Lasse would not accompany him; he preferred to be faithful tothe “Ark”; he had got to know the inmates now, and he could keephimself quite decently by occasional work in the neighboring parts of the city.
Pelle fought valiantly to keep the winter at bay. There was nothing to do atthe workshop; and he had to be on the go from morning to night. Wherever workwas to be had, there he applied, squeezing his way through hundreds of others.His customers needed footwear now more than ever; but they had no money to payfor it.
Ellen and he drew nearer at this season and learned to know one another on anew side. The hard times drew them together; and he had cause to marvel at thestoutness of her heart. She accepted conditions as they were with extraordinarywillingness, and made a little go a very long way. Only with the stove shecould do nothing. “It eats up everything we scrape together,” shesaid dejectedly; “it sends everything up the chimney and doesn’tgive out any warmth. I’ve put a bushel of coal on it to-day, andit’s as cold as ever! Where I was in service we were able to warm two bigrooms with one scuttle! I must be a fool, but won’t you look intoit?” She was almost crying.
“You mustn’t take that to heart so!” said Pelle gloomily.“That’s the way with poor folks’ stoves. They are oldarticles that are past use, and the landlords buy them up as old iron and thenfit them in their workmen’s dwellings! And it’s like that witheverything! We poor people get the worst and pay the dearest—although wemake the things! Poverty is a sieve.”
“Yes, it’s dreadful,” said Ellen, looking at him withmournful eyes. “And I can understand you so well now!”
Threatening Need had spread its pinions above them. They hardly dared to thinknow; they accepted all things at its hands.
One day, soon after Ellen had been brought to bed, she asked Pelle to go atonce to see Father Lasse. “And mind you bring him with you!” shesaid. “We can very well have him here, if we squeeze together a little.I’m afraid he may be in want.”
Pelle was pleased by the offer, and immediately set out. It was good of Ellento open her heart to the old man when they were by no means certain of beingable to feed themselves.
The “Ark” had a devastated appearance. All the curtains haddisappeared —except at Olsen’s; with the gilt mouldings they alwaysfetched fifty öre. The flowers in the windows were frostbitten. One could seeright into the rooms, and inside also all was empty. There was somethingshameless about the winter here; instead of clothing the “Ark” morewarmly it stripped it bare—and first of all of its protecting veils. Theprivies in the court had lost their doors and covers, and it was all Pellecould do to climb up to the attics! Most of the balustrades had vanished, andevery second step was lacking; the “Ark” was helping itself as wellas it could! Over at Madam Johnsen’s the bucket of oak was gone that hadalways stood in the corner of the gallery when it was not lent to someone—the “Ark” possessed only the one. And now it was burnedor sold. Pelle looked across, but had not the courage to call. Hanne, he knew,was out of work.
A woman came slinking out of the third story, and proceeded to break away afragment of woodwork; she nodded to Pelle. “For a drop of coffee!”she said, “and God bless coffee! You can make it as weak as you like aslong as it’s still nice and hot.”
The room was empty; Lasse was not there. Pelle asked news of him along thegangway. He learned that he was living in the cellar with the old clotheswoman. Thin gray faces appeared for a moment in the doorways, gazed at him, andsilently disappeared.
The cellar of the old clothes woman was overcrowded with all sorts of objects;hither, that winter, the possessions of the poor had drifted. Lasse was sittingin a corner, patching a mattress; he was alone down there. “She has goneout to see about something,” he said; “in these times her moneyfinds plenty of use! No, I’m not going to come with you and eat yourbread. I get food and drink here—I earn it by helping her —and howmany others can say this winter that they’ve their living assured? AndI’ve got a corner where I can lie. But can’t you tell mewhat’s become of Peter? He left the room before me one day, and sincethen I’ve never seen him again.”
“Perhaps he’s living with his sweetheart,” said Pelle.“I’ll see if I can’t find out.”
“Yes, if you will. They were good children, those three, it would be apity if one of them were to come to any harm.”
Pelle would not take his father away from a regular situation where he wasearning a steady living. “We don’t very well see what we couldoffer you in its place. But don’t forget that you will always bewelcome— Ellen herself sent me here.”
“Yes, yes! Give her many thanks for that! And now you be off, before theold woman comes back,” said Lasse anxiously. “She doesn’tlike any one to be here—she’s afraid for her money.”
The first thing that had to go was Pelle’s winter overcoat. He pawned itone day, without letting Ellen know, and on coming home surprised her with themoney, which he delightedly threw on the table, krone by krone. “How itrings!” he said to Young Lasse. The child gave a jump, and wanted themoney to play with.
“What do I want with a winter coat?” he retorted, to Ellen’skindly reproaches. “I’m not cold, and it only hangs up indoorshere. I’ve borne with it all the summer. Ah, that’s warm!” hecried, to the child, when Ellen had brought some fuel. “That was really agood winter coat, that of father’s! Mother and sister and Young Lasse canall warm themselves at it!”
The child put his hands on his knees and peeped into the fire after hisfather’s winter coat. The fire kindled flames in his big child’seyes, 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. Peoplewere living quietly, each one fighting his own privations within his fourwalls. On Sundays they gave the children to one of the neighbors, went into thecity, and stood for an hour outside some concert-hall, freezing and listeningto 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 tillmidday,” said Ellen; “we shall have to go out. And there’s nomore food either. But perhaps we can go to the old folks; they’ll put upwith us till evening.”
As they were about to start, Ellen’s brother Otto arrived, with his wifeand two children, to call on them. Ellen exchanged a despairing glance withPelle. Winter had left its stamp on them too; their faces were thin andserious. But they still had warm clothes. “You must keep your cloakson,” said Ellen, “for I have no more coal. I forgot it yesterday, Ihad so much to do; I had to put off ordering it until to-day, and to-day,unfortunately, the coal dealer isn’t at home.”
“If only the children aren’t cold,” said Pelle, “wegrown-ups can easily keep ourselves warm.”
“Well, as long as they haven’t icicles hanging from their nosesthey won’t come to any harm!” said Otto with a return of his oldhumor.
They moved restlessly about the room and spoke of the bad times and theincreasing need. “Yes, it’s terrible that there isn’t enoughfor everybody,” said Otto’s wife.
“But the hard winter and the misery will come to an end and then thingswill be better again.”
“You mean we shall come to an end first?” said Otto, laughingdespairingly.
“No, not we—this poverty, of course. Ach, you know well enough whatI mean. But he’s always like that,” she said, turning to Pelle.
“Curious, how you women still go about in the pious belief thatthere’s not enough for all!” said Pelle. “Yet the harbor isfull of stacks of coal, and there’s no lack of eatables in the shops. Onthe contrary— there is more than usual, because so many are having to dowithout—and you can see, too, that everything in the city is cheaper. Butwhat good is that when there’s no money? It’s the distributionthat’s all wrong.”
“Yes, you are quite right!” said Otto Stolpe. “It’sreally damnable that no one has the courage to help himself!”
Pelle heard Ellen go out through the kitchen door, and presently she came backwith firing in her apron. She had borrowed it. “I’ve scrapedtogether just a last little bit of coal,” she said, going down on herknees before the stove. “In any case it’s enough to heat the waterfor a cup of coffee.”
Otto and his wife begged her urgently not to give herself any trouble; they hadhad some coffee before they left home—after a good solid breakfast.“On Sundays we always have a solid breakfast,” said young MadamStolpe; “it does one such a lot of good!” While she was speakingher eyes involuntarily followed Ellen’s every moment, as though she couldtell thereby how soon the coffee would be ready.
Ellen chatted as she lit the fire. But of course they must have a cup ofcoffee; they weren’t to go away with dry throats!
Pelle sat by listening in melancholy surprise; her innocent boasting only madetheir 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’vecounted on stopping here and eating until the evening. And I haven’t ascrap in the house. What’s to be done?”
“Tell them how it is, of course!”
“I can’t! And they’ve had nothing to eatto-day—can’t you see by looking at them?” She burst intotears.
“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 littlebutter.”
“Lord, what a little donkey!” he said, smiling, and he took herface between his hands. “And you stand there lamenting! Just you becutting the bread-and-butter!”
Ellen set to work hesitatingly. But before she appeared with the refreshmentsthey heard her bang the front door and go running down the steps. After a timeshe returned. “Oh, Lord! Now the baker has sold out of whitebread,” she said, “so you must just have black bread-and-butterwith your coffee.”
“But that’s capital,” they cried. “Black bread alwaysgoes best with coffee. Only it’s a shame we are giving you so muchtrouble!”
“Look here,” said Pelle, at last. “It may please you to playhide-and- seek with one another, but it doesn’t me—I am going tospeak my mind. With us things are bad, and it can’t be any better withyou. Now how is it, really, with the old folks?”
“They are struggling along,” said Otto. “They always havecredit, and I think they have a little put by as well.”
“Then shan’t we go there to-night and have supper? OtherwiseI’m afraid we shan’t get anything.”
“Yes, we will! It’s true we were there the day beforeyesterday—but what does that matter? We must go somewhere, and at leastit’s sticking to the family!”
The cold had no effect on Pelle; the blood ran swiftly through his veins. Hewas always warm. Privation he accepted as an admonition, and merely felt thestronger for it; and he made use of his involuntary holiday to work for theCause.
It was no time for public meetings and sounding words—many had not evenclothes with which to go to meetings. The movement had lost its impetus throughthe cold; people had their work cut out to keep the little they already had.Pelle made it his business to encourage the hopes of the rejected, and wasalways on the run; he came into contact with many people. Misery stripped thembare and developed his knowledge of humanity.
Wherever a trade was at a standstill, and want had made its appearance, he andothers were at hand to prevent demoralization and to make the prevailingconditions the subject of agitation. He saw how want propagates itself like theplague, and gradually conquers all—a callous accomplice in the fate ofthe poor man. In a week to a fortnight unemployment would take all comfort froma home that represented the scraping and saving of many years—so cryingwas the disproportion. Here was enough to stamp a lasting comprehension uponthe minds of all, and enough to challenge agitation. All but persons of feeblemind could see now what they were aiming at.
And there were people here like those at home. Want made them even moresubmissive. They could hardly believe that they were so favored as to bepermitted to walk the earth and go hungry. With them there was nothing to bedone. They were born slaves, born with slavery deep in their hearts, pitifuland cur-like.
They were people of a certain age—of an older generation than his. Theyounger folk were of another and a harder stuff; and he often was amazed tofind how vigorously their minds echoed his ideas. They were ready to dare,ready to meet force with force. These must be held back lest they shouldprejudice the movement—for them its progress was never sufficientlyrapid.
His mind was young and intact and worked well in the cold weather; herestlessly drew comparisons and formed conclusions in respect of everything hecame into contact with. The individual did not seem to change. The agitationwas especially directed to awakening what was actually existent. For the rest,they must live their day and be replaced by a younger generation in whomdemands for compensation came more readily to the tongue. So far as he couldsurvey the evolution of the movement, it did not proceed through thegenerations, but in some amazing fashion grew out of the empty space betweenthem. So youth, even at the beginning, was further ahead than age had beenwhere it left off.
The movements of the mind had an obscure and mystical effect upon him, as hadthe movement of his blood in childhood; sometimes he felt a mysterious shudderrun through him, and he began to understand what Morten had meant when he saidthat humanity was sacred. It was terrible that human beings should suffer suchneed, and Pelle’s resentment grew deeper.
Through his contact with so many individuals he learned that Morten was not soexceptional; the minds of many betrayed the same impatience, and could notunderstand that a man who is hungry should control himself and be content withthe fact of organization. There was a revolutionary feeling abroad; a sternernote was audible, and respectable people gave the unemployed a wide berth,while old people prophesied the end of the world. The poor had acquired amanner of thinking such as had never been known.
One day Pelle stood in a doorway with some other young people, discussing theaspect of affairs; it was a cold meeting-place, but they had not sufficientmeans to call a meeting in the usual public room. The discussion was conductedin a very subdued tune; their voices were bitter and sullen. A well-dressedcitizen went by. “There’s a fine overcoat,” cried one;“I should like to have one like that! Shall we fetch him into the doorwayand pull his coat off?” He spoke loudly, and was about to run out intothe street.
“No stupidity!” said Pelle sadly, seizing him by the arm. “Weshould only do ourselves harm! Remember the authorities are keeping their eyeson us!”
“Well, what’s a few weeks in prison?” the man replied.“At least one would get board and lodging for so long.” There was alook that threatened mischief in his usually quiet and intelligent eyes.
XXIV
There were rumors that the city authorities intended to intervene in order toremedy the condition of the unemployed, and shortly before Christmas largenumbers of navvies were given employment. Part of the old ramparts was clearedaway, and the space converted into parks and boulevards. Pelle applied among athousand others and had the good fortune to be accepted. The contractor gavethe preference to youthful energy.
Every morning the workers appeared in a solid phalanx; the foreman of the workschose those he had need of, and the rest were free to depart. At home sat theirwives and children, cheered by the possibility of work; the men felt noinclination to go home with bad news, so they loafed about in the vicinity.
They came there long before daybreak in order to be the first, although therewas not much hope. There was at least an excuse to leave one’s bed;idleness was burning like hell fire in their loins. When the foreman came theythronged silently about him, with importunate eyes. One woman brought herhusband; he walked modestly behind her, kept his eyes fixed upon her, and didprecisely as she did. He was a great powerful fellow, but he did nothing of hisown accord—did not even blow his nose unless she nudged him. “Comehere, Thorvald!” she said, cuffing him so hard as to hurt him.“Keep close behind me!” She spoke in a harsh voice, into the emptyair, as though to explain her behavior to the others; but no one looked at her.“He can’t speak for himself properly, you see,” she remarkedat random. Her peevish voice made Pelle start; she was from Bornholm. Ah, thosesmart young girls at home, they were a man’s salvation! “And thechildren have got to live too!” she continued. “We have eight. Yes,eight.”
“Then he’s some use for something,” said a workman who lookedto be perishing with the cold.
The woman worked her way through them, and actually succeeded in getting herman accepted. “And now you do whatever they tell you, nicely, anddon’t let them tempt you to play the fool in any way!” she said,and she gave him a cuff which set him off working in his place. She raised herhead defiantly as contemptuous laughter sounded about her.
The place was like a slave-market. The foreman, went to and fro, seeking outthe strongest, eyeing them from head to foot and choosing them for theirmuscular development and breadth of back. The contractor too was moving aboutand giving orders. “One of them rich snobs!” said the laborers,grumbling; “all the laborers in town have to march out here so that hecan pick himself the best. And he’s beaten down the day’s wages tofifty öre. He’s been a navvy himself, too; but now he’s a man whoenjoys his hundred thousand a year. A regular bloodsucker, he is!”
The crowd continued to stand there and to loaf about all the day, in the hopethat some one would give up, or fall ill—or go crazy—so that someone could take his place. They could not tear themselves away; the mere factthat work was being done chained them to the spot. They looked as though theymight storm the works at any moment, and the police formed a ring about theplace. They stood pressing forward, absorbed by their desire for work, with asick longing in their faces. When the crowd had pressed forward too far ithesitatingly allowed itself to be pushed back again. Suddenly there was a breakin the ranks; a man leaped over the rail and seized a pickaxe. A couple ofpolicemen wrested the tool from his hand and led him away.
And as they stood there a feeling of defiance rose within them, a fiercecontempt for their privations and the whole shameless situation. It expresseditself in an angry half-suppressed growl. They followed the contractor withcurious eyes as though they were looking for something in him but could notconceive what it was.
In his arrogance at receiving such an excessive offer of labor, he decided togo further, and to lengthen the working day by an hour. The workers received anorder to that effect one morning, just as they had commenced work. But at thesame moment the four hundred men, all but two, threw down their implements andreturned to their comrades. They stood there discussing the matter, purple withrage. So now their starving condition was to be made use of, in order to enrichthe contractor by a further hundred thousand! “We must go to the cityauthorities,” they cried. “No, to the newspaper!” othersreplied. “The paper! The paper is better!”
“It’s no use going to the city council—not until we haveelected members of our own party to it,” cried Pelle. “Rememberthat at the elections, comrades! We must elect men of our party everywhere,their encroachments will never be stopped until then. And now we must standtogether and be firm! If it’s got to be, better starve to death at oncethan do it slowly!”
They did not reply, but pressed closely about him, heavily listening. There wassomething altogether too fierce and profound in their attention. These men haddeclared a strike in midwinter, as their only remedy. What were they thinkingof doing now? Pelle looked about him and was daunted by their dumb rage. Thisthreatening silence wouldn’t do; what would it lead to? It seemed asthough something overwhelming, and uncontrollable, would spring from this stonytaciturnity. Pelle sprang upon a heap of road-metal.
“Comrades!” he cried, in a powerful voice. “This is merely achange, as the fox said when they flayed his skin off. They have deprived us ofclothes and food and drink, and comfort at home, and now they want to find away of depriving us of our skins too! The question to-day is— forward orback? Perhaps this is the great time of trial, when we shall enter intopossession of all we have desired! Hold together, comrades! Don’t scatterand don’t give way! Things are difficult enough now, but remember, we arewell on in the winter, and it promises to break up early. The night is alwaysdarkest before daybreak! And shall we be afraid to suffer a little—we,who have suffered and been patient for hundreds of years? Our wives are sittingat home and fretting—perhaps they will be angry with us. We might atleast have accepted what was offered us, they may say. But we can’t go onseeing our dear ones at home fading away in spite of our utmost exertions!Hitherto the poor man’s labor has been like an aimless prayer to Heaven:Deliver us from hunger and dirt, from misery, poverty, and cold, and give usbread, and again bread! Deliver our children from our lot—let not theirlimbs wither and their minds lapse into madness! That has been our prayer, butthere is only one prayer that avails, and that is, to defy the wicked! We arethe chosen people, and for that reason we must cry a halt! We will no longer doas we have done—for our wives’ sakes, and our children’s, andtheirs again! Ay, but what is posterity to us? Of course it is something tous—precisely to us! Were your parents as you are? No, they were grounddown into poverty and the dust, they crept submissively before the mighty. Thenwhence did we get all that makes us so strong and causes us to stand together?Time has stood still, comrades! It has placed its finger on our breast and hesaid, ‘Thus you shall do!’ Here where we stand, the old time ceasesand the new time begins; and that is why we have thrown down our tools, withwant staring us in the face—such a thing as has never been seen before!We want to revolutionize life—to make it sweet for the poor man! And forall time! You, who have so often staked your life and welfare for aflorin—you now hold the whole future in your hands! You must endure,calmly and prudently! And you will never be forgotten, so long as there areworkers on the earth! This winter will be the last through which we shall haveto endure—for yonder lies the land toward which we have been wandering!Comrades! Through us the day shall come!”
Pelle himself did not know what words he uttered. He felt only that somethingwas speaking through him—something supremely mighty, that never lies.There was a radiant, prophetic ring in his voice, which carried his hearers offtheir feet; and his eyes were blazing. Before their eyes a figure arose fromthe hopeless winter, towering in radiance, a figure that was their own, and yetthat of a young god. He rose, new-born, out of misery itself, struck aside theold grievous idea of fate, and in its place gave them a new faith—theradiant faith in their own might! They cried up to him—first singlevoices, then all. He gathered up their cries into a mighty cheer, a paean inhonor of the new age!
Every day they stationed themselves there, not to work, but to stand there indumb protest. When the foreman called for workers they stood about in silentgroups, threatening as a gloomy rock. Now and again they shouted a curse atthose who had left them in the lurch. The city did nothing. They had held out ahelping hand to the needy, and the latter had struck it away—now theymust accept the consequences. The contractor had received permission to suspendthe work entirely, but he kept it going with a few dozen strike-breakers, inorder to irritate the workers.
All over the great terrace a silence as of death prevailed, except in thatcorner where the little gang was at work, a policeman beside it, as though themen had been convicts. The wheelbarrows lay with their legs in the air; it wasas though the pest had swept over the works.
The strike-breakers were men of all callings; a few of the unemployed wrotedown their names and addresses, in order to insert them in The WorkingMan. One of Stolpe’s fellow-unionists was among them; he was acapable pater-familias, and had taken part in the movement from its earliestdays. “It’s a pity about him,” said Stolpe; “he’san old mate of mine, and he’s always been a good comrade till now. Nowthey’ll give it him hard in the paper—we are compelled to. It doesthe trade no good when one of its representatives goes and turnstraitor.”
Madame Stolpe was unhappy. “It’s such a nice family,” shesaid; “we have always been on friendly terms with them; and I know theywere hungry a long time. He has a young wife, father; it’s not easy tostand out.”
“It hurts me myself,” replied Stolpe. “But one is compelledto do it, otherwise one would be guilty of partisanship. And no one shall cometo me and say that I’m a respecter of persons.”
“I should like to go and have a talk with them,” said Pelle.“Perhaps they’d give it up then.”
He got the address and went there after working hours. The home had beenstripped bare. There were four little children. The atmosphere was oppressive.The man, who was already well on in years, but was still powerful, sat at thetable with a careworn expression eating his supper, while the children stoodround with their chins on the edge of the table, attentively following everybite he took. The young wife was going to and fro; she brought him his simplefood with a peculiarly loving gesture.
Pelle broached the question at issue. It was not pleasant to attack this oldveteran. But it must be done.
“I know that well enough,” said the man, nodding to himself.“You needn’t begin your lecture—I myself have been in themovement since the first days, and until now I’ve kept my oath. But nowit’s done with, for me. What do you want here, lad? Have you a wife andchildren crying for bread? Then think of your own!”
“We don’t cry, Hans,” said the woman quietly.
“No, you don’t, and that makes it even worse! Can I sit here andlook on, while you get thinner day by day, and perish with the cold? To hellwith the comrades and their big words—what have they led to? Formerly weused to go hungry just for a little while, and now we starveoutright—that’s the difference! Leave me alone, I tell you! Curseit, why don’t they leave me in peace?”
He took a mouthful of brandy from the bottle. His wife pushed a glass towardhim, but he pushed it violently away.
“You’ll be put in the paper to-morrow,” said Pelle,hesitating. “I only wanted to tell you that.”
“Yes, and to write of me that I’m a swine and a bad comrade, andperhaps that I beat my wife as well. You know yourself it’s all lies; butwhat is that to me? Will you have a drink?”
No, Pelle wouldn’t take anything. “Then I will myself,” saidthe man, and he laughed angrily. “Now you can certify that I’m ahog—I drink out of the bottle! And another evening you can come andlisten at the keyhole—perhaps then you’ll hear me beating mywife!”
The woman began to cry.
“Oh, damn it all, they might leave me in peace!” said the mandefiantly.
Pelle had to go with nothing effected.
XXV
The “Ark” was now freezing in the north wind; all outward signs oflife were stripped from it. The sounds that in summer bubbled up from its deepwell-like shaft were silent now; the indistinguishable dripping of a hundredwaste-pipes, that turned the court into a little well with green slimy walls,was silent too. The frost had fitted them all with stoppers; and where thetoads had sat gorging themselves in the cavities of the walls—fantasticcaverns of green moss and slimy filaments—a crust of ice hung over all; agrimy glacier, which extended from the attics right down to the floor of thecourt.
Where were they now, the grimy, joyful children? And what of the eveningcarouse of the hearse-driver, for which his wife would soundly thrash him? Andthe quarrelsome women’s voices, which would suddenly break out over thisor that railing, criticizing the whole court, sharp as so many razors?
The frost was harder than ever! It had swept all these things away and hadlocked them up as closely as might be. The hurdy-gurdy man lay down below inhis cellar, and had as visitor that good friend of the north wind, the gout;and down in the deserted court the draught went shuffling along the drippingwalls. Whenever any one entered the tunnel- entry the draught clutched at hisknees with icy fingers, so that the pain penetrated to the very heart.
There stood the old barrack, staring emptily out of its black windows. The coldhad stripped away the last shred of figured curtain, and sent it packing to thepawn-shop. It had exchanged the canary for a score of firewood, and had put astop to the day-long, lonely crying of the little children behind the lockeddoors—that hymn of labor, which had ceased only in the evening, when themothers returned from the factories. Now the mothers sat with their childrenall day long, and no one but the cold grudged them this delight. But the coldand its sister, hunger, came every day to look in upon them.
On the third floor, away from the court, Widow Johnsen sat in the corner by thestove. Hanne’s little girl lay cowering on the floor, on a tatteredpatchwork counterpane. Through the naked window one saw only ice, as though theatmosphere were frozen down to the ground. Transparent spots had formed on thewindow-panes every time the child had breathed on them in order to look out,but they had soon closed up again. The old woman sat staring straight into thestove with big, round eyes; her little head quivered continually; she was likea bird of ill omen, that knew a great deal more than any one could bear tohear.
“Now I’m cold again, grandmother,” said the child quietly.
“Don’t keep from shivering, then you’ll be warm,” saidthe old woman.
“Are you shivering?”
“No, I’m too old and stiff for it—I can’t shiver anymore. But the cold numbs my limbs, so that I can’t feel them. I couldmanage well enough if it wasn’t for my back.”
“You lean your back against the cold stove too!”
“Yes, the cold grips my poor back so.”
“But that’s stupid, when the stove isn’t going.”
“But if only my back would get numb too!” said the old womanpiteously.
The child was silent, and turned her head away.
Over the whole of the wall were tiny glittering crystals. Now and again therewas a rustling sound under the wall-paper.
“Grandmother, what’s that funny noise?” asked the child.
“That’s the bugs—they are coming down,” said the oldwoman. “It’s too cold for them up there in the attics, and theydon’t like it here. You should see them; they go to Olsen’s withthe warm wall; they stay there in the cold.”
“Is the wall at Olsen’s always warm, then?”
“Yes, when there’s fire in the boiler of the steam mill.”
Then the child was silent a while, wearily turning her head from side to side.A dreadful weariness was stamped on her face. “I’m cold,” shecomplained after a time.
“See if you can’t shiver!”
“Hadn’t I better jump a bit?”
“No, then you’d just swallow down the cold—the air is likeice. Just keep still, and soon mother will be here, and she’ll bringsomething!”
“She never gets anything,” said the child. “When she getsthere it’s always all over.”
“That’s not true,” said Madam Johnsen severely.“There’s food enough in the soup kitchens for all; it’s justa matter of understanding how to go about it. The poor must get shame out oftheir heads. She’ll bring something to-day!”
The child stood up and breathed a hole in the ice on the window-pane.
“Look now, whether it isn’t going to snow a little so that the poorman can get yet another day’s employment,” said the old woman.
No, the wind was still blowing from the north, although it commonly shuffledalong the canal; but now, week after week, it blew from the Nicolai tower, andplayed the flute on the hollow bones of poverty. The canals were covered withice, and the ground looked horribly hard. The naked frost chased the peopleacross it like withered leaves. With a thin rustling sound they were sweptacross the bridges and disappeared.
A great yellow van came driving by. The huge gates of the prison opened slowlyand swallowed it. It was the van containing the meat for the prisoners. Thechild followed it with a desolate expression.
“Mother isn’t coming,” she said. “I am sohungry.”
“She will soon come—you just wait! And don’t stand in thelight there; come here in the corner! The light strikes the cold right throughone.”
“But I feel colder in the dark.”
“That’s just because you don’t understand. I only long nowfor the pitch darkness.”
“I long for the sun!” retorted the child defiantly.
There was a creaking of timber out in the yard. The child ran out and openedthe door leading to the gallery. It was only the people opposite, who weretearing a step away.
But then came mother, with a tin pail in her hand, and a bundle under her arm;and there was something in the pail—it looked heavy. Tra-la- la! And thebundle, the bundle! What was in that? “Mother, mother!” she criedshrilly, leaning far over the rickety rail.
Hanne came swiftly up the stairs, with open mouth and red cheeks; and a facepeeped out of every little nest.
“Now Widow Hanne has taken the plunge,” they said. They knew what apoint of honor it had been with her to look after her mother and her childunaided. She was a good girl.
And Widow Hanne nodded to them all, as much as to say, “Now it’sdone, thank God!”
She stood leaning over the table, and lifted the cover off the pail.“Look!” she said, as she stirred the soup with a ladle:“there’s pearl barley and pot-herbs. If only we had something wecould warm it up with!”
