Pelle the Conqueror, Vol 3 by Martin Anderson Nexo

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"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!" Lasse had to lean back in
his chair while she lit the pipe.

When Pelle left, Lasse 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.

Lasse 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 Lasse. "But you
needn't say anything of this to Ellen--she is so peculiar in that
respect!"

XXXIII

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-
glass, 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 Lasse, 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.

They were paid big wages and received abundance to eat and to drink. And
the working day or shift was shorter than usual. They did not understand
the real significance of this change of life, but went about playing the
bally. But there was a peculiar hesitation visible in their faces, as
though they were not quite sure of one another. The native workers, who
were in the minority, kept to themselves--as though they felt an inward
contempt for those fellows who had travelled so far to fish in the
troubled waters of their distress.

They were working three shifts, each of eight hours' duration.

"Oho!" thought Pelle, "why, this, good God, is the eight-hours' day!
This is surely the State of the future!" At the very moment of his
arrival one shift was completed, and the men immediately proceeded to
make the most infernal uproar, hammering on metal and shouting for food
and brandy. A huge cauldron full of beef and potatoes was dragged in.
Pelle was told off to join a mess of ten men.

"Eat, matey!" they said. "Hungry, ain't you? How long had you been out
of work before you gave in?"

"Three months," said Pelle.

"Then you must be peckish. Here with the beef! More beef here!" they
cried, to the cook's mate. "You can keep the potatoes and welcome! We've
eaten enough potatoes all our lives!"--"This is Tom Tiddler's land, with
butter sauce into the bargain! This is how we've always said it ought to
be--good wages and little to do, lots to eat and brandy to drink! Now
you can see it was a good thing we held out till it came to this--now we
get our reward! Your health! Here, damme, what's your name, you there?"

"Karlsen," said Pelle.

"Here's to you, Karlsen! Well, and how are things looking outside? Have
you seen my wife lately? She's easy to recognize--she's a woman with
seven children with nothing inside their ribs! Well, how goes it with
the strikers?"

After eating they sat about playing cards, and drinking, or they loafed
about and began to quarrel; they were a sharp-tongued crew; they went
about actuated by a malicious longing to sting one another. "Come and
have a game with us, mate--and have a drink!" they cried to Pelle. "Damn
it all, how else should a man kill the time in this infernal place?
Sixteen hours' sleep a day--no, that's more than a chap can do with!"

There was a deafening uproar, as though the place had been a vast
tavern, with men shouting and abusing one another; each contributed to
the din as though he wanted to drown it by his own voice. They were able
to buy drink in the factory, and they drank what they earned. "That's
their conscience," thought Pelle. "At heart they are good comrades."
There seemed to be some hope of success for his audacious maneuver. A
group of Germans took no part in the orgy, but had set up a separate
colony in the remotest corner of the hall. They were there to make
money!

In one of the groups a dispute broke out between the players; they were
reviling one another in no measured language, and their terms of abuse
culminated in the term "strike-breaker." This made them perfectly
furious. It was as though an abscess had broken; all their bottled-up
shame and anger concerning their infamous position burst forth. They
began to use knives and tools on one another. The police, who kept watch
on the factory day and night, were called in, and restored tranquillity.
A wounded smith was bandaged in the office, but no arrest was made. Then
a sudden slackness overcame them.

They constantly crowded round Pelle. He was a new man; he came from
outside. "How are things going out there?" was the constant question.

"Things are going very well out there. It's a worse lookout for us in
here," said Pelle.

"Going very well, are they? We've been told they are near giving in."

"Who told you that?"

"The bosses of the factory here."

"Then they were fooling you, in order to keep you here."

"That's a lie! And what d'you mean by saying it's a worse look-out for
us? Out with it, now!"

"We shall never get regular work again. The comrades are winning--and
when they begin work again they'll demand that we others shall be locked
out."

"The devil--and they've promised us the best positions!" cried a great
smith. "But you're a liar! That you are! And why did you come here if
they are nearly winning outside? Answer me, damn it all! A man doesn't
come slinking into this hell unless he's compelled!"

"To leave his comrades in the lurch, you might add," replied Pelle
harshly. "I wanted to see how it feels to strike the bread away from the
mouths of the starving."

"That's a lie! No one would be so wicked! You are making fools of us,
you devil!"

"Give him a thrashing," said another. "He's playing a crooked game. Are
you a spy, or what do you want here? Do you belong to those idiots
outside?"

It had been Pelle's plan to put a good face on a crooked job, and
cautiously to feel his way; but now he grew angry.

"You had better think what you're doing before you call honorable men
idiots," he retorted violently. "Do you know what you are? Swine! You
lie there eating your fill and pouring the drink down your throats and
living easy on the need of your comrades! Swine, that you are--Judases,
who have sold a good cause for dirty money! How much did you get? Five
and twenty kroner, eh? And out there they are loyally starving, so that
all of us--yes, you too--can live a little more like human beings in the
future!"

"You hold your jaw!" said the big smith. "You've no wife and children--
you can easily talk!"

"Aren't you the fellow who lives in Jaegersborg Street?" Pelle demanded.
"Perhaps you are sending what you earn to your wife and children? Then
why are they in want? Yesterday they were turned out of doors; the
organization took them in and found a roof to go over their heads--
although they were a strike-breaker's family!" Pelle himself had made
this possible.

