Pelle the Conqueror Part 127

"Yet one thing G.o.d 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; G.o.d who sees all reward you all ere long: O drop a trifle in poor La.s.se's cap!"

When La.s.se had finished his song the people clapped and threw down coins wrapped in paper, and he went round picking them up. Then he took his sack on his back and stumped away, bent almost double, through the gateway.

"Father!" cried Pelle desperately. "Father!"

La.s.se 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 old man was trembling from head to foot. "And now I suppose you've heard the whole thing and are ashamed of your old father?" He dared not look at his son.

"Father, you must come home with me now--do you hear?" said Pelle, as they entered the street together.

"No, that I can't do! There's not enough even for your own mouths--no, you must let me go my own way. I must look after myself--and I'm doing quite well."

"You are to come home with me--the children miss you, and Ellen asks after you day after day."

"Yes, that would be very welcome.... But I know what folks would think if I were to take the food out of your children's mouths! Besides--I'm a rag-picker now! No, you mustn't lead me into temptation."

"You are to come with me now--never mind about anything else. I can't bear this, father!"

"Well, then, in G.o.d's name, I must publish my shame before you, lad--if you won't let me be! See now, I'm living with some one--with a woman. I met her out on the refuse-heaps, where she was collecting rubbish, just as I was. I had arranged a corner for myself out there--for the night, until I could find a lodging--and then she said I was to go home with her--it wouldn't be so cold if there were two of us. Won't you come home with me, so that you can see where we've both got to? Then you can see the whole thing and judge for yourself. We live quite close."

They turned into a narrow lane and entered a gateway. In the backyard, in a shed, which looked like the remains of an old farm cottage, was La.s.se's home. It looked as though it had once been used as a fuel-shed; the floor was of beaten earth and the roof consisted of loose boards.

Under the roof cords were stretched, on which rags, paper, and other articles from the dustbins were hung to dry. In one corner was a mean-looking iron stove, on which a coffee-pot was singing, mingling its pleasant fragrance with the musty stench of the rubbish. La.s.se 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, my boy." He contentedly stroked the cheeks of his new life's partner.

This was an old, bent, withered woman, grimy and ragged; her face was covered with a red eruption which she had probably contracted on the refuse-heaps. But a pair of kind eyes looked out of it, which made up for everything else.

"So that is Pelle!" she said, looking at him. "So that's what he is like! Yes, one has heard his name; he's one of those 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-b.u.t.ter with it; we old folks can't manage anything else for supper," said La.s.se. "We go to bed early, both of us, and one sleeps badly with an over-full stomach."

"Well, now, what do you think of our home?" said Father La.s.se, looking proudly about him. "We pay only four kroner a month for it, and all the furniture we get for nothing--mother and I have brought it all here from the refuse-heaps, every stick of it, even the stove. Just look at this straw mattress, now--it's really not bad, but the rich folks threw it away! And the iron bedstead--we found that there; I've tied a leg to it.

And yesterday mother came in carrying those curtains, and hung them up.

A good thing there are people who have so much that they have to throw it on the dust-heap!"

La.s.se was quite cheerful; things seemed to be going well with him; and the old woman looked after him as if he had been the love of her youth.

She helped him off with his boots and on with his list slippers, then she brought a long pipe out of the corner, which she placed between his lips; he smiled, and settled down to enjoy himself.

"Do you see this pipe, Pelle? Mother saved up for this, without my knowing anything about it--she has got such a long one I can't light it myself! She says I look like a regular pope!" La.s.se had to lean back in his chair while she lit the pipe.

When Pelle left, La.s.se accompanied him across the yard. "Well, what do you think of it?" he said.

"I am glad to see things are going so well with you," said Pelle humbly.

