The final instructions issued to the workers aroused terrible
indignation in the city. At one blow the entire public was set against
them; the press was furious, and full of threats and warnings. Even the
independent journals considered that the workers had infringed the laws
of human civilization. But _The Working Man_ quietly called attention
to the fact that the conflict was a matter of life or death for the
lower classes. They were ready to proceed to extremities; they still
had it in their power to cut off the water and gas—the means of the
capital’s commercial and physical life!
Then the tide set in against the employers. Something had to give
somewhere! And what was the real motive of the conflict? Merely a
question of power! They wanted to have the sole voice—to have their
workers bound hand and foot. The financiers, who stood at the back of
the big employers, had had enough of the whole affair. It would be an
expensive game first and last, and there would be little profit in
destroying the cohesion of the workers if the various industries were
ruined at the same time.
Pelle saw how the crisis was approaching while he wandered about the
lesser streets in search of Father Lasse. Now the Cause was progressing
by its own momentum, and he could rest. An unending strain was at last
lifted from his shoulders, and now he wanted time to gather together
the remnants of his own happiness—and at last to do something for one
who had always sacrificed himself for him. Now he and Lasse would find
a home together, and resume the old life in company together; he
rejoiced at the thought. Father Lasse’s nature never clashed with his;
he had always stood by him through everything; his love was like a
mother’s.
Lasse was no longer living in his lair behind Baker Street. The old
woman with whom he was living had died shortly before this, and Lasse
had then disappeared.
Pelle continued to ask after him, and, well known as he was among the
poor, it was not difficult for him to follow the old man’s traces,
which gradually led him out to Kristianshavn. During his inquiries he
encountered a great deal of misery, which delayed him. Now, when the
battle was fighting itself to a conclusion, he was everywhere
confronted by need, and his old compassion welled up in his heart. He
helped where he could, finding remedies with his usual energy.
Lasse had not been to the “Ark” itself, but some one there had seen him
in the streets, in a deplorable condition; where he lived no one knew.
“Have you looked in the cellar of the Merchant’s House over yonder?”
the old night watchman asked him. “Many live there in these hard times.
Every morning about six o’clock I lock the cellar up, and then I call
down and warn them so that they shan’t be pinched. If I happen to turn
away, then they come slinking up. It seems to me I heard of an old man
who was said to be lying down there, but I’m not sure, for I’ve wadding
in my ears; I’m obliged to in my calling, in order not to hear too
much!” He went to the place with Pelle.
The Merchant’s House, which in the eighteenth century was the palace of
one of the great mercantile families of Kristianshavn, was now used as
a granary; it lay fronting on one of the canals. The deep cellars,
which were entirely below the level of the canal, were now empty. It
was pitch dark down there, and impracticable; the damp air seemed to
gnaw at one’s vocal cords. They took a light and explored among the
pillars, finding here and there places where people had lain on straw.
“There is no one here,” said the watchman. Pelle called, and heard a
feeble sound as of one clearing his throat. Far back in the cellars, in
one of the cavities in the wall, Father Lasse was lying on a mattress.
“Yes, here I lie, waiting for death,” he whispered. “It won’t last much
longer now; the rats have begun to sniff about me already.” The cold,
damp air had taken his voice away.
He was altogether in a pitiful condition, but the sight of Pelle put
life into him in so far as he was able to stand on his feet. They took
him over to the “Ark,” the old night watchman giving up his room and
going up to Widow Johnsen;—there he slept in the daytime, and at night
went about his duties; a possible arrangement, although there was only
one bed.
When Lasse was put into a warm bed he lay there shivering; and he was
not quite clear in his mind. Pelle warmed some beer; the old man must
go through a sweating cure; from time to time he sat on the bed and
gazed anxiously at his father. Lasse lay there with his teeth
chattering; he had closed his eyes; now and again he tried to speak,
but could not.
The warm drink helped him a little, and the blood flowed once more into
his dead, icy hands, and his voice returned.
“Do you think we are going to have a hard winter?” he said suddenly,
turning on his side.
“We are going on toward the summer now, dear father,” Pelle replied.
“But you must not lie with your back uncovered.”
“I’m so terribly cold—almost as cold as I was in winter; I wouldn’t
care to go through that again. It got into my spine so. Good God, the
poor folks who are at sea!”
