A most agitating time followed. For a number of years the conflict had,
so to speak, been preparing itself, and the workers had made ready for
it, had longed for it, had sought to precipitate it, in order to
determine once for all whether they were destined always to be slaves
and to stand still, or whether there was a future for them. Now the
conflict had come—and had taken them all by surprise; they would
willingly have concluded peace just now.
But there was no prospect of a peaceful solution of any kind. The
employers found the occasion favorable for setting their house in
order; the matter was to be fought out now! This was as good as telling
the men to go. Every morning there was news of a fresh lot of workers
turned into the streets, or leaving of their own accord.
One trade involved another. The iron-masters made common cause with the
“Denmark” factory, and declared a lock-out of the machine-smiths; then
the moulders and pattern-makers walked out, and other branches of the
industry joined the strike; they all stood by one another.
Pelle could survey them all from his point of vantage. Old memories of
battle rose to his mind; his blood grew warm, and he caught himself, up
in the drawing-office, making plans of campaign for this trade or that.
His was the quick-fighting blood that assumes the offensive, and he
noted their blunders; they were not acting with sufficient energy. They
were still exhausted, and found it hard to reconcile themselves to
another period of unemployment. They made no counter-attack that could
do any damage. The employers, who were acting energetically under the
leadership of the iron industry, enjoyed from the beginning a
considerable ascendancy. The “Denmark” factory was kept running, but
the trade was on its last legs.
It was kept alive by the help of a few strike-breakers, and every one
of the officials of the company who had the requisite knowledge was set
to work downstairs; even the manager of the machine department had
donned a blouse and was working a lathe. It was a matter of sapping the
courage of the strikers, while proving to them that it was possible to
do without them.
In the drawing-office and the counting-house all was confusion; the
strike-breakers had all to be obtained from abroad; while others ran
away and had to be replaced. Under these circumstances Pelle had to
look after himself and assimilate what he could. This did not suit him;
it was a long way to the top, and one couldn’t learn quickly enough.
One day he received the summons to come downstairs and lend a hand in
the centrifugal separator department. The workers had made common cause
with the machine-smiths. This summons aroused him from delightful
dreams of the future. He was swiftly awakened. “I am no
strike-breaker!” he replied, offended.
Then the engineer himself came up. “Do you realize that you are
refusing to perform your duty?” he said.
“I can’t take work away from my comrades,” replied Pelle, in a low
voice.
“They may think that very nice of you. But now those men down there are
no longer your comrades. You are a salaried employee, and as such you
must serve the firm wherever you are asked to do so.”
“But I can’t do that! I can’t strike the bread out of other folks’
hands.”
“Then your whole future is at stake. Think a moment, man! I am sorry
for you, for you might have done something here; but I can’t save you
from the results of your own obstinacy. We require absolute obedience
here.”
The engineer stood waiting for his answer, but Pelle had nothing to
say.
“Now, I’ll go so far as to give you till to-morrow to think over it—
although that’s against the rules of the factory. Now think it over
well, and don’t hang on to this stupid sentimentality of yours. The
first thing is to stand by those you belong to, through thick and thin.
Well, till to-morrow.”
Pelle went. He did not want to go home before the usual time, only to
be met with a string of unseasonable questions. They would come soon
enough in any case. So he strolled through the mercantile quarter and
gazed at the shipping. Well, now his dream of success was shattered—and
it had been a short one. He could see Ellen’s look of disappointment,
and an utter mental depression came over him. He was chiefly sorry for
her; as for him, there was nothing to be said—it was fate! It never
occurred to him for a moment to choose between his comrades and the
future; he had quite forgotten that the engineer had given him time for
reflection.
At the usual time he strolled homeward. Ellen welcomed him cheerfully
and light-heartedly; she was living in a continual thrill of delight;
and it was quite touching to see what trouble she was taking to fit
herself for a different stratum of society. Her movements were
delightful to watch, and her mouth had assumed an expression which was
intended to betoken refinement. It suited her delightfully, and Pelle
was always seized by a desire to kiss her lips and so disarrange the
expression; but to-day he sat down to his supper in silence. Ellen was
accustomed to put aside his share of the midday dinner, and to warm it
up for him when he came home in the evening; at midday he ate
bread-and- butter in the office.
“When we have once got properly settled we’ll all have dinner at six
o’clock; that is much more comfortable.”
“That’s what the fine folks do, I’ve been told,” said Lasse. “That will
be pleasant, to give it a try.”
Lasse was sitting with Young Lasse on his knee, telling him funny
stories. Little Lasse laughed, and every time he laughed his sister
screeched with delight in her cradle, as though she understood it all.
“What is it to be now, then—the story of the old wife? Then you must
listen carefully, or your ears won’t grow! Well, then, the old wife.”
“Wife!” said Young Lasse, with the very accent of the old man.
“Yes, the old wife!” repeated Lasse, and then all three laughed.
“‘What shall I do first?’ said the old wife, when she went to work;
‘eat or sleep? I think I’ll eat first. What shall I do first?’ asked
the old wife, when she had eaten; ‘shall I sleep first or work? I think
I’ll sleep first.’ And then she slept, until it was evening, and then
she went home and went to bed.”
Ellen went up to Pelle and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve been to see my former mistress, and she is going to help me to
turn my wedding-dress into a visiting-dress,” she said. “Then we shall
only need to buy a frock-coat for you.”
Pelle looked up slowly. A quiver passed over his features. Poor thing!
She was thinking about visiting-dresses! “You can save yourself the
trouble,” he said, in a low voice. “I’ve finished with the office. They
asked me to turn strike-breaker, so I left.”
“Ach, ach!” said Lasse, and he was near letting the child fall, his
withered hands were trembling so. Ellen gazed at Pelle as though turned
to stone. She grew paler and paler, but not a sound came from her lips.
She looked as though she would fall dead at his feet.