Part 124 (1/2)
But from all these painful deliberations she emerged always more prominently capable, incomprehensible, and beautiful in all her strangeness! And he would hurry home, full of burning longing and devotion, continually hoping that this time she would come to him glowing with love, to hide her eyes, full of confusion, on his shoulder.
The disappointment only flung him yet more violently into the struggle; the longing of his heart for a tender, careless hand made his own hard.
He was always exerting himself to find some means of making money. At first, of course, there was no way, and he became so completely absorbed in the conflict that finally the question no longer occupied his mind.
It lurked in his consciousness, like a voluptuous wish that merely tinged his daily existence; it was as though something within his mind had taken possession of his talent for design, and was always designing beautiful paper money and displaying it to his imagination.
One day when he reached home he found Widow Rasmussen tending the children and working on a pair of canvas shoes. Drunken Valde had left her again--had flown out into the spring! Ellen had gone out to work.
A sudden pain shot through him. Her way of doing this, without saying a word to him, was like a blow in the face, and at first he was angry.
But disloyalty was foreign to his nature. He had to admit that she was within her rights; and with that his anger evaporated, leaving him bewildered; something within him seemed tottering; surely this was a topsy-turvy world! ”I might as well stay at home and look after the children,” he thought bitterly.
”I'll stay with the children now, Madam Rasmussen!” he said. The woman put her work together.
”Yes, they've got a lot to go through,” she said, standing in the doorway. ”I don't myself understand what it's all about, but one must always do something! That's my motto. For things can't be worse than they are. 'Widow'! Pooh! They won't let us behave ourselves! A man can scarcely look after himself, let alone a family, in this accursed world--and one needn't call one's self Madam to get children! Here have I been knocking about all my life, ruining my health and happiness, and have I earned as much from all my blackguards as would pay for the rags I've worn? No; I've had to beg them nicely of the fine folks for whom I do was.h.i.+ng! Yes, they are ready to skin one alive--Madam Rasmussen has proved that. So I say, one must always try something! To-day the boy comes home and says, 'Mother, they've put up the price of firewood again--an ore the two dozen!' 'What does that matter to us, boy? Can we buy two dozen at once?' I say. 'Yes, mother, but then the one dozen will cost an ore more.' And eggs, they cost one krone twenty a score where the rich folks buy them--but here! 'No, my dear madam, if you take two eggs you must pay fifteen ore!' That makes eight ore for an egg, for if one takes the smallest quant.i.ty the profits aren't in proportion. It's hard to be poor. If it's never going to be better, may the devil take him that's made it all! That was a fine swear!”
Pelle sat playing with Young La.s.se. Madam Rasmussen's words had aroused something in him. That was the eternal complaint, the old, old cry!
Whenever he heard it, the world of the poor man became even more plainly visible for what it was--and he ought to know it! It was a frightful abyss that he looked down into; it was bottomless; and it seemed forever to reveal fresh depths. And he was right--he was right.
He sat carelessly drawing something for the child on a sc.r.a.p of paper, thinking of things quite different; but involuntarily the drawing took shape from within his hand. ”That's money, that's money!” cried Young La.s.se, clapping his hands. Pelle waked up and examined his drawing; sure enough, there was a rough sketch of a ten-kroner note! It flattered his father's heart that the child had recognized it; and he was seized by the desire to see how like it was. But where in all the world was he to get a ”blue”? Pelle, who at this time superintended the collection and distributing of millions, did not possess ten kroner! The pipe! The pipe! That was what the boy got his idea from! His old Christmas present, queerly enough, had a ten-kroner note on the bowl--and that gave him an idea! He got it out and compared it; it was a long time since he had smoked the pipe--he couldn't afford it. He began eagerly to fill in the drawing while Young La.s.se stood by, amusing himself by watching the rapid movements of the pencil. ”Father is clever--Father draw!” he said, and wanted to wake his sister so that she could take part in the game.
No, the result was not good! The design would have to be cut in wood and printed in color for the appearance really to be similar. But then Ellen came home, and he hid it away. ”Won't you give up going out to work?” he said. ”I'll provide what is absolutely necessary.”
”Why?” she retorted resolutely. ”I'm not too good to do anything!” There was no tone in her voice from which he could elicit anything; so he got ready to go to the meeting.