“We can tear away a bit of the woodwork like other people,” saidthe mother.
“Yes,” replied Hanne breathlessly, “yes, why not? If one canbeg one can do that!”
She ran out onto the gallery and tore away a few bits of trellis, so that thesound re-echoed through the court. People watched her out of all the darkwindows. Widow Hanne had knocked off the head of her pride!
Then they sat down to their soup, the old woman and the child.“Eat!” said Hanne, standing over them and looking on with glowingeyes. Her cheeks were burning. “You look like a flower in thecold!” said her mother. “But eat, yourself, or you’ll starveto death.”
No, Hanne would not eat. “I feel so light,” she said, “Idon’t need any food.” She stood there fingering her bundle; all herfeatures were quivering, and her mouth was like that of a person sick of afever.
“What have you there?” asked Madam Johnsen.
“Clothes for you and little Marie. You were so cold. I got themdownstairs from the old clothes woman—they were so cheap.”
“Do you say you bought them?”
“Yes—I got them on credit.”
“Well, well, if you haven’t given too much for them! But it will doone good to have something warm on one’s back!”
Hanne undid the bundle, while the others looked on in suspense. A light summerdress made its appearance, pleated and low-necked, blue as little Marie’seyes, and a pair of thin kid shoes. The child and the old woman gazedwonderingly at the dress. “How fine!” they said. They had forgotteneverything, and were all admiration. But Hanne stood staring with horror, andsuddenly burst into sobs.
“Come, come, Hanne!” said her mother, clapping her on the back.“You have bought a dress for yourself—that’s not so dreadful!Youth will have its rights.”
“No, mother, no, I didn’t buy it at all! I knew you both neededsomething to keep you warm, so I went into a fine house and asked if theyhadn’t any cast-off things, and there was a young lady—she gave methis—and she was so kind. No, I didn’t know at all what was in thebundle—I really didn’t know, dear mother!”
“Well, well, they are fine enough!” said the old woman, spreadingthe dress out in front of her. “They are fine things!” But Hanneput the things together and threw them into the corner by the stove.
“You are ill!” said her mother, gazing at her searchingly;“your eyes are blazing like fire.”
The darkness descended, and they went to bed. People burned no useless lightsin those days, and it was certainly best to be in bed. They had laid thefeather-bed over themselves cross-wise, when it comfortably covered all three;their daytime clothes they laid over their feet. Little Marie lay in themiddle. No harm could come to her there. They talked at random aboutindifferent matters. Hanne’s voice sounded loud and cheerful in thedarkness as though it came from a radiant countryside.
“You are so restless,” said the mother. “Won’t you tryto sleep a little? I can feel the burning in you from here!”
“I feel so light,” replied Hanne; “I can’t liestill.” But she did lie still, gazing into space and humming inaudibly toherself, while the fever raged in her veins.
After a time the old woman awoke; she was cold. Hanne was standing in themiddle of the room, with open mouth; and was engaged in putting on her finelinen underclothing by the light of a candle-end.
Her breath came in short gasps and hung white on the air.
“Are you standing there naked in the cold?” said Madam Johnsenreproachfully. “You ought to take a little care of yourself.”
“Why, mother, I’m so warm! Why, it’s summer now!”
“What are you doing, child?”
“I am only making myself a little bit smart, mother dear!”
“Yes, yes—dance, my baby. You’ve still got the best of youryouth before you, poor child! Why didn’t you get a husband where you gotthe child from?”
Hanne only hummed a tune to herself, and proceeded to don the bright bluesummer costume. It was a little full across the chest, but the decolletage satsnugly over her uncovered bosom. A faint cloud of vapor surrounded her personlike a summer haze.
Her mother had to hook up the dress at the back. “If only we don’twake Marie!” she whispered, entirely absorbed by the dress. “Andthe fine lace on the chemise—you can always let that peep out of thedress a little—it looks so pretty like that. Now you really look like asummer girl!”
“I’ll just run down and show it to Madam Olsen,” said Hanne,pressing her hand to her glowing cheeks.
“Yes, do—poor folks’ joys must have their due,” repliedthe old woman, turning over to the wall.
Hanne ran down the steps and across the yard and out into the street. Theground was hard and ringing in the frost, the cold was angry and biting, butthe road seemed to burn Hanne through her thin shoes. She ran through themarket, across the bridge, and into the less crowded quarter of thecity—right into Pelle’s arms. He was just going to see FatherLasse.
Pelle was wearied and stupefied with the continual battle with hard reality.The bottomless depths of misery were beginning to waste his courage. Was itreally of any use to hold the many together? It only made the torture yetharder for them to bear. But in a moment everything looked as bright as thoughhe had fallen into a state of ecstasy, as had often happened lately. In themidst of the sternest realities it would suddenly happen that his soul wouldleap within him and conjure up the new age of happiness before his eyes, andthe terrible dearth filled his arms to overflowing with abundance! He did notfeel the cold; the great dearth had no existence; violent spiritual excitementand insufficient nourishment made the blood sing continually in his ears. Heaccepted it as a happy music from a contented world. It did not surprise himthat he should meet Hanne in summer clothing and attired as for a ball.
“Pelle, my protector!” she said, grasping his hand. “Will yougo to the dance with me?”
“That’s really the old Hanne,” thought Pelledelightedly—“the careless Princess of the ‘Ark,’ andshe is feverish, just as she used to be then.” He himself was in a fever.When their eyes met they emitted a curious, cold, sparkling light. He had quiteforgotten Father Lasse and his errand, and went with Hanne.
The entrance of “The Seventh Heaven” was flooded with light, whichexposed the merciless cold of the street. Outside, in the sea of light,thronged the children of the terrible winter, dishevelled and perishing withthe cold. They stood there shuddering, or felt in their pockets for a five-örepiece, and if they found it they slipped through the blood- red tunnel into thedancing-hall.
But it was cold in there too; their breath hung like white powder on the air;and crystals of ice glittered on the polished floor. Who would dream of heatinga room where the joy of life was burning? and a thousand candles? Herecarelessness was wont to give of its abundance, so that the lofty room lay in acloud and the musicians were bathed in sweat.
But now the cold had put an end to that. Unemployed workers lounged about thetables, disinclined for movement. Winter had not left the poor fellows an ounceof frivolity. Cerberus Olsen might spare himself the trouble of going roundwith his giant arms outspread, driving the two or three couples of dancers withtheir five-öre pieces indoors toward the music, as though they had been a wholecrowd. People only toiled across the floor in order to have the right to remainthere. Good Lord! Some of them had rings and watches, and Cerberus had readycash—what sort of dearth was that? The men sat under the painted ceilingand the gilded mirrors, over a glass of beer, leaving the girls tofreeze—even Elvira had to sit still. “Mazurka!” bellowedCerberus, going threateningly from table to table. They slunk into the halllike beaten curs, dejectedly danced once round the floor, and paid.
But what is this? Is it not Summer herself stepping into the hall? All glowingand lightly clad in the blue of forget-me-nots, with a rose in her fair hair?Warmth lies like fleeting summer upon her bare shoulders, although she has comestraight out of the terrible winter, and she steps with boldly moving limbs,like a daughter of joy. How proudly she carries her bosom, as though she werethe bride of fortune—and how she burns! Who is she? Can no one say?
Oh, that is Widow Hanne, a respectable girl, who for seven long yearsfaithfully trod her way to and from the factory, in order to keep her oldmother and her child!
But how comes it then that she has the discreet Pelle on her arm? He who hassold his own youth to the devil, in order to alleviate poverty? What does hewant here on the dancing-floor? And Hanne, whence did she get her finery? Sheis still out of employment! And how in all the world has she grown sobeautiful?
They whisper behind her, following her as she advances; and in the midst of thehall she stands still and smiles. Her eyes burn with a volcanic fire. A youngman rushes forward and encircles her with his arm. A dance with Hanne! A dancewith Hanne!
Hanne dances with a peculiar hesitation, as though her joy had brought her fromfar away. Heavily, softly, she weighs on the arms of her partners, and thewarmth rises from her bare bosom and dispels the cold of the terrible winter.It is as though she were on fire! Who could fail to be warmed by her?
Now the room is warm once more. Hanne is like a blazing meteor that kindles allas it circles round; where she glides past the fire springs up and the bloodruns warmly in the veins. They overturn the chairs in their eagerness to dancewith her. “Hi, steward! Five kroner on my watch—only bequick!” “Ach, Hanne, a dance with me!”—“Do youremember we were at the factory together?”—“We used to go toschool together!”
Hanne does not reply, but she leaves Pelle and lays her naked arm upon theirshoulders, and if they touch it with their cheeks the fire streams throughthem. They do not want to let her go again; they hold her fast embraced,gliding along with her to where the musicians are sitting, where all have topay. No word passes her lips, but the fire within her is a promise to each ofthem, a promise of things most precious. “May I see you hometo-night?” they whisper, hanging on her silent lips.
But to Pelle she speaks as they glide along. “Pelle, how strong you are!Why have you never taken me? Do you love me?” Her hand is clasping hisshoulder as she whirls along beside him. Her breath burns in his ear.
“I don’t know!” he says uneasily. “But stopnow—you are ill.”
“Hold me like that! Why have you never been stronger than I? Do you wantme, Pelle? I’ll be yours!”
Pelle shakes his head. “No, I love you only like a sister now.”
“And now I love you! Look—you are so distant to me—Idon’t understand you—and your hand is as hard as if you came fromanother world! You are heavy, Pelle! Have you brought me happiness from aforeign land with you?”
“Hanne, you are ill! Stop now and let me take you home!”
“Pelle, you were not the right one. What is there strange about you?Nothing! So let me alone—I am going to dance with the others aswell!”
Hitherto Hanne has been dancing without intermission. The men stand waiting forher; when one releases her ten spring forward, and this evening Hanne wants todance with them all. Every one of them should be permitted to warm himself byher! Her eyes are like sparks in the darkness; her silent demeanor excitesthem; they swing her round more and more wildly. Those who cannot dance withher must slake the fire within them with drink. The terrible winter is put toflight, and it is warm as in Hell itself. The blood is seething in theirbrains; it injects the whites of their eyes, and expresses itself in wantonfrolic, in a need to dance till they drop, or to fight.
“Hanne is wild to-night—she has got her second youth,” saysElvira and the other girls maliciously.
Hold your tongues. No one shall criticize Hanne’s behavior! It iswonderful to touch her; the touch of her skin hurts one, as though she was notflesh and blood, but fire from Heaven! They say she has not had a bite of foodfor a week. The old woman and the child have had all there was. And yet she isburning! And see, she has now been dancing without a break for two whole hours!Can one understand such a thing? Hanne dances like a messenger from anotherworld, where fire, not cold, is the condition of life. Every dancer leaves hispartner in the lurch as soon as she is free! How lightly she dances! Dancingwith her, one soars upward, far away from the cold. One forgets all misery inher eyes.
But she has grown paler and paler; she is dancing the fire out of her bodywhile others are dancing it in! Now she is quite white, and Olsen’sElvira comes up and tugs at her dress, with anxiety in her glance.“Hanne, Hanne!” But Hanne does not see her; she is only longing forthe next pair of arms—her eyes are closed. She has so much to make upfor! And who so innocent as she? She does not once realize that she is robbingothers of their pleasure. Is she suffering from vertigo or St. Vitus’sdance, in her widowhood?
Hold your tongue! How beautiful she is! Now she is growing rosy again, andopening her eyes. Fire darts from them; she has brought Pelle out of his cornerand is whispering something to him, blushing as she does so; perhaps thatprecious promise that hitherto no one has been able to draw from her. Pellemust always be the lucky man!
“Pelle, why don’t you dance with me oftener? Why do you sit in thecorner there always and sulk? Are you angry with me as you used to be, and whyare you so hard and cold? And your clothes are quite stiff!”
“I come from outside all this—from the terrible winter, Hanne,where the children are crying for bread, and the women dying of starvation, andthe men go about with idle hands and look on the ground because they areashamed of their unemployment!”
“But why? It is still summer. Only look how cheerful every one is! Takeme, then, Pelle!”
Hanne grows red, redder than blood, and leans her head on his shoulder. Onlysee how she surrenders herself, blissful in her unashamed ecstasy! She droopsbackward in his arms, and from between her lips springs a great rose of blood,that gushes down over the summer-blue dress.
Fastened to the spot by his terrible burden, Pelle stands there unable to move.He can only gaze at Hanne, until Cerberus takes her in his giant’s armsand bears her out. She is so light in her summer finery— she weighsnothing at all!
“Mazurka!” he bellows, as he returns, and goes commandingly alongthe ranks of dancers.
XXVI
At the end of January, Pelle obtained a place as laborer in the“Denmark” machine works. He was badly paid, but Ellen rejoiced,none the less; with nothing one could only cry—with a little one couldgrow strong again. She was still a little pale after her confinement, but shelooked courageous. At the first word of work her head was seething withcomprehensive plans. She began at once to redeem various articles and to payoff little debts; she planned out a whole system and carried it outundeviatingly.
The new sister was something for Young Lasse; he understood immediately thatshe was some one given to him in order to amuse him in his loneliness.
During the confinement he had remained with his grandparents, so that the storkshould not carry him away when it came with his little sister —for he wasdear to them! But when he returned home she was lying asleep in her cradle. Hejust touched her eyelids, to see if she had eyes like his own. They snatchedhis fingers away, so he could not solve the exciting problem that day.
But sister had eyes, great dark eyes, which followed him about the room, pastthe head of the bed and round the other side, always with the same attentiveexpression, while the round cheeks went out and in like those of a suckinganimal. And Young Lasse felt very distinctly that one was under obligationswhen eyes followed one about like that. He was quite a little man already, andhe longed to be noticed; so he ran about making himself big, and rolling overlike a clown, and playing the strong man with the footstool, while his sisterfollowed him with her eyes, without moving a muscle of her face. He felt thatshe might have vouchsafed him a little applause, when he had given himself somuch trouble.
One day he inflated a paper bag and burst it before her face. That was a help.Sister forgot her imperturbability, gave a jump, and began to roar. He wassmacked for that, but he had his compensation. Her little face began to quiverdirectly he approached her, in order to show her something; and she often beganto roar before he had performed his trick. “Go away from your sisterLasse Frederik!” said his mother. “You are frightening her!”
But things were quite different only a month later. There was no one whounderstood Young Lasse’s doings better than sister. If he did but movehis plump little body, or uttered a sound, she twittered like a starling.
Ellen’s frozen expression had disappeared; now that she had something towork at again. The cold had weaned her from many of her exactions, and otherswere gratified by the children. The two little ones kept her very busy; she didnot miss Pelle now. She had become accustomed to his being continually awayfrom home, and she had taken possession of him in her thoughts, in her ownfashion; she held imaginary conversations with him as she went about her work;and it was a joy to her to make him comfortable during the short time that hewas at home.
Pelle conceived his home as an intimate little world, in which he could takeshelter when he was weary. He had redeemed that obscure demand in Ellen’seyes—in the shape of two dear little creatures that gave her plenty todo. Now it was her real self that advanced to meet him. And there was apeculiar loyalty about her, that laid hold of his heart; she no longer resentedhis small earnings, and she did not reproach him because he was only a workman.
He had been obliged to resign his position as president of his Union on accountof his longer hours. There was no prospect at present of his being able toreturn to his vocation; but the hard bodily labor agreed with him.
In order to help out his small earnings, he busied himself with repairs in theevenings. Ellen helped him, and they sat together and gossiped over their work.They ignored the labor movement—it did not interest Ellen, and he by nomeans objected to a brief rest from it. Young Lasse sat at the table, drawingand putting in his word now and then. Often, when Pelle brought out the work,Ellen had done the greater part of it during the day, and had only left whatshe did not understand. In return he devised little ways of pleasing her.
In the new year the winter was not so severe. Already in February the firstpromise of spring was perceptible. One noticed it in Ellen.
“Shan’t we pack a picnic-basket and go out to one of thebeer-gardens on Sunday? It would do the children good to get into theair,” she would say.
Pelle was very willing. But on Sunday there was a meeting of the party leadersand a meeting concerning the affairs of the factory—he must be present atboth. And in the evening he had promised to speak before a trade union.
“Then we’ll go out ourselves, the children and I!” said Ellenpeacefully. When they came home it seemed they had amused themselvesexcellently; Pelle was no longer indispensable.
The hard winter was over at last. It was still freezing—especially atnight—but the people knew it was over in spite of that. And the ice inthe canals knew it also. It began to show fractures running in all directions,and to drift out toward the sea. Even the houses gave one a feeling of spring;they were brighter in hue; and the sun was shining into the sky overhead; ifone looked for it one could see it glowing above the roofs. Down in the narrowlanes and the well-like courtyards the children stamped about in the snowyslush and sang to the sun which they could not see.
People began to recover from the long privations of the winter. The cold mightreturn at any moment; but all were united in their belief in the spring. Thestarlings began to make their appearance, and the moisture of the earth roseagain to the surface and broke its way through the hard crust, in dark patches;and business ventured to raise its head. A peculiar universal will seemed toprevail in all things. Down under the earth it sprouted amid frost and snow,and crept forth, young, and seemingly brought forth by the cold itself; and inall things frozen by winter the promise unfolded itself—in spite of all.
The workmen’s quarter of the city began to revive; now it was once moreof some use to go about looking for work. It did one good to get out and walkin the daylight for a while. And it also did one good once more to fillone’s belly every day and to fetch the household goods home from thepawn-shop, and to air one’s self a little, until one’s turn cameround again.
But things did not go as well as they should have done. It looked as though thecold had completely crippled the sources of commercial activity. The springcame nearer; the sun rose higher every day, and began to recover its power; butbusiness showed no signs of real recovery as yet; it did no more than supplywhat was needed from day to day. There was no life in it, as there had been ofold! At this time of the year manufacturers were glad as a rule to increasetheir stocks, so as to meet the demands of the summer; it was usual to make upfor the time lost during the winter; the workers would put forth their utmoststrength, and would work overtime.
Many anxious questions were asked. What was the matter? Why didn’t thingsget going again? The Working Man for the present offered no explanation,but addressed a covert warning to certain people that they had best not form analliance with want.
Gradually the situation assumed more definite outlines; the employers weremaking preparations of some kind, for which reason they did not resume businesswith any great vigor. In spite of their privations during the winter, theworkers had once again returned some of their own representatives toParliament, and now they were getting ready to strike a blow at the municipalelections. That was the thing to do now! And in the forefront of the battlestood the ever-increasing organization which now included all vocations and thewhole country a single body, and which claimed a decisive voice in the orderingof conditions! The poor man was made to feel how little he could accomplishwithout those who kept everything going!
In the meantime there were rumors that a lock-out was being prepared, affectingevery occupation, and intended to destroy the Federation at one blow. But thatwas inconceivable. They had experienced only small lock-outs, when there wasdisagreement about some particular point. That any one could think of settingthe winter’s distress in opposition to the will of Nature, when every manwas willing to work on the basis of the current tariff—no, the idea wastoo fiendish!
But one distinction was being made. Men who had done any particular work forthe movement would find it more difficult to obtain employment. They would bedegraded, or simply replaced by others, when they applied for their old placesafter the standstill of the winter. Uncertainty prevailed, especially in thosetrades which had the longest connection with the labor organization; one couldnot but perceive this to be a consequence of combination. For that reason thefeeling of insecurity increased. Every one felt that the situation wasunendurable and untenable, and foresaw some malicious stroke. Especially in theiron industry relations were extremely strained; the iron-founders were alwaysa hard-handed lot; it was there that one first saw what was about to develop.
Pelle anxiously watched events. If a conflict were to occur just now, it wouldmean a defeat of the workers, who were without supplies and were stripped tothe buff. With the winter had ceased even the small chance of employment on theramparts; it was obvious that an assault would shatter their cohesion. He didnot express his anxieties to them. They were at bottom like little children; itwould do no good for them to suffer too great anxiety. But to the leaders heinsisted that they must contrive to avoid a conflict, even if it entailedconcessions. For the first time Pelle proposed a retreat!
One week followed another, and the tension increased, but nothing happened. Theemployers were afraid of public opinion. The winter had struck terrible blows;they dared not assume the responsibility for declaring war.
In the “Denmark” machine-works the tension was of long standing. Atthe time when the farmers were compelled, by the conditions of the world-market, to give up the cultivation of cereals for dairy-farming, the directorsof the factory had perceived in advance that the future would lie in thatdirection, and had begun to produce dairy machinery. The factory succeeded inconstructing a centrifugal separator which had a great sale, and this newbranch of industry absorbed an ever-increasing body of workers. Hitherto thebest-qualified men had been selected; they were continually improving themanufacture, and the sales were increasing both at home and abroad. The workersgradually became so skilled in their specialty that the manufacturers foundthemselves compelled to reduce their wages—otherwise they would haveearned too much. This had happened twice in the course of the years, and theworkers had received the hint that was necessary to meet competition in foreignmarkets. But at the same time the centrifugal separators were continuallyincreasing in price, on account of the great demand for them. The workers hadregarded the lowering of their wages as something inevitable, and took painsyet further to increase their skill, so that their earnings had once more cometo represent a good average wage.
Now, immediately after the winter slackness, there were rumors in circulationthat the manufacturers intended once more to decrease the rate of pay. But thistime the men had no intention of accommodating themselves to the decrease.Their resentment against the unrighteousness of this proceeding went to theirheads; they were very near demonstrating at the mere rumor. Pelle, however,succeeded in persuading them that they were confronted by nothing more thanfoolish gossip for which no one was responsible. Afterward, when their fear hadevaporated and all was again going as usual, they came to him and thanked him.
But on the next pay-day there was a notice from the office to the effect thatthe current rate of wages was not in accordance with the times—it was tobe improved. This sounded absolutely innocent, but every one knew what laybehind it.
It was one of the first days of spring. The sun was shining into the vastworkshop, casting great shafts of light across it, and in the blue haze pulleysand belts were revolving. The workers, as they stood at their work, werewhistling in time with the many wheels and the ringing of metal. They were likea flock of birds, who have just landed on a familiar coast and are getting thespring.
Pelle was carrying in some raw material when the news came and extinguished alltheir joy. It was passed on a scrap of paper from man to man, brief andcallous. The managers of the factory wanted to have nothing to do with theorganization, but silently went behind it. All had a period of fourteen days inwhich to subscribe to the new tariff. “No arguments, if youplease—sign, or go!” When the notice came to Pelle all eyes wereturned upon him as though they expected a signal; tools were laid down, but themachinery ran idly for a time. Pelle read the notice and then bent over hiswork again.
During the midday pause they crowded about him. “What now?” theyasked; and their eyes were fixed upon him, while their hands were trembling.“Hadn’t we better pack up and go at once? This shearing will soonbe too much for us, if they do it every time a little wool has grown onus.”
“Wait!” said Pelle. “Just wait! Let the other side doeverything, and let us see how far they will go. Behave as if nothing hadhappened, and get on with your work. You have the responsibility of wives andchildren!”
They grumblingly followed his advice, and went back to their work. Pelle didnot wonder at them; there had been a time when he too would throw down his workif any one imposed on him, even if everything had gone to the devil through it.But now he was responsible for many—which was enough to make a manprudent. “Wait!” he told them over and over again. “To-morrowwe shall know more than we do to-day—it wants thinking over before wedeal with it!”
So they put the new tariff aside and went to work as though nothing hadhappened. The management of the factory treated the matter as settled; and thedirectors went about with a contented look. Pelle wondered at hiscomrades’ behavior; after a few days they were in their usual spirits,indulging in all kinds of pastimes during their meal-time.
As soon as the whistle sounded at noon the machinery stopped running, and theworkers all dropped their tools. A few quickly drew their coats on, intendingto go home for a mouthful of warm food, while some went to the beer-cellars ofthe neighborhood. Those who lived far from their homes sat on the lathe-bedsand ate their food there. When the food was consumed they gathered together ingroups, gossiping, or chaffing one another. Pelle often made use of the middayrest to run over to the “Ark” in order to greet Father Lasse, whohad obtained work in one of the granaries and was now able to get along quitenicely.
One day at noon Pelle was standing in the midst of a group of men, making adrawing of a conceited, arrogant foreman with a scrap of chalk on a large ironplate. The drawing evoked much merriment. Some of his comrades had in themeantime been disputing as to the elevating machinery of a submarine. Pellerapidly erased his caricature and silently sketched an elevation of themachinery in question. He had so often seen it when the vessel lay in theharbor at home. The others were obliged to admit that he was right.
There was a sudden silence as one of the engineers passed through the workshop.He caught sight of the drawing and asked whose work it was.
Pelle had to go to the office with him. The engineer asked him all sorts ofquestions, and was amazed to learn that he had never had lessons in drawing.“Perhaps we could make use of you upstairs here,” he said.“Would you care for that?”
Pelle’s heart gave a sudden leap. This was luck, the real genuine goodfortune that seized upon its man and lifted him straightway into a region ofdazzling radiance! “Yes,” he stammered, “yes, thank you verymuch!” His emotion was near choking him.
“Then come to-morrow at seven—to the drawing-office,” saidthe engineer. “No, what’s to-day? Saturday. Then Mondaymorning.” And so the affair was settled, without any beating about thebush! There was a man after Pelle’s own heart!
When he went downstairs the men crowded about him, in order to hear the result.“Now your fortune’s made!” they said; “they’llput you to machine-drawing now, and if you know your business you’ll getindependent work and become a constructor. That’s the way DirectorJeppesen got on; he started down here on the moulding-floor, and now he’sa great man!” Their faces were beaming with delight in his good fortune.He looked at them, and realized that they regarded him as capable of anything.
He spent the rest of the day as in a dream, and hurried home to share the newswith Ellen. He was quite confused; there was a surging in his ears, as inchildhood, when life suddenly revealed one of its miracles to him. Ellen flungher arms round his neck in her joy; she would not let him go again, but heldhim fast gazing at him wonderingly, as in the old days. “I’vealways known you were intended for something!” she said, looking at himwith pride. “There’s no one like you! And now, only think. But thechildren, they must know too!” And she snatched little sister from hersleep, and informed her what had happened. The child began to cry.
“You are frightening her, you are so delighted,” said Pelle, whowas himself smiling all over his face.
“But now—now we shall mix with genteel people,” said Ellensuddenly, as she was laying the table. “If only I can adapt myself to it!And the children shall go to the middle-class school.”
When Pelle had eaten he was about to sit down to his cobbling.“No!” said Ellen decidedly, taking the work away,“that’s no work for you any longer!”
“But it must be finished,” said Pelle; “we can’tdeliver half-finished work!”
“I’ll soon finish it for you; you just put your best clothes on;you look like a—”
“Like a working-man, eh?” said Pelle, smiling.
Pelle dressed himself and went off to the “Ark” to give FatherLasse the news. Later he would meet the others at his father-in-law’s.Lasse was at home, and was eating his supper. He had fried himself an egg overthe stove, and there was beer and brandy on the table. He had rented a littleroom off the long corridor, near crazy Vinslev’s; there was no window,but there was a pane of glass over the door leading into the gloomy passage.The lime was falling from the walls, so that the cob was showing in greatpatches.
“Well, well,” said Lasse, delighted, “so it’s come tothis! I’ve often wondered to myself why you had been given suchunprofitable talents— such as lying about and painting on the walls or onpaper—you, a poor laborer’s son. Something must be intended bythat, I used to tell myself, in my own mind; perhaps it’s the gift of Godand he’ll get on by reason of it! And now it really seems as ifit’s to find its use.”
“It’s not comfortable for you here, father!” said Pelle.“But I shall soon take you away from here, whether you like it or not.When we’ve paid off a few of the winter’s debts we shall be movinginto a three-roomed apartment, and then you’ll have a room for your ownuse; but you mustn’t go to work any longer then. You must be prepared forthat.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve nothing against living with you, so long asI’m not taking the bread out of others’ mouths. Ah, no, Pelle, itwon’t be difficult for me to give up my work; I have overworked myselfever since I could crawl; for seventy years almost I’ve toiled for mydaily bread— and now I’m tired! So many thanks for your kindintentions. I shall pass the time well with the children. Send me word wheneveryou will.”
