Pelle the Conqueror, Vol. 4 by Martin Anderson Nexo

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Charwomen were on their way home with their basket on their arm. They
had had a long day, and dragged their heavy feet along. The street was
full of women workers--a changed world! The bad times had called the
women out and left the men at home. On their way home they made their
purchases for Sunday. In the butchers' and provision-dealers' they stood
waiting like tired horses for their turn. Shivering children stood on
tiptoe with their money clasped convulsively in one hand, and their chin
supported on the edge of the counter, staring greedily at the eatables,
while the light was reflected from their ravenous eyes.

Pelle walked quickly to reach the open country. He did not like these
desolate streets on the outskirts of the city, where poverty rose like a
sea-birds' nesting-place on both sides of the narrow cleft, and the
darkness sighed beneath so much. When he entered an endless brick
channel such as these, where one- and two-roomed flats, in seven stories
extended as far as he could see, he felt his courage forsaking him. It
was like passing through a huge churchyard of disappointed hopes. All
these thousands of families were like so many unhappy fates; they had
set out brightly and hopefully, and now they stood here, fighting with
the emptiness.

Pelle walked quickly out along the field road. It was pitch-dark and
raining, but he knew every ditch and path by heart. Far up on the hill
there shone a light which resembled a star that hung low in the sky. It
must be the lamp in Brun's bedroom. He wondered at the old man being up
still, for he was soon tired now that he had given up the occupation of
a long lifetime, and generally went to bed early. Perhaps he had
forgotten to put out the lamp.

Pelle had turned his coat-collar up about his ears, and was in a
comfortable frame of mind. He liked walking alone in the dark. Formerly
its yawning emptiness had filled him with a panic of fear, but the
prison had made his mind familiar with it. He used to look forward to
these lonely night walks home across the fields. The noises of the city
died away behind him, and he breathed the pure air that seemed to come
straight to him out of space. All that a man cannot impart to others
arose in him in these walks. In the daily struggle he often had a
depressing feeling that the result depended upon pure chance. It was not
easy to obtain a hearing through the thousand-voiced noise. A sensation
was needed in order to attract attention, and he had presented himself
with only quite an ordinary idea, and declared that without stopping a
wheel it could remodel the world. No one took the trouble to oppose him,
and even the manufacturers in his trade took his enterprise calmly and
seemed to have given up the war against him. He had expected great
opposition, and had looked forward to overcoming it, and this
indifference sometimes made him doubt himself. His invincible idea would
simply disappear in the motley confusion of life!

But out here in the country, where night lay upon the earth like great
rest, his strength returned to him. All the indifference fell away, and
he saw that like the piers of a bridge, his reality lay beneath the
surface. Insignificant though he appeared, he rested upon an immense
foundation. The solitude around him revealed it to him and made him feel
his own power. While they overlooked his enterprise he would make it so
strong that they would run their head against it when they awoke.

Pelle was glad he lived in the country, and it was a dream of his to
move the workmen out there again some day. He disliked the town more and
more, and never became quite familiar with it. It was always just as
strange to go about in this humming hive, where each seemed to buzz on
his own account, and yet all were subject to one great will--that of
hunger. The town exerted a dull power over men's minds, it drew the poor
to it with lies about happiness, and when it once had them, held them
fiendishly fast. The poisonous air was like opium; the most miserable
beings dream they are happy in it; and when they have once got a taste
for it, they had not the strength of mind to go back to the uneventful
everyday life again. There was always something dreadful behind the
town's physiognomy, as though it were lying in wait to drag men into its
net and fleece them. In the daytime it might be concealed by the
multitudinous noises, but the darkness brought it out.

Every evening before Pelle went to bed he went out to the end of the
house and gazed out into the night. It was an old peasant-custom that he
had inherited from Father Lasse and his father before him. His inquiring
gaze sought the town where his thoughts already were. On sunny days
there was only smoke and mist to be seen, but on a dark night like this
there was a cheerful glow above it. The town had a peculiar power of
shedding darkness round about it, and lighting white artificial light in
it. It lay low, like a bog with the land sloping down to it on all
sides, and all water running into it. Its luminous mist seemed to reach
to the uttermost borders of the land; everything came this way. Large
dragon-flies hovered over the bog in metallic splendor; gnats danced
above it like careless shadows. A ceaseless hum rose from it, and below
lay the depth that had fostered them, seething so that he could hear it
where he stood.

