Pelle the Conqueror, Vol 3 by Martin Anderson Nexo

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Morten continued, regardless of Pelle, as though he had to ease some
inward torment. Pelle listened astounded to this outburst of lacerating
anguish with a shamed feeling that he himself had a layer of fat round
his heart. As Morten spoke poverty once more assumed a peculiar,
horrible, living glimmer.

"Why do you tell me all this as if I belonged to the upper classes?" 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. Yesterday a poor man stole
a loaf from the counter and ran off with it; now he'll be branded all
his life. 'My God, that he should want to make himself a thief for so
little!' said the master's wife--it was a twopenny-ha'penny roll. It's
not easy to grasp--branded for his 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's so easy to
understand. Why do I tell you this, you ask? You know it as well as I
do. No, but you don't know it properly, or you'd have to rack your
brains till you were crazy over the frightful insanity of the fact that
these two words--bread and crime--can belong together! Isn't it insane,
that the two ends should bend together and close in a ring about a human
life? That a man should steal bread of all things--bread, do you
understand? Bread ought not to be stolen. What does any man want with
thieving who eats enough? In the mornings, long before six o'clock, the
poor people gather outside our shop, and stand there in rows, in order
to be the first to get the stale bread that is sold at half-price. The
police make them stand in a row, just as they do outside the box-office
at the theater, and some come as early as four, and stand two hours in
the cold, in order to be sure of their place. But besides those who buy
there is always a crowd of people still poorer; they have no money to
buy with, but they stand there and stare as though 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. One can see that
in the way their eyes follow every movement, with the same desperate
hope that you see in the eyes of the dogs when they stand round the
butcher's cart and implore Heaven that the butcher may drop a bit of
meat. They don't understand that no one will pity them. Not we human
beings--you should see their surprise when we give them anything!--but
chance, some accident. Good God, bread is so cheap, the cheapest of all
the important things in this world--and yet they can't for once have
enough of it! This morning I slipped a loaf into an old woman's hand--
she kissed it and wept for joy! Do you feel that that's endurable?" He
stared at Pelle with madness lurking in his gaze.

"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? We must be
patient and organize ourselves and trust to time. To seize on our rights
as they've done elsewhere won't do for us."

"No, that's just it! They know it won't do for us--that's why justice
never goes forward. The people get only what's due to them if the
leaders know that if the worst comes to the worst 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 in yourself,"
replied Morten passionately. "Revolution is the voice of God, which
administers right and justice, and it cannot be disputed. If the poor
were to rise to see that justice was done it would be God's judgment,
and it would not be overthrown. The age has surely the right to redeem
itself when it has fallen into arrears in respect of matters so
important; but it could do so only by a leap forward. But the people
don't rise, they are like a damp powder! You must surely some time have
been in the cellar of the old iron merchant under the 'Ark,' and have
seen his store of rags and bones and old iron rubbish? They are mere
rakings of the refuse-heap, things that human society once needed and
then rejected. He collects them again, and now the poor can buy them.
And he buys the soldiers' bread too, when they want to go on the spree,
and throws it on his muck-heap; he calls it fodder for horses, but the
poor buy it of him and eat it. The refuse-heap is the poor man's larder
--that is, when the pigs have taken what they want. The Amager farmers
fatten their swine there, and the sanitary commission talks about
forbidding it; but no one has compassion on the Copenhagen poor."

Pelle shuddered. There was something demoniacal in Morten's hideous
knowledge--he knew more of the "Ark" than Pelle himself. "Have you, too,
been down in that loathsome rubbish-store?" he asked, "or how do you
know all this?"

"No, I've not been there--but I can't help knowing it--that's my curse!
Ask me even whether they make soup out of the rotten bones they get
there. And not even the poison of the refuse-heap will inflame them;
they lap it up and long for more! I can't bear it if nothing is going to
happen! Now you've pulled yourself out of the mire--and it's the same
with everybody who has accomplished anything--one after another--either
because they are contented or because they are absorbed in their own
pitiful affairs. Those who are of any use slink away, and only the needy
are left."

"I have never left you in the lurch," said Pelle warmly. "You must
realize that I haven't."

"It isn't to be wondered at that they get weary," Morten continued.
"Even God loses patience with those who always let themselves be
trampled upon. Last night I dreamed I was one of the starving. I was
going up the street, grieving at my condition, and I ran up against God.
He was dressed like an old Cossack officer, and had a knout hanging
round his neck.