The news was already known in the “Ark,” and the inmates came up towish him luck as he was leaving. “You won’t he running in here anymore and gossiping with us when once you are settled in your newcalling,” they said. “That would never do! But don’t quiteforget all about us just because we are poor!”
“No, no, Pelle has been through so many hungry times with us poor folks;he’s not one of those who forget old friendship!” they themselvesreplied.
Only now, when he had left the “Ark,” did he realize that there wassomething to which he was bidding farewell. It was the cordial community withall his kind, their radiant faith in him, and his own belief in his missionthere; he had known a peculiar joy in the half-embittered recklessness, thecommunity of feeling, and the struggle. Was he not, so to speak, the Prince ofpoverty, to whom they all looked up, and of whom they all expected that hewould lead them into a strange world? And could he justify himself for leavingthem all in the lurch because of his own good fortune? Perhaps he was reallyappointed to lead the movement—perhaps he was the only one who could doso!
This belief had always been faintly glimmering in the back of his mind, hadstood behind his endurance in the conflict, and behind all the gladness withwhich he bore privation. Was he in his arrogance to repudiate the place thathad formed him? No, he was not so blatant as all that! There was plenty besidehimself capable of seeing the movement through—and Fortune had tapped himon the shoulder. “March forward, Pelle!” an inward voice exhortedhim. “What have you to consider? You have no right to thrust success awayfrom you? Do you want to ruin yourself without profiting others? You have beena good comrade, but here your ways divide. God Himself has given you talent;even as a child you used to practise it; no one will gain by your remainingpoor. Choose your own path!”
Yes, Pelle had chosen readily enough! He knew very well that he must acceptthis good fortune, whatever the world might say to it. Only it hurt him toleave the others behind! He was bound to poverty by such intimate ties; he feltthe solidarity of the poor so keenly that it hurt him to tear himself away.Common cares had made him a man, and the struggle had given him a peculiar andeffective strength. But now he would attend no more meetings! It would be drollindeed if he were to have nothing more to do with the Cause, but were to belongto the other side—he, Pelle, who had been a flaming torch! No, he wouldnever leave them in the lurch, that he knew; even if he were to climb ever sohigh— and he entertained no doubts as to that—he would always feelfor his old comrades and show them the way to obtain good relations betweenworker and employer.
Ellen saw how serious he was—perhaps she guessed that he was feelingremorseful. She would help him to get over that.
“Can’t we have your father here to-morrow?” she said.“He can lie on the long chair in the living-room until we move into ournew home. It isn’t right to let him stay where he is, and in your newsituation you couldn’t do it.”
XXVII
The unrest increased in the workshops round about; no one who had anything todo with the organization felt really secure. It was evidently the intention ofthe employers to drive the workers to extremes, and thereby to force them tobreak the peace. “They want to destroy the trades unions, so that theycan scrape the butter off our bread again,” said the workers. “Theythink it’ll be easier now that the winter has made us thankful for a drycrust! But that’s an infernal lie!”
The masses grew more and more embittered; everywhere they were ready for afight, and asked nothing better than to plunge into it. The women wept andshuddered; most of them understood only that the sufferings of the winter weregoing to begin all over again. They took desperate steps to prevent this; theythrew their shawls over their heads and rushed off to the offices, to themanufacturers, and pleaded with them to avert the disaster. The centralCommittee counselled a peaceful demeanor and caution. Everything depended upontheir having the right on their side in the opinion of the public.
It was easy for Pelle to follow all that was happening, although he now stoodoutside the whole movement. He went to work in his good clothes andelastic-sided boots, and did not need to arrive before seven, while the othershad to be there at six—which at once altered his point of view.
He would soon be trusted with rule and compasses; for the present he was keptbusy copying a few worn-out working-drawings, or “filling in.” Hefelt in a curiously exalted frame of mind—as though he had been slightlyintoxicated; this was the first time in his life that he had been employed onwork that was of a clean nature and allowed him to wear good clothes. It wasparticularly curious to survey life from where he stood; a new perspective layopen before him. The old life had nothing in prospect but a miserable old age;but this led upward. Here he could achieve what he willed—even thehighest place! What if he finally crept up to the very topmost point, andestablished an eight-hour day and a decent day’s wage? Then he would showthem that one could perfectly well climb up from below without forgetting hisorigin and becoming a bloodsucker! They should still drink to the health ofPelle, their good comrade, although he would have left their ranks.
At home there was much to be done; as soon as he crossed the threshold he wasthe prisoner of Ellen’s hundred and one schemes. He must have a new suitof clothes—a gray suit for the office, and more linen; and at least twicea week he must go to the barber; he could no longer sit down and scrape himselfwith an old razor with an edge like a saw. Pelle was made to feel that it wasnot so easy after all to become an “upper- classer,” as he calledit.
And all this cost money. There was the same searching, the same racking ofone’s brains to find the necessary shillings as during the dearth of thewinter famine; but this time it was quite amusing; there was a cheerful purposein it all, and it would only last until he had properly settled down. Lasselooked very respectable; he was wearing Pelle’s second-best suit, whichEllen had cleaned for him, and a black watered silk cravat, with a whitewaterproof collar, and well-polished slippers on his feet. These last were hisold watertight boots—those in which Pelle had left Stone Farm. They werestill in existence, but had been cut down to form house-slippers. The legs ofthem now formed part of a pair of clogs.
Lasse was happiest with the children, and he looked quite an aged grandfathernow, with his wrinkled face and his kind glance, which was now a littleweak-sighted. When Young Lasse hid himself in the opposite corner of the roomFather Lasse could not see him, and the young rascal took advantage of thefact; he could never understand those eyes, which could not see farther thanacross the table, and was always asking questions about them.
“It’s because I have seen too much misery in my life,” theold man would always reply.
Otherwise he was quite overflowing with happiness, and his old worn-out bodymanifested its gratitude, for he began to put on flesh again; and his cheekshad soon grown quite full. He had a peculiar knack for looking after thechildren; Pelle and Ellen could feel quite easy as they went about theirmultitudinous affairs. There were a hundred things that had to be seen tobefore they could move into the new home. They thought of raising a loan of afew hundred kroner. “Father will go security for us,” said Ellen.
“Yes, then I should have the means of taking properdrawing-lessons,” said Pelle; “I particularly need to getthoroughly grounded.”
On Saturday the term of the old tariff expired. The temper of the workers wasbadly strained, but each completed his work, and contained himself and waited.At noon the foreman went round asking each man for his answer. They refused allinformation, as agreed, but in the afternoon three men formed a deputation andentered the office, asking if they could speak with the manager. As he enteredMunck, the engine- driver, stepped forward as spokesman, and began: “Wehave come in the name of our comrades.” He could get no further; themanager let fly at him, pointing to the stairs, and crying, “Idon’t argue with my work- people!”
So they went down again. The men stared up at them—this was quick work!The burly Munck moved his lips, as though he were speaking, but no one couldhear a word on account of the frightful din of the machinery. With a firmstride he went through the shop, picked up a hammer, and struck three blows onthe great steel gong. They sounded like the stroke of doom, booming through thewhole factory. At the same moment the man’s naked, blackened arms werelifted to strike the belts from the live pulleys. The machinery ceased running,and the roar of it died away; it was as still as though Death had passedthrough the workshop. The dense network of belts that crossed the shop in alldirections quivered and hung slack; the silence yawned horribly in the greatroom.
The foremen ran from bench to bench, shouting and hardly knowing what to do.Word was sent to the office, while the workers went to their buckets and washedthemselves, silent and melancholy as a funeral procession. Their faces wereuncommunicative. Did they perhaps foresee that those three blows were thesignal for a terrible conflict? Or were they merely following their first angryimpulse? They knew enough, at all events; it was stamped upon their faces thatthis was fate—the inevitable. They had summoned the winter because theywere driven to it, and the winter would return once more to ravage his victims.
They reappeared, washed and clean, each with his bundle under his arm, andstood in silence waiting their turn to be paid. The foreman ran to and froapportioning the wages with nervous hands, comparing time-sheets and reckoningthe sum due to each. The manager came down the stairs of his office, proud andunapproachable, and walked through the shop; the workers made way for him. Helooked sharply around him, as though he would imprint the likeness of everyindividual worker on his mind, laid his hand on the shoulder of one of theforemen, and said in a loud voice, so that all heard him, “Make haste,now, Jacobsen, so that we can be rid of these fellows quickly!” Theworkers slowly turned their serious faces toward him, and here and there a fistwas clenched. They left the factory one by one, as soon as they were paid.
Outside they gathered in little groups, and relieved their feelings by givingvent to significant exclamations. “Did you see the old man? He wassavage, he was; he’ll hold out quite a while before we get backagain!”
Pelle was in a curious frame of mind; he knew that now the fight had begun;first blood had been drawn, and one blow would follow on another. Young Lasse,who heard his step on the stairs, ran into his arms as he reached home; butPelle did not notice him.
“You are so solemn!” said Ellen, “has anythinghappened?” He told her quietly.
“Good God!” she cried, shuddering. “Now the unemployment willbegin all over again! Thank God it doesn’t affect us!” Pelle didnot reply. He sat down in silence to his supper; sat hanging his head as thoughashamed of himself.
XXVIII
A most agitating time followed. For a number of years the conflict had, so tospeak, been preparing itself, and the workers had made ready for it, had longedfor it, had sought to precipitate it, in order to determine once for allwhether they were destined always to be slaves and to stand still, or whetherthere was a future for them. Now the conflict had come—and had taken themall by surprise; they would willingly have concluded peace just now.
But there was no prospect of a peaceful solution of any kind. The employersfound the occasion favorable for setting their house in order; the matter wasto be fought out now! This was as good as telling the men to go. Every morningthere was news of a fresh lot of workers turned into the streets, or leaving oftheir own accord.
One trade involved another. The iron-masters made common cause with the“Denmark” factory, and declared a lock-out of the machine-smiths;then the moulders and pattern-makers walked out, and other branches of theindustry joined the strike; they all stood by one another.
Pelle could survey them all from his point of vantage. Old memories of battlerose to his mind; his blood grew warm, and he caught himself, up in thedrawing-office, making plans of campaign for this trade or that. His was thequick-fighting blood that assumes the offensive, and he noted their blunders;they were not acting with sufficient energy. They were still exhausted, andfound it hard to reconcile themselves to another period of unemployment. Theymade no counter-attack that could do any damage. The employers, who were actingenergetically under the leadership of the iron industry, enjoyed from thebeginning a considerable ascendancy. The “Denmark” factory was keptrunning, but the trade was on its last legs.
It was kept alive by the help of a few strike-breakers, and every one of theofficials of the company who had the requisite knowledge was set to workdownstairs; even the manager of the machine department had donned a blouse andwas working a lathe. It was a matter of sapping the courage of the strikers,while proving to them that it was possible to do without them.
In the drawing-office and the counting-house all was confusion; thestrike-breakers had all to be obtained from abroad; while others ran away andhad to be replaced. Under these circumstances Pelle had to look after himselfand assimilate what he could. This did not suit him; it was a long way to thetop, and one couldn’t learn quickly enough.
One day he received the summons to come downstairs and lend a hand in thecentrifugal separator department. The workers had made common cause with themachine-smiths. This summons aroused him from delightful dreams of the future.He was swiftly awakened. “I am no strike-breaker!” he replied,offended.
Then the engineer himself came up. “Do you realize that you are refusingto perform your duty?” he said.
“I can’t take work away from my comrades,” replied Pelle, ina low voice.
“They may think that very nice of you. But now those men down there areno longer your comrades. You are a salaried employee, and as such you mustserve the firm wherever you are asked to do so.”
“But I can’t do that! I can’t strike the bread out of otherfolks’ hands.”
“Then your whole future is at stake. Think a moment, man! I am sorry foryou, for you might have done something here; but I can’t save you fromthe results of your own obstinacy. We require absolute obedience here.”
The engineer stood waiting for his answer, but Pelle had nothing to say.
“Now, I’ll go so far as to give you till to-morrow to think overit— although that’s against the rules of the factory. Now think itover well, and don’t hang on to this stupid sentimentality of yours. Thefirst thing is to stand by those you belong to, through thick and thin. Well,till to-morrow.”
Pelle went. He did not want to go home before the usual time, only to be metwith a string of unseasonable questions. They would come soon enough in anycase. So he strolled through the mercantile quarter and gazed at the shipping.Well, now his dream of success was shattered—and it had been a short one.He could see Ellen’s look of disappointment, and an utter mentaldepression came over him. He was chiefly sorry for her; as for him, there wasnothing to be said—it was fate! It never occurred to him for a moment tochoose between his comrades and the future; he had quite forgotten that theengineer had given him time for reflection.
At the usual time he strolled homeward. Ellen welcomed him cheerfully andlight-heartedly; she was living in a continual thrill of delight; and it wasquite touching to see what trouble she was taking to fit herself for adifferent stratum of society. Her movements were delightful to watch, and hermouth had assumed an expression which was intended to betoken refinement. Itsuited her delightfully, and Pelle was always seized by a desire to kiss herlips and so disarrange the expression; but to-day he sat down to his supper insilence. Ellen was accustomed to put aside his share of the midday dinner, andto warm it up for him when he came home in the evening; at midday he atebread-and- butter in the office.
“When we have once got properly settled we’ll all have dinner atsix o’clock; that is much more comfortable.”
“That’s what the fine folks do, I’ve been told,” saidLasse. “That will be pleasant, to give it a try.”
Lasse was sitting with Young Lasse on his knee, telling him funny stories.Little Lasse laughed, and every time he laughed his sister screeched withdelight in her cradle, as though she understood it all. “What is it to benow, then—the story of the old wife? Then you must listen carefully, oryour ears won’t grow! Well, then, the old wife.”
“Wife!” said Young Lasse, with the very accent of the old man.
“Yes, the old wife!” repeated Lasse, and then all three laughed.
“‘What shall I do first?’ said the old wife, when she went towork; ‘eat or sleep? I think I’ll eat first. What shall I dofirst?’ asked the old wife, when she had eaten; ‘shall I sleepfirst or work? I think I’ll sleep first.’ And then she slept, untilit was evening, and then she went home and went to bed.”
Ellen went up to Pelle and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve been to see my former mistress, and she is going to help meto turn my wedding-dress into a visiting-dress,” she said. “Then weshall only need to buy a frock-coat for you.”
Pelle looked up slowly. A quiver passed over his features. Poor thing! She wasthinking about visiting-dresses! “You can save yourself thetrouble,” he said, in a low voice. “I’ve finished with theoffice. They asked me to turn strike-breaker, so I left.”
“Ach, ach!” said Lasse, and he was near letting the child fall, hiswithered hands were trembling so. Ellen gazed at Pelle as though turned tostone. She grew paler and paler, but not a sound came from her lips. She lookedas though she would fall dead at his feet.
XXIX
Pelle was once more among his own people; he did not regret that fortune hadwithdrawn her promise; at heart he was glad. After all, this was where hebelonged. He had played a great part in the great revolt—was he to beexcluded from the battle?
The leaders welcomed him. No one could draw the people as he could, when itcame to that; the sight of him inspired them with a cheerful faith, and gavethem endurance, and a fearless pugnacity. And he was so skilled, too, in makingplans!
The first thing every morning he made his way to the lock-out office, whencethe whole campaign was directed; here all the many threads ran together. Thesituation for the moment was considered, men who had precise knowledge of theenemy’s weak points were called together, in order to give information,and a comprehensive plan of campaign was devised. At secret meetings, to whichtrustworthy members of the various trades were invited, all sorts of materialfor offence was collected— for the attack upon the employers, and forcarrying on the newspaper agitation. It was a question of striking at theblood-suckers, and those who were loose in the saddle! There were trades whichthe employers kept going for local reasons—these must be hunted out andbrought to a standstill, even at the cost of increasing unemployment. They weremaking energetic preparations for war, and it was not the time to be squeamishabout their weapons. Pelle was in his element. This was something better thanruining a single shoemaker, even if he was the biggest in the city! He was richin ideas, and never wavered in carrying them into execution. Warfare waswarfare!
This was the attacking side; but, permeated as he was by a sense of community,he saw clearly that the real battle was for maintenance. The utmost foresightand widely comprehensive instructions were required if the masses were to lastout the campaign; in the long run it would be a question of endurance! Foreignstrike-breakers had to be kept at a distance by prompt communications to theparty newspapers of the different countries, and by the setting of pickets inthe railway stations and on the steamers. For the first time the workers tookthe telegraph into their own service. The number of the foreign strikebreakersmust by every possible means be kept down, and in the first place supplies mustbe assured, so that the unemployed masses could keep famine at bay.
In a vision, Pelle had beheld the natural solidarity of the workers extendedover the whole earth, and now this vision was of service to him. The leadersissued a powerful manifesto to the workers of Denmark; pointing to the abyssfrom which they had climbed and to the pinnacles of light toward which theywere striving upward; and warning them, in impressive phrases, to stand firmand to hold together. A statement as to the origin of the lock-out and theintention which lay behind it was printed and distributed throughout thecountry, with appeal for assistance and support, in the name of freedom! And bymeans of appeals to the labor parties of foreign countries they reminded thepeople of the vast solidarity of labor. It was a huge machine to set in motion;federation had increased from one small trade union until it comprehended thewhole kingdom, and now they were striving to comprehend the laboringpopulations of the whole world, in order to win them over as confederates inthe campaign. And men who had risen from the masses and were still sharing thesame conditions, were managing all this! They had kept step with the rapidgrowth of the movement, and they were still growing.
The feeling that they were well prepared inspired them with courage and theprospect of a favorable result. From the country offers of employment for thelocked-out workers daily reached the central office. Money was senttoo—and assistance in the form of provisions; and many families outsidethe capital offered to take in the children of unemployed parents. Remittancesof money came from abroad, and the liberal circles of the capital sympathizedwith the workers; and in the workers’ quarter of the city shopkeepers andpublicans began to collect for the Federation.
The workers displayed an extraordinary readiness to undergo sacrifices. Booksof coupons were circulated everywhere in the workshops, and thousands ofworkers gave each week a fourth part of their modest wages. The locked-outworkers left their work with magnificent courage; the sense of community madethem heroic. Destitute though they were as a result of the hard winter, theyagreed, during the first two weeks, to do without assistance. Many of themspared the treasury altogether, helping themselves as well as they could,seeking a little private employment, or going out into the country to work onthe land. The young unmarried men went abroad.
The employers did what they could to cope with all these shifts. They forbadethe merchants and contractors to supply those who worked at home on their ownaccount with materials for their work; and secret agents were despatched allover the country to the small employers and the farmers, in order to prejudicethem against the locked-out workers; and the frontier of the country wascovered with placards.
Their intention was obvious enough—an iron ring was to be drawn round theworkers, and once imprisoned therein they could do nothing but keep starvationat bay until they had had enough, and surrendered. This knowledge increasedtheir resistance. They were lean with wandering through the wilderness, butthey were just in the mood for a fight. Many of them had not until nowunderstood the entire bearings of the campaign; the new ideas had been stirringwithin them, but in a fragmentary and isolated condition—as an expressionof a dumb feeling that the promised land was at hand at last. Often it was justone single word that had fixed itself in their minds, and had to serve toexpress the whole position. Any one might approach them with plausiblearguments and strike it from under them, and shatter the theory to which theyhad clung; but faith itself remained, and the far-reaching concord; deep intheir hearts was the dim, immovable knowledge that they were chosen to enterinto the time of promise.
And now everything was gradually becoming plain to them. The battle shed lightboth backward and forward. It illumined their existence in all its harshness.Life was the same as it had always been, but now it was revealed so plainlythat all could see it. All the many whips and scorns of life had been boundtogether in one vast scourge—the scourge of famine—which was todrive them back into the midst of poverty! Want was to be set upon them in itscompactest form! This was the last, most extreme weapon; it confirmed them inthe certainty that they were now on the right track, and near the goal. Thenight was always darkest before the break of day!
There were all sorts of things that they could understand now. People used togo about saying that the Germans were the hereditary enemy, and that theFatherland was taking the lead of all other countries. But now the employerswere sending to Germany for troops of hirelings, and were employing them todrive their own countrymen into a state of poverty. All that talk aboutpatriotic feeling had been only fine words! There were only twonations—the oppressors and the oppressed!
That was how things appeared on closer inspection! One could never be very sureof what those above one told one—and yet all teaching came from them! Abrave lot the clergy were—they knew very well which master they had toserve! No, the people ought to have had their own schools, where the childrenwould learn the new ideas instead of religion and patriotism! Then there wouldlong ago have been an end of the curse of poverty! So they profited by thecampaign and their compulsory idleness in order to think things over, and toendeavor to solve all manner of problems.
The specter of hunger presently began to go from house to house, but the resultwas not what was expected; it awakened only hatred and defiance. It wasprecisely in this direction that they were invincible! In the course of timethey had learned to suffer—they had learned nothing more thoroughly; andthis came to their help now. They had an inexhaustible fund to draw upon, fromwhich they could derive their strength to resist; they were not to be defeated.Weren’t they nearly ready to surrender? Very well—another thousandworkers on the streets! But the distress, to all appearance, became no greaterthan before; they had learned to endure their privations in decency—thatwas their share in the increasing culture. One saw no obtrusive signs of want;they compromised with it in secret, and appeared full of courage. This weakenedthe faith of their opponents in the infallible nature of their means.
They even adopted hunger as their own weapon, boycotting the employers andtheir dependents, striking the enemy a blow they were familiar with! Many agreat employer’s door was marked with a cross, and all behind it weredoomed to ruin.
It was as though the courage of the people increased in proportion as faminethreatened them more closely. No one could tell how long this would last; butthey would make hay as long as the sun shone! Their clothes were still tidy,and in the early spring there were many excursions; the people went forthsinging, with banners at their head, and singing they came home.
This was the first time they had ever enjoyed their freedom, although there waswork enough to be done—it was their first holiday! As they held the whiphand through their purchasing capacity, they boycotted all the businessconcerns of their own quarter which did not array themselves on the side of theworkers. Their hatred was aroused; it was “for us or against us”;all must declare themselves by taking sides. The small shopkeepers concealedtheir convictions—if they had any—and rivalled one another infriendliness toward the workers. On their counters lay books of coupons forthose who would contribute to the funds, and some of them gave a percentage oftheir own takings. There was plenty of time to keep a strict eye on such; thepeople’s hatred was aroused at last, and it grew more and more bitter.
The leaders held back and counselled prudence. But there was somethingintoxicating in this battle for bare life—and for happiness! Somethingthat went to the head and tempted them to hazard all on the cast of the dice.The leaders had given great attention to the problem of restricting the numberof idle hands—it was difficult for them to procure sufficient funds. Butthose workers who still had work to do forsook it, in order to join themselves,in blind solidarity, to their locked-out comrades. They thought it was requiredof them!
One day the masons made an unexpected demand that an hour should be struck offthe day’s work. They received a refusal. But that evening they knockedoff at six instead of seven. The men were unreasonable: to demand shorter hoursin the slack season following on a hard winter!
This move took the leaders by surprise. They feared that it might diminish thegeneral sympathy for the workers. It surprised them particularly that theprudent and experienced Stolpe had not opposed this demand. As president of theorganization for many years, he had great influence over the men; he must tryto persuade them to go to work again. Pelle opened negotiations with him.
“That is not my business,” Stolpe replied. “I did not proposethe cessation of work, but at the general meeting the majority was in favor ofit—and with that there’s no more to be said. I don’t opposemy comrades.”
“But that’s perverse of you,” said Pelle. “You are theresponsible person, and your trade has the most favorable conditions oflabor—and you ought to remember the conflict in which we areengaged.”
“Yes, the conflict! Of course we thought of it. And you are right, I havea good and comfortable home, because my craft is in a good position; and wemasons have obtained good conditions, and we earn good money. But are we toenjoy ourselves and look on while the others are fighting for dry bread? No, weare with them when it comes to a fight!”
“But the support you were giving—it was ten thousand kroner a week,and now we shall have to do without it! Your action may have incalculableconsequences for us. You must put an end to this, father-in-law! You must seethat the majority doesn’t have its way.”
“That would be diplomatic, wouldn’t it? But you seem anxious toside with our opponents! We hold the suffrage in honor, and it is the suffragethat is to reform society. If once one begins to meddle with thevoting-papers!—”
“But that isn’t necessary in the least! The people aren’treally clear as to what they are doing—you can’t expect anyquickness of perception from them! You could demand a fresh vote—if Icould first have a talk with them about the campaign!”
“So you think we couldn’t see what we were doing!” repliedStolpe, much offended. “But we can accept the consequences—we cando that! And you want to get up on the platform and talk them silly, and thenthey are to vote the other way round! No, no nonsense here! They votedaccording to their convictions—and with that the matter’s settled,whether it’s right or wrong! It won’t be altered!”
Pelle had to give in; the old man was not to be moved from his point of view.The masons increased the unemployed by a few thousand men.
The employers profited by this aggression, which represented them to the publicin a favorable aspect, in order to strike a decisive blow. The universallock-out was declared.
XXX
At home matters were going badly with Pelle. They had not yet recovered fromthe winter when he was drawn into the conflict; and the preparations for hisnew position had plunged them into debt. Pelle received the same relief as theother locked-out workers—ten to twelve kroner a week—and out ofthis Ellen had to provide them with food and firing. She thought he ought, asleader, to receive more than the others, but Pelle did not wish to enjoy otherconditions than those allotted to the rest.
When he came home, thoroughly exhausted after his strenuous day, he was met byEllen’s questioning eyes. She said nothing, but her eyes obstinatelyrepeated the same question day after day. It was as though they asked him:“Well, have you found employment?” This irritated him, for she knewperfectly well that he was not looking for work, that there was none to lookfor. She knew what the situation was as well as he did, but she persistentlybehaved as though she knew nothing of all that he and his comrades wereendeavoring to achieve, and when he turned the conversation on to that subjectshe preserved a stubborn silence; she did not wish to hear anything about it.
When the heat of battle rose to Pelle’s head, there was no one with whomhe would rather have shared his opinions and his plans of campaign. In otherdirections she had urged him on, and he had felt this as a confirmation andaugmentation of his own being; but now she was silent. She had him and her homeand the children, and all else besides was nothing to her. She had shared theprivations of the winter with him and had done so cheerfully; they wereundeserved. But now he could get work whenever he wished. She had resumed herdumb opposition, and this had an oppressive effect upon him; it took somethingfrom the joy of battle.
When he reached home and related what had been said and done during the day, headdressed himself to Lasse. She moved about the home immersed in her own cares,as though she were dumb; and she would suddenly interrupt his conversation withthe statement that this or that was lacking. So he weaned himself from hiscommunicative habits, and carried on all his work away from home. If there waswriting to be done, or if he had negotiations to accomplish, he selected sometavern where he would be free of her constraining presence. He avoided tellingher of his post of confidence, and although she could not help hearing about itwhen away from home she behaved as if she knew nothing. For her he was stillmerely Pelle the working-man, who shirked supporting his wife and children.This obstinate attitude pained him; and the bitterness of his home life madehim throw himself with greater energy into the struggle. He became a hard anddangerous opponent.
Lasse used to gaze at them unhappily. He would willingly have intervened, buthe did not know how to set about it; and he felt himself superfluous. Every dayhe donned his old clothes and went out in order to offer his services as casuallaborer, but there were plenty of idle hands younger than his. And he wasafraid of obtaining employment that might take the bread out of otherfolks’ mouths. He could not understand the campaign, and he found itdifficult to understand what was forbidden ground; but for Pelle he felt anunconditional respect. If the lad said this or the other, then it was right;even if one had to go hungry for it—the lad was appointed to some specialend.
One day he silently left the house; Pelle scarcely noticed it, so absorbed washe. “He must have gone back to the old clothes woman at the‘Ark,’” he thought; “it’s by no means amusinghere.”
Pelle had charge of the external part of the campaign; he knew nothing ofbookkeeping or administration, but simply threw himself into the fight. Even asa child of eight he had been faced with the problem of mastering life by hisown means, and he had accomplished it, and this he profited by now. He enjoyedthe confidence of the masses; his speech sounded natural to them, so that theybelieved in him even when they did not understand him. If there was any one whodid not wish to follow where Pelle led, he had to go just the same; there wasno time just now for lengthy argument; where civil words didn’t answer hetook more energetic means.
