Pelle the Conqueror Part 115

"You don't catch me! And if you dare you'll get one in the jaw!" replied Karl. "Think I'm going to have you loafing about?"

At the end of the street the great Jutlander was rolling along, the coffin under his arm; the girl followed at a distance, and they kept to the middle of the road as though they formed part of a funeral procession. It was a dismal sight. The gray, dismal street was like a dungeon.

The shutters were up in all the bas.e.m.e.nt windows, excepting that of the bread-woman. Before the door of her shop stood a crowd of grimy little children, smearing themselves with dainties; every moment one of them slipped down into the cellar to spend an ore. One little girl, dressed in her Sunday best, with a tightly braided head, was balancing herself on the edge of the curbstone with a big jug of cream in her hand; and in a doorway opposite stood a few young fellows meditating some mischief or other.

"Shall we go anywhere to-day?" asked Ellen, when Pelle and young La.s.se got home. "The fine season is soon over."

"I must go to the committee-meeting," Pelle replied hesitatingly. He was sorry for her; she was going to have another child, and she looked so forsaken as she moved about the home. But it was impossible for him to stay at home.

"When do you think you'll be back?"

"That I don't know, Ellen. It is very possible it will take the whole day."

Then she was silent and set out his food.

XXIII

That year was, if possible, worse than the preceding. As early as September the unemployed stood in long ranks beside the ca.n.a.ls or in the market-place, their feet in the wet. The bones of their wrists were blue and prominent and foretold a hard winter, of which the corns of the old people had long ago given warning; and sparks of fire were flying up from under poor folks' kettles. "Now the hard winter is coming and bringing poverty with it," said the people. "And then we shall have a pretty time!"

In October the frost appeared and began to put an end to all work that had not already been stopped by the hard times.

In the city the poor were living from hand to mouth; if a man had a bad day it was visible on his plate the next morning. Famine lay curled up beneath the table in ten thousand households; like a bear in its winter sleep it had lain there all summer, shockingly wasted and groaning in its evil dreams; but they were used to its society and took no notice of it so long as it did not lay its heavy paw upon the table. One day's sickness, one day's loss of work--and there it was!

"Ach, how good it would be if we only had a brine-tub that we could go to!" said those who could still remember their life in the country.

"But the good G.o.d has taken the brine-tub and given us the p.a.w.nbroker instead!" and then they began to pledge their possessions.

It was sad to see how the people kept together; the city was scattered to the winds in summer, but now it grew compacter; the homeless came in from the Common, and the great landowners returned to inhabit their winter palaces. Madam Rasmussen, in her attic, suddenly appeared with a husband; drunken Valde had returned--the cold, so to speak, had driven him into her arms! At the first signs of spring he would be off again, into the arms of his summer mistress, Madam Gra.s.smower. But as long as he was here, here he was! He stood lounging in the doorway downstairs, with feathers sticking in the s.h.a.ggy hair of his neck and bits of bed-straw adhering to his flat back. His big boots were always beautifully polished; Madam Rasmussen did that for him before she went to work in the morning; after which she made two of herself, so that her big strong handsome protector should have plenty of time to stand and scratch himself.

Week by week the cold locked up all things more closely; it locked up the earth, so that the husbandmen could not get at it; and it closed the modest credit account of the poor. Already it had closed all the harbors round about. Foreign trade shrunk away to nothing; the stevedores and waterside workers might as well stop at home. It tightened the heart-strings--and the strings of the big purse that kept everything going. The established trades began to work shorter hours, and the less stable trades entirely ceased. Initiative drew in its horns; people began nothing new, and did no work for the warehouses; fear had entered into them. All who had put out their feelers drew them back; they were frostbitten, so to speak. The earth had withdrawn its sap into itself and had laid a crust of ice over all; humanity did the same. The poor withdrew their scanty blood into their hearts, in order to preserve the germ of life. Their limbs were cold and bloodless, their skin gray. They withdrew into themselves, and into the darkest corners, packed closely together. They spent nothing. And many of those who had enough grudged themselves even food; the cold ate their needs away, and set anxiety in their place. Consumption was at a standstill.