Sometimes the light of the town flickered up over the sky like the
reflection from a gigantic forge-fire. It was like an enormous heart
throbbing in panic in the darkness down there; his own caught the
infection and contracted in vague terror. Cries would suddenly rise from
down there, and one almost wished for them; a loud exclamation was a
relief from the everlasting latent excitement. Down there beneath the
walls of the city the darkness was always alive; it glided along like a
heavy life-stream, flowing slowly among taverns and low music-halls and
barracks, with their fateful contents of want and imprecations. Its
secret doings inspired him with horror; he hated the town for its
darkness which hid so much.

He had stopped in front of his house, and stood gazing downward.
Suddenly he heard a sound from within that made him start, and he
quickly let himself in. Ellen came out into the passage looking
disturbed.

"Thank goodness you've come!" she exclaimed, quite forgetting to greet
him. "Anna's so ill!"

"Is it anything serious?" asked Pelle, hurriedly removing his coat.

"It's the old story. I got a carriage from the farm to drive in for the
doctor. It was dear, but Brun said I must. She's to have hot milk with
Ems salts and soda water. You must warm yourself at the stove before you
go up to her, but make haste! She keeps on asking for you."

The sick-room was in semi-darkness, Ellen having put a red shade over
the lamp, so that the light should not annoy the child. Brun was sitting
on a chair by her bed, watching her intently as she lay muttering in a
feverish doze. He made a sign to Pelle to walk quietly. "She's asleep!"
he whispered. The old man looked unhappy.

Pelle bent silently over her. She lay with closed eyes, but was not
asleep. Her hot breath came in short gasps. As he was about to raise
himself again, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"What's the matter with Sister? Is she going to be ill again?" he said
softly. "I thought the sun had sent that naughty bronchitis away."

The child shook her head resignedly. "Listen to the cellarman!" she
whispered. He was whistling as hard as he could down in her windpipe,
and she listened to him with a serious expression. Then her hand stole
up and she stroked her father's face as though to comfort him.

Brun, however, put her hand down again immediately and covered her up
close. "We very nearly lost that doll!" he said seriously. He had
promised her a large doll if she would keep covered up.

"Shall I still get it?" she asked in gasps, gazing at him in dismay.

"Yes, of course you'll get it, and if you make haste and get well, you
shall have a carriage too with india rubber tires."

Here Ellen came in. "Mr. Brun," she said, "I've made your room all ready
for you." She laid a quieting hand upon the child's anxious face.

The librarian rose unwillingly. "That's to say Mr. Brun is to go to
bed," he said half in displeasure. "Well, well, goodnight then! I rely
upon your waking me if things become worse."

"How good he is!" said Ellen softly. "He's been sitting here all the
time to see that she kept covered up. He's made us afraid to move
because she's to be kept quiet; but he can't help chattering to her
himself whenever she opens her eyes."

Ellen had moved Lasse Frederik's bed down into their bedroom and put up
her own here so as to watch over the child. "Now you should go to bed,"
she said softly to Pelle. "You must be tired to death after your
journey, and you can't have slept last night in the train either."

He looked tired, but she could not persuade him; he meant to stay up
there. "I can't sleep anyhow as things are," he whispered, "and to-
morrow's Sunday."

"Then lie down on my bed! It'll rest you a little."

He lay down to please her, and stared up at the ceiling while he
listened to the child's short, rattling respiration. He could hear that
she was not asleep. She lay and played with the rattling sound, making
the cellar-man speak sometimes with a deep voice, sometimes with a high
one. She seemed quite familiar with this dangerous chatter, which had
already cost her many hours of illness and sounded so painful to Pelle's
ear. She bore her illness with the wonderful resignation that belonged
to the dwellers in the back streets. She did not become unreasonable or
exacting, but generally lay and entertained herself. It was as though
she felt grateful for her bed; she was always in the best spirits when
she was in it. The sun out here had made her very brown, but there must
be something in her that it had not prevailed against. It was not so
easy to move away from the bad air of the back streets.

Whenever she had a fit of coughing, Pelle raised her into a sitting
posture and helped her to get rid of the phlegm. She was purple in the
face with coughing, and looked at him with eyes that were almost
starting out of her head with the violent exertion. Then Ellen brought
her the hot milk and Ems salts, and she drank it with a resigned
expression and lay down again.