The campaign consisted in the first place of the federation of the masses, andPelle was continually away from home; wherever anything was afoot, there he putin an appearance. He had inaugurated a huge parade, every morning all thelocked-out workers reported themselves at various stations in the city, andthere the roll was called, every worker being entered according to his Union.By means of this vast daily roll-call of nearly forty thousand men it waspossible to discover which of them had deserted in order to act asstrike-breakers. A few were always absent, and those who had a good excuse hadto establish it in order to draw their strike-pay. Pelle was now here, nowthere, and always unexpected, acting on impulse as he did. “LightningPelle,” they called him, on account of the suddenness of his movements.His actions were not based upon long deliberations; nevertheless, he had aradical comprehension of the entire movement; one thing grew out of another,naturally, until the whole was more than any conscious intelligence couldcomprehend. And Pelle grew with it, and by virtue of his impulsiveness was asummary of it all.
There was plenty to be done; at the roll-call all those who failed to attendhad to be entered, and those who knew anything about them must giveinformation. This man had gone abroad; that one had gone into the country, tolook for work; so far, so good. If any fell away and acted as strike-breaker,instructions were immediately given for his punishment. In this way Pelle keptthe ranks closed. There were many weak elements among them—degenerate,ignorant fellows who didn’t understand the importance of the movement,but a strong controlling hand and unfailing justice made it a serious matterfor them to break away.
At the outset he had organized with Stolpe’s assistance a large body ofthe best workers as pickets or watchmen. These were zealous, fanatical membersof the various trades, who had taken part in the organization of their ownprofessional organization, and knew every individual member thereof. Theystationed themselves early in the morning in the neighborhood of the variousplaces of employment, marking those who went to work there and doing their bestto prevent them. They were in constant conflict with the police, who put everypossible obstacle in their way.
Morten he met repeatedly. Privation had called him out of his retirement. Hedid not believe that the campaign would lead to better conditions, and on thataccount he took no part in it. But want he knew as did no other; his insight inthat direction was mysteriously keen. The distribution of relief in the form ofprovisions could not have been entrusted to better hands. He superintended thewhole business of distribution, but what he liked best was to stand, knife inhand, cutting up pork for the families of locked-out workers. The portions werestrictly weighed; none the less, the women always thronged about him. There wasa blessing in that faint smile of his—they felt sure his portions werethe biggest!
Morten and Pelle were in disagreement on almost every point. Even now, wheneverything depended on a strict cohesion, Morten could never be trusted tobehave with severity. “Remember, they aren’t of age yet,” hewould say continually. And it could not be gainsaid that there were many towhom the conflict was unintelligible—they understood nothing of it,although otherwise they were thoughtful and intelligent enough. These weremostly people who had come in from the provinces at a somewhat advanced age;indeed some had been small employers there. For them trades unionism was a sortof lynch law, and they profited by the strike in all simplicity in order toobtain well-paid employment. When they were reviled as strikebreakers or“gentlemen,” they laughed like little children who are threatenedwith a revolver. Slow-witted as they were, in this respect, they took theconsequences to heart, although they could not see the reason for them. Thesemust be compelled to obey.
The iron industry was doing its utmost to keep going, as a trade which mustfulfill its contracted engagements, under penalty of seeing the business fallinto foreign hands. This industry had if possible to be disabled. The picketswere at work, and The Working Man published the names and addresses ofthe strike-breakers. When these left the factory they encountered a crowd ofpeople who treated them with scorn and contempt; they had to be escorted by thepolice. But the resentment aroused by their treachery followed them home evento the barracks they lived in. The wives and children of the locked-out workersresumed the battle and carried on hostilities against the families of thestrike- breakers, so that they had to move. One saw them of a night, with alltheir possessions on a handcart, trudging away to seek a new home under coverof the darkness. But the day revealed them, and again they were fugitives,until the police took them in hand and found lodging for them.
One day a large factory by the North Bridge resumed operations with the help offoreign labor and strike-breakers. Pelle set to work to prepare a warmreception for the workers when they went homeward, but in the course of the daya policeman who was friendly to the workers tipped him the wink that twohundred police would be concealed in a neighboring school, ready for theworkers’ departure.
In the afternoon people began to collect—unemployed workers, poor women,and children. They came early, for it well might be that the workers would bereleased an hour before their time, in order to avoid a clash, and they weremissing nothing by waiting there. Finally several thousand people stood beforethe gates of the factory, and the police were moving to and fro through thecrowd, which stood many men deep, but they had to give up the effort to drivethem asunder. The street urchins began to make an uproar, and to egg thewatchers on. They felt the need of warming themselves a little, so theygradually began to bait the police.
“Hullo, there!” suddenly shouted a mighty voice. “In theschool over there are two hundred police, waiting for us to make a disturbance,so that they can come and use their truncheons on us. Hadn’t we betterleave them where they are? I think it’s quite as well they should go backto school for a time!”
“Hurrah!” they cried. “Hurrah! Long live‘Lightning’!” A movement went through the crowd.“That’s Pelle!” The whisper passed from mouth to mouth, andthe women stood on tiptoe to see him.
Pelle and Stolpe were standing against a wall, surrounded by a few dozenpickets. The police went up to them and reprimanded them. They had orders tohinder the picketing, but they had no desire to meddle with Pelle. They livedin the workers’ quarter, were at home there, and a word from him wouldmake the city impossible for them.
The usual time for stopping work came round, but the workers were not releasedfrom the factory. The crowd used its wits to keep itself warm; punning remarksconcerning strike-breakers and capitalists buzzed through the air. But suddenlyan alarm ran through the crowd. The street urchins, who are always the first toknow everything, were whistling between their fingers and running down the sidestreets. Then the crowd began to move, and the police followed at a quickmarch, keeping to the middle of the street. The factory had discharged theworkers by a back door. They were moving down Guldberg Street by now,disheartened and with never a glance behind them, while a whole escort ofpolice accompanied them. They were soon overtaken and brought home to theaccompaniment of a sinister concert, which now and again was interrupted bycries of, “Three cheers for the gentlemen!”
The pickets walked in a long file, close to the procession, zealously occupiedin noting each individual worker, while Pelle moved in the midst of the crowd,endeavoring to prevent over-hasty action. There was need to be careful. Severalmen were still in prison because during the winter they had come to blows withthe strike-breakers, and the police had received stringent orders from theauthorities. The press of the propertied classes was daily calling for strictermeasures, demanding that every meeting in the streets, and especially beforethe gates of a factory, should be broken up by the police.
Now and then a strike-breaker parted from the squad and ran into the door ofhis dwelling, followed by a long whistle.
Among the workers was a solitary, elderly man, still powerful, whom Pellerecognized. He kept at the extreme edge of the police, walking heavily, withbowed head, along the pavement close to the houses. His hair was quite gray,and his gait was almost crippled. This was Mason Hansen, Stolpe’s oldcomrade and fellow-unionist, whom Pelle had interviewed in the winter, in thehope of persuading him to refrain from strikebreaking.
“It’s going badly with him,” thought Pelle, involuntarilykeeping his eyes on him. The results of strike-breaking had dealt hardly withhim.
By St. Hans Street he turned the corner, winking at the policeman who was aboutto follow him, and went down the street alone, looking neither to right norleft, embarrassed, and with hanging head. Every time a child cried aloud, hestarted. Then he stood as though riveted to the ground, for in front of hisdoor a heap of poverty-stricken household goods lay in the gutter. A crowd ofgaping children stood round the heap, and in the midst of the group stood ayoungish woman, with four children, who were keeping tearful watch over theheap of trash. The man pressed through the crowd and exchanged a few words withthe woman, then clenched his fists and shook them threateningly at the tenementhouse.
Pelle went up to him. “Things aren’t going well with you,comrade,” he said, laying his hand on the other’s shoulder.“And you are much too good for what you are doing. You had better comewith me and re-enter the organization.”
The man slowly turned his head. “Oh, it’s you!” he said,shaking Pelle’s hand away with a jerk. “And you seem as cool andimpudent as ever. Poverty hasn’t dealt hardly with you! It’s not atall a bad business, growing fat on the pence of the workers, eh?”
Pelle grew crimson with anger, but he controlled himself. “Your insultsdon’t hurt me,” he said. “I have gone hungry for the Causewhile you have been playing the turncoat. But that will be forgotten ifyou’ll come with me.”
The man laughed bitterly, pointing at the tenement-house. “You’dbetter go and give them a medal. Three months now they’ve tormented meand made hell hot for my wife and children, in order to drive us away. And asthat didn’t answer, they went to the landlord and forced him to give menotice. But Hansen is obstinate—he wouldn’t be shown the door. Sonow they’ve got the bailiffs to turn me out, see?” He gave a hollowlaugh. “But these few sticks, why, we can soon carry them up again, damnit all! Shall we begin, mother?”
“I’ll willingly speak to the landlord. Remember, you are an oldunionist.”
“An old—yes, I was in it from the very beginning.” The mandrew himself proudly erect. “But for all that I don’t let my wifeand children starve. So you want to go begging favors for me, eh? You begone—at once, will you? Be off, to the devil, or I’ll beat you to ajelly with this!” He seized a table-leg; his eyes were quite blood-shot.His young wife went up to him and took his hand. “Hansen!” she saidquietly. He let his weapon fall. Pelle felt the woman’s pleading eyesupon him, and went.
XXXI
When Pelle, tired to death, made his way homeward in the evening, he had lostthe feeling of invincibility and his thoughts turned to Ellen.
In the daytime he felt neither hesitation nor certainty. When he set to work itwas always with thousands behind him. He felt the great body of workers at hisback, whether he was fighting in the open or waiting with close-buttoned coatto deal with the leaders of the opposing camp. But when he went home to Ellenhe had only himself to rely on for support. And he could not get near her.Strongly as he was drawn by the life away from home, she still held the secretof his life in her hands. She was strong and would not be swept aside. He wasforced to ponder over her nature and to search for a solution.
Pelle had to deal with countless numbers of families, and what he saw was notalways edifying. Home was a conception which was only now forcing its waydownward from the middle classes. Even in periods of normal employment theworkers earned little enough when it came to providing a decent family life,and the women knew nothing of making a comfortable home. The man might be tidyand well-dressed when one met him out of doors, but if you went to his home itwas always the same thing; a dark, grimy den and a worn-out wife, who movedabout scolding amidst a swarm of children. Wages were enough for one only tolive in comfort. The man represented the household out of doors. He must takesandwiches to his work, and he must have something decent too when he got home.The others managed with a little bread and coffee; it was of no use to talk ofregular family meals. And the man must have clothes; he was the visible portionof the household, and he supported it. It was of no use to look for anythingfurther in the way of ideas from these women; they saw nothing but unemploymentand the want at home, and when the husband showed himself they drove him out ofthe house with their scolding ways. “You go out and meddle witheverything you can think of that doesn’t concern us—politics andbig talk—instead of doing your work properly and leaving the fools tosquabble among themselves!” The result was that they did their work forthe organization in the taverns. Many of them held positions of confidence, andPelle went to the taverns to confer with them. They were dejected, when theyarrived, and had before all else to be thawed out.
There Pelle came to them, with his brilliant hopes. When they lamented in theirdejection, he promised great things of the future. “Our wives will soonsee that we are in the right. The day will soon come when we shall be able togo home with a proper week’s wages, that will be enough for the wholefamily.”
“And suppose it doesn’t come off?” they would say.
“It will come off—if only we hold out!” he cried, smiting thetable.
Yes, he might well see the bright side of things. He had a wife who came from along-established home, who kept things clean and tidy for him, and knew how tomake much do the work of little; the daughter of an old unionist who had grownup in the midst of the movement—a wife who saw her husband’s doingswith understanding eyes; yes, he might well smile! As to the last, Pelle wassilent.
In this particular she had accepted neither inheritance nor teaching; she wasas she was, and she would never be different, whatever might pass over herhead. Pelle was sacrificing wife and children to a fixed idea, in order not toleave a few indifferent comrades in the lurch! That, and the strike, and thesevere condemnation of those who would not keep step, was, and remained, forher, so much tavern nonsense. It was something the workers had got into theirheads as a result of talking when they were not precisely sober.
That was what it was, and it filled her heart with pain and mortification thatshe and hers should be set aside for people who were nothing to them. And thispain made her beautiful, and justified her in her own eyes.
She did not complain in words, and she was always careful to set before Pellewhatever the house could provide. He always found everything in order, and heunderstood what efforts it must cost her—considering the smallness of themeans which she had at her disposal. There was no weak point in her defences;and this made the position still more oppressive; he could not evoke anexplosion, a ventilation of her grievances; it was impossible to quarrel withher and make friends again.
Often he wished that Ellen would become neglectful, like so many others. Butshe was always attentive; the more the circumstances enabled her to condemnhim, the more correctly did she behave.
If only he could have explained her lack of comprehension by supposing that hermind was barren and self-seeking! But in his eyes she had always been quitesimple and single-minded, and yet her nature was to him a continual enigma! Itwas true she was not excessively benevolent or sympathetic where others wereconcerned; but on the other hand she asked nothing for herself—herthoughts were all for him and the children. He must admit that she had, withouta thought, sacrificed everything to him—her home, her wholeworld—and that she had a right to ask something in return.
And she was still unchangeably the same. She was indifferent where she herselfwas concerned, if only Pelle and the children had something she was contented;she herself needed so little, yet she seemed to take enough when he watched hereating. Pelle often wondered that she retained her healthy appearance, althoughthe food she ate was so inferior. Perhaps she helped herself insecret—but he drove the thought away, and was ashamed. She was alwayscompletely indifferent as to what she ate; she did not notice what it was, butserved him and the children with the best of it—especiallyhimself—yet she seemed to thrive. Yes, even now she gave the best to him.It was as though she was fulfilling some deep-rooted law of her nature, whichwas independent of their relations to one another. In this nothing could alterher habits. She might have been compared to a great beautiful bitch that liesattentively marking the appetite of her young, although none can tell, from herdeliberate quiet, that her own bowels are twisted with hunger. If they leftanything, she noticed it. “I have eaten,” she would say, so quietlythat she succeeded as a rule in deceiving them. Yes, it made him feel desperateto think about it; the more he thought of it the more unendurable it was. Shewas sacrificing herself for him, yet she must condemn all his doings! She knewhow to defy starvation far better than he—and she did not understand whythey must go hungry!
But from all these painful deliberations she emerged always more prominentlycapable, incomprehensible, and beautiful in all her strangeness! And he wouldhurry home, full of burning longing and devotion, continually hoping that thistime she would come to him glowing with love, to hide her eyes, full ofconfusion, on his shoulder. The disappointment only flung him yet moreviolently into the struggle; the longing of his heart for a tender, carelesshand made his own hard.
He was always exerting himself to find some means of making money. At first, ofcourse, there was no way, and he became so completely absorbed in the conflictthat finally the question no longer occupied his mind. It lurked in hisconsciousness, like a voluptuous wish that merely tinged his daily existence;it was as though something within his mind had taken possession of his talentfor design, and was always designing beautiful paper money and displaying it tohis imagination.
One day when he reached home he found Widow Rasmussen tending the children andworking on a pair of canvas shoes. Drunken Valde had left her again—hadflown out into the spring! Ellen had gone out to work. A sudden pain shotthrough him. Her way of doing this, without saying a word to him, was like ablow in the face, and at first he was angry. But disloyalty was foreign to hisnature. He had to admit that she was within her rights; and with that his angerevaporated, leaving him bewildered; something within him seemed tottering;surely this was a topsy-turvy world! “I might as well stay at home andlook after the children,” he thought bitterly.
“I’ll stay with the children now, Madam Rasmussen!” he said.The woman put her work together.
“Yes, they’ve got a lot to go through,” she said, standing inthe doorway. “I don’t myself understand what it’s all about,but one must always do something! That’s my motto. For things can’tbe worse than they are. ‘Widow’! Pooh! They won’t let usbehave ourselves! A man can scarcely look after himself, let alone a family, inthis accursed world —and one needn’t call one’s self Madam toget children! Here have I been knocking about all my life, ruining my healthand happiness, and have I earned as much from all my blackguards as would payfor the rags I’ve worn? No; I’ve had to beg them nicely of the finefolks for whom I do washing! Yes, they are ready to skin one alive—MadamRasmussen has proved that. So I say, one must always try something! To-day theboy comes home and says, ‘Mother, they’ve put up the price offirewood again—an öre the two dozen!’ ‘What does that matterto us, boy? Can we buy two dozen at once?’ I say. ‘Yes, mother, butthen the one dozen will cost an öre more.’ And eggs, they cost one kronetwenty a score where the rich folks buy them—but here! ‘No, my dearmadam, if you take two eggs you must pay fifteen öre!’ That makes eightöre for an egg, for if one takes the smallest quantity the profits aren’tin proportion. It’s hard to be poor. If it’s never going to bebetter, may the devil take him that’s made it all! That was a fineswear!”
Pelle sat playing with Young Lasse. Madam Rasmussen’s words had arousedsomething in him. That was the eternal complaint, the old, old cry! Whenever heheard it, the world of the poor man became even more plainly visible for whatit was—and he ought to know it! It was a frightful abyss that he lookeddown into; it was bottomless; and it seemed forever to reveal fresh depths. Andhe was right—he was right.
He sat carelessly drawing something for the child on a scrap of paper, thinkingof things quite different; but involuntarily the drawing took shape from withinhis hand. “That’s money, that’s money!” cried YoungLasse, clapping his hands. Pelle waked up and examined his drawing; sureenough, there was a rough sketch of a ten-kroner note! It flattered hisfather’s heart that the child had recognized it; and he was seized by thedesire to see how like it was. But where in all the world was he to get a“blue”? Pelle, who at this time superintended the collection anddistributing of millions, did not possess ten kroner! The pipe! The pipe! Thatwas what the boy got his idea from! His old Christmas present, queerly enough,had a ten-kroner note on the bowl—and that gave him an idea! He got itout and compared it; it was a long time since he had smoked the pipe—hecouldn’t afford it. He began eagerly to fill in the drawing while YoungLasse stood by, amusing himself by watching the rapid movements of the pencil.“Father is clever—Father draw!” he said, and wanted to wakehis sister so that she could take part in the game.
No, the result was not good! The design would have to be cut in wood andprinted in color for the appearance really to be similar. But then Ellen camehome, and he hid it away.
“Won’t you give up going out to work?” he said.“I’ll provide what is absolutely necessary.”
“Why?” she retorted resolutely. “I’m not too good to doanything!” There was no tone in her voice from which he could elicitanything; so he got ready to go to the meeting.
Now, when Ellen went out to work, he ran home as often as he had time in orderto look after the children. He had obtained a piece of hard wood and aten-kroner note. With great care he transferred the design onto the wood, andbegan to engrave it while he sat there chattering to the children. This taskoccupied unused faculties; it engrossed him as an artistic exercise, whichlingered at the back of his mind and automatically continued to carry itselfout, even when he was away from home. This work filled his mind with a peculiarbeauty so long as he was engaged on it. A warm, blissful world was evoked bythe sight of this ten-kroner note, which shone ever more plainly out of thedarkness and swept all privations aside. When Pelle sat at this work his mindsoared above all oppression as though intoxicated; unhappy things no longerexisted for him. He became an optimist and mentally made Ellen all sorts ofcostly presents.
It was all fundamentally so simple—it was only a misunderstanding—nothing more! He must speak to her, and she would see at once what a happy lifethey were going to live—if only they held out. Silence had filled herwith resentment. Fortune! Fortune! It was nearer than ever now, greater andmore splendid than on that other occasion when it had knocked at their door!Why, he did not know—that did not seem very clear!
But when he heard her step on the stairs his dream was shattered. He was awake.He concealed his work, ashamed to think that she should come home from work andfind him at play.
At times he was oppressed by a feeling of the unattainable in his relationswith Ellen. Even to himself he could not explain the contradiction between theconstant longing for more ample and stable conditions, for triumph and victory,and his impotency at home, where his fortunes were declining. He weariedhimself in trying to puzzle it out, and he was seized by a desire that he mightbecome indifferent to the whole matter. He felt no inclination to drink, butnone the less something was working convulsively within him; a certainindifference as to his own welfare, causing him to run risks, not caringwhether he might not commit some stupidity that would do him harm. And at suchtimes a voice cried loudly within him, especially when he was confronted by thebitter utterances of want. “That is my old complaint,” he thought,and he became observant. In his childhood it had been a sort of seizure; now ithad become a voice.
XXXII
Early one morning Pelle wandered into the city. He had risen before Ellen, inorder to avoid the painfulness of sitting down to breakfast with her. Ellentried all sorts of ruses in order to give him a proper breakfast, and it wasnot difficult to persuade his stomach; but afterward he felt ashamed that heshould have been cared for at the cost of others; and cunning though he wastoo, he could not get the better of her save by slipping away while she wasstill asleep.
His fasting condition endowed the city, and the whole of life, with a curiouslyunsubstantial aspect. Before him lay a long day full of terrific labors, andbehind him was the fresh triumph of the day before.
As matters now stood, the employers in the iron industry had conceived thecunning idea of founding a blackleg Union for smiths and mechanics, and ofgiving it a name closely resembling that of the genuine Union. Then they sentcirculars to the men, stating that work would be resumed on the following day.Many of the men were not accustomed to read, and regarded the circular as anorder from their own Union, while others were enticed by the high wages offeredby the new society. There was great confusion among the workers of thesetrades. As soon as the trick was exposed every respectable man drew back; butthere was a great deal of disappointment, and they felt horribly ashamed beforetheir comrades.
Pelle was furious at this trick, which affected him more especially, as theleader in open battle; he had suffered a defeat, and he meditated revenge. Inspite of all the efforts of the pickets, it was not possible to procure a fulllist of the strikebreakers; his chagrin on this account burned in his heart,like a shameful sense of impotency; hitherto he had been noted for getting tothe bottom of anything he undertook! He resolved then and there to meet rusewith ruse. He set a trap for his opponents, so that they themselves shoulddeliver the strikebreakers into his hands. One morning he published his list inThe Working Man with the proud remark, “Look, the enemy has nomore!” Did the employers really fall into the trap, or was the fate ofthe strike-breakers really indifferent to them? Next morning their organprotested, and gave the number of the black-legs and their names into thebargain!
This was a smack! A good one this; it brought a light to the thin, impassivefaces. There was an answer to the trick of the other day! This Pelle was adeuce of a fellow! Three cheers for “Lightning Pelle!” Hip, hip,hurrah!
Pelle was the deuce of a fellow as he strode along ruddy and full of pugnacity,with the echoes from the side-streets and the tenement-houses mingled with hisown vigorous footsteps. Streets and houses were white with the night’shoar frost, and overhead the air was full of a peculiar glow that came from thecity—a light flowing from hidden sources. He had left all his cares athome; on every hand working-folk were greeting him, and his greeting in returnwas like an inspiriting song. He did not know them, but they knew him! Thefeeling that his work—however deep the scars it might leave—wasarousing gratitude, had an uplifting effect upon him.
The city was in its morning mood. The lock-out lay like a paralyzing hand uponeverything; business was slack, and the middle classes were complaining, butthere was no prospect of peace; both sides were irreconcilable. The workers hadlost nothing through the rash cessation of the masons. Sympathy for the lowerclasses had become a political principle; and contributions were still pouringin from the country. Considerable sums came from abroad. The campaign was nowcosting the workers half a million kroner a week; and the help from outside waslike a drop in the ocean. But it had the effect of a moral support, and itstimulated the self-taxation to which all were subject. The hundred thousandhouseholds of the poor parted with their last possessions in order to continuethe struggle; they meant to force a decision that should affect their wholefuture. The employers tried to hinder the great National Federation by callingthe attention of the authorities to an ancient statute concerning mendicancy;but that merely aroused merriment. A little laughter over such expedients waspermissible.
The workers had become accustomed to starvation. They went no more into theforest, but strolled thoughtfully through the streets like people who have toomuch time on their hands, so that the city’s face wore a peculiar stampof meditative poverty. Their loitering steps aroused no echo, and in the housesthe quietness gave one food for reflection. The noisy, ever-hungry childrenwere scattered over the face of the country —they at least had plenty toeat. But the place was empty for the lack of them!
Pelle met several squads of workers; they were on the way to the variousroll-calls. They raised their heads as he passed; his footsteps echoed loudlyenough for all! It was the hope and the will of forty thousand men that passedthere—Pelle was the expression of them all. They stared at hisindomitable figure, and drew themselves up. “A devil of a chap!”they told one another joyfully; “he looks as if he could trample’em all underfoot! Look at him—he scarcely makes way for that greatloaded wagon! Long live Pelle, boys!”
The tavern-keepers stood on their cellar stairs gaping up at the morningsky—this was a time of famine for them! In the tavern windows hung cardswith the inscription: “Contributions received here for the locked- outworkers!”
On the Queen Luise Bridge Pelle encountered a pale, fat little man in a shabbycoat. He had flabby features and a great red nose. “Good morning,General!” cried Pelle gaily; the man made a condescending movement withhis hand. This was The Working Man’s man of straw; a sometimecapitalist, who for a small weekly wage was, as far as the public wasconcerned, the responsible editor of the paper. He served various terms ofimprisonment for the paper, and for a further payment of five kroner a week healso worked out in prison the fines inflicted on the paper. When he was not injail he kept himself alive by drinking. He suffered from megalomania, andconsidered that he led the whole labor movement; for which reason he could notbear Pelle.
In the great court-yard of The Working Man building the dockers wereassembled to answer the roll. The president of their Union met Pelle in thedoorway; he was the very man whom Pelle and Howling Peter had rescued down bythe harbor—now he was working for the new ideas!
“Well, how goes it?” asked Pelle, shaking his hand.
“Splendid! A thousand men all but seven!”
“But where’s the joyful Jacob? Is he ill?”
“He’s in jail,” replied the other gloomily. “Hecouldn’t bear to see his old folks starving—so he broke into agrocery, he and his brother—and now they’re both in prison.”
For a moment the lines on Pelle’s forehead were terribly deep and gloomy;he stood gazing blindly into space; the radiant expression left hiscountenance, which was filled with a pitying gravity. The docker stared athim—was he going to sleep on his feet? But then he pulled himselftogether.
“Well, comrades, are you finding the days too long?” he criedgaily.
“Ach, as for that! It’s the first time one’s had the time toget to know one’s own wife and children properly!” they replied.“But for all that it would be fine to get busy again!”
It was obvious that idleness was at last beginning to depress them; there was apeculiar pondering expression on their impassive features, and their eyesturned to him with a persistent questioning. They asked that this undertakingof his should be settled one way or the other. They were not weakening; theyalways voted for the continuance of the campaign, for that which they soughtdepended thereon; but they gazed into his face for a look that might promisesuccess.
He had to answer many singular questions; privation engendered in the mostfantastic ideas, which revealed the fact that their quiet, controlled bearingwas the product of the observation and the energy of the many.
“Shall we deprive the rich of all their wealth and power?” askedone man, after long pondering and gazing at Pelle. The struggle seemed to havedealt hardly with him; but it had lit a spark in his eyes.
“Yes, we are going now to take our rights as men, and we shall demandthat the worker shall be respected,” Pelle replied. “Thenthere’ll be no more talk of poor man and gentleman!”
“But suppose they try to get on top of us again? We must make short workof them, so that they can’t clamber on our backs and ride usagain.”
“Do you want to drive them all onto the Common and shoot them?That’s not necessary,” said his neighbor. “When this issettled no one will dare to take the food out of our mouths again.”
“Won’t there be any more poverty then?” asked the firstspeaker, turning to Pelle.
“No, once we get our affairs properly in going order; then there will becomfort in every home. Don’t you read your paper?”
Yes, he read it, but there was no harm in hearing the great news confirmed byPelle himself. And Pelle could confirm it, because he never harbored a doubt.It had been difficult to get the masses to grasp the new conception ofthings—as difficult as to move the earth! Something big must happen inreturn!