One could not go by the thermometer, for according to that the frost had been much harder earlier in the year. "What, is it no worse!" said the people, taken aback. But they felt just as cold and wretched as ever.

What did the thermometer know of a hard winter? Winter is the companion of hard times, and takes the same way whether it freezes or thaws--and on this occasion it froze!

In the poor quarters of the city the streets were as though depopulated.

A fall of snow would entice the dwellers therein out of their hiding-places; it made the air milder, and made it possible, too, to earn a few kroner for sweeping away the snow. Then they disappeared again, falling into a kind of numb trance and supporting their life on incredibly little--on nothing at all. Only in the mornings were the streets peopled--when the men went out to seek work. But everywhere where there was work for one man hundreds applied and begged for it. The dawn saw the defeated ones slinking home; they slept the time away, or sat all day with their elbows on the table, never uttering a word. The cold, that locked up all else, had an opposite effect upon the heart; there was much compa.s.sion abroad. Many whose wits had been benumbed by the cold, so that they did not attempt to carry on their avocations, had suffered no damage at heart, but expended their means in beneficence.

Kindly people called the poor together, and took pains to find them out, for they were not easy to find.

But the Almighty has created beings that live upon the earth and creatures that live under the earth; creatures of the air and creatures of the water; even in the fire live creatures that increase and multiply. And the cold, too, saw the growth of a whole swarm of creatures that live not by labor, but on it, as parasites. The good times are their bad times; then they grow thin, and there are not many of them about. But as soon as cold and dest.i.tution appear they come forth in their swarms; it is they who arouse beneficence--and get the best part of what is going. They scent the coming of a bad year and inundate the rich quarters of the city. "How many poor people come to the door this year!" people say, as they open their purses. "These are hard times for the poor!"

In the autumn Pelle had removed; he was now dwelling in a little two-roomed apartment on the Kapelvej. He had many points of contact with this part of the city now; besides, he wanted Ellen to be near her parents when she should be brought to bed. La.s.se would not accompany him; he preferred to be faithful to the "Ark"; he had got to know the inmates now, and he could keep himself quite decently by occasional work in the neighboring parts of the city.

Pelle fought valiantly to keep the winter at bay. There was nothing to do at the workshop; and he had to be on the go from morning to night.

Wherever work was to be had, there he applied, squeezing his way through hundreds of others. His customers needed footwear now more than ever; but they had no money to pay for it.

Ellen and he drew nearer at this season and learned to know one another on a new side. The hard times drew them together; and he had cause to marvel at the stoutness of her heart. She accepted conditions as they were with extraordinary willingness, and made a little go a very long way. Only with the stove she could do nothing. "It eats up everything we sc.r.a.pe together," she said dejectedly; "it sends everything up the chimney and doesn't give out any warmth. I've put a bushel of coal on it to-day, and it's as cold as ever! Where I was in service we were able to warm two big rooms with one scuttle! I must be a fool, but won't you look into it?" She was almost crying.

"You mustn't take that to heart so!" said Pelle gloomily. "That's the way with poor folks' stoves. They are old articles that are past use, and the landlords buy them up as old iron and then fit them in their workmen's dwellings! And it's like that with everything! We poor people get the worst and pay the dearest--although we make the things! Poverty is a sieve."

"Yes, it's dreadful," said Ellen, looking at him with mournful eyes.

"And I can understand you so well now!"

Threatening Need had spread its pinions above them. They hardly dared to think now; they accepted all things at its hands.

One day, soon after Ellen had been brought to bed, she asked Pelle to go at once to see Father La.s.se. "And mind you bring him with you!" she said. "We can very well have him here, if we squeeze together a little.

I'm afraid he may be in want."

Pelle was pleased by the offer, and immediately set out. It was good of Ellen to open her heart to the old man when they were by no means certain of being able to feed themselves.

