Pelle the Conqueror Part 105

He found it much easier to confide his troubles to them. Pelle had grown so big and so serious that he absolutely inspired respect. One could take no real pleasure in worrying him with trivialities.

But with the children he found himself in tune. They had to contend with little obstacles 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 senile words of wisdom.

"I don't exactly know why it is so," he said, "but this great city makes me quite confused and queer in the head. To mention nothing else, no one here knows me and looks after me when I go by. That takes all the courage out of my knees. At home there was always one or another who would turn his head and say to himself, 'Look, there goes old La.s.se, he'll be going down to the harbor to break stone; devil take me, but how he holds himself! 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 how you manage to find employment here, Karl?"

"Oh, that's quite easy," replied the boy. "About six in the morning I get to the vegetable market; there is always something to be delivered for the small dealers who can't keep a man. When the vegetable market is over I deliver flowers for the gardeners. That's a very uncertain business, for I get nothing more than the tips. And besides that I run wherever I think there's anything going. To the East Bridge and out to Frederiksburg. And I have a few regular places too, where I go every afternoon for an hour and deliver goods. There's always something if one runs about properly."

"And does that provide you with an average good employment every day?"

said La.s.se wonderingly. "The arrangement looks to me a little uncertain.

In the morning you can't be sure you will have earned anything when the night comes."

"Ah, Karl is so quick," said Marie knowingly. "When the times are ordinarily good he can earn a krone a day regularly."

"And that could really be made a regular calling?" No, La.s.se couldn't understand it.

"Very often it's evening before I have earned anything at all, but one just has to stir one's stumps; there's always something or other if one knows where to look for it."

"What do you think--suppose I were to go with you?" said La.s.se thoughtfully.

"You can't do that, because I run the whole time. Really you'd do much better to hide one of your arms."

"Hide one of my arms?" said La.s.se wonderingly.

"Yes--stick one arm under your coat and then go up to people and ask them for something. That wouldn't be any trouble to you, you look like an invalid."

"Do I, indeed?" asked La.s.se, blinking his eyes. "I never knew that before. But even if that were so I shouldn't like to beg at people's doors. I don't think any one will get old La.s.se to do that."

"Then go along to the lime works--they are looking for stone-breakers these days," said the omniscient youngster.

"Now you are talking!" said La.s.se; "so they have stone here? Yes, I brought my stone-cutter's tools with me, and if there's one thing on earth I long to do it is to be able to bang away at a stone again!"

XV

Pelle was now a man; he was able to look after his own affairs and a little more besides; and he was capable of weighing one circ.u.mstance against another. He had thrust aside his horror concerning Due's fate, and once again saw light in the future. But this horror still lurked within his mind, corroding everything else, lending everything a gloomy, sinister hue. Over his brow brooded a dark cloud, as to which he himself was not quite clear. But Ellen saw it and stroked it away with her soft fingers, in order to make it disappear. It formed a curious contrast to his fresh, ruddy face, like a meaningless threat upon a fine spring day.

He began to be conscious of confidence like a sustaining strength. It was not only in the "Ark" that he was idolized; his comrades looked up to him; if there was anything important in hand their eyes involuntarily turned to him. Although he had, thoughtlessly enough, well-nigh wrecked the organism in order to come to grips with Meyer, he had fully made up for his action, and the Union was now stronger than ever, and this was his doing. So he could stretch his 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 little home. There were many objections that might be opposed to such a course, and he was not blind to them. Pelle was a valiant worker, but his earnings were not so large that one could found a family on them; it was the naked truth that even a good worker could not properly support a wife and children. He counted on children as a matter of course, and the day would come also when Father La.s.se would no longer be able to earn his daily bread. But that day lay still in the remote future, and, on the other hand, it was no more expensive to live with a companion than alone--if that companion was a good and saving wife. If a man meant to enjoy some little share of the joy of life, he must close his eyes and leap over all obstacles, and for once put his trust in the exceptional.

"It'll soon be better, too," said Mason Stolpe. "Things look bad now in most trades, but you see yourself, how everything is drawing to a great crisis. Give progress a kick behind and ask her to hurry herself a little--there's something to be gained by that. A man ought to marry while he's still young; what's the good of going about and hankering after one another?"

Madam Stolpe was, as always, of his opinion. "We married and enjoyed the sweetness of it while our blood was still young. That's why we have something 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 the youngest son would complete his apprenticeship, so that the wedding feast and the journeyman's feast could be celebrated simultaneously.

On the ca.n.a.l, just opposite the prison, a little two-roomed dwelling was standing vacant, and this they rented. Mason Stolpe wanted to have the young couple to live out by the North Bridge, "among respectable people," but Pelle had become attached to this quarter. Moreover, he had a host of customers there, which would give him a foothold, and there, too, were the ca.n.a.ls. For Pelle, the ca.n.a.ls were a window opening on the outer world; they gave his mind a sense of liberty; he always felt oppressed among the stone walls by the North Bridge. Ellen let him choose--it was indifferent to her where 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 put by; he was wise in his generation, and cut down all their necessities. When Ellen was free they rummaged about buying things for their home. Many things they bought second-hand, for cheapness, but not for the bedroom; there everything was to be brand-new!