“You needn’t worry about them—you just think about getting well again;
to-day we’ve got the sunshine and it’s fine weather at sea!”
“Let a little sunshine in here to me, then,” said Lasse peevishly.
“There’s a great wall in front of the window, father,” said Pelle,
bending down over him.
“Well, well, it’ll soon be over, the little time that’s still left me!
It’s all the same to the night watchman—he wakes all night and yet he
doesn’t see the sun. That is truly a curious calling! But it is good
that some one should watch over us while we sleep.” Lasse rocked his
head restlessly to and fro.
“Yes, otherwise they’d come by night and steal our money,” said Pelle
jestingly.
“Yes, that they would!” Lasse tried to laugh. “And how are things going
with you, lad?”
“The negotiations are proceeding; yesterday we held the first meeting.”
Lasse laughed until his throat rattled. “So the fine folks couldn’t
stomach the smell any longer! Yes, yes, I heard the news of that when I
was lying ill down there in the darkness. At night, when the others
came creeping in, they told me about it; we laughed properly over that
idea of yours. But oughtn’t you to be at your meeting?”
“No, I have excused myself—I don’t want to sit there squabbling about
the ending of a sentence. Now I’m going to be with you, and then we’ll
both make ourselves comfortable.”
“I am afraid we shan’t have much more joy of one another, lad!”
“But you are quite jolly again now. To-morrow you will see—”
“Ah, no! Death doesn’t play false. I couldn’t stand that cellar.”
“Why did you do it, father? You knew your place at home was waiting for
you.”
“Yes, you must forgive my obstinacy, Pelle. But I was too old to be
able to help in the fight, and then I thought at least you won’t lay a
burden on them so long as this lasts! So in that way I have borne my
share. And do you really believe that something will come of it?”
“Yes, we are winning—and then the new times will begin for the poor
man!”
“Yes, yes; I’ve no part in such fine things now! It was as though one
served the wicked goblin that stands over the door: Work to-day, eat
to- morrow! And to-morrow never came. What kindness I’ve known has been
from my own people; a poor bird will pull out its own feathers to cover
another. But I can’t complain; I have had bad days, but there are folks
who have had worse. And the women have always been good to me. Bengta
was a grumbler, but she meant it kindly; Karna sacrificed money and
health to me—God be thanked that she didn’t live after they took the
farm from me. For I’ve been a landowner too; I had almost forgotten
that in all my misery! Yes, and old Lise—Begging Lise, as they called
her— she shared bed and board with me! She died of starvation, smart
though she was. Would you believe that? ‘Eat!’ she used to say; ‘we
have food enough!’ And I, old devil, I ate the last crust, and
suspected nothing, and in the morning she was lying dead and cold at my
side! There was not a scrap of flesh on her whole body; nothing but
skin over dry bones. But she was one of God’s angels! We used to sing
together, she and I. Ach, poor people take the bread out of one
another’s mouths!”
Lasse lay for a time sunk in memories, and began to sing, with the
gestures he had employed in the courtyard. Pelle held him down and
endeavored to bring him to reason, but the old man thought he was
dealing with the street urchins. When he came to the verse which spoke
of his son he wept.
“Don’t cry, father!” said Pelle, quite beside himself, and he laid his
heavy head against that of the old man. “I am with you again!”
Lasse lay still for a time, blinking his eyes, with his hand groping to
and fro over his son’s face.
“Yes, you are really here,” he said faintly, “and I thought you had
gone away again. Do you know what, Pelle? You have been the whole light
of my life! When you came into the world I was already past the best of
my years; but then you came, and it was as though the sun had been born
anew! ‘What may he not bring with him?’ I used to think, and I held my
head high in the air. You were no bigger than a pint bottle! ‘Perhaps
he’ll make his fortune,’ I thought, ‘and then there’ll be a bit of luck
for you as well!’ So I thought, and so I’ve always believed—but now I
must give it up. But I’ve lived to see you respected. You haven’t
become a rich man—well, that need not matter; but the poor speak well
of you! You have fought their battles for them without taking anything
to fill your own belly. Now I understand it, and my old heart rejoices
that you are my son!”