A few of the men had brought out sandwiches and began to eat them as theydebated. “Good digestion!” said Pelle, nodding farewell to them.His mouth was watering, and he remembered that he had had nothing to eat ordrink. But he had no time to think about it; he must go to Stolpe to arrangeabout the posting of the pickets.
Over the way stood Marie in a white cap, with a basket over her arm; she noddedto him, with rosy cheeks. Transplantation had made her grow; every time he sawher she was more erect and prettier.
At his parents’-in-law the strictest economy prevailed. All sorts ofthings—household possessions—had disappeared from that once socomfortable home; but there was no lack of good spirits. Stolpe was potteringabout waiting for his breakfast; he had been at work early that morning.
“What’s the girl doing?” he asked. “We never see hernow.”
“She has such a lot to do,” said Pelle apologetically. “Andnow she’s going out to work as well.”
“Well, well, with things as they are she’s not too fine to lend ahand. But we don’t really know what’s amiss withher—she’s a rebellious nature! Thank God she’s not aman—she would have brought dissolution into the ranks!”
Breakfast consisted of a portion of coffee and bread-and-butter and porridge.Madam Stolpe could not find her fine new silver coffee- service, which herchildren had given her on her silver-wedding day. “I must have put itaway,” she said.
“Well, well, that’ll soon be found again, mother!” saidStolpe. “Now we shall soon have better times; many fine things will maketheir appearance again then, we shall see!”
“Have you been to the machine-works this morning, father-in-law?”asked Pelle.
“Yes, I’ve been there. But there is nothing more for the pickets todo. The employers have quartered all the men in the factory; they get fullboard and all there. There must be a crowd of foreign strike-breakersthere—the work’s in full swing.”
This was an overwhelming piece of news! The iron-masters had won the firstvictory! This would quickly have a most depressing effect on the workers, whenthey saw that their trade could be kept going without them.
“We must put a bridle on them,” said Pelle, “or they’llget off the course and the whole organization will fall to pieces. As for thosefellows in there, we must get a louse under their shirts somehow.”
“How can we do that when they are locked in, and the police arepatrolling day and night in front of the gates? We can’t even speak tothem.” Stolpe laughed despairingly.
“Then some one must slink in and pretend he’s in want ofemployment!”
Stolpe started. “As a strike-breaker? You’ll never in this life geta respectable man to do that, even if it’s only in jest! I wouldn’tdo it myself! A strike-breaker is a strike-breaker, turn and twist it how youwill.”
“A strike-breaker, I suppose, is one who does his comrades harm. The manwho risks his skin in this way deserves another name.”
“I won’t admit that,” said Stolpe. “That’s alittle too abstract for me; anyhow, I’m not going to argue with you. Butin my catechism it says that he is a strike-breaker who accepts employmentwhere assistance is forbidden—and that I stick to!”
Pelle might talk as much as he liked; the old man would not budge an inch.“But it would be another matter if you wanted to do it yourself,”said Stolpe. “You don’t have to account to any one for what youdo—you just do what comes into your head.”
“I have to account to the Cause for my doings,” said Pelle sharply,“and for that very reason I want to do it myself!”
Stolpe contracted his arms and stretched them out again. “Ah, it would begood to have work again!” he cried suddenly. “Idleness eats intoone’s limbs like the gout. And now there’s the rent,mother—where the devil are we to get that? It must be paid on the nail onSaturday, otherwise out we go—so the landlord says.”
“We’ll soon find that, father!” said Madam Stolpe.“Don’t you lose heart!”
Stolpe looked round the room. “Yes, there’s still a bit to take, asHunger said when he began on the bowels. But listen, Pelle—do you knowwhat? I’m your father-in-law-to be sure—but you haven’t awife like mine!”
“I’m contented with Ellen as she is,” said Pelle.
There was a knock; it was Stolpe’s brother, the carpenter. He lookedexhausted; he was thin and poorly dressed; his eyes were surrounded by redpatches. He did not look at those whose hands he took.
“Sit down, brother,” said Stolpe, pushing a chair toward him.
“Thanks—I must go on again directly. It was—I only wanted totell you —well….” He stared out of the window.
“Is anything wrong at home?”
“No, no, not that exactly. I just wanted to say—I want to givenotice that I’m deserting!” he cried suddenly.
Stolpe sprang to his feet; he was as white as chalk. “You think what youare doing!” he cried threateningly.
“I’ve had time enough to think. They are starving, I tellyou—and there’s got to be an end of it. I only wanted to tell youbeforehand so that you shouldn’t hear it from others—after all,you’re my brother.”
“Your brother—I’m your brother no longer! You do this andwe’ve done with one another!” roared Stolpe, striking the table.“But you won’t do it, you shan’t do it! God damn me, Icouldn’t live through the shame of seeing the comrades condemning my ownbrother in the open street! And I shall be with them! I shall be the first togive you a kick, if you are my brother!” He was quite beside himself.
“Well, well, we can still talk it over,” said the carpenterquietly. “But now you know—I didn’t want to do anythingbehind your back.” And then he went.
Stolpe paced up and down the room, moving from one object to another. He pickedthem up and put them down again, quite unthinkingly. His hands were tremblingviolently; and finally he went to the other room and shut himself in. After atime his wife entered the room. “You had better go, Pelle! I don’tthink father is fit for company to-day. He’s lying there quite gray inthe face—if he could only cry even! Oh, those two brothers have alwaysbeen so much to each other till now! They were so united in everything!”
Pelle went; he was thinking earnestly. He could see that Stolpe, in hisintegrity, would consider it his duty to treat his brother more harshly thanothers, dearly as he loved him; perhaps he himself would undertake thepicketing of the place where his brother went to work.
Out by the lakes he met a squad of pickets who were on their way out of thecity; he accompanied them for some distance, in order to make certainarrangements. Across the road a young fellow came out of a doorway and slunkround the corner. “You there, stop!” cried one of the comrades.“There he is—the toff!” A few pickets followed him downCastle Street and came back leading him among them. A crowd began to form roundthe whole party, women and children speedily joining it.
“You are not to do anything to him,” said Pelle decisively.
“God knows no one wants to touch him!” they retorted. For a whilethey stood silently gazing at him, as though weighing him in their minds; thenone after another spat at him, and they went their way. The fellow wentsilently into a doorway and stood there wiping the spittle from his face withhis sleeve. Pelle followed him in order to say a kind word to him and lead himback into the organization. The lad pulled himself up hastily as Pelleapproached.
“Are you coming to spit at me?” he said contemptuously. “Youforgot it before—why didn’t you do it then?”
“I don’t spit at people,” said Pelle, “but yourcomrades are right to despise you. You have left them in the lurch. Come withme, and I’ll enter you in the organization again, and no one shall molestyou.”
“I am to go about as a culprit and be taunted—no, thanks!”
“Do you prefer to injure your own comrades?”
“I ask for permission to look after my old mother. The rest of you can goto the devil. My mother isn’t going to hang about courtyards singing, andpicking over the dustbins, while her son plays the great man! I leave that tocertain other people!”
Pelle turned crimson. He knew this allusion was meant for Father Lasse; thedesperate condition of the old man was lurking somewhere in his mind like aningrowing grief, and now it came to the surface. “Dare you repeat whatyou said?” he growled, pressing close up to the other.
“And if I were married I shouldn’t let my wife earn my daily breadfor me—I should leave that to the pimps!”
Oho! That was like the tattlers, to blacken a man from behind! Evidently theywere spreading all sorts of lying rumors about him, while he had placed allthat he possessed at their disposal. Now Pelle was furious; the leader could goto hell! He gave the fellow a few sound boxes on the ear, and asked him whichhe would rather do—hold his mouth or take some more?
Morten appeared in the doorway—this had happened in the doorway of thehouse in which he worked. “This won’t do!” he whispered, andhe drew Pelle away with him. Pelle could make no reply; he threw himself onMorten’s bed. His eyes were still blazing with anger at the insult, andhe needed air.
“Things are going badly here now,” said Morten, looking at him witha peculiar smile.
“Yes, I know very well you can’t stand it—all the same, theymust hold together.”
“And supposing they don’t get better conditions?”
“Then they must accept the consequences. That’s better than thewhole Cause should go to the wall!”
“Are those the new ideas? I think the ignorant have always had to takethe consequences! And there has never been lacking some one to spit onthem!” said Morten sadly.
“But, listen!” cried Pelle, springing to his feet.“You’ll please not blame me for spitting at anybody—theothers did that!” He was very near losing his temper again, butMorten’s quiet manner mastered him.
“The others—that was nothing at all! But it was you who spat seventimes over into the poor devil’s face—I was standing in the shop,and saw it.”
Pelle stared at him, speechless. Was this the truth-loving Morten who stoodthere lying?
“You say you saw me spit at him?”
Morten nodded. “Do you want to accept the applause and the honor, andsneak out of the beastliness and the destruction? You have taken a greatresponsibility on yourself, Pelle. Look, how blindly they follow you—atthe sight of your bare face, I’m tempted to say. For I’m not myselfquite sure that you give enough of yourself. There is blood on yourhands—but is any of it your own blood?”
Pelle sat there heavily pondering; Morten’s words always forced histhoughts to follow paths they had never before known. But now he understoodhim; and a dark shadow passed over his face, which left its traces behind it.“This business has cost me my home,” he said quietly. “Ellencares nothing for me now, and my children are being neglected, and are driftingaway from me. I have given up splendid prospects for the future; I go hungryevery day, and I have to see my old father in want and wretchedness! I believeno one can feel as homeless and lonely and forsaken as I do! So it has cost mesomething—you force me to say it myself.” He smiled at Morten, butthere were tears in his eyes.
“Forgive me, my dear friend!” said Morten. “I was afraid youdidn’t really know what you were doing. Already there are many left onthe field of battle, and it’s grievous to see them—especially if itshould all lead to nothing.”
“Do you condemn the Movement, then? According to you, I can never doanything wise!”
“Not if it leads to an end! I myself have dreamed of leading them on tofortune—in my own way; but it isn’t a way after their own heart.You have power over them—they follow you blindly—lead them on,then! But every wound they receive in battle should be yours aswell—otherwise you are not the right man for the place. And are youcertain of the goal?”
Yes, Pelle was certain of that. “And we are reaching it!” he cried,suddenly inspired. “See how cheerfully they approve of everything, andjust go forward!”
“But, Pelle!” said Morten, with a meaning smile, laying his hand onhis shoulder, “a leader is not Judge Lynch. Otherwise the parties wouldfight it out with clubs!”
“Ah, you are thinking of what happened just now!” said Pelle.“That had nothing to do with the Movement! He said my father was goingabout the backyards fishing things out of dustbins—so I gave him a few onthe jaw. I have the same right as any one else to revenge an insult.” Hedid not mention the evil words concerning Ellen; he could not bring himself todo so.
“But that is true,” said Morten quietly.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” asked Pelle.
“I thought you knew it. And you have enough to struggle against as itis—you’ve nothing to reproach yourself with.”
“Perhaps you can tell me where he could be found?” said Pelle, in alow voice.
“He is usually to be found in this quarter.”
Pelle went. His mind was oppressed; all that day fresh responsibilities hadheaped themselves upon him; a burden heavy for one man to bear. Was he toaccept the responsibility for all that the Movement destroyed as it progressed,simply because he had placed all his energies and his whole fortune at itsdisposal? And now Father Lasse was going about as a scavenger. He blushed forshame—yet how could he have prevented it? Was he to be made responsiblefor the situation? And now they were spitting upon Ellen—that was thethanks he got!
He did not know where to begin his search, so he went into the courts andbackyards and asked at random. People were crowding into a courtyard inBlaagaard Street, so Pelle entered it. There was a missionary there who spokewith the sing-song accent of the Bornholmer, in whose eyes was the peculiarexpression which Pelle remembered as that of the “saints” of hischildhood. He was preaching and singing alternately. Pelle gazed at him witheyes full of reminiscence, and in his despairing mood he was near losingcontrol of himself and bellowing aloud as in his childish years when anythingtouched him deeply. This was the very lad who had said something rude aboutFather Lasse, and whom he—young as he was— had kicked so that hebecame ruptured. He was able to protect his father in those days, at allevents!
He went up to the preacher and held out his hand. “It’s Peter Kune!So you are here?”
The man looked at him with a gaze that seemed to belong to another world.“Yes, I had to come over here, Pelle!” he said significantly.“I saw the poor wandering hither from the town and farther away, so Ifollowed them, so that no harm should come to them. For you poor are the chosenpeople of God, who must wander and wander until they come into the Kingdom. Nowthe sea has stayed you here, and you can go no farther; so you think theKingdom must lie here. God has sent me to tell you that you are mistaken. Andyou, Pelle, will you join us now? God is waiting and longing for you; he wantsto use you for the good of all these little ones.” And he heldPelle’s hand in his, gazing at him compellingly; perhaps he thought Pellehad come in order to seek the shelter of his “Kingdom.”
Here was another who had the intention of leading the poor to the land offortune! But Pelle had his own poor. “I have done what I could forthem,” he said self-consciously.
“Yes, I know that well; but that is not the right way, the way you arefollowing! You do not give them the bread of life!”
“I think they have more need of black bread. Look atthem—d’you think they get too much to eat?”
“And can you give them food, then? I can give them the joy of God, sothat they forget their hunger for a while. Can you do more than make them feeltheir hunger even more keenly?”
“Perhaps I can. But I’ve got no time to talk it over now; I came tolook for my old father.”
“Your father, I have met in the streets lately, with a sack on his back—he did not look very cheerful. And I met him once over yonder with Sortthe shoemaker; he wanted to come over here and spend his old age with hisson.”
Pelle said nothing, but ran off. He clenched his fists in impotent wrath as herushed out of the place. People went about jeering at him, one more eagerlythan the other, and the naked truth was that he—young and strong andcapable as he was in his calling—could not look after his wife andchildren and his old father, even when he had regular work. Yes, so damnablewere the conditions that a man in the prime of his youth could not follow thebidding of nature and found a family without plunging those that were dependenton him into want and misery! Curse it all, the entire system ought to besmashed! If he had power over it he would want to make the best use of it!
In Stone Street he heard a hoarse, quavering voice singing in the centralcourtyard of one of the houses. It was Father Lasse. The rag-bag lay near him,with the hook stuck into it. He was clasping the book with one hand, while withthe other he gesticulated toward the windows as he sang. The song made thepeople smile, and he tried to make it still more amusing by violent gestureswhich ill-suited his pitiful appearance.
It cut Pelle to the heart to see his wretched condition. He stepped into adoorway and waited until his father should have finished his song. At certainpoints in the course of the song Lasse took off his cap and smacked it againsthis head while he raised one leg in the air. He very nearly lost hisequilibrium when he did this, and the street urchins who surrounded him pulledat his ragged coat-tails and pushed one another against him. Then he stoodstill, spoke to them in his quavering voice, and took up his song again.
“O listen to my song, a tale of woe:
I came into the world as do so many:
My mother bore me in the street below,
And as for father, why, I hadn’t any!
Till now I’ve faithfully her shame concealed:
I tell it now to make my song complete.
O drop a shilling down that I may eat,
For eat I must, or soon to Death I yield.
“Into this world without deceit I came,
That’s why you see me wear no stockings now.
A poor old man who drudges anyhow,
I have a wealthy brother, more’s the shame.
But he and I are opposites in all;
While I rake muck he rakes his money up:
Much gold is his and many a jewelled cup,
And all he fancies, that is his at call.
“My brother, he has built a palace splendid,
And silver harness all his horses bear.
Full twenty crowns an hour he gets, I hear,
By twiddling thumbs and wishing day were ended!
Gold comes to him as dirt to Lasse, blast him!
And everywhere he turns there money lies.
’Twill all be mine when once my brother dies—
If I but live—so help me to outlast him!
“Luck tried to help me once, but not again!
Weary with toiling I was like to swoon.
When God let fall milk-porridge ’stead of rain!
And I, poor donkey, hadn’t brought a spoon!
Yes, Heaven had meant to help me, me accurst!
I saw my luck but couldn’t by it profit!
Quickly my brother made a banquet of it—
Ate my milk-porridge till he nearly burst!
“Want bears the sceptre here on earth below,
And life is always grievous to the poor.
But God, who rules the world, and ought to know,
Says all will get their rights when life is o’er.
Therefore, good people, hear me for His sake—
A trifle for the poor man’s coffin give,
Wherein his final journey he must take;
Have mercy on my end while yet I live!
“Yet one thing God has given me—my boy.
And children are the poor man’s wealth, I know.
O does he think of me, my only joy,
Who have no other treasure here below?
Long time have we been parted by mishap:
I’m tired of picking rags and sick of song;
God who sees all reward you all ere long:
O drop a trifle in poor Lasse’s cap!”
When Lasse had finished his song the people clapped and threw down coinswrapped in paper, and he went round picking them up. Then he took his sack onhis back and stumped away, bent almost double, through the gateway.
“Father!” cried Pelle desperately. “Father!”
Lasse stood up with a jerk and peered through the gateway with his feeble eyes.“Is that you, lad? Ach, it sounded like your voice when you were a child,when any one was going to hurt you and you came to me for help.” The oldman was trembling from head to foot. “And now I suppose you’veheard the whole thing and are ashamed of your old father?” He dared notlook at his son.
“Father, you must come home with me now—do you hear?” saidPelle, as they entered the street together.
“No, that I can’t do! There’s not enough even for your ownmouths—no, you must let me go my own way. I must look aftermyself—and I’m doing quite well.”
“You are to come home with me—the children miss you, and Ellen asksafter you day after day.”
“Yes, that would be very welcome…. But I know what folks would think if Iwere to take the food out of your children’s mouths!Besides—I’m a rag-picker now! No, you mustn’t lead me intotemptation.”
“You are to come with me now—never mind about anything else. Ican’t bear this, father!”
“Well, then, in God’s name, I must publish my shame before you,lad—if you won’t let me be! See now, I’m living with someone—with a woman. I met her out on the refuse-heaps, where she wascollecting rubbish, just as I was. I had arranged a corner for myself outthere—for the night, until I could find a lodging—and then she saidI was to go home with her—it wouldn’t be so cold if there were twoof us. Won’t you come home with me, so that you can see where we’veboth got to? Then you can see the whole thing and judge for yourself. We livequite close.”
They turned into a narrow lane and entered a gateway. In the backyard, in ashed, which looked like the remains of an old farm cottage, was Lasse’shome. It looked as though it had once been used as a fuel-shed; the floor wasof beaten earth and the roof consisted of loose boards. Under the roof cordswere stretched, on which rags, paper, and other articles from the dustbins werehung to dry. In one corner was a mean- looking iron stove, on which acoffee-pot was singing, mingling its pleasant fragrance with the musty stenchof the rubbish. Lasse stretched himself to ease his limbs.
“Ach, I’m quite stiff!” he said, “and a little chilled.Well, here you see my little mother—and this is my son, Pelle, myboy.” He contentedly stroked the cheeks of his new life’s partner.
This was an old, bent, withered woman, grimy and ragged; her face was coveredwith a red eruption which she had probably contracted on the refuse-heaps. Buta pair of kind eyes looked out of it, which made up for everything else.
“So that is Pelle!” she said, looking at him. “Sothat’s what he is like! Yes, one has heard his name; he’s one ofthose who will astonish the world, although he hasn’t red hair.”
Pelle had to drink a cup of coffee. “You can only have bread-and-butterwith it; we old folks can’t manage anything else for supper,” saidLasse. “We go to bed early, both of us, and one sleeps badly with anover-full stomach.”
“Well, now, what do you think of our home?” said Father Lasse,looking proudly about him. “We pay only four kroner a month for it, andall the furniture we get for nothing—mother and I have brought it allhere from the refuse-heaps, every stick of it, even the stove. Just look atthis straw mattress, now—it’s really not bad, but the rich folksthrew it away! And the iron bedstead—we found that there; I’ve tieda leg to it. And yesterday mother came in carrying those curtains, and hungthem up. A good thing there are people who have so much that they have to throwit on the dust-heap!”
Lasse was quite cheerful; things seemed to be going well with him; and the oldwoman looked after him as if he had been the love of her youth. She helped himoff with his boots and on with his list slippers, then she brought a long pipeout of the corner, which she placed between his lips; he smiled, and settleddown to enjoy himself.
“Do you see this pipe, Pelle? Mother saved up for this, without myknowing anything about it—she has got such a long one I can’t lightit myself! She says I look like a regular pope!” Lasse had to lean backin his chair while she lit the pipe.
When Pelle left, Lasse accompanied him across the yard. “Well, what doyou think of it?” he said.
“I am glad to see things are going so well with you,” said Pellehumbly.
Lasse pressed his hand. “Thanks for that! I was afraid you would bestrict about it. As quite a little boy, you used to be deucedly strict in thatdirection. And see now, of course, we could marry—there is no impedimentin either case. But that costs money—and the times are hard. As forchildren coming, and asking to be brought into the world respectably,there’s no danger of that.”
Pelle could not help smiling; the old man was so much in earnest.
“Look in on us again soon—you are always welcome,” saidLasse. “But you needn’t say anything of this to Ellen—she isso peculiar in that respect!”
XXXIII
No, Pelle never told Ellen anything now. She had frozen his speech. She waslike the winter sun; the side that was turned away from her received no shareof her warmth. Pelle made no claims on her now; he had long ago satisfiedhimself that she could not respond to the strongest side of his nature, and hehad accustomed himself to the idea of waging his fight alone. This had made himharder, but also more of a man.
At home the children were ailing—they did not receive proper care, andthe little girl was restless, especially during the night. The complaining andcoughing of the children made the home uncomfortable. Ellen was dumb; like anavenging fate she went about her business and cared for the children. Herexpressive glance never encountered his; although he often felt that her eyeswere resting on him. She had grown thin of late, which lent her beauty, afanatical glow, and a touch of malice. There were times when he would havegiven his life for an honest, burning kiss as a token of this woman’slove.
He understood her less and less, and was often filled with inexplicable anxietyconcerning her. She suffered terribly through the condition of the children;and when she quieted them, with a bleeding heart, her voice had a fateful soundthat made him shudder. Sometimes he was driven home by the idea that she mighthave made away with herself and the children.
One day, when he had hurried home with this impression in his mind, she met himsmiling and laid on the table five and twenty kroner.
“What’s that?” asked Pelle, in amazement.
“I’ve won that in the lottery!” she said.
So that was why her behavior had been so peculiarly mysterious during the lastfew days—as though there had been something which he must not on anyaccount get to know. She had ventured her last shilling and was afraid he wouldfind it out!
“But where did you get the money?” he asked.
“I borrowed it from my old friend, Anna—we went in for it together.Now we can have the doctor and medicine for the children, and we ourselves canhave anything we want,” she said.
This money worked a transformation in Ellen, and their relations were once morewarmly affectionate. Ellen was more lovingly tender in her behavior than everbefore, and was continually spoiling him. Something had come over her that wasquite new; her manner showed a sort of contrition, which made her gentle andloving, and bound Pelle to his home with the bonds of ardent desire. Now oncemore he hurried home. He took her manner to be an apology for her harshjudgment of him; for here, too, she was different, and began to interestherself in his work for the Cause, inciting him, by all sorts of allusions, tocontinue it. It was evident that in spite of her apparent coldness she had keptherself well informed concerning it. Her manner underwent a most extraordinarytransformation. She, the hard, confident Ellen, became mild and uncertain inher manner. She no longer kept sourly out of things, and had learned to bow herhead good-naturedly. She was no longer so self-righteous.
One day, toward evening, Pelle was sitting at home before the looking- glass,and shaving himself; he had cut off the whole of his fine big moustache and wasnow shaving off the last traces of it. Ellen was amused to see how his face wasaltered. “I can scarcely recognize you!” she said. He had thoughtshe would have opposed its removal, and have put his moustache before theCause; but she was pleasant about the whole matter. He could not at allunderstand this alteration in her.
When he had finished he stood up and went over to Young Lasse, but the childcried out in terror. Then he put on his old working-clothes, made his face andhead black, and made his way to the machine-works.
The factory was in full swing now; they were working alternate shifts, day andnight, with the help of interned strike-breakers, the “locked- in”workers, as the popular wit called them.
The iron-masters had followed up their victory and had managed to set yetanother industry in motion again. If this sort of thing went much further theentire iron industry would one day be operated without the locked-out workers,who could stand outside and look on. But now a blow was about to be struck!Pelle’s heart was full of warmth and joy as he left home, and he feltequal for anything.
He slipped through the pickets unnoticed, and succeeded in reaching the door ofthe factory. “They’re asleep—the devils!” he thoughtangrily, and was very near spoiling the whole thing by administering areprimand. He knocked softly on the door and was admitted. The doorkeeper tookhim to the foreman, who was fortunately a German.
Pelle was given employment in the foundry, with very good wages. He was alsopromised that he should receive a bonus of twenty-five kroner when he had beenthere a certain time. “That’s the Judas money,” said theforeman, grinning. “And then as soon as the lock-out is over you’llof course be placed in the forefront of the workers. Now you are quite clearabout this—that you can’t get out of here until then. If you wantto send something to your wife, we’ll see to that.”
He was shown to a corner where a sack full of straw lay on the floor; this washis dwelling-place and his refuge for the night.
In the factory the work went on as best it might. The men rushed at their workas in a frolic, drifted away again, lounged about the works, or stood here andthere in groups, doing as they chose. The foremen did not dare to speak tothem; if they made a friendly remark they were met with insults. The workerswere taking advantage of the fact that they were indispensable; their behaviorwas sheer tyranny, and they were continually harping on the fact that theywould just as soon go as stay. These words made them the masters of thesituation.
They were paid big wages and received abundance to eat and to drink. And theworking day or shift was shorter than usual. They did not understand the realsignificance of this change of life, but went about playing the bally. Butthere was a peculiar hesitation visible in their faces, as though they were notquite sure of one another. The native workers, who were in the minority, keptto themselves—as though they felt an inward contempt for those fellowswho had travelled so far to fish in the troubled waters of their distress.
They were working three shifts, each of eight hours’ duration.
“Oho!” thought Pelle, “why, this, good God, is theeight-hours’ day! This is surely the State of the future!” At thevery moment of his arrival one shift was completed, and the men immediatelyproceeded to make the most infernal uproar, hammering on metal and shouting forfood and brandy. A huge cauldron full of beef and potatoes was dragged in.Pelle was told off to join a mess of ten men.
“Eat, matey!” they said. “Hungry, ain’t you? How longhad you been out of work before you gave in?”
“Three months,” said Pelle.
“Then you must be peckish. Here with the beef! More beef here!”they cried, to the cook’s mate. “You can keep the potatoes andwelcome! We’ve eaten enough potatoes all ourlives!”—“This is Tom Tiddler’s land, with butter sauceinto the bargain! This is how we’ve always said it ought to be—goodwages and little to do, lots to eat and brandy to drink! Now you can see it wasa good thing we held out till it came to this—now we get our reward! Yourhealth! Here, damme, what’s your name, you there?”
“Karlsen,” said Pelle.
“Here’s to you, Karlsen! Well, and how are things looking outside?Have you seen my wife lately? She’s easy to recognize—she’s awoman with seven children with nothing inside their ribs! Well, how goes itwith the strikers?”
After eating they sat about playing cards, and drinking, or they loafed aboutand began to quarrel; they were a sharp-tongued crew; they went about actuatedby a malicious longing to sting one another. “Come and have a game withus, mate—and have a drink!” they cried to Pelle. “Damn itall, how else should a man kill the time in this infernal place? Sixteenhours’ sleep a day—no, that’s more than a chap can dowith!”
There was a deafening uproar, as though the place had been a vast tavern, withmen shouting and abusing one another; each contributed to the din as though hewanted to drown it by his own voice. They were able to buy drink in thefactory, and they drank what they earned. “That’s theirconscience,” thought Pelle. “At heart they are goodcomrades.” There seemed to be some hope of success for his audaciousmaneuver. A group of Germans took no part in the orgy, but had set up aseparate colony in the remotest corner of the hall. They were there to makemoney!
