Pelle the Conqueror Part 129

"Comrades!" he cried loudly. "I told those outside that you were 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 friends and comrades out, I said. They are longing to come out to you again, to come out 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 and marched through the workshop, roaring out the Socialist marching-song. They followed 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 wind were blowing them out into the freedom of Nature.

The door was unlocked, the officials of the factory were pushed aside.

Singing in a booming rhythm that seemed to revenge itself for the long days of confinement, they marched out into North Bridge Street, with Pelle at their head, and turned into the Labor Building.

x.x.xIV.

That was a glorious stroke! The employers abandoned all further idea of running the works without the Federation. The victory was the completer in that the trades unions gave the foreign workers their pa.s.sage-money, and sent them off before they had time for reflection. They were escorted to the steamers, and the 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 toward a fresh goal. There was no excuse for soaring into the clouds; the lock-out was still the princ.i.p.al fact, and a grievous and burdensome fact, and now he was feeling its whole weight. The armies of workers were still sauntering about the streets, while the nation was consuming its own strength, and there was no immediate prospect of a settlement.

But one day the springs would run dry--and what then?

He was too deeply immersed in the conflict to grow dizzy by reason of a little flattery; and the general opinion more than ever laid the responsibility for the situation on him. If this terrible struggle should end in defeat, then his would be the blame! And he racked his brains to find a means of breaking down the opposition of the enemy. The ma.s.ses were still enduring the conditions with patience, 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 been entrusted with making collections, had run off with the cash-box; while another rumor 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.

The children were alone. "Where is mother?" he asked, taking Young La.s.se on his knee. Little Sister was sitting upright in her cradle, playing.

"Mother made herself fine and went out into the city," replied the child. "Mother so fine!"

"So? Was she so fine?" Pelle went into the bed-room; he looked into the 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 and sit with a child on either knee. The little girl kept on picking at his upper lip, as though she wanted to say something. "Yes, father's moustache has fallen off, Little Sister," said Young La.s.se, in explanation.

"Yes, it has flown away," said Pelle. "There came a wind and--phew!--away it went!" He looked into the gla.s.s with a little grimace--that moustache had been his pride! Then he laughed at the children.

Ellen came home breathless, as though she had been running; a tender rosiness lay over her face and throat. She went into the bedroom with her cloak on. Pelle followed her. "You have your wedding-dress on," he said wonderingly.

"Yes, I wanted something done to it, so I went to the dressmaker, so that she could see the dress on me. But run out now, I'll come directly; I only want to put another dress on."

Pelle wanted to stay, but she pushed him toward the door. "Run away!"

she said, pulling her dress across her bosom. The tender red had spread 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 table before him.

"What's this again?" he cried, half startled by the sight of all this money.

"Yes, haven't I wonderful luck? I've won in the lottery again! Haven't you a clever wife?" She was standing behind him with her arm across his shoulders.

Pelle sat there for a moment, bowed down as though he had received a blow on the head. Then he pushed her arm aside and turned round to her.

"You have won again already, you say? Twice? Twice running?" He spoke slowly and monotonously, as though he wanted to let every word sink in.

"Yes; don't you think it's very clever of me?" She looked at him uncertainly and attempted to smile.

"But that is quite impossible!" he said heavily. "That is quite impossible!" Suddenly he sprang to his feet, seizing her by the throat.

"You are lying! You are lying!" he cried, raging. "Will you tell me the truth? Out with it!" He pressed her back over the table, as though he meant to kill her. Young La.s.se began to cry.

She stared at him with wondering eyes, which were full of increasing terror. He released her and averted his face in order not to see those eyes; they were full of the fear of death. She made no attempt to rise, but fixed him with an intolerable gaze, like that of a beast that is about to be killed and does not know why. He rose, and went silently over to the children, and busied himself in quieting them. He had a horrible feeling in his hands, almost as when once in 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--and you didn't see after anything.

No, that's not a reproach--but our daily bread, Pelle! For you and the children! I could no longer look on and see 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 words he did not hear. He put her gently aside, kissed the boy once more, and stroked his 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 went mechanically toward the city; he heard no sound, no echo; he went as one asleep. His feet carried him toward the Labor House, and up the stairs, into the room whence the campaign was directed. He took his place among the others without knowing what he did, and there he sat, gazing down at the green table-cloth.

The general mood showed signs of dejection. For a long time now the bottom of the cash-box had been visible, and as more and more workers were turned into the street the product of self-imposed taxation was gradually declining. And the readiness of those outside the movement to make sacrifices was rapidly beginning to fail. The public had now had enough of the affair. Everything was failing, 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 thousand men now idle. The moment had come upon which capital was counting; the moment when 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 satisfy the little creatures' hunger. And the enemy showed no sign of wishing for peace!

This knowledge had laid its mark on all the members of the Council; and as they sat there they knew that the weal or woe of hundreds of thousands depended on them. No one dared accept the responsibility of making a bold proposal in this direction or that. With things as they stood, they would have, in a week or two, to give up the fight! Then nearly a quarter of a million human beings would have suffered torment for nothing! A terrible apathy would be the result of that suffering and of the defeat; it would put them back many years. But if the employers could not long withstand the pressure which the financial world was beginning to exert on them, they would be throwing away the victory if they gave up the fight now.

The cleverest calculations were useless here. A blind, monstrous Pate would prevail. Who could say that he had lifted the veil of the future and could point out the way?

No one! And Pelle, the blazing torch, who had shown them the road regardless of all 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 pa.s.sed it to the chairman, who stared for a while at the underlined portion, then he rose and read it out; the paper was quivering in his hands.

"About thirty working women--young and of good appearance--can during the lock-out find a home with various bachelors. Good treatment guaranteed. The office of the paper will give further information."

Pelle sprang up out of his half-slumber; the horrible catastrophe of his own home was blindingly clear now! "So it's come to that!" he cried.

"Now capital has laid its fingers on our wives--now they are to turn wh.o.r.e! We must fight on, fight, fight! We must strike one last blow--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 poor man's one ewe lamb!

"In the first place we must issue an optimistic report--this very day!"

he said, smiling. "The cash-box is nearly empty--good! Then we will state that the workers have abundant means to carry on the fight for 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 a definite plan.

"Hitherto we have fought pa.s.sively," he continued, "with patience as our chief weapon! We have opposed our necessities of life to the luxuries of the other side; and if they strike at us in order to starve us to skin and bone and empty our homes of our last possessions, we answered them by refusing to do the work which was necessary to their comfort! Let us for once strike at their vital necessities! Let us strike them where they have struck us from the beginning! In the belly! Then perhaps they'll turn submissive! Hitherto we have kept the most important of the workers out of the conflict--those on whom the health and welfare of the public depend, although we ourselves have benefited nothing thereby.

Why should we bake their bread? We, who haven't the means to eat it!

Why should we look after their cleanliness? We, who haven't the means to keep ourselves clean! Let us bring the dustmen and the street-cleaners into the line of fire! And if that isn't enough we'll turn off their gas and water! Let us venture our last penny--let us strike the last blow!"

Pelle's proposal was adopted, and he went westward immediately to the president of the Scavengers' Union. He had just got up and was sitting down to his midday meal. He was a small, comfortable little man, who had always a twinkle in his eye; he came from the coal country. Pelle had helped him at one time to get his organization into working order, and he knew that he could count on him and his men.

"Do you remember still, how I once showed you that you are the most important workers in the city, Lars Hansen?"