"It's never been so bad before," whispered Ellen, "so what can be the
use? Perhaps the country air isn't good for her."

"It ought to be though," said Pelle, "or else she's a poor little
poisoned thing."

Ellen's voice rang with the possibility of their moving back again to
the town for the sake of the child. To her the town air was not bad, but
simply milder than out here. Through several generations she had become
accustomed to it and had overcome its injurious effects; to her it
seemed good as only the air of home can be. She could live anywhere, but
nothing must be said against her childhood's home. Then she became
eager.

The child had wakened with their whispering, and lay and looked at them.
"I shan't die, shall I?" she asked.

They bent over her. "Now you must cover yourself up and not think about
such things," said Ellen anxiously.

But the child continued obstinately. "If I die, will you be as sorry
about me as you were about Johanna?" she asked anxiously, with her eyes
fixed upon them.

Pelle nodded. It was impossible for him to speak.

"Will you paint the ceiling black to show you're sorry about me? Will
you, father?" she continued inexorably, looking at him.

"Yes, yes!" said Ellen desperately, kissing her lips to make her stop
talking. The child turned over contentedly, and in another moment she
was asleep.

"She's not hot now," whispered Pelle. "I think the fever's gone." His
face was very grave. Death had passed its cold hand over it; he knew it
was only in jest, but he could not shake off the impression it had made.

They sat silent, listening to the child's breathing, which was now
quiet. Ellen had put her hand into Pelle's, and every now and then she
shuddered. They did not move, but simply sat and listened, while the
time ran singing on. Then the cock crew below, and roused Pelle. It was
three o'clock, and the child had slept for two hours. The lamp had
almost burned dry, and he could scarcely see Ellen's profile in the
semi-darkness. She looked tired.

He rose noiselessly and kissed her forehead. "Go downstairs and go to
bed," he whispered, leading her toward the door.

Stealthy footsteps were heard outside. It was Brun who had been down to
listen at the door. He had not been to bed at all. The lamp was burning
in his sitting-room, and the table was covered with papers. He had been
writing.

He became very cheerful when he heard that the attack was over. "I think
you ought rather to treat us to a cup of coffee," he answered, when
Ellen scolded him because he was not asleep.

Ellen went down and made the coffee, and they drank it in Brun's room.
The doors were left ajar so that they could hear the child.

"It's been a long night," said Pelle, passing his hand across his
forehead.

"Yes, if there are going to be more like it, we shall certainly have to
move back into town," said Ellen obstinately.

"It would be a better plan to begin giving her a cold bath in the
morning as soon as she's well again, and try to get her hardened," said
Pelle.

"Do you know," said Ellen, turning to Brun, "Pelle thinks it's the bad
air and the good air fighting for the child, and that's the only reason
why she's worse here than in town."

"So it is," said Brun gravely; "and a sick child like that gives one
something to think about."

XVIII

The next day they were up late. Ellen did not wake until about ten, and
was quite horrified; but when she got up she found the fire on and
everything in order, for Lasse Frederik had seen to it all. She could
start on breakfast at once.

Sister was quite bright again, and Ellen moved her into the sitting-room
and made up a bed on the sofa, where she sat packed in with pillows, and
had her breakfast with the others.

"Are you sorry Sister's getting well, old man?" asked Boy Comfort.

"My name isn't 'old man.' It's 'grandfather' or else 'Mr. Brun,'" said
the librarian, laughing and looking at Ellen, who blushed.

"Are you sorry Sister's getting well, grandfather?" repeated the boy
with a funny, pedantic literalness.

"And why should I be sorry for that, you little stupid?"

"Because you've got to give money!"

"The doll, yes! That's true! You'll have to wait till tomorrow, Sister,
because to-day's Sunday."

Anna had eaten her egg and turned the shell upside down in the egg-cup
so that it looked like an egg that had not been touched. She pushed it
slowly toward Brun.

"What's the matter now?" he exclaimed, pushing his spectacles up onto
his forehead. "You haven't eaten your egg!"

"I can't," she said, hanging her head.