In one of the groups a dispute broke out between the players; they werereviling one another in no measured language, and their terms of abuseculminated in the term “strike-breaker.” This made them perfectlyfurious. It was as though an abscess had broken; all their bottled-up shame andanger concerning their infamous position burst forth. They began to use knivesand tools on one another. The police, who kept watch on the factory day andnight, were called in, and restored tranquillity. A wounded smith was bandagedin the office, but no arrest was made. Then a sudden slackness overcame them.
They constantly crowded round Pelle. He was a new man; he came from outside.“How are things going out there?” was the constant question.
“Things are going very well out there. It’s a worse lookout for usin here,” said Pelle.
“Going very well, are they? We’ve been told they are near givingin.”
“Who told you that?”
“The bosses of the factory here.”
“Then they were fooling you, in order to keep you here.”
“That’s a lie! And what d’you mean by saying it’s aworse look-out for us? Out with it, now!”
“We shall never get regular work again. The comrades arewinning—and when they begin work again they’ll demand that weothers shall be locked out.”
“The devil—and they’ve promised us the best positions!”cried a great smith. “But you’re a liar! That you are! And why didyou come here if they are nearly winning outside? Answer me, damn it all! A mandoesn’t come slinking into this hell unless he’s compelled!”
“To leave his comrades in the lurch, you might add,” replied Pelleharshly. “I wanted to see how it feels to strike the bread away from themouths of the starving.”
“That’s a lie! No one would be so wicked! You are making fools ofus, you devil!”
“Give him a thrashing,” said another. “He’s playing acrooked game. Are you a spy, or what do you want here? Do you belong to thoseidiots outside?”
It had been Pelle’s plan to put a good face on a crooked job, andcautiously to feel his way; but now he grew angry.
“You had better think what you’re doing before you call honorablemen idiots,” he retorted violently. “Do you know what you are?Swine! You lie there eating your fill and pouring the drink down your throatsand living easy on the need of your comrades! Swine, that youare—Judases, who have sold a good cause for dirty money! How much did youget? Five and twenty kroner, eh? And out there they are loyally starving, sothat all of us—yes, you too—can live a little more like humanbeings in the future!”
“You hold your jaw!” said the big smith. “You’ve nowife and children— you can easily talk!”
“Aren’t you the fellow who lives in Jaegersborg Street?”Pelle demanded. “Perhaps you are sending what you earn to your wife andchildren? Then why are they in want? Yesterday they were turned out of doors;the organization took them in and found a roof to go over their heads—although they were a strike-breaker’s family!” Pelle himself hadmade this possible.
“Send—damn and blast it all—I’ll send them something!But if one lives this hell of a life in here the bit of money one earns allgoes in rot- gut! And now you’re going to get a thrashing!” Thesmith turned up his shirt-sleeves so that his mighty muscles were revealed. Hewas no longer reasonable, but glared at Pelle like an angry bull.
“Wait a bit,” said an older man, stepping up to Pelle. “Ithink I’ve seen you before. What is your real name, if I may make bold toask?”
“My name? You are welcome to know it. I am Pelle.”
This name produced an effect like that of an explosion. They were dazzled. Thesmith’s arms fell slack; he turned his head aside in shame. Pelle wasamong them! They had left him in the lurch, had turned their backs on him, andnow he stood there laughing at them, not the least bit angry with them. Whatwas more, he had called them comrades; so he did not despise them! “Pelleis here!” they said quietly; further and further spread the news, andtheir tongues dwelt curiously on his name. A murmur ran through the shops.“What the devil—has Pelle come?” they cried, stumbling totheir legs.
Pelle had leaped onto a great anvil. “Silence!” he cried, in avoice of thunder; “silence!” And there was silence in the greatbuilding. The men could hear their own deep breathing.
The foremen came rushing up and attempted to drag him down. “Youcan’t make speeches here!” they cried.
“Let him speak!” said the big smith threateningly. “Youaren’t big enough to stop his mouth, not by a long chalk!” Heseized a hammer and stationed himself at the foot of the anvil.
“Comrades!” Pelle began, in an easy tone, “I have been senthere to you with greetings from those outside there—from the comrades whoused to stand next to you at work, from your friends and fellow-unionists.Where are our old comrades?—they are asking. We have fought so manybattles by their side, we have shared good and evil with them—are we toenter into the new conditions without them? And your wives and children areasking after you! Outside there it is the spring! They don’t understandwhy they can’t pack the picnic basket and go out into the forest withfather!”
“No, there’s no picnic basket!” said a heavy voice.
“There are fifty thousand men accepting the situation withoutgrumbling,” Pelle earnestly replied. “And they are asking afteryou— they don’t understand why you demand more than they do. Haveyou done more for the movement than they have?—they ask. Or are you a lotof dukes, that you can’t quietly stand by the rank and file? And nowit’s the spring out there!” he cried once more. “The poorman’s winter is past, and the bright day is coming for him! And here yougo over to the wrong side and walk into prison! Do you know what the locked-outworkers call you? They call you the locked-in workers!”
There were a few suppressed smiles at this. “That’s a dam’good smack!” they told, one another. “He made that uphimself!”
“They have other names for us as well!” cried a voice defiantly.
“Yes, they have,” said Pelle vigorously. “But that’sbecause they are hungry. People get unreasonable then, you know verywell—and they grudge other folks their food!”
They thronged about him, pressing closer and closer. His words were scorchingthem, yet were doing them good. No one could hit out like Pelle, and yet at thesame time make them feel that they were decent fellows after all. The foreignworkers stood round about them, eagerly listening, in order that they, too,might catch a little of what was said.
Pelle had suddenly plunged into the subject of the famine, laying bare theyear-long, endless despair of their families, so that they all saw what theothers had suffered—saw really for the first time. They were amazed thatthey could have endured so much, but they knew that it was so; they noddedcontinually, in agreement; it was all literally true. It was Pelle’s owndesperate struggle that was speaking through him now, but the refrain ofsuffering ran through it all. He stood before them radiant and confident ofvictory, towering indomitably over them all.
Gradually his words became keen and vigorous. He reproached them with theirdisloyalty; he reminded them how dearly and bitterly they had bought the powerof cohesion, and in brief, striking phrases he awakened the inspiriting rhythmof the Cause, that lay slumbering in every heart. It was the old, belovedmusic, the well-known melody of the home and labor. Pelle sounded it with a newaccent. Like all those that forsake their country, they had forgotten the voiceof their mother—that was why they could not find their way home; but nowshe was calling them, calling them back to the old dream of a Land of Fortune!He could see it in their faces, and with a leap he was at them: “Do youknow of anything more infamous than to sell your mother-country? That is whatyou have done—before ever you set foot in it—you have sold it, withyour brothers, your wives, and your children! You have foresworn yourreligion—your faith in the great Cause! You have disobeyed orders, andhave sold yourselves for a miserable Judas-price and a keg of brandy!”
He stood with his left hand on the big smith’s shoulder, his right handhe clenched and held out toward them. In that hand he was holding them; he feltthat so strongly that he did not dare to let it sink, but continued to hold itoutstretched. A murmuring wave passed through the ranks, reaching even to theforeign workers. They were infected by the emotion of the others, and followedthe proceedings with tense attention, although they did not understand much ofthe language. At each sally they nodded and nudged one another, until now theystood there motionless, with expectant faces; they, too, were under the spellof his words. This was solidarity, the mighty, earth-encircling power! Pellerecognized the look of wonder on their faces; a cold shudder ran up and downhis spine. He held them all in his hand, and now the blow was to be struckbefore they had time to think matters over. Now!
“Comrades!” he cried loudly. “I told those outside that youwere honorable men, who had been led into the devil’s kitchen by want,and in a moment of misunderstanding. And I am going in to fetch your friendsand comrades out, I said. They are longing to come out to you again, to comeout into the spring! Did I lie when I spoke well of you?”
“No, that you didn’t!” they replied, with one voice.“Three cheers for Pelle! Three cheers for ‘Lightning’!”
“Come along, then!” Swiftly he leaped down from the anvil andmarched through the workshop, roaring out the Socialist marching-song. Theyfollowed him without a moment’s consideration, without regret or remorse;the rhythm of the march had seized them; it was as though the warm spring windwere blowing them out into the freedom of Nature. The door was unlocked, theofficials of the factory were pushed aside. Singing in a booming rhythm thatseemed to revenge itself for the long days of confinement, they marched outinto North Bridge Street, with Pelle at their head, and turned into the LaborBuilding.
XXXIV.
That was a glorious stroke! The employers abandoned all further idea of runningthe works without the Federation. The victory was the completer in that thetrades unions gave the foreign workers their passage-money, and sent them offbefore they had time for reflection. They were escorted to the steamers, andthe workers saw them off with a comradely “Hurrah!”
Pelle was the hero of the day. His doings were discussed in all the newspapers,and even his opponents lowered their swords before him.
He took it all as a matter of course; he was striving with all his might towarda fresh goal. There was no excuse for soaring into the clouds; the lock-out wasstill the principal fact, and a grievous and burdensome fact, and now he wasfeeling its whole weight. The armies of workers were still sauntering about thestreets, while the nation was consuming its own strength, and there was noimmediate prospect of a settlement. But one day the springs would rundry—and what then?
He was too deeply immersed in the conflict to grow dizzy by reason of a littleflattery; and the general opinion more than ever laid the responsibility forthe situation on him. If this terrible struggle should end in defeat, then hiswould be the blame! And he racked his brains to find a means of breaking downthe opposition of the enemy. The masses were still enduring the conditions withpatience, but how much longer would this last? Rumors, which intended mischief,were flying about; one day it was said that one of the leaders, who had beenentrusted with making collections, had run off with the cash-box; while anotherrumor declared that the whole body of workers had been sold to the employers!Something must happen! But what?
One afternoon he went home to see his family before going to a meeting. Thechildren were alone. “Where is mother?” he asked, taking YoungLasse on his knee. Little Sister was sitting upright in her cradle, playing.
“Mother made herself fine and went out into the city,” replied thechild. “Mother so fine!”
“So? Was she so fine?” Pelle went into the bed-room; he looked intothe wardrobe. Ellen’s wedding-dress was not there.
“That is curious,” he thought, and began to play with the children.The little girl stretched her tiny arms toward him. He had to take her up andsit with a child on either knee. The little girl kept on picking at his upperlip, as though she wanted to say something. “Yes, father’smoustache has fallen off, Little Sister,” said Young Lasse, inexplanation.
“Yes, it has flown away,” said Pelle. “There came a windand—phew!— away it went!” He looked into the glass with alittle grimace—that moustache had been his pride! Then he laughed at thechildren.
Ellen came home breathless, as though she had been running; a tender rosinesslay over her face and throat. She went into the bedroom with her cloak on.Pelle followed her. “You have your wedding-dress on,” he saidwonderingly.
“Yes, I wanted something done to it, so I went to the dressmaker, so thatshe could see the dress on me. But run out now, I’ll come directly; Ionly want to put another dress on.”
Pelle wanted to stay, but she pushed him toward the door. “Runaway!” she said, pulling her dress across her bosom. The tender red hadspread all over her bosom—she was so beautiful in her confusion!
After a time she came into the living-room and laid some notes on the tablebefore him.
“What’s this again?” he cried, half startled by the sight ofall this money.
“Yes, haven’t I wonderful luck? I’ve won in the lotteryagain! Haven’t you a clever wife?” She was standing behind him withher arm across his shoulders.
Pelle sat there for a moment, bowed down as though he had received a blow onthe head. Then he pushed her arm aside and turned round to her. “You havewon again already, you say? Twice? Twice running?” He spoke slowly andmonotonously, as though he wanted to let every word sink in.
“Yes; don’t you think it’s very clever of me?” Shelooked at him uncertainly and attempted to smile.
“But that is quite impossible!” he said heavily. “That isquite impossible!” Suddenly he sprang to his feet, seizing her by thethroat. “You are lying! You are lying!” he cried, raging.“Will you tell me the truth? Out with it!” He pressed her back overthe table, as though he meant to kill her. Young Lasse began to cry.
She stared at him with wondering eyes, which were full of increasing terror. Hereleased her and averted his face in order not to see those eyes; they werefull of the fear of death. She made no attempt to rise, but fixed him with anintolerable gaze, like that of a beast that is about to be killed and does notknow why. He rose, and went silently over to the children, and busied himselfin quieting them. He had a horrible feeling in his hands, almost as when oncein his childhood he had killed a young bird. Otherwise he had no feeling,except that everything was so loathsome. It was the fault of the situation …and now he would go.
He realized, as he packed his things, that she was standing by the table,crying softly. He realized it quite suddenly, but it was no concern of his….When he was ready and had kissed the children, a shudder ran through her body;she stepped before him in her old energetic way.
“Don’t leave me—you mustn’t leave me!” she said,sobbing. “Oh—I only wanted to do what was best for you—andyou didn’t see after anything. No, that’s not a reproach—butour daily bread, Pelle! For you and the children! I could no longer look on andsee you go without everything— especially you—Pelle! I love you so!It was out of love for you—above all, out of love for you!”
It sounded like a song in his ears, like a strange, remote refrain; the wordshe did not hear. He put her gently aside, kissed the boy once more, and strokedhis face. Ellen stood as though dead, gazing at his movements with staring,bewildered eyes. When he went out to the door she collapsed.
Pelle left his belongings downstairs with the mangling-woman, and he wentmechanically toward the city; he heard no sound, no echo; he went as oneasleep. His feet carried him toward the Labor House, and up the stairs, intothe room whence the campaign was directed. He took his place among the otherswithout knowing what he did, and there he sat, gazing down at the greentable-cloth.
The general mood showed signs of dejection. For a long time now the bottom ofthe cash-box had been visible, and as more and more workers were turned intothe street the product of self-imposed taxation was gradually declining. Andthe readiness of those outside the movement to make sacrifices was rapidlybeginning to fail. The public had now had enough of the affair. Everything wasfailing, now they would have to see if they could not come to some arrangement.Starvation was beginning to thrust its grinning head among the fifty thousandmen now idle. The moment had come upon which capital was counting; the momentwhen the crying of children for bread begins to break the will of the workers,until they are ready to sacrifice honor and independence in order to satisfythe little creatures’ hunger. And the enemy showed no sign of wishing forpeace!
This knowledge had laid its mark on all the members of the Council; and as theysat there they knew that the weal or woe of hundreds of thousands depended onthem. No one dared accept the responsibility of making a bold proposal in thisdirection or that. With things as they stood, they would have, in a week ortwo, to give up the fight! Then nearly a quarter of a million human beingswould have suffered torment for nothing! A terrible apathy would be the resultof that suffering and of the defeat; it would put them back many years. But ifthe employers could not long withstand the pressure which the financial worldwas beginning to exert on them, they would be throwing away the victory if theygave up the fight now.
The cleverest calculations were useless here. A blind, monstrous Pate wouldprevail. Who could say that he had lifted the veil of the future and couldpoint out the way?
No one! And Pelle, the blazing torch, who had shown them the road regardless ofall else—he sat there drowsing as though it meant nothing to him!Apparently he had broken down under his monstrous labors.
The secretary came in with a newspaper marked with red pencil. He passed it tothe chairman, who stared for a while at the underlined portion, then he roseand read it out; the paper was quivering in his hands.
“About thirty working women—young and of good appearance—canduring the lock-out find a home with various bachelors. Good treatmentguaranteed. The office of the paper will give further information.”
Pelle sprang up out of his half-slumber; the horrible catastrophe of his ownhome was blindingly clear now! “So it’s come to that!” hecried. “Now capital has laid its fingers on our wives—now they areto turn whore! We must fight on, fight, fight! We must strike one lastblow—and it must be a heavy one!”
“But how?” they asked.
Pelle was white with enforced calm. His mind had never been so radiantly clear.Now Ellen should be revenged on those who took everything, even the poorman’s one ewe lamb!
“In the first place we must issue an optimistic report—this veryday!” he said, smiling. “The cash-box is nearly empty—good!Then we will state that the workers have abundant means to carry on the fightfor another year if need be, and then we’ll go for them!”
Born of anger, an old, forgotten phantasy had flashed into his mind as adefinite plan.
“Hitherto we have fought passively,” he continued, “withpatience as our chief weapon! We have opposed our necessities of life to theluxuries of the other side; and if they strike at us in order to starve us toskin and bone and empty our homes of our last possessions, we answered them byrefusing to do the work which was necessary to their comfort! Let us for oncestrike at their vital necessities! Let us strike them where they have struck usfrom the beginning! In the belly! Then perhaps they’ll turn submissive!Hitherto we have kept the most important of the workers out of theconflict—those on whom the health and welfare of the public depend,although we ourselves have benefited nothing thereby. Why should we bake theirbread? We, who haven’t the means to eat it! Why should we look aftertheir cleanliness? We, who haven’t the means to keep ourselves clean! Letus bring the dustmen and the street-cleaners into the line of fire! And if thatisn’t enough we’ll turn off their gas and water! Let us venture ourlast penny—let us strike the last blow!”
Pelle’s proposal was adopted, and he went westward immediately to thepresident of the Scavengers’ Union. He had just got up and was sittingdown to his midday meal. He was a small, comfortable little man, who had alwaysa twinkle in his eye; he came from the coal country. Pelle had helped him atone time to get his organization into working order, and he knew that he couldcount on him and his men.
“Do you remember still, how I once showed you that you are the mostimportant workers in the city, Lars Hansen?”
The president nodded. “Yes, one would have to be a pretty sort of fool toforget that! No, as long as I live I shall never forget the effect your wordshad on us despised scavengers! It was you who gave us faith in ourselves, andan organization! And even if we aren’t quite the most important people,still—”
“But that’s just what you are—and now it’s your turn toprove it! Could you suspend work this night?”
Lars Hansen sat gazing thoughtfully into the lamp while he chewed his food.“Our relations with the city are rather in the nature of acontract,” he said slowly and at length. “They could punish us forit, and compel us to resume work. But if you want it, irrespective, why ofcourse we’ll do it. There can be only one view as to that among comrades!What you may gain by it you yourself know best.”
“Thanks!” said Pelle, holding out his hand. “Then that issettled—no more carts go out. And we must bring the street-cleaners to astandstill too!”
“Then the authorities will put other men on—there are plenty to befound for that work.”
“They won’t do that—or we’ll put a stop to it if theydo!”
“That sounds all right! It’ll be a nasty business for the swells!It’s all the same to the poor, they haven’t anything to eat. Butsuppose the soldiers are ordered to do it! Scavenging must be done if the cityisn’t to become pestilential!”
A flash of intelligence crossed Pelle’s face. “Now listen, comrade!When you stop working, deliver up all the keys, so that the authoritiescan’t touch you! Only put them all in a sack and give them a goodshake-up!”
Lars Hansen broke into a resounding laugh. “That will be the deuce of ajoke!” he groaned, smacking his thighs. “Then they’ll have tocome to us, for no one else will be able to sort them out again so quickly!I’ll take them the keys myself—I’ll go upstairs as innocentas anything!”
Pelle thanked him again. “You’ll save the whole Cause,” hesaid quietly. “It’s the bread and the future happiness of manythousands that you are now holding in your hands.” He smiled brightly andtook his leave. As soon as he was alone his smile faded and an expression ofdeathly weariness took its place.
Pelle walked the streets, strolling hither and thither. Now all was settled.There was nothing more to strive for. Everything within him seemed broken; hehad not even strength to decide what he should do with himself. He walked onand on, came out into the High Street, and turned off again into the sidestreets. Over the way, in the Colonial Stores, he saw Karl, smiling and active,behind the counter serving customers. “You ought really to go in and askhim how he’s getting on,” he thought, but he strolled on. Once,before a tenement-house, he halted and involuntarily looked up. No, he hadalready done his business here—this was where the president of theScavengers’ Union lived. No, the day’s work was over now—hewould go home to Ellen and the children!
Home? No home for him now—he was forsaken and alone! And yet he wenttoward the north; which road he went by he did not know, but after a time hefound himself standing before his own door and staring at the rusty littleletter box. Within there was a sound of weeping; he could hear Ellen moving toand fro, preparing everything for the night. Then he turned and hastened away,and did not breathe easily until he had turned the corner of the street.
He turned again and again, from one side street into another. Inside his headeverything seemed to be going round, and at every step he felt as if it wouldcrack. Suddenly he seemed to hear hasty but familiar steps behind him. Ellen!He turned round; there was no one there. So it was an illusion! But the stepsbegan again as soon as he went on. There was something about thosesteps—it was as though they wanted to say something to him; he could hearplainly that they wanted to catch up with him. He stopped suddenly—therewas no one there, and no one emerged from the darkness of the side streets.
Were these strange footsteps in his own mind, then? Pelle found themincomprehensible; his heart began to thump; his terrible exhaustion had madehim helpless. And Ellen—what was the matter with her? That reproachfulweeping sounded in his ears! Understand—what was he to understand? Shehad done it out of love, she had said! Ugh—away with it all! He was tooweary to justify her offence.
But what sort of wanderer was this? Now the footsteps were keeping time withhis now; they had a double sound. And when he thought, another creatureanswered to him, from deep within him. There was something persistent aboutthis, as there was in Morten’s influence; an opinion that made its waythrough all obstacles, even when reduced to silence. What was wanted of himnow—hadn’t he worked loyally enough? Was he not Pelle, who hadconducted the great campaign? Pelle, to whom all looked up? But there was nojoy in the thought now; he could not now hear the march of his fifty thousandcomrades in his own footsteps! He was left in the lurch, left alone with thisaccursed Something here in the deserted streets—and loneliness had comeupon him! “You are afraid!” he thought, with a bitter laugh.
But he did not wish to be alone; and he listened intently. The conflict hadtaken all that he possessed. So there was a community—mournful as itwas—between him and the misery around him here. What had he to complainof?
The city of the poor lay about him, terrible, ravaged by the battle ofunemployment—a city of weeping, and cold, and darkness, and want! Fromthe back premises sounded the crying of children—they were crying forbread, he knew—while drunken men staggered round the corners, and thescreaming of women sounded from the back rooms and the back yards. Ugh—this was Hell already! Thank God, victory was near!
Somewhere he could plainly hear voices; children were crying, and a woman, whowas moving to and fro in the room, was soothing them, and was lulling theyoungest to sleep—no doubt she had it in her arms. It all came down tohim so distinctly that he looked up. There were no windows in the apartment!They were to be driven out by the cold, he thought indignantly, and he ran upthe stairs; he was accustomed to taking the unfortunate by surprise.
“The landlord has taken out the doors and windows; he wanted to turn usinto the street, but we aren’t going, for where should we go? So he wantsto drive us out through the cold—like the bugs! They’ve driven myhusband to death—” Suddenly she recognized Pelle. “Soit’s you, you accursed devil!” she cried. “It was youyourself who set him on! Perhaps you remember how he used to drink out of thebottle? Formerly he always used to behave himself properly. And you saw, too,how we were turned out of St. Hans Street—the tenants forced us togo—didn’t you see that? Oh, you torturer! You’ve followed himeverywhere, hunted him like a wild beast, taunted him and tormented him todeath! When he went into a tavern the others would stand away from him, and thelandlord had to ask him to go. But he had more sense of honor than you!‘I’m infected with the plague!’ he said, and one morning hehanged himself. Ah, if I could pray the good God to smite you!” She wastearless; her voice was dry and hoarse.
“You have no need to do that,” replied Pelle bitterly. “Hehas smitten me! But I never wished your husband any harm; both times, when Imet him, I tried to help him. We have to suffer for the benefit of all—myown happiness is shattered into fragments.” He suddenly found relief intears.
“They just ought to see that—the working men—Pelle crying!Then they wouldn’t shout ‘Hurrah!’ when he appears!”she cried scornfully.
“I have still ten kroner—will you take them?” said Pelle,handing her the money.
She took it hesitating. “You must need that for your wife andchildren— that must be your share of your strike pay!”
“I have no wife and children now. Take it!”
“Good God! Has your home gone to pieces too? Couldn’t even Pellekeep it together? Well, well, it’s only natural that he who sows shouldreap!”
Pelle went his way without replying. The unjust judgment of this womandepressed him more than the applause of thousands would have pleased him. Butit aroused a violent mental protest. Where she had struck him he wasinvulnerable; he had not been looking after his own trivial affairs; but hadjustly and honorably served the great Cause, and had led the people to victory.The wounded and the fallen had no right to abuse him. He had lost more than anyone—he had lost everything!
With care-laden heart, but curiously calm, he went toward the North Bridge andrented a room in a cheap lodging house.
XXXV
The final instructions issued to the workers aroused terrible indignation inthe city. At one blow the entire public was set against them; the press wasfurious, and full of threats and warnings. Even the independent journalsconsidered that the workers had infringed the laws of human civilization. ButThe Working Man quietly called attention to the fact that the conflictwas a matter of life or death for the lower classes. They were ready to proceedto extremities; they still had it in their power to cut off the water andgas—the means of the capital’s commercial and physical life!
Then the tide set in against the employers. Something had to give somewhere!And what was the real motive of the conflict? Merely a question of power! Theywanted to have the sole voice—to have their workers bound hand and foot.The financiers, who stood at the back of the big employers, had had enough ofthe whole affair. It would be an expensive game first and last, and there wouldbe little profit in destroying the cohesion of the workers if the variousindustries were ruined at the same time.
Pelle saw how the crisis was approaching while he wandered about the lesserstreets in search of Father Lasse. Now the Cause was progressing by its ownmomentum, and he could rest. An unending strain was at last lifted from hisshoulders, and now he wanted time to gather together the remnants of his ownhappiness—and at last to do something for one who had always sacrificedhimself for him. Now he and Lasse would find a home together, and resume theold life in company together; he rejoiced at the thought. Father Lasse’snature never clashed with his; he had always stood by him through everything;his love was like a mother’s.
Lasse was no longer living in his lair behind Baker Street. The old woman withwhom he was living had died shortly before this, and Lasse had thendisappeared.
Pelle continued to ask after him, and, well known as he was among the poor, itwas not difficult for him to follow the old man’s traces, which graduallyled him out to Kristianshavn. During his inquiries he encountered a great dealof misery, which delayed him. Now, when the battle was fighting itself to aconclusion, he was everywhere confronted by need, and his old compassion welledup in his heart. He helped where he could, finding remedies with his usualenergy.
Lasse had not been to the “Ark” itself, but some one there had seenhim in the streets, in a deplorable condition; where he lived no one knew.“Have you looked in the cellar of the Merchant’s House overyonder?” the old night watchman asked him. “Many live there inthese hard times. Every morning about six o’clock I lock the cellar up,and then I call down and warn them so that they shan’t be pinched. If Ihappen to turn away, then they come slinking up. It seems to me I heard of anold man who was said to be lying down there, but I’m not sure, forI’ve wadding in my ears; I’m obliged to in my calling, in order notto hear too much!” He went to the place with Pelle.
The Merchant’s House, which in the eighteenth century was the palace ofone of the great mercantile families of Kristianshavn, was now used as agranary; it lay fronting on one of the canals. The deep cellars, which wereentirely below the level of the canal, were now empty. It was pitch dark downthere, and impracticable; the damp air seemed to gnaw at one’s vocalcords. They took a light and explored among the pillars, finding here and thereplaces where people had lain on straw. “There is no one here,” saidthe watchman. Pelle called, and heard a feeble sound as of one clearing histhroat. Far back in the cellars, in one of the cavities in the wall, FatherLasse was lying on a mattress. “Yes, here I lie, waiting fordeath,” he whispered. “It won’t last much longer now; therats have begun to sniff about me already.” The cold, damp air had takenhis voice away.
He was altogether in a pitiful condition, but the sight of Pelle put life intohim in so far as he was able to stand on his feet. They took him over to the“Ark,” the old night watchman giving up his room and going up toWidow Johnsen;—there he slept in the daytime, and at night went about hisduties; a possible arrangement, although there was only one bed.
When Lasse was put into a warm bed he lay there shivering; and he was not quiteclear in his mind. Pelle warmed some beer; the old man must go through asweating cure; from time to time he sat on the bed and gazed anxiously at hisfather. Lasse lay there with his teeth chattering; he had closed his eyes; nowand again he tried to speak, but could not.
The warm drink helped him a little, and the blood flowed once more into hisdead, icy hands, and his voice returned.
“Do you think we are going to have a hard winter?” he saidsuddenly, turning on his side.