It was a glorious time, in which every hour was full of its own rich significance; there was no room for brooding or for care. Ellen often came running in to drag him from his work; he must come with her and look at something or other--one could get it so cheap--but quickly, quickly, before it should be gone! On her "off" Sundays she would reduce the little home to order, and afterward they would walk arm in arm through the city, and visit the old people.

Pelle had had so much to do with the affairs of others, and had given so little thought to his own, that it was delightful, for once in a way, to be able to rest and think of himself. The crowded outer world went drifting far away from him; he barely glanced at it as he built his nest; he thought no more about social problems than the birds that nest in spring.

And one day Pelle carried his possessions to his new home, and for the last time lay down to sleep in the "Ark." There was no future for any one here; only the shipwrecked sought an abiding refuge within these walls. It was time for Pelle to move on. Yet from all this raggedness and overcrowding rose a voice which one did not hear elsewhere; a careless twittering, like that of unlucky birds that sit and plume their feathers when a little sunlight falls on 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.

Something seemed to follow him in his sleep. At last he woke, and was sensible of a stifled moaning, that came and went with long intervals in between, as though the "Ark" itself were moaning in an evil dream. Suddenly he stood up, lit the lamp, and began to polish his wedding-boots, which were still on the lasts, so that they might retain their handsome shape. La.s.se was still asleep, and the long gangway outside lay still in slumber.

The sound returned, louder and more long-drawn, and something about it reminded him of Stone Farm, and awaked the horror of his childish days.

He sat and sweated at his work. Suddenly he heard some one outside--some one who groped along the gangway and fumbled at his door. He sprang forward and opened it. Suspense ran through his body like an icy shudder. Outside stood Hanne's mother, shivering in the morning cold.

"Pelle," she whispered anxiously, "it's so near now--would you run and fetch Madam Blom from Market Street? I can't leave Hanne. And I ought to be wishing you happiness, too."

The errand was not precisely convenient, nevertheless, he ran oft. And then he sat listening, working still, but as quietly as possible, in order not to wake Father La.s.se. But then it was time for the children to get up; for the last time 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 their doors. "The Princess is lamenting," they told one another. "She's lamenting because she's lost what she'll never get again." Then the moaning rose to a loud shriek, and suddenly it was silent over there.

Poor Hanne! Now she had another to care for--and who was its father?

Hard times were in store for her.

La.s.se was not going to work to-day, although the wedding-feast was not to be held 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 laughed every time.

"Yes, you laugh," said La.s.se, "but this is an important day--perhaps the most important in your life. You ought to take care lest the first trifling thing you do should ruin everything."

He pottered about, treating everything as an omen. He was delighted with the sun--it rose out of a sack and grew brighter and brighter in the course of the day. It was never lucky for the sun to begin too blazing.

Marie went to and fro, considering Pelle with an expression of suppressed anxiety, like a mother who is sending her child into the world, and strives hard to seem cheerful, thought Pelle. Yes, yes, she had been like a mother to him in many senses, although she was only a child; she had taken him into her nest as a little forsaken bird, and with amazement had seen him grow. He had secretly helped her when he could. But what was that in comparison with the singing that had made his work easy, when he saw how the three waifs accepted things as they were, building their whole existence on nothing? Who would help them 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 held her roughened hands in his and thanked her for being such a good neighbor. Her narrow 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 she was 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 his vitality forced the sap to flow upward in her, in sympathy, and now she stood before him, trying to burst her stunted sh.e.l.l, and unfold her gracious capacities before him, and as yet was unable to do so. Suddenly she fell upon his breast.

"Pelle, Pelle," she said, hiding her face against him. And then she ran into her own room.

La.s.se and Pelle carried the last things over to the new home, and put everything tidy; then they dressed themselves in their best and set out for the Stoples' home. Pelle was wearing a top-hat for the first time in his life, and looked quite magnificent in it. "You are like a big city chap," said La.s.se, who could not look at him often enough. "But what do you think they'll say of old La.s.se? They are half-way fine folks themselves, and I don't know how to conduct myself. Wouldn't it perhaps be better if I were to turn back?"

"Don't talk like that, father!" said Pelle.

La.s.se was monstrously pleased at the idea of attending the wedding-feast, but he 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 worn out, and his every-day things were patched and mended; his long coat he had hired expressly for the occasion, while the white collar and cuffs belonged to Peter. He did not feel at all at home in his clothes, and looked like an embarra.s.sed schoolboy waiting for confirmation.

At the Stolpes' the whole household was topsy-turvy. The guests who were to go to the church had already arrived; they were fidgeting about in the living-room and whistling to themselves, or looking out into the street, and feeling 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 standing so long and saying nothing."

In the best room Stolpe was pacing up and down and muttering. He was in his shirtsleeves, waiting until it was his turn to use the bedroom, where Ellen and her mother had locked themselves in. Prom time to time the door was opened a little, and Ellen's bare white arm appeared, as she threw her father some article of attire. Then Pelle's heart began to thump.

On the window-sill stood Madam Stolpe's myrtle; it was stripped quite bare.

Now Stolpe came back; he was ready! Pelle had only to b.u.t.ton his collar for him. He took La.s.se's hand and then went to fetch _The Working Man_.

"Now you just ought to hear this, what they say of your son," he said, and began to read: