Pelle the Conqueror Part 164

"Upon my word, she's the same confounded way of taking the bull by the horns that she always had!" said Stolpe, without looking at her. "Well, I suppose I may as well give in at once, and own that I've played the fool. Shall we agree to let bygones be bygones, son-in-law?" extending his hand to Pelle.

When once the reconciliation was effected, Stolpe became quite cheerful.

"I never dreamt I should see you so soon, least of all with a baby!" he said contentedly, stroking Ellen's face with his rough hand.

"No, she's always been his darling, and father's often been tired of it," said Madam Stolpe. "But men make themselves so hard!"

"Rubbish, mother!" growled Stolpe. "Women will always talk nonsense!"

Time had left its mark upon them both. There had been a certain amount of unemployment in his trade, and Stolpe was getting on in years and had a difficulty in keeping up with the young men on the scaffolding. Their clothes showed that they were not so prosperous as formerly; but Stolpe was still chairman of his trade union and a highly respected man within the Movement.

"And now, my boy," he said suddenly, placing his hands on Pelle's shoulders, "you must explain to me what it is you're doing this time. I hear you've begun to stir up men's feelings again."

Pelle told him about his great plan for cooperative works. The old man knew indeed a good deal about it; it appeared that he had followed Pelle's movements from a distance.

"That's perhaps not so out of the way," he said. "We might squeeze capital out of existence just as quietly, if we all bestirred ourselves.

But you must get the Movement to join you; and it must be made clear that every one who doesn't support his own set is a black-leg."

"_I have_ got a connection, but it goes rather slowly," said Pelle.

"Then we must stir them up a little. I say, that queer fellow--Brun, I think you call him--doesn't he live with you?"

"He isn't a queer fellow," said Pelle, laughing. "We can go up and see him."

Brun and Stolpe very soon found something to talk about. They were of the same age, and had witnessed the first days of the Movement, each from his own side. Madam Stolpe came several times and pulled her husband by the coat: they ought to be going home.

"Well, it's not worth while to quarrel with your own wife," said Stolpe at last; "but I shall come again. I hear you're building out here, and I should like to see what our own houses'll be like."

"We've not begun yet," answered Pelle. "But come out on Sunday, and Brun and I will show it all to you."

"I suppose it's masters who'll get it?" asked Stolpe.

"No, we thought of letting the unemployed have the work if they could undertake it, and have a man to put at the head," said Brun. "Perhaps you could undertake it?"

"Why, of course I can!" answered Stolpe, with a feeling of his own importance. "I'm the man to build houses for workmen! I was member of the party when it numbered only one man."

"Yes, Stolpe's the veteran of the Movement," said Pelle.

"Upon my word, it'd be awfully nice if it was me!" exclaimed Stolpe when Pelle accompanied the old couple down to the tram. "I'll get together a set of workmen that have never been equalled. And what houses we shall put up! There won't be much papier-mache there!"

XXII

It still sometimes happened that Pelle awoke in the night not knowing where he was. He was oppressed with a stifling anxiety, dreaming that he was in prison, and fancying he could still smell the rank, mouldy odor of the cell. He gradually came to his senses and knew where he was; the sounds of breathing around him, and the warm influence of the darkness itself, brought him back to his home. He sat up joyfully, and struck a match to get a glimpse of Ellen and the little ones. He dared not go to sleep again, for sleep would instantly take him back to the prison; so he dressed quietly and stole out to see the day awaken.

It was strange with these dreams, for they turned everything upside down. In the prison he always dreamed he was free and living happily; nothing less would do there. There the day was bad and the night good, and here it was the reverse. It was as though something within one would always have everything. "That must be the soul!" he thought as he wandered eastward to meet the first gleam of day. In the country at home, the old people in his childhood believed that dreams were the soul wandering about by itself; some had seen it as a white mouse creeping out of the sleeper's mouth to gather fresh experiences for him. It was true, too, that through dreams the poor man had hitherto had everything; they carried him out of his prison. Perhaps the _roles_ were exchanged during the darkness of night. Perhaps the rich man's soul came during the night and slipped into the poor man's body to gather suffering for his master.

There was spring in the air. As yet it was only perceptible to Pelle in a feeling of elation, a desire to expand and burst all boundaries.

He walked with his face toward the opening day, and had a feeling of unconquerable power. Whence this feeling came he knew not, but it was there. He felt himself as something immense that was shut into a small s.p.a.ce and would blow up the world if it were let loose. He walked on quickly. Above his head rose the first lark. Slowly the earth drew from its face the wonderful veil of rest and mystery that was night.

Perhaps the feeling of strength came from his having taken possession of his spirit and commanding a view of the world. The world had no limits, but neither had his powers; the force that could throw him out of his course did not exist. In his own footfall he heard the whole future; the Movement would soon be concluded when it had taken in the fact that the whole thing must be included. There was still a little difficulty; from that side they still made it a condition for their cooperation that Pelle should demand a public recognition of his good character. Pelle laughed and raised his face to the morning breeze which came like a cold s.h.i.+ver before the sunrise. Outsider! Yes, there was some truth in it.

He did not belong to the existing state of things; he desired no civil rights there. That he was outside was his stamp of n.o.bility; his relations to the future were contained in that fact. He had begun the fight as one of the lowest of the people, and as such he would triumph.

When he rose there should no longer be a pariah caste.

As he walked along with the night behind him and his face to the light, he seemed to have just entered into youth with everything before him--everything to look forward to! And yet he seemed to have existed since the morning of time, so thoroughly did he know the world of darkness that he left. Was not man a wonderful being, both in his power to shrink up and become nothing, and in his power to expand and fill everything? He now understood Uncle Kalle's smile on all occasions; he had armed himself with it in order that life should not draw too deep furrows in his gentle nature. The poor man had been obliged to dull himself; he would simply bleed to death if he gave himself up to stern reality. The dullness had been like a hard sh.e.l.l that protected the poor; and now they came with their heart quite safe in spite of everything. They could very well lead when times were good.