“We are going on toward the summer now, dear father,” Pellereplied. “But you must not lie with your back uncovered.”
“I’m so terribly cold—almost as cold as I was in winter; Iwouldn’t care to go through that again. It got into my spine so. GoodGod, the poor folks who are at sea!”
“You needn’t worry about them—you just think about gettingwell again; to-day we’ve got the sunshine and it’s fine weather atsea!”
“Let a little sunshine in here to me, then,” said Lasse peevishly.
“There’s a great wall in front of the window, father,” saidPelle, bending down over him.
“Well, well, it’ll soon be over, the little time that’s stillleft me! It’s all the same to the night watchman—he wakes all nightand yet he doesn’t see the sun. That is truly a curious calling! But itis good that some one should watch over us while we sleep.” Lasse rockedhis head restlessly to and fro.
“Yes, otherwise they’d come by night and steal our money,”said Pelle jestingly.
“Yes, that they would!” Lasse tried to laugh. “And how arethings going with you, lad?”
“The negotiations are proceeding; yesterday we held the firstmeeting.”
Lasse laughed until his throat rattled. “So the fine folks couldn’tstomach the smell any longer! Yes, yes, I heard the news of that when I waslying ill down there in the darkness. At night, when the others came creepingin, they told me about it; we laughed properly over that idea of yours. Butoughtn’t you to be at your meeting?”
“No, I have excused myself—I don’t want to sit theresquabbling about the ending of a sentence. Now I’m going to be with you,and then we’ll both make ourselves comfortable.”
“I am afraid we shan’t have much more joy of one another,lad!”
“But you are quite jolly again now. To-morrow you will see—”
“Ah, no! Death doesn’t play false. I couldn’t stand thatcellar.”
“Why did you do it, father? You knew your place at home was waiting foryou.”
“Yes, you must forgive my obstinacy, Pelle. But I was too old to be ableto help in the fight, and then I thought at least you won’t lay a burdenon them so long as this lasts! So in that way I have borne my share. And do youreally believe that something will come of it?”
“Yes, we are winning—and then the new times will begin for the poorman!”
“Yes, yes; I’ve no part in such fine things now! It was as thoughone served the wicked goblin that stands over the door: Work to-day, eat to-morrow! And to-morrow never came. What kindness I’ve known has been frommy own people; a poor bird will pull out its own feathers to cover another. ButI can’t complain; I have had bad days, but there are folks who have hadworse. And the women have always been good to me. Bengta was a grumbler, butshe meant it kindly; Karna sacrificed money and health to me—God bethanked that she didn’t live after they took the farm from me. ForI’ve been a landowner too; I had almost forgotten that in all my misery!Yes, and old Lise—Begging Lise, as they called her— she shared bedand board with me! She died of starvation, smart though she was. Would youbelieve that? ‘Eat!’ she used to say; ‘we have foodenough!’ And I, old devil, I ate the last crust, and suspected nothing,and in the morning she was lying dead and cold at my side! There was not ascrap of flesh on her whole body; nothing but skin over dry bones. But she wasone of God’s angels! We used to sing together, she and I. Ach, poorpeople take the bread out of one another’s mouths!”
Lasse lay for a time sunk in memories, and began to sing, with the gestures hehad employed in the courtyard. Pelle held him down and endeavored to bring himto reason, but the old man thought he was dealing with the street urchins. Whenhe came to the verse which spoke of his son he wept.
“Don’t cry, father!” said Pelle, quite beside himself, and helaid his heavy head against that of the old man. “I am with youagain!”
Lasse lay still for a time, blinking his eyes, with his hand groping to and froover his son’s face.
“Yes, you are really here,” he said faintly, “and I thoughtyou had gone away again. Do you know what, Pelle? You have been the whole lightof my life! When you came into the world I was already past the best of myyears; but then you came, and it was as though the sun had been born anew!‘What may he not bring with him?’ I used to think, and I held myhead high in the air. You were no bigger than a pint bottle! ‘Perhapshe’ll make his fortune,’ I thought, ‘and then there’llbe a bit of luck for you as well!’ So I thought, and so I’ve alwaysbelieved—but now I must give it up. But I’ve lived to see yourespected. You haven’t become a rich man—well, that need notmatter; but the poor speak well of you! You have fought their battles for themwithout taking anything to fill your own belly. Now I understand it, and my oldheart rejoices that you are my son!”
When Lasse fell asleep Pelle lay on the sofa for a while. But he did not restlong; the old man slept like a bird, opening his eyes every moment. If he didnot see his son close to his bed he lay tossing from side to side andcomplaining in a half-slumber. In the middle of the night he raised his headand held it up in a listening attitude. Pelle awoke.
“What do you want, father?” he asked, as he tumbled onto his feet.
“Ach, I can hear something flowing, far out yonder, beyond the sea-line…. It is as though the water were pouring into the abyss. Butoughtn’t you to go home to Ellen now? I shall be all right aloneovernight, and perhaps she’s sitting worrying as to where you are.”
“I’ve sent to Ellen to tell her that I shouldn’t be homeovernight,” said Pelle.
The old man lay considering his son with a pondering glance, “Are youhappy, too, now?” he asked. “It seems to me as though there issomething about your marriage that ought not to be.”
“Yes, father, it’s quite all right,” Pelle replied in ahalf-choking voice.
“Well, God be thanked for that! You’ve got a good wife in Ellen,and she has given you splendid children. How is Young Lasse? I should dearlylike to see him again before I go from here—there will still be aLasse!”
“I’ll bring him to you early in the morning,” said Pelle.“And now you ought to see if you can’t sleep a little, father. Itis pitch dark still!”
Lasse turned himself submissively toward the wall. Once he cautiously turnedhis head to see if Pelle was sleeping; his eyes could not see across the room,so he attempted to get out of bed, but fell back with a groan.
“What is it, father?” cried Pelle anxiously, and he was beside himin a moment.
“I only wanted just to see that you’d got something over you inthis cold! But my old limbs won’t bear me any more,” said the oldman, with a shamefaced expression.
Toward morning he fell into a quiet sleep, and Pelle brought Madam Johnsen tosit with the old man, while he went home for Young Lasse. It was no easy thingto do; but the last wish of the old man must be granted. And he knew that Ellenwould not entrust the child to strange hands.
Ellen’s frozen expression lit up as he came; an exclamation of joy roseto her lips, but the sight of his face killed it. “My father liesdying,” he said sadly—“he very much wants to see theboy.” She nodded and quietly busied herself in making the child ready.Pelle stood at the window gazing out.
It seemed very strange to him that he should be here once more; the memory ofthe little household rose to his mind and made him weak. He must see LittleSister! Ellen led him silently into the bedroom; the child was sleeping in hercradle; a deep and wonderful peace brooded over her bright head. Ellen seemedto be nearer to him in this room here; he felt her compelling eyes upon him. Hepulled himself forcibly together and went into the other room—he hadnothing more to do there. He was a stranger in this home. A thought occurred tohim—whether she was going on with that? Although it was nothing tohim, the question would not be suppressed; and he looked about him for somesign that might be significant. It was a poverty-stricken place; everythingsuperfluous had vanished. But a shoemaker’s sewing machine had made itsappearance, and there was work on it. Strike-breaking work! he thoughtmechanically. But not disgraceful—for the first time he was glad todiscover a case of strike-breaking. She had also begun to take insewing—and she looked thoroughly overworked. This gave him downrightpleasure.
“The boy is ready to go with you now,” she said.
Pelle cast a farewell glance over the room. “Is there anything youneed?” he asked.
“Thanks—I can look after myself,” she replied proudly.
“You didn’t take the money I sent you on Saturday!”
“I can manage myself—if I can only keep the boy. Don’t forgetthat you told me once he should always stay with me.”
“He must have a mother who can look him in the face—remember that,Ellen!”
“You needn’t remind me of that,” she replied bitterly.
Lasse was awake when they arrived. “Eh, that’s a genuineKarlsen!” he said. “He takes after our family. Look now, Pelle,boy! He has the same prominent ears, and he’s got the lucky curl on hisforehead too! He’ll make his way in the world! I must kiss his littlehands—for the hands, they are our blessing—the only possession wecome into the world with. They say the world will be lifted up by the hands ofpoor; I should like to know whether that will be so! I should like to knowwhether the new times will come soon now. It’s a pity after all that Ishan’t live to see it!”
“You may very well be alive to see it yet, father,” said Pelle, whoon the way had bought The Working Man, and was now eagerly reading it.“They are going ahead in full force, and in the next few days the fightwill be over! Then we’ll both settle down and be jolly together!”
“No, I shan’t live to see that! Death has taken hold of me; he willsoon snatch me away. But if there’s anything after it all, it would befine if I could sit up there and watch your good fortune coming true. You havetravelled the difficult way, Pelle—Lasse is not stupid! But perhapsyou’ll he rewarded by a good position, if you take over the leadershipyourself now. But then you must see that you don’t forget thepoor!”
“That’s a long way off yet, father! And then there won’t beany more poor!”
“You say that so certainly, but poverty is not so easily dealtwith—it has eaten its way in too deep! Young Lasse will perhaps be agrown man before that comes about. But now you must take the boy away, for itisn’t good that he should see how the old die. He looks sopale—does he get out into the sun properly?”
“The rich have borrowed the sun—and they’ve forgotten to payit back,” said Pelle bitterly.
Lasse raised his head in the air, as though he were striving against something.“Yes, yes! It needs good eyes to look into the future, and minewon’t serve me any longer. But now you must go and take the boy with you.And you mustn’t neglect your affairs, you can’t outwit death,however clever you may be.” He laid his withered hand on YoungLasse’s head and turned his face to the wall.
Pelle got Madam Johnsen to take the boy home again, so that he himself couldremain with the old man. Their paths had of late years lain so little together;they had forever been meeting and then leading far apart. He felt the need of alingering farewell. While he moved to and fro, and lit a fire to warm up somefood, and did what he could to make Father Lasse comfortable, he listened tothe old man’s desultory speech and let himself drift hack into thecareless days of childhood. Like a deep, tender murmur, like the voice of theearth itself, Lasse’s monotonous speech renewed his childhood; and as itcontinued, it became the never-silent speech of the many concerning theconditions of life. Now, in silence he turned again from the thousands toFather Lasse, and saw how great a world this tender-hearted old man hadsupported. He had always been old and worn-out so long as Pelle could remember.Labor so soon robs the poor man of his youth and makes his age so long! Butthis very frailty endowed him with a superhuman power—that of the father!He had borne his poverty greatly, without becoming wicked or self-seeking ornarrow; his heart had always been full of the cheerfulness of sacrifice, andfull of tenderness; he had been strong even in his impotence. Like the HeavenlyFather Himself, he had encompassed Pelle’s whole existence with his warmaffection, and it would be terrible indeed when his kindly speech was no longeraudible at the back of everything.
His departing soul hovered in ever-expanding circles over the way along whichhe had travelled—like the doves when they migrate. Each time he hadrecovered a little strength he took up the tale of his life anew. “Therehas always been something to rejoice over, you know, but much of it has beenonly an aimless struggle. In the days when I knew no better I managed wellenough; but from the moment when you were born my old mind began to look to thefuture, and I couldn’t feel at peace any more. There was something aboutyou that seemed like an omen, and since then it has always stuck in my mind;and my intentions have been restless, like the Jerusalem shoemaker’s. Itwas as though something had suddenly given me—poor louse!—thepromise of a more beautiful life; and the memory of that kept on running in mymind. Is it perhaps the longing for Paradise, out of which they drove usonce?—I used to think. If you’ll believe me, I, poor old blundereras I am, have had splendid dreams of a beautiful, care-free old age, when myson, with his wife and children, would come and visit me in my own cozy room,where I could entertain them a little with everything neat and tidy. Ididn’t give up hoping for it even right at the end. I used to go aboutdreaming of a treasure which I should find out on the refuse-heaps. Ah, I didso want to be able to leave you something! I have been able to do so miserablylittle for you.”
“And you say that, who have been father and mother to me? During my wholechildhood you stood behind everything, protecting me; if anything happened tome I always used to think; ‘Father Lasse will soon set that right!’And when I grew up I found in everything that I undertook that you were helpingme to raise myself. It would have gone but ill indeed with everything if youhadn’t given me such a good inheritance!”
“Do you say that?” cried Lasse proudly. “Shall I truly havedone my share in what you have done for the Cause of the poor? Ah, that soundsgood, in any case! No, but you have been my life, my boy, and I used to wonder,poor weak man as I was, to see how great my strength was in you! What Iscarcely dared to think of even, you have had the power to do! And now here Ilie, and have not even the strength to die. You must promise me that youwon’t burden yourself on my account with anything that’s beyondyour ability—you must leave the matter to the poor-law authorities.I’ve kept myself clear of them till now, but it was only my stupid pride.The poor man and the poor-laws belong together after all. I have learned latelyto look at many things differently; and it is good that I amdying—otherwise I should soon be alive and thinking but have no power. Ifthese ideas had come to me in the strength of my youth perhaps I should havedone something violent. I hadn’t your prudence and intelligence, to beable to carry eggs in a hop-sack….”
On the morning of the third day there was a change in Lasse, although it wasnot easy to say where the alteration lay. Pelle sat at the bedside reading thelast issue of The Working Man, when he noticed that Lasse was gazing athim. “Is there any news?” he asked faintly.
“The negotiations are proceeding,” said Pelle, “but it isdifficult to agree upon a basis…. Several times everything has been on thepoint of breaking down.”
“It’s dragging out such a long time,” said Lasse dejectedly;“and I shall die to-day, Pelle. There is something restless inside me,although I should dearly like to rest a little. It is curious, how we wanderabout trying to obtain something different to what we have! As a little boy athome in Tommelilla I used to run round a well; I used to run like onepossessed, and I believed if I only ran properly I should be able to catch myown heels! And now I’ve done it; for now there is always some one infront of me, so that I can’t go forward, and it’s old Lasse himselfwho is stopping the way! I am always thinking I must overtake him, but Ican’t find my old views of the world again, they have altered so. On thenight when the big employers declared the lock-out I was standing out thereamong the many thousands of other poor folks, listening. They were toasting theresolution with champagne, and cheering, and there my opinions were changed!It’s strange how things are in this world. Down in the granary cellarthere lay a mason who had built one of the finest palaces in the capital, andhe hadn’t even a roof over his head.”
A sharp line that had never been there before appeared round his mouth. Itbecame difficult for him to speak, but he could not stop. “Whatever youdo, never believe the clergy,” he continued, when he had gathered alittle strength. “That has been my disadvantage—I began to thinkover things too late. We mustn’t grumble, they say, for one thing hasnaturally grown out of another, big things out of little, and all togetherdepends on God’s will. According to that our vermin must finally becomethorough-bred horse for the rich—and God knows I believe that ispossible! They have begun by sucking the blood of poverty—but only seehow they prance in front of the carriage! Ah, yes—how will the new periodtake shape? What do you think about it?”
“It will be good for us all, father,” replied Pelle, with anxietyin his voice. “But it will be sad for me, because you will no longer haveyour part in it all. But you shall have a fine resting-place, and I will giveyou a great stone of Bornholm granite, with a beautiful inscription.”
“You must put on the stone: ‘Work to-day, eatto-morrow!’” replied Lasse bitterly.
All day long he lay there in a half-sleep. But in the evening twilight heraised his head. “Are those the angels I hear singing?” hewhispered. The ring had gone out of his voice.
“No, those are the little children of the factory women, their motherswill be coming home directly to give them the breast; then they’llstop.”
Lasse sighed. “That will be poor food if they have to work all day. Theysay the rich folks drink wine at twelve and fifteen kroner a bottle; thatsounds as if they take the milk away from the little children and turn it intocostly liquors.”
He lay there whispering; Pelle had to bend his head till it was almost againsthis mouth. “Hand in hand we’ve wandered hither, lad, yet each hasgone his own way. You are going the way of youth, and Lasse—but you havegiven me much joy.”
Then the loving spirit, which for Pelle had burned always clear and untroubledamid all vicissitudes, was extinguished. It was as though Providence had turnedits face from him; life collapsed and sank into space, and he found himselfsitting on a chair—alone. All night long he sat there motionless besidethe body, staring with vacant eyes into the incomprehensible, while histhoughts whispered sadly to the dead of all that he had been. He did not move,but himself sat like a dead man, until Madam Johnsen came in the morning to askhow matters were progressing.
Then he awoke and went out, in order to make such arrangements as werenecessary.
XXXVI
On Saturday, at noon, it was reported that the treaty of peace was signed, andthat the great strike was over. The rumor spread through the capital withincredible speed, finding its way everywhere. “Have you heard yet? Haveyou heard yet? Peace is concluded!” The poor were busy again; they layhuddled together no longer, but came out into the light of day, their leanfaces full of sunlight. The women got out their baskets and sent the childrenrunning to make a few purchases for Sunday—for now the grocer would givethem a little credit! People smiled and chattered and borrowed a littlehappiness! Summer had come, and a monstrous accumulation of work was waiting tobe done, and at last they were going to set to work in real earnest! The newswas shouted from one back door to the next; people threw down what they had intheir hands and ran on with the news. It occurred to no one to stand still andto doubt; they were only too willing to believe!
Later in the afternoon The Working Man issued a board-sheet confirmingthe rumor. Yes, it was really true! And it was a victory; the right ofcombination was recognized, and Capital had been taught to respect the workersas a political factor. It would no longer be possible to oppress them. And inother respects the status quo was confirmed.
“Just think—they’ve been taught to respect us, and theycouldn’t refuse to accept the status quo!” And they laughedall over their faces with joy to think that it was confirmed, although no oneknew what it was!
The men were in the streets; they were flocking to their organizations, inorder to receive orders and to learn the details of the victory. One wouldhardly have supposed from their appearance that the victory was theirs; theyhad become so accustomed to gloom that it was difficult to shake it off.
There was a sound of chattering in backyards and on staircases. Work was to beresumed—beautiful, glorious labor, that meant food and drink and a littleclothing for the body! Yes, and domestic security! No more chewing the cud overan empty manger; now one could once more throw one’s money about alittle, and then, by skimping and saving, with tears and hardship, make itsuffice! To-night father would have something really good with his bread andbutter, and to-morrow, perhaps, they could go out into the forest with thepicnic-basket! Or at all events, as soon as they had got their best clothesback from the pawn-shop! They must have a bit of an airing before the wintercame, and they had to go back into pawn! They were so overjoyed at the merethought of peace that they quite forgot, for the moment, to demand anythingnew!
Pelle had taken part in the concluding negotiations; after Father Lasse’sburial he was himself again. Toward evening he was roaming about the poorquarter of the city, rejoicing in the mood of the people; he had played such animportant part in the bitter struggle of the poor that he felt the need toshare their joy as well. From the North Bridge he went by way of the Lakes toWest Bridge; and everywhere swarms of people were afoot. In the side-streets byWest Bridge all the families had emerged from their dwellings and establishedthemselves on the front steps and the pavements; there they sat, bare-headed inthe twilight, gossiping, smoking, and absorbing refreshments. It was the firstwarm evening; the sky was a deep blue, and at the end of the street thedarkness was flooded with purple. There was something extravagant about themall; joy urged their movements to exceed the narrow every-day limits, and madethem stammer and stagger as though slightly intoxicated.
Now they could all make their appearance again, all those families that hadhidden themselves during the time of want; they were just as ragged, but thatwas of no consequence now! They were beaming with proud delight to think thatthey had come through the conflict without turning to any one for help; and thebattles fought out in the darkness were forgotten.
Pelle had reached the open ground by the Gasworks Harbor; he wanted to go overto see his old friends in the “Ark.” Yonder it lay, lifting itsglowing mass into the deep night of the eastern sky. The red of the sinking sunfell over it. High overhead, above the crater of the mass, hung a cloud ofvapor, like a shadow on the evening sky. Pelle, as he wandered, had been gazingat this streak of shadow; it was the dense exhalation of all the creatures inthe heart of the mass below, the reek of rotting material and inferior fuel.Now, among other consequences of victory, there would be a thorough cleansingof the dens of poverty. A dream floated before him, of comfortable littledwellings for the workers, each with its little garden and its well-weededpaths. It would repay a man then to go home after the day’s fatigue!
It seemed to him that the streak of smoke yonder was growing denser and denser.Or were his eyes merely exaggerating that which was occupying his thoughts? Hestood still, gazing—then he began to run. A red light was striking upwardagainst the cloud of smoke—touched a moment, and disappeared; and a freshmass of smoke unrolled itself, and hung brooding heavily overhead.
Pelle rushed across the Staple Square, and over the long bridge. Only too welldid he know the terrible bulk of the “Ark”—and there was noother exit than the tunnel! And the timber-work, which provided the sole accessto the upper stories! As he ran he could see it all clearly before his eyes,and his mind began to search for means of rescue. The fire brigade was ofcourse given the alarm at once, but it would take time to get the engines here,and it was all a matter of minutes! If the timber staging fell and the tunnelwere choked all the inmates would be lost—and the “Ark” didnot possess a single emergency-ladder!
Outside, in front of the “Ark,” was a restless crowd of people, allshouting together. “Here comes Pelle!” cried some one. At once theywere all silent, and turned their faces toward him. “Fetch thefire-escape from the prison!” he shouted to some of the men in passing,and ran to the tunnel-entry.
From the long corridors on the ground floor the inmates were rushing out withtheir little children in their arms. Some were dragging valuelesspossessions—the first things they could lay hands on. All that was leftof the timber-work after the wreckage of the terrible winter was now brightlyblazing. Pelle tried to run up the burning stairs, but fell through. Theinmates were hanging half out of their windows, staring down with eyes full ofmadness; every moment they ran out onto the platforms in an effort to get down,but always ran shrieking back.
At her third-story window Widow Johnsen stood wailing, with her grandchild andthe factory-girl’s little Paul in her arms. Hanne’s little daughterstared silently out of the window, with the deep, wondering gaze of her mother.“Don’t be afraid,” Pelle shouted to the old woman; “weare coming to help you now!” When little Paul caught sight of Pelle hewrenched himself away from Madam Johnsen and ran out onto the gallery. Hejumped right down, lay for a moment on the flagstones, turned round and round,quite confused, and then, like a flash of lightning, he rushed by Pelle and outinto the street.
Pelle sent a few of the men into the long corridor, to see whether all wereout. “Break in the closed doors,” he said; “there maypossibly be children or sick people inside.” The inmates of the first andsecond stories had saved themselves before the fire had got a hold on thewoodwork.
Pelle himself ran up the main staircase up to the lofts and under the roof, inorder to go to the assistance of the inmates of the outbuildings over theattics. But he was met by the inmates of the long roof-walk. “Youcan’t get through any longer,” said the old rag-picker;“Pipman’s whole garret is burning, and there are no more up here.God in heaven have mercy on the poor souls over there!”
In spite of this, Pelle tried to find a way over the attics, but was forced toturn back.
The men had fetched the fire-escape, and had with difficulty brought it throughthe entry and had set it up! The burning timbers were beginning to fall;fragments of burning woodwork lay all around, and at any moment the wholebuilding might collapse with a crash. But there was no time to think ofone’s self. The smoke was rolling out of Vinslev’s corridor andfilling the yard. There was need of haste.
“Of course, it was the lunatic who started the fire,” said the men,as they held the ladder.
It reached only to the second story, but Pelle threw a rope up to MadamJohnsen, and she fastened it to the window-frame, so that he was able toclamber up. With the rope he lowered first the child and then the old woman tohis comrades below, who were standing on the ladder to receive them. The smokewas smarting in his eyes and throat, and all but stifled him; he could seenothing, but he heard a horrible shrieking all about him.
Just above him a woman was wailing. “Oh, Pelle, help me!” shewhimpered, half choking. It was the timid seamstress, who had moved thither; herecognized her emotional voice. “She loves me!” suddenly flashedupon his mind.
“Catch the rope and fasten it well to the window-frame, and I’llcome up and help you!” he said, and he swung the end of the rope uptoward the fourth story. But at the same moment a wild shriek rang out. A darkmass flew past his head and struck the flagstones with a dull thud. The flamesdarted hissing from the window, as though to reach after her, and then drewback.
For a moment he hung stupefied over the window-sill. This was too horrible. Wasit not her gentle voice that he now heard singing with him? And then thetimbers fell with a long cracking sound, and a cloud of hot ashes rose in theair and filled the lungs as with fire. “Come down!” cried hiscomrades, “the ladder is burning!”
A deafening, long-drawn ringing told him that the fire-brigade was near athand.
But in the midst of all the uproar Pelle’s ears had heard a faint,intermittent sound. With one leap he was in Madam Johnsen’s room; hestood there listening; the crying of a child reached him from the other side ofthe wall, where the rooms opened on to the inner corridor. It was horrible tohear it and to stand there and be able to do nothing. A wall lay between, andthere was no thoroughfare on the other side. In the court below they wereshouting his name. Devil take them, he would come when he was ready. There hestood, obstinate and apathetic, held there by that complaining, childish voice.A blind fury arose in him; sullenly he set his shoulder against that accursedwall, and prepared himself for the shock. But the wall was giving! Yet again hecharged it —a terrible blow—and part of the barrier was down!
He was met by a rush of stifling heat and smoke; he had to hold his breath andcover his face with his hands as he pressed forward. A little child lay therein a cradle. He stumbled over to it and groped his way back to the wall. Thefire, now that it had access to the air, suddenly leaped at him with anexplosive force that made him stagger. He felt as though a thirsty bull hadlicked his cheek. It bellowed at his heels with a voice of thunder, but wassilent when he slammed the door. Half choking he found his way to the windowand tried to shout to those below, but he had no voice left; only a hoarsewhisper came from his throat.
Well, there he stood, with a child in his arms, and he was going to die! Butthat didn’t matter—he had got through the wall! Behind him the firewas pressing forward; it had eaten a small hole through the door, and had thuscreated the necessary draught. The hole grew larger; sparks rose as under apair of bellows, and a dry, burning heat blew through the opening. Small,almost imperceptible flames were dancing over the polished surface; very soonthe whole door would burst into a blaze. His clothes smelt of singeing; hishands were curiously dry like decaying wood, and he felt as if the hair at theback of his head was curling. And down below they were shouting his name. Butall that was of no consequence; only his head was so heavy with the smoke andheat! He felt that he was on the point of falling. Was the child still alive?he wondered. But he dared not look to see; he had spread his jacket over itsface in order to protect it.
He clutched the window-frame, and directed his dying thoughts toward Ellen andthe children. Why was he not with them? What nonsense had it been that inducedhim to leave them? He could no longer recollect; but if it had not been all upwith him now he would have hurried home to them, to play with Young Lasse. Butnow he must die; in a moment he would fall, suffocated—even before theflames could reach him.
There was some slight satisfaction in that—it was as though he had playeda trick on some one.
Suddenly something shot up before his dying gaze and called him back. It wasthe end of a fire-escape, and a fireman rose out of the smoke just in front ofhim, seized the child, and handed it down. Pelle stood there wrestling with theidea that he must move from where he was; but before it had passed through hismind a fireman had seized him by the scruff of his neck and had run down theladder with him.
The fresh air aroused him. He sprang up from the stretcher on which the firemanhad laid him and looked excitedly about him. At the same moment the peoplebegan quite senselessly to shout his name and to clap their hands, and MadamJohnsen pushed her way through the barrier and threw herself upon him.“Pelle!” she cried, weeping; “oh, you are alive,Pelle!”
“Yes, of course I’m alive—but that’s nothing to cryabout.”
“No, but we thought you were caught in there. But how you look, you poorboy!” She took him with her to a working-man’s home, and helped himto set himself to rights. When he had once seen a looking-glass he understood!He was unrecognizable, what with smoke and ashes, which had burnt themselvesinto his skin and would not come off. And under the grime there was a bad burnon one of his cheeks. He went to one of the firemen and had a plaster applied.
“You really want a pair of eyebrows too,” said the fireman.“You’ve been properly in the fire, haven’t you?”
“Why did the fire-engines take so long?” asked Pelle.
“Long? They were ten minutes getting here after the alarm was given. Wegot the alarm at eight, and now it’s half-past.”