"'Help me, dear God!' I cried, and fell on my knees before him. '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 set forth
food for you in abundance?' he said angrily, pointing to all the fine
shops. 'You do not belong to my chosen people--away with you!' 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 nor heard; he had quite collapsed. Suddenly he turned away, without
saying good-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 not
faithless; and no one had any right to grudge him the happiness of
founding a family. He was quite indignant--for the first time for a long
time. That they should taunt him, who had done more for the cause than
most!--just because he looked after his own affairs for a time!
Something unruly was rising within him; he felt a sudden need to lay
about him; to fight a good stiff battle and shake the warm domesticity
out of his bones.

Down by the canal they were engaged cutting the ice in order to clear
the water. It was already spring tide, and the ice-cakes were drifting
toward the sea, 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 beneath the surface, but he would not let it rise.

As soon as he was between four walls again he grew calmer. Ellen sat by
the stove 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 trace of
chafing anywhere!"

XVII

From his place at the window Pelle could look out over the canal and the
bridge by the prison, where the prisoners lay on the rafts, washing
wool. He recognized Ferdinand's tall, powerful figure; shortly after
Christmas they had captured him in an underground vault in the cemetery,
where he had established himself; the snow had betrayed his hiding-
place. And now he lay yonder, so near the "Ark" and his mother! From
time to time he raised his closely-shorn head and looked thither.

Beyond the bridge toward the market, was the potter with his barge; he
had piled up his Jutland wares on the quay, and the women from
Kristianshavn came to 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
had rather the character of a fantastic village--as though a hundred
hamlets had been swept together in one inextricable heap. Originally it
had been a little frame building of one story with a gabled roof. Then
it had gradually become 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 in an endless confusion, till in the middle it was
five stories high. And there a bluish ring of vapor always hovered,
revealing the presence of the well, that hidden ventilating shaft for
the thronging inmates of the "Ark." One could recognize Madam Frandsen's
garret with its chimney-cowl, and farther 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 many of the little windows. They
stared like failing eyes. Even the coal-dealer, who was the deputy
landlord of the "Ark," was imperfectly acquainted with all its holes and
corners.

He could see the inmates of the "Ark" running to and fro across the
bridge, careless and myopic; they always rushed along, having started at
the last moment.. There was something tranquilizing about their
negligence, which was evoked by privation; in the "Ark" a man began to
worry about his 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 seeking him out.

The masses were now no longer vaguely fermenting; a mighty will was in
process of formation. Amid the confusion, the chaotic hubbub, definite
lines became visible; a common consciousness came into being and assumed
a direction; the thousands of workers controlled themselves in a
remarkable way, and were now progressing, slowly and prudently, with the
ideal of closing up the ranks. One whose hearing was a little dull might
have received the impression that nothing was happening--that they were
reconciled with their lot; but Pelle knew what was going on. He himself
had put his shoulder to the wheel, and was secretly one of their number.

He was happy in Ellen's divided love, and all he undertook had reference
to her and the child.

But now again the sound of footsteps echoed through his brain; and it
would not be silenced. They had penetrated further than he himself could
go. It was as though a deadening screen had suddenly been removed and
whether he wished it or not, he heard every step of the wanderers
outside.

The hard times forced them to proceed quietly, but work was being done
in secret. The new ideas were in process of becoming current, the
newspapers introduced them into the bosom of the family, and they were
uttered from the speaker's platform, or discussed at meal-times in
workshop and factory. The contagion ran up staircases and went from door
to door. Organizations which more than once had been created and broken
up were created afresh--and this time to endure. The employers fought
them, but could not defeat them; there was an inward law working upon
the masses, making a structure behind which they must defend themselves.

They taxed themselves and stole the bread out of their own mouths in
order to increase the funds of their organization, in the blind
conviction that eventually something miraculous would come of it all.
The poor achieved power by means of privation, tears, and self-denial,
and had the satisfaction of feeling that they were rich through their
organization. When many united together they tasted of the sweets of
wealth; and, grateful as they were, they regarded that already as a
result. A sense of well-being lifted them above the unorganized, and
they felt themselves socially superior to the latter. To join the 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
their house-mates. The big tenement buildings were gradually leavened by
the new ideas; those who would not join the Union must clear out. They
were treated as the scum of society, and could only settle down in
certain quarters of the city. It no longer seemed impossible to
establish the organization of labor in a stable fashion, and to
accomplish something for the workers--if only some courageous worker
would place himself at the head of affairs. The fact that most of them
worked at home in their lodgings could no longer make them invisible--
the movement had eyes everywhere. Pelle, with surprise, caught himself
sitting at his bench and making plans for the development of the
movement.