Pelle had always a vague feeling of being chosen. Even as a child it made him look with courage in the face of a hard world, and filled his bare limbs with elasticity. Poor and naked he came into the world, apparently without a gift of any kind; and yet he came as a bright promise to the elderly, work-bowed Father La.s.se. Light radiated from him, insignificant and ordinary though he was; G.o.d had given him the spark, the old man always said, and he always looked upon the boy as a little miracle of heaven. The boy Pelle wondered a little at it, but was happy in his father's pleasure. He himself knew some very different miracles at that time, for instance the calf of the fair with two heads, and the lamb with eight legs. He had his own demands to make of life's wonderful riches, and was not struck with surprise at a very ordinary, big-eared urchin such as one might see any day.

And now he was just showing that Father La.s.se had been right. The greatest miracles were in himself--Pelle, who resembled hundreds of millions of other workmen, and had never yet had more than just enough for his food. Man was really the most wonderful of all. Was he not himself, in all his commonplace naturalness, like a luminous spark, sprung from the huge anvil of divine thought? He could send out his inquiring thought to the uttermost borders of s.p.a.ce, and back to the dawn of time. And this all-embracing power seemed to have proceeded from nothing, like G.o.d Himself! The mere fact that he, who made so much noise, had to go to prison in order to comprehend the great object of things, was a marvel! There must have been far-reaching plans deposited in him, since he shut himself in.

When he looked out over the rising, he felt himself to be facing a world-thought with extraordinarily long sight. The common people, without knowing it, had been for centuries preparing themselves for an entry into a new world; the migration of the ma.s.ses would not be stopped until they had reached their goal. A law which they did not even know themselves, and could not enter into, led them the right way; and Pelle was not afraid. At the back of his unwearied labor with the great problem of the age was the recognition that he was one of those on whom the nation laid the responsibility for the future; but he was never in doubt as to the aim, nor the means. During the great lock-out the foreseeing had feared the impossibility of leading all these crowds into the fire. And then the whole thing had opened out of itself quite naturally, from an apparently tiny cause to a steadily ordered battle all along the line. The world had never before heard a call so great as that which he and his followers brought forward! It meant nothing less than the triumph of goodness! He was not fond of using great words, but at the bottom of his heart he was convinced that everything bad originated in want and misery. Distrust and selfishness came from misusage; they were man's defence against extortion. And the extortion came from insecure conditions, from reminders of want or unconscious fear of it. Most crimes could easily be traced back to the distressing conditions, and even where the connection was not perceptible he was sure that it nevertheless existed. It was his experience that every one in reality was good: the evil in them could nearly always be traced back to something definite, while the goodness often existed in spite of everything. It would triumph altogether when the conditions became secure for everybody. He was sure that even the crimes that were due to abnormity would cease of themselves when there were no longer hidden reminders of misery in the community.

It was his firm belief that he and his followers should renew the world; the common people should turn it into a paradise for the mult.i.tude, just as it had already made it a paradise for the few. It would require a great and courageous mind for this, but his army had been well tested.

Those who, from time immemorial, had patiently borne the pressure of existence for others, must be well fitted to take upon themselves the leaders.h.i.+p into the new age.

Pelle at last found himself in Strand Road, and it was too late to return home. He was ravenously hungry and bought a couple of rolls at a baker's, and ate them on his way to work.

At midday Brun came into the works to sign some papers and go through accounts with Pelle. They were sitting up in the office behind the shop.

Pelle read out the items and made remarks on them, while the old man gave his half attention and merely nodded. He was longing to get back to "Daybreak."

"You won't mind making it as short as possible?" he said, "for I don't feel quite well." The harsh spring winds were bad for him and made his breathing difficult. The doctor had advised a couple of months in the Riviera--until the spring was over; but the old man could not make up his mind. He had not the courage to set out alone.

The shop-bell rang, and Pelle went in to serve. A young sunburnt man stood on the other side of the counter and laughed.

"Don't you know me?" he asked, holding out his hand to Pelle. It was Karl, the youngest of the three orphans in the "Ark."

"Why, of course I know you!" answered Pelle, delighted. "I've been to Adel Street to look for you; I was told you had your business there."

That had been a long time ago! Now Karl Anker was manager of a large supply a.s.sociation over on Funen. He had come over to order some boots and shoes from Pelle for the a.s.sociation. "It's only a trial," he said. "If it succeeds I'll get you a connection with the cooperative a.s.sociation, and that's a customer that takes something, I can tell you!"

Pelle had to make haste to take down the order, as Karl had to catch a train.

"It's a pity you haven't got time to see our works," said Pelle. "Do you remember little Paul from the 'Ark'? The factory-girl's child that she tied to the stove when she went to work? He's become a splendid fellow.

He's my head man in the factory. He'd like to see you!"

"When Karl was gone and Pelle was about to go in to Brun in the office, he caught sight of a small, somewhat deformed woman with a child, walking to and fro above the workshop windows, and taking stolen glances down. They timidly made way for people pa.s.sing, and looked very frightened. Pelle called them into the shop.

"Do you want to speak to Peter Dreyer?" he asked.

The woman nodded. She had a refined face with large, sorrowful eyes. "If it won't disturb him," she said.

Pelle called Peter Dreyer and then went into the office, where he found Brun had fallen asleep.

He heard them whispering in the shop. Peter was angry, and the woman and the child cried; he could hear it in the tones of their whisper. It did not last more than a minute, and then Peter let them out. Pelle went quickly into the shop.