Pelle was silent; he was quite taken aback; he felt as though the whole nightmust have gone by, so much had happened. Half an hour—and in that time hehad helped to snatch several people out of the claws of death and had seenothers fall into them. And he himself was singed by the close passage of death!The knowledge was lurking somewhere at the back of his mind, an accomplishedbut elusive fact; when he clenched his fist cracks appeared in the skin, andhis clothes smelt like burnt horn. In the court the firemen were workingunceasingly.
Some, from the tops of their ladders in the court, were pouring streams ofwater upon the flames; others were forcing their way into the body of thebuilding and searching the rooms; and from time to time a fireman made hisappearance carrying a charred body. Then the inmates of the “Ark”were called inside the barrier in order to identify the body. They hurriedweeping through the crowd, seeking one another; it was impossible for thepolice to assemble them or to ascertain how many had failed to escape.
Suddenly all eyes were directed toward the roof of the front portion of thebuilding, where the fire had not as yet entirely prevailed. There stood thecrazy Vinslev, playing on his flute; and when the cracking of the fire wasmuffled for a moment one could hear his crazy music “Listen! Listen! Heis playing the march!” they cried. Yes, he was playing the march, but itwas interwoven with his own fantasies, so that the well-known melody soundedquite insane on Vinslev’s flute.
The firemen erected a ladder and ran up to the roof in order to save him, buthe fled before them. When he could go no farther he leaped into the sea offlame.
The market-place and the banks of the canal were thick with people; shoulder toshoulder they stood there, gazing at the voluptuous spectacle of the burning“Ark.” The grime and poverty and the reek of centuries were goingup in flames. How it rustled and blazed and crackled! The crowd was in the bestof spirits owing to the victory of Labor; no one had been much inclined tosleep that night; and here was a truly remarkable display of fireworks, amagnificent illumination in honor of the victory of the poor! There wereadmiring cries of “Ah!” people hissed in imitation of the sound ofrockets and clapped their hands when the flames leaped up or a roof crashed in.
Pelle moved about in the crowd, collecting the bewildered inmates of the“Ark” by the gates of the prison, so that those who had relativescould find them. They were weeping, and it was difficult to console them. Alas,now the “Ark” was burnt, the beloved place of refuge for so manyruined souls! “How can you take it to heart so?” said Pelleconsolingly. “You will be lodged overnight by the city, and afterward youwill move into proper dwelling-houses, where everything is clean and new. Andyou needn’t cry over your possessions, I’ll soon get up acollection, and you’ll have better things than you had before.”
Nevertheless they wept; like homeless wild beasts they whimpered and rambledrestlessly to and fro, seeking for they knew not what. Their forest fastness,their glorious hiding-place, was burning! What was all the rest of the city tothem? It was not for them; it was as though there was no place of refuge leftfor them in all the world! Every moment a few of them slipped away, seekingagain to enter the site of the fire, like horses that seek to return to theburning stable. Pelle might have spared his efforts at consolation; they wereraces apart, a different species of humanity. In the dark, impenetrableentrails of the “Ark” they had made for themselves a world ofpoverty and extremest want; and they had been as fantastically gay in theircareless existence as though their world had been one of wealth and fortune.And now it was all going up in flame!
The fire was unsparing; its purifying flames could not be withstood. The flamestore off great sheets of the old wallpapers and flung them out half-burned intothe street. There were many layers pasted together, many colors and patterns,one dimly showing through another, making the most curious and fantasticpictures. And on the reverse side of these sheets was a layer as of coagulatedblood; this was the charred remnant of the mysterious world of cupboards andchimney-corners, the fauna of the fireplace, that had filled thechildren’s sleep with dreams, and in the little mussel-shaped bodies wascontained the concentrated exhalation of the poor man’s night! And nowthe “Ark” must have been hot right through to the ground, for therats were beginning to leave. They came in long, winding files from the entry,and up out of the cellars of the old iron merchant and the old clothes dealer,headed by the old, scabby males which used to visit the dustbins in the middleof the day. The onlookers cheered and drove them back again.
About ten o’clock the fire was visibly decreasing and the work ofclearance could begin. The crowd scattered, a little disappointed that all wasover so soon. The “Ark” was an extinct bonfire! There could nothave been a sackful of sound firewood in all that heap of lumber!
Pelle took Madam Johnsen and her little grand-daughter to his lodgings withhim. The old woman had been complaining all the time; she was afraid of beinggiven over to the public authorities. But when she heard that she was to gowith Pelle she was reassured.
On the High Bridge they met the first dust-carts on their way outward. Theywere decked out with green garlands and little national flags.
XXXVII
The next day broke with a lofty, radiant Sabbath sky. There was something aboutit that reminded one of Easter—Easter morning, with its hymns and thepure winds of resurrection. The Working Man rung in the day with a longand serious leading article—a greeting to the rosy dawn—and invitedthe working-classes to attend a giant assembly on the Common during theafternoon. All through the forenoon great industry prevailed—wardrobeshad to be overhauled, provision-baskets packed, and liquid refreshmentprovided. There was much running across landings and up and down stairs, muchlending and borrowing. This was to be not merely a feast of victory; it wasalso intended as a demonstration—that was quite clear. The world shouldsee how well they were still holding together after all these weeks of thelock-out! They were to appear in full strength, and they must look their best.
In the afternoon the people streamed from all sides toward the Labor Building;it looked as though the whole city was flocking thither. In the big court-yard,and all along the wide street as far as High Street, the trades unions weregathered about their banners. The great review had all been planned beforehand,and all went as by clockwork by those who were accustomed to handling greatmasses of men; there was no running from side to side; every one found hisplace with ease. Pelle and Stolpe, who had devised the programme, went alongthe ranks setting all to rights.
With the men there were no difficulties; but the women and children had ofcourse misunderstood their instructions. They should have gone direct to theCommon, but had turned up here with all their impedimenta. They stood crowdingtogether on both the side-walks; and when the procession got under way theybroke up and attached themselves to its sides. They had fought through thecampaign, and their place was beside their husbands and fathers! It was abannered procession with a double escort of women and children! Had the likeever been seen?
No, the city had never seen such a going forth of the people! Like a giantserpent the procession unrolled itself; when its head was at the end of thestreet the greater part of its body was still coiled together. But what was thematter in front there? The head of the procession was turning toward the wrongside—toward the city, instead of taking the direct way to the Common, asthe police had ordered! That wouldn’t do! That would lead to a collisionwith the police! Make haste and get Pelle to turn the stream before acatastrophe occurs!—Pelle? But there he is, right in front! He himselfhas made a mistake as to the direction! Ah, well, then, there is nothing to besaid about it. But what in the world was he thinking of?
Pelle marches in the front rank beside the standard-bearer. He sees and hearsnothing, but his luminous gaze sweeps over the heads of the crowd. His skin isstill blackened by the smoke of the fire; it is peeling off his hands; his hairand moustache seem to have been cropped very strangely; and the skin is drawnround the burn on his cheek. He is conscious of one thing only: the rhythmictread of fifty thousand men! As a child he has known it in dreams, heard itlike a surging out of doors when he laid his head upon his pillow. This is thegreat procession of the Chosen People, and he is leading them into the PromisedLand! And where should their road lie if not through the capital?
At the North Wall the mounted police are drawn up, closing the inner city. Theyare drawn up diagonally across the thoroughfare, and were backing their horsesinto the procession, in order to force it to turn aside. But they were sweptaside, and the stream flowed on; nothing can stop it.
It passes down the street with difficulty, like a viscous mass that makes itsway but slowly, yet cannot be held back. It is full of a peaceful might. Whowould venture to hew a way into it? The police are following it like watchfuldogs, and on the side-walks the people stand pressed against the houses; theygreet the procession or scoff at it, according as they are friends or foes.Upstairs, behind the big windows, are gaily clad ladies and gentlemen, quizzingthe procession with half- scornful, half-uneasy smiles. What weird, hungry,unkempt world is this that has suddenly risen up from obscurity to takepossession of the highway? And behind their transparent lace curtains themanufacturers gaze and grumble. What novel kind of demonstration is this? Thepeople have been forgiven, and instead of going quietly back to their work theybegin to parade the city as though to show how many they are—yes, and howthin starvation has made them!
It is a curious procession in every way. If they wanted to demonstrate howroughly they have been handled, they could not have done better! They all bearthe marks of battle—they are pale and sallow and ill- clad; their Sundaybest hangs in the great common wardrobe still; what they wear to-day is patchedand mended. Hunger has refined their features; they are more like a processionof ghosts who have shaken off the heavy bonds of earth and are ready to takepossession of the world of the spirit, than people who hope to conquer thePromised Land for themselves and posterity. Such a procession of conquerors!They are all limping! A flock with broken wings, that none the less are seekingto fly. And whither are they going?
One of their choirs breaks into song: “We are bound for the Land ofFortune!”
And where does that land lie? has any of your watchers seen it? Or was it notmerely a deceitful dream, engendered by hunger? Eat enough, really enough, foronce, good people, and then let us talk together! What is it yonder? Theemptiness that gave birth to you and even yet surges crazily in your starvingblood? Or the land of the living? Is this then the beginning of a new world foryou? Or is the curse eternal that brings you into the world to be slaves?
There is a peculiar, confident rhythm in their tread which drowns all othersounds, and seems to say, “We are the masters, poor as we look to theeye! We have used four million kroner in waging the war, and twenty millionshave been wasted because they brought the work of our hands to a standstill! Wecome from the darkness, and we go toward the light, and no one can hold usback! Behind us lie hunger and poverty, ignorance and slavery, and before uslies a happy existence, radiant with the rising sun of Freedom! From this dayonward a new age begins; we are its youthful might, and we demand power for tenthousand families! The few have long enough prevailed!”
Imperturbably they march onward, despite the wounds that must yet be smarting;for see, they limp! Why should they still doubt?
Listen, they are singing! Hoarsely the sound emerges from ten thousand throats,as though the song had grown rusty, or must first tear itself free. A newinstrument this, that has not yet been tuned by the master— its firstnotes are discords! But the song runs to and fro along the procession inrhythmical waves, it is an army on the march, and their eyes kindle and blazewith the growing sense of their power, the consciousness that they are themany! And the sound grows mighty, a storm that rolls above the housetops,“Brother, soon will dawn the day!”
Touch not the humblest of them now! A vast, intoxicating power has descendedupon them; each one has grown beyond himself, and believes himself capable ofperforming miracles. There are no loose particles; the whole is a mightyavalanche. Touch but one of them and the might of the mass will pour into him.He will be oblivious of consequences, but will behave as though urged bydestiny—as though the vast being of which he forms a part will assume allresponsibility, and constitutes the law!
It is intoxicating to walk in the ranks, to be permitted to bear the Unionbanners; even to look on fills one with strength and joy. Mothers and childrenaccompany the men, although they have for the most part to walk in the gutters.It is great sport to fall out and watch the whole mighty procession go by, andthen, by taking a short cut, again to station one’s self at the head.Stand at a street-corner, and it will take hours for the whole to pass you.Trapp, trapp! Trapp, trapp! It gets into one’s blood, and remainsthere, like an eternal rhythm.
One Union passes and another comes up; the machinists, with the sturdy Munck attheir head, as standard-bearer, the same who struck the three blows of doomthat summoned five and forty thousand men to the battle for the right ofcombination! Hurrah for Munck! Here are the house- painters, the printers, theglove-makers, the tinsmiths, the cork- cutters, the leather-dressers, and agroup of seamen with bandy legs. At the head of these last marches HowlingPeter, the giant transfigured! The copper-smiths, the coal-miners, thecarpenters, the journeymen bakers, and the coach-builders! A queer sort ofprocession this! But here are the girdlers and there the plasterers, thestucco-workers, and the goldsmiths, and even the sand-blasters are here! Thetailors and the shoemakers are easy to recognize. And there, God bless me, arethe slipper-makers, close at their heels; they wouldn’t be left in thecold! The gilders, the tanners, the weavers, and the tobacco-workers! Thefile-cutters, the bricklayers’-laborers, the pattern-makers, the coopers,the book-binders, the joiners and shipbuilders! What, is there no end to them?Hi, make way for the journeymen glaziers! Yes, you may well smile—theyare all their own masters! And here come the gasworkers, and thewater-company’s men, and the cabinet-makers, who turn in their toes likethe blacksmiths, and march just in front of them, as though these had anythingto learn from them! Those are the skilful ivory-turners, and those thebrush-makers; spectacled these, and with brushes growing out of theirnoses—that is, when they are old. Well, so it is all over at last! Thetail consists of a swarm of frolicsome youngsters.
But no—these are the milk-boys, these young vagabonds! And behind themcome the factory-girls and behind them it all begins again—thepianoforte-makers, the millers, the saddlers, and the paper-hangers—banners as far as one can see! How big and how gay the world is, after all! Howmany callings men pursue, so that work shall never fail them! Ah, here are themasons, with all the old veterans at their head—those have been in themovement since the beginning! Look, how steady on his leg is old Stolpe! Andthe slaters, with the Vanishing Man at their head—they look as if theydon’t much care about walking on the level earth! And here are thesawyers, and the brewers, and the chair-makers! Year by year their wages havebeen beaten down so that at the beginning of the struggle they were earningonly half as much as ten years ago; but see how cheerful they look! Now therewill be food in the larder once more. Those faded-looking women there areweavers; they have no banner; eight öre the hour won’t run to flags. Andfinally a handful of newspaper-women from The Working Man. God how wearythey look! Their legs are like lead from going up and down so many stairs. Eachhas a bundle of papers under her arm, as a sign of her calling.
Trapp, trapp, trapp, trapp! On they go, with a slow, deliberate step.Whither? Where Pelle wills. “Brother, soon will dawn theday!” One hears the song over and over again; when one division hasfinished it the next takes it up. The side-streets are spewing their contentsout upon the procession; shrunken creatures that against their will were singedin the struggle, and cannot recover their feet again. But they follow theprocession with big eyes and break into fanatical explanations.
A young fellow stands on the side-walk yonder; he has hidden himself behindsome women, and is stretching his neck to see. For his own Union is coming now,to which he was faithless in the conflict. Remorse has brought him hither. Butthe rhythm of the marching feet carries him away, so that he forgets all andmarches off beside them. He imagines himself in the ranks, singing and proud ofthe victory. And suddenly some of his comrades seize him and drag him into theranks; they lift him up and march away with him. A trophy, a trophy! A pity hecan’t be stuck on a pole and carried high overhead!
Pelle is still at the head of the procession, at the side of the sturdy Munck.His aspect is quiet and smiling, but inwardly he is full of unruly energy;never before has he felt so strong! On the side-walks the police keep step withhim, silent and fateful. He leads the procession diagonally across theKing’s New Market, and suddenly a shiver runs through the whole; he isgoing to make a demonstration in front of Schloss Amalienborg! No one hasthought of that! Only the police are too clever for them the streets leading tothe castle are held by troops.
Gradually the procession widens out until it fills the entire market- place. Ahundred and fifty trades unions, each with its waving standard! A tremendousspectacle! Every banner has its motto or device. Red is the color of all thosebanners which wave above the societies which were established in the days ofSocialism, and among them are many national flags—blue, red, andwhite—the standards of the old guilds and corporations. Those belong toancient societies which have gradually joined the movement. Over all waves thestandard of the millers, which is some hundreds of years old! It displays acurious-looking scrawl which is the monogram of the first absolute king!
But the real standard is not here, the red banner of the International, whichled the movement through the first troubled years. The old men would speedilyrecognize it, and the young men too, they have heard so many legends attachingto it. If it still exists it is well hidden; it would have too great an effecton the authorities—would be like a red rag to a bull.
And as they stand staring it suddenly rises in the air—slashed andtattered, imperishable as to color. Pelle stands on the box of a carriage,solemnly raising it in the air. For a moment they are taken by surprise; thenthey begin to shout, until the shouts grow to a tempest of sound. They aregreeting the flag of brotherhood, the blood-red sign of theInternational—and Pelle, too, who is raising it in his blisteredhands—Pelle, the good comrade, who saved the child from the fire; Pelle,who has led the movement cause to victory!
And Pelle stands there laughing at them frankly, like a great child. This wouldhave been the place to give them all a few words, but he has not yet recoveredhis mighty voice. So he waves it round over them with a slow movement as thoughhe were administering an oath to them all. And he is very silent. This is anold dream of his, and at last it has come to fulfillment!
The police are pushing into the crowd in squads, but the banner hasdisappeared; Munck is standing with an empty stave in his hands, and is on thepoint of fixing his Union banner on it.
“You must take care to get these people away from here, or we shall holdyou responsible for the consequences,” says the police inspector, with alook that promises mischief. Pelle looks in the face. “He’d like tothrow me into prison, if only he had the courage,” he thought, and thenhe sets the procession in motion again.
Out on the Common the great gathering of people rocked to and fro, in restlessconfusion. From beyond its confines it looked like a dark, raging sea. Abouteach of the numerous speakers’ platforms stood a densely packed crowd,listening to the leaders who were demonstrating the great significance of theday. But the majority did not feel inclined to-day to stand in a crowd about aplatform. They felt a longing to surrender themselves to careless enjoyment,after all the hardships they had endured; to stand on their heads in the grass,to play the clown for a moment. Group upon group lay all over the great Common,eating and playing. The men had thrown off their coats and were wrestling withone another, or trying to revive the gymnastic exercises of their boyhood. Theylaughed more than they spoke; if any one introduced a serious subject it wasimmediately suppressed with a punning remark. Nobody was serious to-day!
Pelle moved slowly about, delighting in the crowd, while keeping a look- outfor Madam Johnsen and the child, who were to have met him out here. Inwardly,at the back of everything, he was in a serious mood, and was therefore quiet.It must be fine to lie on one’s belly here, in the midst of one’sown family circle, eating hard-boiled eggs and bread-and- butter—or to gorunning about with Young Lasse on his shoulders! But what did it profit a manto put his trust in anything? He could not begin over again with Ellen; theimpossible stood between them. To drive Young Lasse out of histhoughts—that would be the hardest thing of all; he must see if he couldnot get him away from Ellen in a friendly manner. As for applying to the law inorder to get him back, that he would not do.
The entire Stolpe family was lying in a big circle, enjoying a meal; the sonswere there with their wives and children; only Pelle and his family werelacking.
“Come and set to!” said Stolpe, “or you’ll be makingtoo long a day of it.”
“Yes,” cried Madam Stolpe, “it is such a time sincewe’ve been together. No need for us to suffer because you and Ellencan’t agree!” She did not know the reason of the breach—atall events, not from him—but was none the less friendly toward him.
“I am really looking for my own basket of food,” said Pelle, lyingdown beside them.
“Now look here, you are the deuce of a fellow,” said Stolpe,suddenly laughing. “You intended beforehand to look in and sayhow-d’ye-do to Brother Christian,[1]hey? It wasn’t very wise of you, really—but that’s all one tome. But what you have done to-day no one else could do. The whole thing wentlike a dance! Not a sign of wobbling in the ranks! You know, I expect, thatthey mean to put you at the head of the Central Committee? Then you will havean opportunity of working at your wonderful ideas of a world-federation. Butthere’ll be enough to do at home here without that; at the next electionwe must win the city—and part of the country too. You’ll let themput you up?”
“If I recover my voice. I can’t speak loudly at present.”
“Try the raw yolk of an egg every night,” said Madam Stolpe, muchconcerned, “and tie your left-hand stocking round your throat when you goto bed; that is a good way. But it must be the left-hand stocking.”
“Mother is a Red, you know,” said Stolpe. “If I go theright-hand side of her she doesn’t recognize me!”
The sun must have set—it was already beginning to grow dark. Black cloudswere rising in the west. Pelle felt remorseful that he had not yet found theold woman and her grandchild, so he took his leave of the Stolpes.
He moved about, looking for the two; wherever he went the people greeted him,and there was a light in their eyes. He noticed that a policeman was followinghim at some little distance; he was one of the secret hangers-on of the party;possibly he had something to communicate to him. So Pelle lay down in thegrass, a little apart from the crowd, and the policeman stood still and gazedcautiously about him. Then he came up to Pelle. When he was near he bent downas though picking something up. “They are after you,” he said,under his breath; “this afternoon there was a search made at your place,and you’ll be arrested, as soon as you leave here.” Then he movedon.
Pelle lay there some minutes before he could understand the matter. Asearch—but what was there at his house that every one might not know of?Suddenly he thought of the wood block and the tracing of the ten-kroner note.They had sought for some means of striking at him and they had found thematerials of a hobby!
He rose heavily and walked away from the crowd. On the East Common he stoodstill and gazed back hesitatingly at this restless sea of humanity, which wasnow beginning to break up, and would presently melt away into the darkness. Nowthe victory was won and they were about to take possession of the PromisedLand—and he must go to prison, for a fancy begotten of hunger! He hadissued no false money, nor had he ever had any intention of doing so. But ofwhat avail was that? He was to be arrested—he had read as much in theeyes of the police-inspector. Penal servitude—or at best a term inprison!
He felt that he must postpone the decisive moment while he composed his mind.So he went back to the city by way of the East Bridge. He kept to theside-streets, in order not to be seen, and made his way toward St.Saviour’s churchyard; the police were mostly on the Common.
For a moment the shipping in the harbor made him think of escape. But whithershould he flee? And to wander about abroad as an outlaw, when his task and hisfate lay here could he do it? No, he must accept his fate!
The churchyard was closed; he had to climb over the wall in order to get in.Some one had put fresh flowers on Father Lasse’s grave. Maria, hethought. Yes, it must have been she! It was good to be here; he no longer feltso terribly forsaken. It was as though Father Lasse’s untiring care stillhovered protectingly about him.
But he must move on. The arrest weighed upon his mind and made him restless. Hewandered through the city, keeping continually to the narrow side-streets,where the darkness concealed him. This was the field of battle—howrestful it was now! Thank God, it was not they who condemned him! And nowhappiness lay before them—but for him!
Cautiously he drew near his lodging—two policemen in plain clothes werepatrolling to and fro before the house. After that he drew back again into thenarrow side-streets. He drifted about aimlessly, fighting against theimplacable, and at last resigning himself.
He would have liked to see Ellen—to have spoken kindly to her, and tohave kissed the children. But there was a watch on his home too—at everypoint he was driven back into the solitude to which he was a stranger. That wasthe dreadful part of it all. How was he going to live alone with himself, hewho only breathed when in the company of others? Ellen was still his very life,however violently he might deny it. Her questioning eyes still gazed at himenigmatically, from whatever corner of existence he might approach. He had astrong feeling now that she had held herself ready all this time—that shehad sat waiting for him, expecting him. How would she accept this?
From Castle Street he saw a light in Morten’s room. He slipped into theyard and up the stairs. Morten was reading.
“It’s something quite new to see you—fireman!” he said,with a kindly smile.
“I have come to say good-bye,” said Pelle lightly.
Morten looked at him wonderingly. “Are you going to travel?”
“Yes … I—I wanted….” he said, and sat down.
He gazed on the floor in front of his feet. “What would you do if theauthorities were sneaking after you?” he asked suddenly. Morten stared athim for a time. Then he opened a drawer and took out a revolver. “Iwouldn’t let them lay hands on me,” he said blackly. “But whydo you ask me?”
“Oh, nothing…. Will you do me a favor, Morten? I have promised to take upa collection for those poor creatures from the ‘Ark,’ butI’ve no time for it now. They have lost all their belongings in the fire.Will you see to the matter?”
“Willingly. Only I don’t understand——”
“Why, I have got to go away for a time,” said Pelle, with a grimlaugh. “I have always wanted to travel, as you know. Now there’s anopportunity.”
“Good luck, then!” said Morten, looking at him curiously as hepressed his hand. How much he had guessed Pelle did not know. There wasBornholm blood in Morten’s veins; he was not one to meddle inanother’s affairs.
And then he was in the streets again. No, Morten’s way out was of no useto him—and now he would give in, and surrender himself to theauthorities! He was in the High Street now; he had no purpose in hiding himselfany longer.
In North Street he saw a figure dealing with a shop-door in a very suspiciousmanner; as Pelle came up it flattened itself against the door. Pelle stoodstill on the pavement; the man, too, was motionless for a while, pressinghimself back into the shadow; then, with an angry growl, he sprang out, inorder to strike Pelle to the ground.
At that very moment the two men recognized one another. The stranger wasFerdinand.
“What, are you still at liberty?” he cried, in amazement. “Ithought they had taken you!”
“How did you know that?” asked Pelle.
“Ach, one knows these things—it’s part of one’sbusiness. You’ll get five to six years, Pelle, till you are stiff withit. Prison, of course —not penal servitude.”
Pelle shuddered.
“You’ll freeze in there,” said Ferdinand compassionately.“As for me, I can settle down very well in there. But listen,Pelle—you’ve been so good, and you’ve tried to saveme—next to mother you are the only person I care anything about. If youwould like to go abroad I can soon hide you and find the passage-money.”
“Where will you get it?” asked Pelle, hesitating.
“Ach, I go in for the community of goods,” said Ferdinand with abroad smile. “The prefect of police himself has just five hundred kronerlying in his desk. I’ll try to get it for you if you like.”
“No,” said Pelle slowly, “I would rather undergo mypunishment. But thanks for your kind intentions—and give my best wishesto your old mother. And if you ever have anything to spare, then give it toWidow Johnsen. She and the child have gone hungry since Hanne’sdeath.”
And then there was nothing more to do or say; it was all over…. He wentstraight across the market-place toward the court-house. There it stood,looking so dismal! He strolled slowly past it, along the canal, in order tocollect himself a little before going in. He walked along the quay, gazing downinto the water, where the boats and the big live- boxes full of fish were justvisible. By Holmens Church he pulled himself together and turned back—hemust do it now! He raised his head with a sudden resolve and found himselffacing Marie. Her cheeks glowed as he gazed at her.
“Pelle,” she cried, rejoicing, “are you still at liberty?Then it wasn’t true! I have been to the meeting, and they said there youhad been arrested. Ach, we have been so unhappy!”
“I shall be arrested—I am on the way now.”
“But, Pelle, dear Pelle!” She gazed at him with tearful eyes. Ah,he was still the foundling, who needed her care! Pelle himself had tears in hiseyes; he suddenly felt weak and impressible. Here was a human child whose heartwas beating for him—and how beautiful she was, in her grief at hismisfortune!
She stood before him, slender, but generously formed; her hair—once sothin and uncared-for—fell in heavy waves over her forehead. She hademerged from her stunted shell into a glorious maturity. “Pelle,”she said, with downcast eyes, gripping both his hands, “don’t gothere to- night—wait till tomorrow! All the others are rejoicing over thevictory to-night—and so should you! … Come with me, to my room, Pelle,you are so unhappy.” Her face showed him that she was fighting down hertears. She had never looked so much a child as now.
“Why do you hesitate? Come with me! Am I not pretty? And I have kept itall for you! I have loved you since the very first time I ever saw you, Pelle,and I began to grow, because I wanted to be beautiful for you. I owe nothing toany one but you, and if you don’t want me I don’t want to go onliving!”
No, she owed nothing to any one, this child from nowhere, but was solely andentirely her own work. Lovely and untouched she came to him in her abandonment,as though she were sent by the good angel of poverty to quicken his heart.Beautiful and pure of heart she had grown up out of wretchedness as though outof happiness itself, and where in the world should he rest his head, that waswearied to death, but on the heart of her who to him was child and mother andbeloved?
“Pelle, do you know, there was dancing to-day in the Federation buildingafter the meeting on the Common, and we young girls had made a green garland,and I was to crown you with it when you came into the hall. Oh, we did cry whensome one came up and called out to us that they had taken you! But now you havewon the wreath after all, haven’t you? And you shall sleep sweetly andnot think of to-morrow!”
And Pelle fell asleep with his head on her girlish bosom. And as she lay theregazing at him with the eyes of a mother, he dreamed that Denmark’shundred thousand workers were engaged in building a splendid castle, and thathe was the architect. And when the castle was finished he marched in at thehead of the army of workers; singing they passed through the long corridors, tofill the shining halls. But the halls were not there —the castle hadturned into a prison! And they went on and on, but could not find their way outagain.