"Send--damn and blast it all--I'll send them something! But if one lives
this hell of a life in here the bit of money one earns all goes in rot-
gut! And now you're going to get a thrashing!" The smith turned up his
shirt-sleeves so that his mighty muscles were revealed. He was no longer
reasonable, but glared at Pelle like an angry bull.

"Wait a bit," said an older man, stepping up to Pelle. "I think I've
seen you before. What is your real name, if I may make bold to ask?"

"My name? You are welcome to know it. I am Pelle."

This name produced an effect like that of an explosion. They were
dazzled. The smith's arms fell slack; he turned his head aside in shame.
Pelle was among them! They had left him in the lurch, had turned their
backs on him, and now he stood there laughing at them, not the least bit
angry with them. What was more, he had called them comrades; so he did
not despise them! "Pelle is here!" they said quietly; further and
further spread the news, and their tongues dwelt curiously on his name.
A murmur ran through the shops. "What the devil--has Pelle come?" they
cried, stumbling to their legs. Pelle had leaped onto a great anvil.
"Silence!" he cried, in a voice of thunder; "silence!" And there was
silence in the great building. The men could hear their own deep
breathing.

The foremen came rushing up and attempted to drag him down. "You can't
make speeches here!" they cried.

"Let him speak!" said the big smith threateningly. "You aren't big
enough to stop his mouth, not by a long chalk!" He seized a hammer and
stationed himself at the foot of the anvil.

"Comrades!" Pelle began, in an easy tone, "I have been sent here to you
with greetings from those outside there--from the comrades who used to
stand next to you at work, from your friends and fellow-unionists. Where
are our old comrades?--they are asking. We have fought so many battles
by their side, we have shared good and evil with them--are we to enter
into the new conditions without them? And your wives and children are
asking after you! Outside there it is the spring! They don't understand
why they can't pack the picnic basket and go out into the forest with
father!"

"No, there's no picnic basket!" said a heavy voice.

"There are fifty thousand men accepting the situation without
grumbling," Pelle earnestly replied. "And they are asking after you--
they don't understand why you demand more than they do. Have you done
more for the movement than they have?--they ask. Or are you a lot of
dukes, that you can't quietly stand by the rank and file? And now it's
the spring out there!" he cried once more. "The poor man's winter is
past, and the bright day is coming for him! And here you go over to the
wrong side and walk into prison! Do you know what the locked-out workers
call you? They call you the locked-in workers!"

There were a few suppressed smiles at this. "That's a dam' good smack!"
they told, one another. "He made that up himself!"

"They have other names for us as well!" cried a voice defiantly.

"Yes, they have," said Pelle vigorously. "But that's because they are
hungry. People get unreasonable then, you know very well--and they
grudge other folks their food!"

They thronged about him, pressing closer and closer. His words were
scorching them, yet were doing them good. No one could hit out like
Pelle, and yet at the same time make them feel that they were decent
fellows after all. The foreign workers stood round about them, eagerly
listening, in order that they, too, might catch a little of what was
said.

Pelle had suddenly plunged into the subject of the famine, laying bare
the year-long, endless despair of their families, so that they all saw
what the others had suffered--saw really for the first time. They were
amazed that they could have endured so much, but they knew that it was
so; they nodded continually, in agreement; it was all literally true. It
was Pelle's own desperate struggle that was speaking through him now,
but the refrain of suffering ran through it all. He stood before them
radiant and confident of victory, towering indomitably over them all.

Gradually his words became keen and vigorous. He reproached them with
their disloyalty; he reminded them how dearly and bitterly they had
bought the power of cohesion, and in brief, striking phrases he awakened
the inspiriting rhythm of the Cause, that lay slumbering in every heart.
It was the old, beloved music, the well-known melody of the home and
labor. Pelle sounded it with a new accent. Like all those that forsake
their country, they had forgotten the voice of their mother--that was
why they could not find their way home; but now she was calling them,
calling them back to the old dream of a Land of Fortune! He could see it
in their faces, and with a leap he was at them: "Do you know of anything
more infamous than to sell your mother-country? That is what you have
done--before ever you set foot in it--you have sold it, with your
brothers, your wives, and your children! You have foresworn your
religion--your faith in the great Cause! You have disobeyed orders, and
have sold yourselves for a miserable Judas-price and a keg of brandy!"

He stood with his left hand on the big smith's shoulder, his right hand
he clenched and held out toward them. In that hand he was holding them;
he felt that so strongly that he did not dare to let it sink, but
continued to hold it outstretched. A murmuring wave passed through the
ranks, reaching even to the foreign workers. They were infected by the
emotion of the others, and followed the proceedings with tense
attention, although they did not understand much of the language. At
each sally they nodded and nudged one another, until now they stood
there motionless, with expectant faces; they, too, were under the spell
of his words. This was solidarity, the mighty, earth-encircling power!
Pelle recognized the look of wonder on their faces; a cold shudder ran
up and down his spine. He held them all in his hand, and now the blow
was to be struck before they had time to think matters over. Now!

"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.

XXXIV.

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 passage-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 principal 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
masses 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 Lasse
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 Lasse, in
explanation.

"Yes, it has flown away," said Pelle. "There came a wind and--phew!--
away it went!" He looked into the glass 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 Lasse 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.

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