La.s.se pressed his hand. "Thanks for that! I was afraid you would be strict about it. As quite a little boy, you used to be deucedly strict in that direction. And see now, of course, we could marry--there is no impediment in either case. But that costs money--and the times are hard. As for children 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," said La.s.se. "But you needn't say anything of this to Ellen--she is so peculiar in that respect!"

x.x.xIII

No, Pelle never told Ellen anything now. She had frozen his speech. She was like the winter sun; the side that was turned away from her received no share of her warmth. Pelle made no claims on her now; he had long ago satisfied himself that she could not respond to the strongest side of his nature, and he had accustomed himself to the idea of waging his fight alone. This had made him harder, but also more of a man.

At home the children were ailing--they did not receive proper care, and the little girl was restless, especially during the night. The complaining and coughing of the children made the home uncomfortable.

Ellen was dumb; like an avenging fate she went about her business and cared for the children. Her expressive glance never encountered his; although he often felt that her eyes were resting on him. She had grown thin of late, which lent her beauty, a fanatical glow, and a touch of malice. There were times when he would have given his life for an honest, burning kiss as a token of this woman's love.

He understood her less and less, and was often filled with inexplicable anxiety concerning her. She suffered terribly through the condition of the children; and when she quieted them, with a bleeding heart, her voice had a fateful sound that made him shudder. Sometimes he was driven home by the idea that she might have made away with herself and the children.

One day, when he had hurried home with this impression in his mind, she met him smiling 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 last few days--as though there had been something which he must not on any account get to know. She had ventured her last shilling and was afraid he would find 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 can have anything we want," she said.

This money worked a transformation in Ellen, and their relations were once more warmly affectionate. Ellen was more lovingly tender in her behavior than ever before, and was continually spoiling him. Something had come over her that was quite new; her manner showed a sort of contrition, which made her gentle and loving, and bound Pelle to his home with the bonds of ardent desire. Now once more he hurried home.

He took her manner to be an apology for her harsh judgment of him; for here, too, she was different, and began to interest herself in his work for the Cause, inciting him, by all sorts of allusions, to continue it. It was evident that in spite of her apparent coldness she had kept herself well informed concerning it. Her manner underwent a most extraordinary transformation. She, the hard, confident Ellen, became mild and uncertain in her manner. She no longer kept sourly out of things, and had learned to bow her head good-naturedly. She was no longer so self-righteous.

One day, toward evening, Pelle was sitting at home before the looking-gla.s.s, and shaving himself; he had cut off the whole of his fine big moustache and was now shaving off the last traces of it. Ellen was amused to see how his face was altered. "I can scarcely recognize you!"

she said. He had thought she would have opposed its removal, and have put his moustache before the Cause; but she was pleasant about the whole matter. He could not at all understand this alteration in her.

When he had finished he stood up and went over to Young La.s.se, but the child cried out in terror. Then he put on his old working-clothes, made his face and head black, and made his way to the machine-works.

The factory was in full swing now; they were working alternate shifts, day and night, 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 yet another industry in motion again. If this sort of thing went much further the entire 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 felt equal for anything.

He slipped through the pickets unnoticed, and succeeded in reaching the door of the factory. "They're asleep--the devils!" he thought angrily, and was very near spoiling the whole thing by administering a reprimand.

He knocked softly on the door and was admitted. The doorkeeper took him to the foreman, who was fortunately a German.

Pelle was given employment in the foundry, with very good wages. He was also promised that he should receive a bonus of twenty-five kroner when he had been there a certain time. "That's the Judas money," said the foreman, grinning. "And then as soon as the lock-out is over you'll of course be placed in the forefront of the workers. Now you are quite clear about this--that you can't get out of here until then. If you want to 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 was his dwelling-place and his refuge for the night.

In the factory the work went on as best it might. The men rushed at their work as in a frolic, drifted away again, lounged about the works, or stood here and there in groups, doing as they chose. The foremen did not dare to speak to them; if they made a friendly remark they were met with insults. The workers were taking advantage of the fact that they were indispensable; their behavior was sheer tyranny, and they were continually harping on the fact that they would just as soon go as stay.

These words made them the masters of the situation.