When Lasse fell asleep Pelle lay on the sofa for a while. But he did
not rest long; the old man slept like a bird, opening his eyes every
moment. If he did not see his son close to his bed he lay tossing from
side to side and complaining in a half-slumber. In the middle of the
night he raised his head and held it up in a listening attitude. Pelle
awoke.
“What do you want, father?” he asked, as he tumbled onto his feet.
“Ach, I can hear something flowing, far out yonder, beyond the sea-
line…. It is as though the water were pouring into the abyss. But
oughtn’t you to go home to Ellen now? I shall be all right alone
overnight, and perhaps she’s sitting worrying as to where you are.”
“I’ve sent to Ellen to tell her that I shouldn’t be home overnight,”
said Pelle.
The old man lay considering his son with a pondering glance, “Are you
happy, too, now?” he asked. “It seems to me as though there is
something about your marriage that ought not to be.”
“Yes, father, it’s quite all right,” Pelle replied in a half-choking
voice.
“Well, God be thanked for that! You’ve got a good wife in Ellen, and
she has given you splendid children. How is Young Lasse? I should
dearly like to see him again before I go from here—there will still be
a Lasse!”
“I’ll bring him to you early in the morning,” said Pelle. “And now you
ought to see if you can’t sleep a little, father. It is pitch dark
still!”
Lasse turned himself submissively toward the wall. Once he cautiously
turned his head to see if Pelle was sleeping; his eyes could not see
across the room, so he attempted to get out of bed, but fell back with
a groan.
“What is it, father?” cried Pelle anxiously, and he was beside him in a
moment.
“I only wanted just to see that you’d got something over you in this
cold! But my old limbs won’t bear me any more,” said the old man, with
a shamefaced expression.
Toward morning he fell into a quiet sleep, and Pelle brought Madam
Johnsen to sit with the old man, while he went home for Young Lasse. It
was no easy thing to do; but the last wish of the old man must be
granted. And he knew that Ellen would not entrust the child to strange
hands.
Ellen’s frozen expression lit up as he came; an exclamation of joy rose
to her lips, but the sight of his face killed it. “My father lies
dying,” he said sadly—“he very much wants to see the boy.” She nodded
and quietly busied herself in making the child ready. Pelle stood at
the window gazing out.
It seemed very strange to him that he should be here once more; the
memory of the little household rose to his mind and made him weak. He
must see Little Sister! Ellen led him silently into the bedroom; the
child was sleeping in her cradle; a deep and wonderful peace brooded
over her bright head. Ellen seemed to be nearer to him in this room
here; he felt her compelling eyes upon him. He pulled himself forcibly
together and went into the other room—he had nothing more to do there.
He was a stranger in this home. A thought occurred to him—whether she
was going on with _that_? Although it was nothing to him, the question
would not be suppressed; and he looked about him for some sign that
might be significant. It was a poverty-stricken place; everything
superfluous had vanished. But a shoemaker’s sewing machine had made its
appearance, and there was work on it. Strike-breaking work! he thought
mechanically. But not disgraceful—for the first time he was glad to
discover a case of strike-breaking. She had also begun to take in
sewing—and she looked thoroughly overworked. This gave him downright
pleasure.
“The boy is ready to go with you now,” she said.
Pelle cast a farewell glance over the room. “Is there anything you
need?” he asked.
“Thanks—I can look after myself,” she replied proudly.
“You didn’t take the money I sent you on Saturday!”
“I can manage myself—if I can only keep the boy. Don’t forget that you
told me once he should always stay with me.”
“He must have a mother who can look him in the face—remember that,
Ellen!”
“You needn’t remind me of that,” she replied bitterly.
Lasse was awake when they arrived. “Eh, that’s a genuine Karlsen!” he
said. “He takes after our family. Look now, Pelle, boy! He has the same
prominent ears, and he’s got the lucky curl on his forehead too! He’ll
make his way in the world! I must kiss his little hands—for the hands,
they are our blessing—the only possession we come into the world with.
They say the world will be lifted up by the hands of poor; I should
like to know whether that will be so! I should like to know whether the
new times will come soon now. It’s a pity after all that I shan’t live
to see it!”
“You may very well be alive to see it yet, father,” said Pelle, who on
the way had bought _The Working Man_, and was now eagerly reading it.