Now, when Ellen went out to work, he ran home as often as he had time in order to look after the children. He had obtained a piece of hard wood and a ten-kroner note. With great care he transferred the design onto the wood, and began to engrave it while he sat there chattering to the children. This task occupied unused faculties; it engrossed him as an artistic exercise, which lingered at the back of his mind and automatically continued to carry itself out, even when he was away from home. This work filled his mind with a peculiar beauty so long as he was engaged on it. A warm, blissful world was evoked by the sight of this ten-kroner note, which shone ever more plainly out of the darkness and swept all privations aside. When Pelle sat at this work his mind soared above all oppression as though intoxicated; unhappy things no longer existed for him. He became an optimist and mentally made Ellen all sorts of costly presents.
It was all fundamentally so simple--it was only a misunderstanding--nothing more! He must speak to her, and she would see at once what a happy life they were going to live--if only they held out. Silence had filled her with resentment. Fortune! Fortune! It was nearer than ever now, greater and more splendid than on that other occasion when it had knocked at their door! Why, he did not know--that did not seem very clear!
But when he heard her step on the stairs his dream was shattered. He was awake. He concealed his work, ashamed to think that she should come home from work and find him at play.
At times he was oppressed by a feeling of the unattainable in his relations with Ellen. Even to himself he could not explain the contradiction between the constant longing for more ample and stable conditions, for triumph and victory, and his impotency at home, where his fortunes were declining. He wearied himself in trying to puzzle it out, and he was seized by a desire that he might become indifferent to the whole matter. He felt no inclination to drink, but none the less something was working convulsively within him; a certain indifference as to his own welfare, causing him to run risks, not caring whether he might not commit some stupidity that would do him harm. And at such times a voice cried loudly within him, especially when he was confronted by the bitter utterances of want. ”That is my old complaint,” he thought, and he became observant. In his childhood it had been a sort of seizure; now it had become a voice.
x.x.xII
Early one morning Pelle wandered into the city. He had risen before Ellen, in order to avoid the painfulness of sitting down to breakfast with her. Ellen tried all sorts of ruses in order to give him a proper breakfast, and it was not difficult to persuade his stomach; but afterward he felt ashamed that he should have been cared for at the cost of others; and cunning though he was too, he could not get the better of her save by slipping away while she was still asleep.
His fasting condition endowed the city, and the whole of life, with a curiously unsubstantial aspect. Before him lay a long day full of terrific labors, and behind him was the fresh triumph of the day before.
As matters now stood, the employers in the iron industry had conceived the cunning idea of founding a blackleg Union for smiths and mechanics, and of giving it a name closely resembling that of the genuine Union.
Then they sent circulars to the men, stating that work would be resumed on the following day. Many of the men were not accustomed to read, and regarded the circular as an order from their own Union, while others were enticed by the high wages offered by the new society. There was great confusion among the workers of these trades. As soon as the trick was exposed every respectable man drew back; but there was a great deal of disappointment, and they felt horribly ashamed before their comrades.
Pelle was furious at this trick, which affected him more especially, as the leader in open battle; he had suffered a defeat, and he meditated revenge. In spite of all the efforts of the pickets, it was not possible to procure a full list of the strikebreakers; his chagrin on this account burned in his heart, like a shameful sense of impotency; hitherto he had been noted for getting to the bottom of anything he undertook! He resolved then and there to meet ruse with ruse. He set a trap for his opponents, so that they themselves should deliver the strikebreakers into his hands. One morning he published his list in _The Working Man_ with the proud remark, ”Look, the enemy has no more!”
Did the employers really fall into the trap, or was the fate of the strike-breakers really indifferent to them? Next morning their organ protested, and gave the number of the black-legs and their names into the bargain!
This was a smack! A good one this; it brought a light to the thin, impa.s.sive faces. There was an answer to the trick of the other day! This Pelle was a deuce of a fellow! Three cheers for ”Lightning Pelle!” Hip, hip, hurrah!
Pelle was the deuce of a fellow as he strode along ruddy and full of pugnacity, with the echoes from the side-streets and the tenement-houses mingled with his own vigorous footsteps. Streets and houses were white with the night's h.o.a.r frost, and overhead the air was full of a peculiar glow that came from the city--a light flowing from hidden sources. He had left all his cares at home; on every hand working-folk were greeting him, and his greeting in return was like an inspiriting song. He did not know them, but they knew him! The feeling that his work--however deep the scars it might leave--was arousing grat.i.tude, had an uplifting effect upon him.