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 his ability and all his strength, if he was to provide
them merely with necessities? He had tortured himself enough with the
burden of poverty--and to no end. And now he had found his release in a
blessed activity, which, if he was to neglect nothing, would entirely
absorb him. What then was the meaning of this inward admonition, that
seemed to tell him that he was sinning against his duty?

He silenced the inward voice by dwelling on his joy in his wife and
child. But it 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 the night.

At such times he sat upright in bed, listening. Ellen and the child were
fast asleep; he could hear a faint whistling as little Lasse drew his
breath. He would 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 the child; he lived for them as wholly as though he had anticipated
an immediate parting.

They had purchased a perambulator on the instalment system, and every
Sunday they 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, where they ate their provisions and drank coffee. Often too
they made their way along the coast road, and went right out into the
forest. Lasse-Frederik, as Ellen called him, sat throned in all his
splendor in the perambulator, like a little idol, Pelle and Ellen
pushing him alternately. Ellen did not want to permit this. "It's no
work for a man, pushing a perambulator," she would say. "You won't see
any other man doing it! They let their wives push the family coach."

"What are other people to me?" replied Pelle. "I don't keep 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 about to his heart's content, and it was wonderful how he
tumbled about; he was like a frolicsome little bear. "I believe he can
smell the earth under him," said Pelle, recalling his own childish
transports. "It's a pity he has to live in that barrack there!" Ellen
gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

They did not move about much; it contented them to lie there and to
delight in the child, when he suddenly sat up and gazed at them in
astonishment, as though he had just discovered them. "Now he's beginning
to think!" said Pelle, laughing.

"You take my word for it, he's hungry." And little Lasse scrambled
straight up to his mother, striking at her breast with his clenched
hands, and saying, "Mam, mam!" Pelle and the perambulator had to station
themselves in front of her while he was fed.

When they reached home it was evening. If the doormat was displaced it
meant that some one had been to call on them; and Ellen was able to
tell, from its position, who the visitor had been. Once it stood upright
against the wall.

"That's Uncle Carpenter," said Pelle quietly. Little Lasse was 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 a
business 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 relations out 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
had all they could do to make a living. The bad times had hit them too,
and little Karl in particular; people were stingy with their tips. In
these days they were never more than a day ahead of destitution, and the
slightest misfortune would have brought them face to face with it. But
they let nothing of this be seen--they were only a little quieter and
more solemn than usual. He had on several occasions made inquiries as to
obtaining help for them, but nothing could be done without immediately
tearing them asunder; all those who were in a position to help them
cried out against their little household, and separation was the worst
that could befall them.

When he went to see them Marie always had plenty to tell and to ask him;
he was still her particular confidant, and had to listen to all her
household cares and give her his advice. She was growing tall now, and
had a fresher look than of old; and Pelle's presence always filled her
eyes with joy and brought the color to her cheeks. Father Lasse she
eulogized, in a voice full of emotion, as though he were a little
helpless child; but when she asked after Ellen 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
little letter-box some one had thrust a number of _The Working
Man_, with an invitation to take the paper regularly. He opened the
paper eagerly, as he sat down to his bench again; an extraordinary
feeling of distress caused him first of all to run through the
"Accidents."

He started up in his chair; there was a heading concerning a fourteen-
year-old boy who worked in a tinplate works and had had the fingers of
the right hand cut 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 of boys
roam about the streets all night, but Peter has never been like that,
and I kept his supper warm till midnight. I thought perhaps he'd got
into bad company."

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 was
better that he should prepare her beforehand. "But it's by no means
certain," he said, to cheer her. "Perhaps it isn't he at all."

Marie burst into tears. "Yes, of course it is! I've so often gone about
worrying when he's been telling me about those sharp knives always
sliding between their fingers. And they can't take proper care of
themselves; they must work quickly or they get the sack. Oh, poor dear
Peter!" She had sunk into her chair and now sat rocking to and fro with
her apron to her eyes, like an unhappy mother.