"Why, there must be something wrong with her!" said the old man, in
amazement. "Such a big, fat egg too! Very well, then _I_ must eat
it." And he began to crack the egg, Anna and Boy Comfort following his
movements with dancing eyes and their hands over their mouths, until his
spoon went through the shell and he sprang up to throw it at their
heads, when their merriment burst forth. It was a joke that never
suffered by repetition.

While breakfast was in progress, the farmer from the hill farm came in
to tell them that they must be prepared to move out, as he meant to sell
the house. He was one of those farmers of common-land, whom the city had
thrown off their balance. He had lived up there and had seen one farm
after another grow larger and make their owners into millionaires, and
was always expecting that his turn would come. He neglected the land,
and even the most abundant harvest was ridiculously small in comparison
with his golden dreams; so the fields were allowed to lie and produce
weeds.

Ellen was just as dismayed as Pelle at the thought of having to leave
"Daybreak." It was their home, their nest too; all their happiness and
welfare were really connected with this spot.

"You can buy the house of course," said the farmer. "I've had an offer
of fifteen thousand (L850) for it, and I'll let it go for that."

After he had gone they sat and discussed the matter. "It's very cheap,"
said Brun. "In a year or two you'll have the town spreading in this
direction, and then it'll be worth at least twice as much."

"Yes, that may be," said Pelle; "but you've both to get the amount and
make it yield interest."

"There's eight thousand (L450) in the first mortgage, and the loan
institution will lend half that. That'll make twelve thousand (L675).
That leaves three thousand (L175), and I'm not afraid of putting that in
as a third mortgage," said Brun.

Pelle did not like that. "There'll be need for your money in the
business," he said.

"Yes, yes! But when you put the house into repair and have it re-valued,
I'm certain you can get the whole fifteen thousand in the Loan
Societies," said Brun. "I think it'll be to your advantage to do it."

Ellen had taken pencil and paper, and was making calculations. "What
percentage do you reckon for interest and paying off by instalments?"
she asked.

"Five," said the old man. "You do all the work of keeping it up
yourselves."

"Then I would venture," she said, looking dauntlessly at them. "It would
be nice to own the house ourselves, don't you think so, Pelle?"

"No, I think it's quite mad," Pelle answered. "We shall be saddled with
a house-rent of seven hundred and fifty kroner (over L40)."

Ellen was not afraid of the house-rent; the house and garden would bear
that. "And in a few years we can sell the ground for building and make a
lot of money." She was red with excitement.

Pelle laughed. "Yes, speculation! Isn't that what the hill farmer has
gone to pieces over?" Pelle had quite enough on his hands and had no
desire to have property to struggle with.

But Ellen became only more and more bent upon it. "Then buy it
yourself!" said Pelle, laughing. "I've no desire to become a
millionaire."

Ellen was quite ready to do it. "But then the house'll be _mine_,"
she declared. "And if I make money on it, I must be allowed to spend it
just as I like. It's not to go into your bottomless common cash-box!"
The men laughed.

"Brun and I are going for a walk," said Pelle, "so we'll go in and write
a contract note for you at once."

They went down the garden and followed the edge of the hill to the
south. The weather was clear; it had changed to slight frost, and white
rime covered the fields. Where the low sun's rays fell upon them, the
rime had melted and the withered green grass appeared. "It's really
pretty here," said Brun. "See how nice the town looks with its towers--
only one shouldn't live there. I was thinking of that last night when
the child was lying there with her cough. The work-people really get no
share of the sun, nor do those who in other respects are decently well
off. And then I thought I'd like to build houses for our people on the
ridge of the hill on both sides of 'Daybreak.' The people of the new age
ought to live in higher and brighter situations than others. I'll tell
you how I thought of doing it. I should in the meantime advance money
for the plots, and the business should gradually redeem them with its
surplus. That is quite as practical as dividing the surplus among the
workmen, and we thereby create values for the enterprise. Talking of
surplus--you've worked well, Pelle! I made an estimate of it last night
and found it's already about ten thousand (L555) this year. But to
return to what we were talking about--mortgage loans are generally able
to, cover the building expenses, and with amortization the whole thing
is unencumbered after some years have passed."

"Who's to own it?" asked Pelle. He was chewing a piece of grass and
putting his feet down deliberately like a farmer walking on ploughed
land.