“They are going ahead in full force, and in the next few days the fight
will be over! Then we’ll both settle down and be jolly together!”
“No, I shan’t live to see that! Death has taken hold of me; he will
soon snatch me away. But if there’s anything after it all, it would be
fine if I could sit up there and watch your good fortune coming true.
You have travelled the difficult way, Pelle—Lasse is not stupid! But
perhaps you’ll he rewarded by a good position, if you take over the
leadership yourself now. But then you must see that you don’t forget
the poor!”
“That’s a long way off yet, father! And then there won’t be any more
poor!”
“You say that so certainly, but poverty is not so easily dealt with—it
has eaten its way in too deep! Young Lasse will perhaps be a grown man
before that comes about. But now you must take the boy away, for it
isn’t good that he should see how the old die. He looks so pale—does he
get out into the sun properly?”
“The rich have borrowed the sun—and they’ve forgotten to pay it back,”
said Pelle bitterly.
Lasse raised his head in the air, as though he were striving against
something. “Yes, yes! It needs good eyes to look into the future, and
mine won’t serve me any longer. But now you must go and take the boy
with you. And you mustn’t neglect your affairs, you can’t outwit death,
however clever you may be.” He laid his withered hand on Young Lasse’s
head and turned his face to the wall.
Pelle got Madam Johnsen to take the boy home again, so that he himself
could remain with the old man. Their paths had of late years lain so
little together; they had forever been meeting and then leading far
apart. He felt the need of a lingering farewell. While he moved to and
fro, and lit a fire to warm up some food, and did what he could to make
Father Lasse comfortable, he listened to the old man’s desultory speech
and let himself drift hack into the careless days of childhood. Like a
deep, tender murmur, like the voice of the earth itself, Lasse’s
monotonous speech renewed his childhood; and as it continued, it became
the never-silent speech of the many concerning the conditions of life.
Now, in silence he turned again from the thousands to Father Lasse, and
saw how great a world this tender-hearted old man had supported. He had
always been old and worn-out so long as Pelle could remember. Labor so
soon robs the poor man of his youth and makes his age so long! But this
very frailty endowed him with a superhuman power—that of the father! He
had borne his poverty greatly, without becoming wicked or self-seeking
or narrow; his heart had always been full of the cheerfulness of
sacrifice, and full of tenderness; he had been strong even in his
impotence. Like the Heavenly Father Himself, he had encompassed Pelle’s
whole existence with his warm affection, and it would be terrible
indeed when his kindly speech was no longer audible at the back of
everything.
His departing soul hovered in ever-expanding circles over the way along
which he had travelled—like the doves when they migrate. Each time he
had recovered a little strength he took up the tale of his life anew.
“There has always been something to rejoice over, you know, but much of
it has been only an aimless struggle. In the days when I knew no better
I managed well enough; but from the moment when you were born my old
mind began to look to the future, and I couldn’t feel at peace any
more. There was something about you that seemed like an omen, and since
then it has always stuck in my mind; and my intentions have been
restless, like the Jerusalem shoemaker’s. It was as though something
had suddenly given me—poor louse!—the promise of a more beautiful life;
and the memory of that kept on running in my mind. Is it perhaps the
longing for Paradise, out of which they drove us once?—I used to think.
If you’ll believe me, I, poor old blunderer as I am, have had splendid
dreams of a beautiful, care-free old age, when my son, with his wife
and children, would come and visit me in my own cozy room, where I
could entertain them a little with everything neat and tidy. I didn’t
give up hoping for it even right at the end. I used to go about
dreaming of a treasure which I should find out on the refuse-heaps. Ah,
I did so want to be able to leave you something! I have been able to do
so miserably little for you.”
“And you say that, who have been father and mother to me? During my
whole childhood you stood behind everything, protecting me; if anything
happened to me I always used to think; ‘Father Lasse will soon set that
right!’ And when I grew up I found in everything that I undertook that
you were helping me to raise myself. It would have gone but ill indeed
with everything if you hadn’t given me such a good inheritance!”