"Now be grown-up and sensible," said Pelle, laying his hand on her
shoulder. "Perhaps it's not so bad after all; the papers always
exaggerate. 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 any case say where we
live--do you hear? Remember, we've not been to school, and he hasn't
been notified to the pastor for confirmation. We could 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. He ran thither, and arrived just at the time for visitors.
Peter was sitting upright in bed, his hand in a sling; this gave him a
curiously crippled appearance. And on the boy's face affliction had
already left those deep, ineradicable traces which so dismally
distinguish the invalided worker. The terrible burden of the
consequences of mutilation could already be read in his pondering,
childish gaze.

He cheered up when he saw Pelle, made an involuntary movement with his
right hand, and then, remembering, held out his left. "There--I must
give you my left fist now," he said, with a dismal smile. "That'll seem
queer to me for a bit. If I can do anything at all. Otherwise"--he made
a threatening movement of the head--"I tell you this--I'll never be a
burden to Marie and Karl all my life. Take my word for it, I shall be
able to work again."

"We shall soon find something for you," said Pelle, "and there are kind
people, too. Perhaps some one will help you so that you can study." He
himself did not know just where that idea came from; he certainly had
never seen such a case. The magical dreams of his childhood had been
responsible for a whole class of ideas, which were nourished by the
anecdotes of poor boys in the reading-books. He was confronted by the
impossible, and quite simply he reached out after the impossible.

Peter had no reading-books at his back. "Kind people!" he cried
scornfully--"they never have anything themselves, and I can't even read
--how should I learn how to study? Karl can read; he taught himself from
the signs in the streets while he was running his errands; and he can
write as well. And Hanne has taught Marie a little. But all my life I've
only been in the factory." He stared bitterly into space; it was
melancholy to see how changed his face was--it had quite fallen in.

"Don't worry now," said Pelle confidently: "we shall soon find
something."

"Only spare me the poor-relief! Don't you go begging for me--that's
all!" said Peter angrily. "And, Pelle," he whispered, so that no one in
the room should hear, "it really isn't nice here. Last night an old man
lay there and died--close to me. He died of cancer, and they didn't even
put a screen round him. All the time he lay there and stared at me! But
in a few days I shall be able to go out. Then there'll be something to
be paid--otherwise the business will come before the Poor Law guardians,
and then they'll begin to snuff around--and I've told them fibs, Pelle!
Can't you come and get me out? Marie has money for the house-rent by
her--you can take that."

Pelle promised, and hurried back to his work. Ellen was at home; she was
moving about and seemed astonished. Pelle confided the whole affair to
her. "Such a splendid fellow he is," he said, almost crying. "A little
too solemn with all his work--and now he's a cripple! Only a child, and
an invalided worker already--it's horrible to think of!"

Ellen went up to him and pulled his head against her shoulder;
soothingly she stroked his hair. "We must do something for him, Ellen,"
he said dully.

"You are so good, Pelle. You'd like to help everybody; but what can we
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's nothing
here but just what is absolutely necessary. And you who love our poor
little belongings so! But if you mean that, why, of course! Only you are
doing something for him already in sacrificing your time."

After that he was silent. She several times referred to the matter
again, as something that must be well deliberated, but he did not reply.
Her conversation hurt him--whether he replied to it or was silent.

In the afternoon he invented an errand in the city, and made his way to
the factory. He made for the counting-house, and succeeded in seeing the
manufacturer himself. The latter was quite upset by the occurrence, but
pleaded in vindication that the accident was entirely the result of
negligence. He advised Pelle to make a collection among the workers in
the factory, and he opened it himself with a contribution of twenty
kroner. He also held out the prospect that Peter, who was a reliable
lad, might take a place as messenger and collector when he was well
again.

Peter was much liked by his comrades; a nice little sum was collected.
Pelle paid his hospital dues, and there was so much left that he would
be able to stay at home and rest with an easy mind until his hand was
healed and he could take the place of messenger at the factory. The
young invalid was in high spirits, knowing that his living was assured;
he passed the time in lounging about the town, wherever there was music
to be heard, in order to learn fresh tunes. "This is the first holiday
I've had since I went to the factory," he told Pelle.

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