"The cooperative company. It's to be so arranged that the houses can't
be made over to others, nor encumbered with fresh loan. Our cooperative
enterprises must avoid all form of speculation, thereby limiting the
field for capital. The whole thing should be self-supporting and be able
to do away with private property within its boundaries. You see it's
your own idea of a community within the community that I'm building
upon. At present it's not easy to find a juridical form under which the
whole thing can work itself, but in the meantime you and I will manage
it, and Morten if he will join us. I expect he'll come home with renewed
strength."

"And when is this plan to be realized? Will it be in the near future?"

"This very winter, I had thought; and in this way we should also be able
to do a little for the great unemployment. Thirty houses! It would be a
beginning anyhow. And behind it lies the whole world, Pelle!"

"Shall you make the occupation of the houses obligatory for our
workmen?"

"Yes, cooperation makes it an obligation. You can't be half outside and
half inside! Well, what do you think of it?"

"It's a strong plan," said Pelle. "We shall build our own town here on
the hill."

The old man's face shone with delight. "There's something in me after
all, eh? There's old business-blood in my veins too. My forefathers
built a world for themselves, and why should I do less than they? I
ought to have been younger, Pelle!"

They walked round the hill and came to the farm from the other side.
"The whole piece wouldn't really be too large if we're to have room to
extend ourselves," said Pelle, who was not afraid of a large outlay when
it was a question of a great plan.

"I was thinking the same thing," answered Bran. "How much is there here?
A couple of hundred acres? There'll be room for a thousand families if
each of them is to have a fair-sized piece of land."

They then went in and took the whole for a quarter of a million
(L14,000).

"But Ellen!" exclaimed Pelle, when they were on their way home again.
"How are we going to come to terms with her?"

"Bless my soul! Why, it was her business we went upon! And now we've
done business for ourselves! Well, I suppose she'll give in when she
hears what's been done."

"I'm not so sure of that," said Pelle, laughing. "Perhaps when you
tackle her."

"Well, did you get the house?" asked Ellen, from the house door, where
she was standing to receive them.

"Yes, we got much more," said Brun airily. "We bought the whole
concern."

"Is that a fact, Pelle?"

Pelle nodded.

"What about my house then?" she asked slowly.

"Well, we bought that together with all the rest," said Brun. "But as
far as that goes it can easily be separated from the rest, only it's
rather soon to break up the cooperation before it's started." He waited
a little, expecting that Ellen would say something, and when she
continued silent he went on, rather shortly: "Well, then there's nothing
more to be said about that? Fair play's a jewel, and to-morrow I'll make
arrangements for the conveyance of the house to you for the fifteen
thousand (L850). And then we must give up the whole concern, Pelle. It
won't do for the man at the head of it to live on his private property;
so that plan's come to nothing!"

"Unless Ellen and I live in separate houses," said Pelle slyly. "I might
build just the other side of the boundary, and then we could nod to one
another at any rate."

Ellen looked at him gravely. "I only think it's rather strange that you
settle my affairs without asking me first," she said at length.

"Yes, it was inconsiderate of us," answered Brun, "and we hope you'll
forget all about it. You'll give up the house then?"

"I'm pretty well obliged to when Pelle threatens to move out," Ellen
answered with a smile. "But I'm sorry about it. I'm certain that in a
short time there'd have been money to make over it."

"It'll be nice, won't it, if the women are going to move into our
forsaken snail-shells?" said Brun half seriously.

"Ellen's always been an incorrigible capitalist," Pelle put in.

"It's only that I've never had so much money that I shouldn't know what
it was worth," answered Ellen, with ready wit.

Old Brun laughed. "That was one for Mr. Brun!" he said. "But since
you've such a desire for land-speculation, Mistress Ellen, I've got a
suggestion to make. On the ground we've bought there's a piece of meadow
that lies halfway in to town, by the bog. We'll give you that. It's not
worth anything at present, and will have to be filled in to be of any
value; but it won't be very long before the town is out there wanting
more room."

Ellen had no objection to that. "But then," she said, "I must be allowed
to do what I like with what comes out of it."

XIX

The sun held out well that year. Remnants of summer continued to hang in
the air right into December. Every time they had bad weather Ellen said,
"Now it'll be winter, I'm sure!" But the sun put it aside once more; it
went far down in the south and looked straight into the whole sitting-
room, as if it were going to count the pictures.

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