“Do you say that?” cried Lasse proudly. “Shall I truly have done my
share in what you have done for the Cause of the poor? Ah, that sounds
good, in any case! No, but you have been my life, my boy, and I used to
wonder, poor weak man as I was, to see how great my strength was in
you! What I scarcely dared to think of even, you have had the power to
do! And now here I lie, and have not even the strength to die. You must
promise me that you won’t burden yourself on my account with anything
that’s beyond your ability—you must leave the matter to the poor-law
authorities. I’ve kept myself clear of them till now, but it was only
my stupid pride. The poor man and the poor-laws belong together after
all. I have learned lately to look at many things differently; and it
is good that I am dying—otherwise I should soon be alive and thinking
but have no power. If these ideas had come to me in the strength of my
youth perhaps I should have done something violent. I hadn’t your
prudence and intelligence, to be able to carry eggs in a hop-sack….”
On the morning of the third day there was a change in Lasse, although
it was not easy to say where the alteration lay. Pelle sat at the
bedside reading the last issue of _The Working Man_, when he noticed
that Lasse was gazing at him. “Is there any news?” he asked faintly.
“The negotiations are proceeding,” said Pelle, “but it is difficult to
agree upon a basis…. Several times everything has been on the point of
breaking down.”
“It’s dragging out such a long time,” said Lasse dejectedly; “and I
shall die to-day, Pelle. There is something restless inside me,
although I should dearly like to rest a little. It is curious, how we
wander about trying to obtain something different to what we have! As a
little boy at home in Tommelilla I used to run round a well; I used to
run like one possessed, and I believed if I only ran properly I should
be able to catch my own heels! And now I’ve done it; for now there is
always some one in front of me, so that I can’t go forward, and it’s
old Lasse himself who is stopping the way! I am always thinking I must
overtake him, but I can’t find my old views of the world again, they
have altered so. On the night when the big employers declared the
lock-out I was standing out there among the many thousands of other
poor folks, listening. They were toasting the resolution with
champagne, and cheering, and there my opinions were changed! It’s
strange how things are in this world. Down in the granary cellar there
lay a mason who had built one of the finest palaces in the capital, and
he hadn’t even a roof over his head.”
A sharp line that had never been there before appeared round his mouth.
It became difficult for him to speak, but he could not stop. “Whatever
you do, never believe the clergy,” he continued, when he had gathered a
little strength. “That has been my disadvantage—I began to think over
things too late. We mustn’t grumble, they say, for one thing has
naturally grown out of another, big things out of little, and all
together depends on God’s will. According to that our vermin must
finally become thorough-bred horse for the rich—and God knows I believe
that is possible! They have begun by sucking the blood of poverty—but
only see how they prance in front of the carriage! Ah, yes—how will the
new period take shape? What do you think about it?”
“It will be good for us all, father,” replied Pelle, with anxiety in
his voice. “But it will be sad for me, because you will no longer have
your part in it all. But you shall have a fine resting-place, and I
will give you a great stone of Bornholm granite, with a beautiful
inscription.”
“You must put on the stone: ‘Work to-day, eat to-morrow!’” replied
Lasse bitterly.
All day long he lay there in a half-sleep. But in the evening twilight
he raised his head. “Are those the angels I hear singing?” he
whispered. The ring had gone out of his voice.
“No, those are the little children of the factory women, their mothers
will be coming home directly to give them the breast; then they’ll
stop.”
Lasse sighed. “That will be poor food if they have to work all day.
They say the rich folks drink wine at twelve and fifteen kroner a
bottle; that sounds as if they take the milk away from the little
children and turn it into costly liquors.”
He lay there whispering; Pelle had to bend his head till it was almost
against his mouth. “Hand in hand we’ve wandered hither, lad, yet each
has gone his own way. You are going the way of youth, and Lasse—but you
have given me much joy.”
Then the loving spirit, which for Pelle had burned always clear and
untroubled amid all vicissitudes, was extinguished. It was as though
Providence had turned its face from him; life collapsed and sank into
space, and he found himself sitting on a chair—alone. All night long he
sat there motionless beside the body, staring with vacant eyes into the
incomprehensible, while his thoughts whispered sadly to the dead of all
that he had been. He did not move, but himself sat like a dead man,
until Madam Johnsen came in the morning to ask how matters were
progressing.
Then he awoke and went out, in order to make such arrangements as were
necessary.