The "Ark" had a devastated appearance. All the curtains had disappeared--except at Olsen's; with the gilt mouldings they always fetched fifty ore. The flowers in the windows were frostbitten. One could see right into the rooms, and inside also all was empty. There was something shameless about the winter here; instead of clothing the "Ark"

more warmly it stripped it bare--and first of all of its protecting veils. The privies in the court had lost their doors and covers, and it was all Pelle could do to climb up to the attics! Most of the bal.u.s.trades had vanished, and every second step was lacking; the "Ark"

was helping itself as well as it could! Over at Madam Johnsen's the bucket of oak was gone that had always stood in the corner of the gallery when it was not lent to some one--the "Ark" possessed only the one. And now it was burned or sold. Pelle looked across, but had not the courage to call. Hanne, he knew, was out of work.

A woman came slinking out of the third story, and proceeded to break away a fragment of woodwork; she nodded to Pelle. "For a drop of coffee!" she said, "and G.o.d bless coffee! You can make it as weak as you like as long as it's still nice and hot."

The room was empty; La.s.se was not there. Pelle asked news of him along the gangway. He learned that he was living in the cellar with the old clothes woman. Thin gray faces appeared for a moment in the doorways, gazed at him, and silently disappeared.

The cellar of the old clothes woman was overcrowded with all sorts of objects; hither, that winter, the possessions of the poor had drifted.

La.s.se was sitting in a corner, patching a mattress; he was alone down there. "She has gone out to see about something," he said; "in these times her money finds plenty of use! No, I'm not going to come with you and eat your bread. I get food and drink here--I earn it by helping her--and how many others can say this winter that they've their living a.s.sured? And I've got a corner where I can lie. But can't you tell me what's become of Peter? He left the room before me one day, and since then I've never seen him again."

"Perhaps he's living with his sweetheart," said Pelle. "I'll see if I can't find out."

"Yes, if you will. They were good children, those three, it would be a pity if one of them were to come to any harm."

Pelle would not take his father away from a regular situation where he was earning a steady living. "We don't very well see what we could offer you in its place. But don't forget that you will always be welcome--Ellen herself sent me here."

"Yes, yes! Give her many thanks for that! And now you be off, before the old woman comes back," said La.s.se anxiously. "She doesn't like any one to be here--she's afraid for her money."

The first thing that had to go was Pelle's winter overcoat. He p.a.w.ned it one day, without letting Ellen know, and on coming home surprised her with the money, which he delightedly threw on the table, krone by krone.

"How it rings!" he said to Young La.s.se. The child gave a jump, and wanted the money to play with.

"What do I want with a winter coat?" he retorted, to Ellen's kindly reproaches. "I'm not cold, and it only hangs up indoors here. I've borne with it all the summer. Ah, that's warm!" he cried, to the child, when Ellen had brought some fuel. "That was really a good winter coat, that of father's! Mother and sister and Young La.s.se can all warm themselves at it!"

The child put his hands on his knees and peeped into the fire after his father's winter coat. The fire kindled flames in his big child's eyes, and played on his red cheeks. "Pretty overcoat!" he said, laughing all over his face.

They did not see much of the tenants of the house; nor of the family.

People were living quietly, each one fighting his own privations within his four walls. On Sundays they gave the children to one of the neighbors, went into the city, and stood for an hour outside some concert-hall, freezing and listening to the music. Then they went home again and sat vegetating in the firelight, without lighting the lamp.

One Sunday things looked bad. "The coals will hold out only till midday," said Ellen; "we shall have to go out. And there's no more food either. But perhaps we can go to the old folks; they'll put up with us till evening."

As they were about to start, Ellen's brother Otto arrived, with his wife and two children, to call on them. Ellen exchanged a despairing glance with Pelle. Winter had left its stamp on them too; their faces were thin and serious. But they still had warm clothes. "You must keep your cloaks on," said Ellen, "for I have no more coal. I forgot it yesterday, I had so much to do; I had to put off ordering it until to-day, and to-day, unfortunately, the coal dealer isn't at home."

"If only the children aren't cold," said Pelle, "we grown-ups can easily keep ourselves warm."

"Well, as long as they haven't icicles hanging from their noses they won't come to any harm!" said Otto with a return of his old humor.