Pelle the Conqueror Part 147

Among the staff there was an old librarian who often came and asked Pelle if there were anything he could help him with. He was a little wizened man with gold spectacles and thin white hair and beard that gave a smiling expression to his pale face. He had spent his time among the stacks of books during the greater part of his life; the dust of the books had attacked his chest, and every minute his dry cough sounded through the room.

Librarian Brun was a bachelor and was said to be very rich. He was not particularly neat or careful in his dress, but there was something unspoiled about his person that made one think he could never have been subjected to the world's rough handling. In his writings he was a fanatical wors.h.i.+pper of the ego, and held up the law of conscience as the only one to which men should be subject. Personally he was reserved and shy, but something drew him to Pelle, who, he knew, had once been the soul in the raising of the ma.s.ses; and he followed with wonder and curiosity the development of the new working-man. Now and then he brought one of his essays to Pelle and asked him to read it. It often treated of the nature of personality, took as its starting-point the ego of some philosopher or other, or of such and such a religion, and attempted to get at the questions of the day. They conversed in whispers on the subject. The old, easily-approached philosopher, who was read by very few, cherished an unrequited affection for the general public, and listened eagerly to what a working-man might be able to make out of his ideas. Quiet and almost timid though his manner was, his views were strong, and he did not flinch from the thought of employing violent measures; but his att.i.tude toward the raising of the lower cla.s.ses was sceptical. "They don't know how to read," he said. "The common people never touch a real book." He had lived so long among books that he thought the truths of life were hidden away in them.

They gradually became well acquainted with one another. Brun was the last descendant of an old, decayed family, which had been rich for many generations. He despised money, and did not consider it to be one of the valuable things of life. Never having known want, he had few pretensions, and often denied himself to help others. It was said that he lived in a very Spartan fas.h.i.+on, and used a large proportion of his income for the relief of the poor. On many points he agreed with the lower cla.s.ses, not only theoretically but purely organically; and Pelle saw, to his amazement, that the dissolution of existing conditions could also take place from the upper grades of society. Perhaps the future was preparing itself at both extremities!

One day Brun carefully led the conversation on to Pelle's private affairs: he seemed to know something about them. "Isn't there anything you want to start?" he asked. "I should be so glad if you would allow me to help you."

Pelle was not yet clear as to what was to be done about the future. "At present," he said, "the whole thing is just a chaos to me."

"But you must live! Will you do me the favor of taking a loan from me at any rate, while you're looking about you? Money is necessary to make one capable and free," he continued, when Pelle refused it. "It's a pity, but so it is. You don't _take_ what you want anyhow, so you must either get the money in the way that offers, or do without."

"Then I'll do without," said Pelle.

"It seems to me that's what you and yours have always done, and have you ever succeeded in heaping coals of fire on the head of society by it?

You set too high a value upon money; the common people have too great respect for the property of others. And upon my word it's true! The good old poor man could scarcely find it in his heart to put anything into his own miserable mouth; his wife was to have all the good pieces. So he is mourned as lost to our side; he was so easy to get wealth by. His progeny still go about with a good deal of it."

"Money makes you dependent," Pelle objected.

"Not always," answered Brun, laughing. "In my world people borrow and take on credit without a thought: the greater the debt, the better it is; they never treat a man worse than when they owe him money. On that point we are very much more emanc.i.p.ated than you are, indeed that's where the dividing line goes between the upper cla.s.ses and the common people. This fear of becoming indebted to any one, and carefulness to do two services in return for one, is all very nice and profitable in your own world; but it's what you'll be run down by in your relations to us.

We don't know it at all; how otherwise would those people get on who have to let themselves be helped from their cradle to their grave, and live exclusively upon services received?"

Pelle looked at him in bewilderment. "Poor people have nothing but their sense of honor, and so they watch over it," he said.

"And you've really never halted at this sense of honor that works so splendidly in our favor?" asked Brun in surprise. "Just examine the existing morals, and you'll discover that they must have been invented by us--for your use. Yes, you're surprised to hear me say that, but then I'm a degenerate upper-cla.s.s man, one of those who fall outside the established order of things. I saw your amazement at my not having patted you on the shoulder and said: 'Poor but proud! Go on being so, young man!' But you mustn't draw too far-reaching conclusions from that; as I told you, I'm not that sort. Now mayn't I give you a helping hand?"

No, Pelle was quite determined he should not. Something had been shattered within him, and the knowledge made him restive.

"You're an obstinate plebeian," said Brun, half vexed.

On his way home Pelle thought it all over. Of course he had always been quite aware that the whole thing resembled a gentleman's carriage, in which he and others like him had to be the horses; the laws and general arrangement were the reins and harness, which made them draw the carriage well. The only thing was that it was always denied from the other side; he was toiling at history and statistics in order to furnish incontrovertible proof of this. But here was some one who sat in the carriage himself, and gave evidence to the effect that it was right enough; and this was not a book, but a living man with whom he stood face to face. It gave an immense support to his belief.

There was need enough for it too, for at home things were going badly.

The letting of rooms was at a standstill, and Ellen was selling the furniture as fast as she could. "It's all the same to me what the law is!" was her reply to Pelle's warnings. "There surely can be no sense in our having to make the furniture-dealer a present of all we've paid upon it, just because he has a sc.r.a.p of paper against us. When the furniture's sold, he shall have the rest of what we owe him."

He did not get the whole, however, for in the first place they had to live. The remainder of the debt hung like a threat over them; if he discovered that the furniture was sold, it might end badly for them.

"Remember I've been in prison before," said Pelle.

"They surely can't punish you for what I've done?" said Ellen, looking at him in terror. "Pelle, Pelle, what have I done! Why didn't I do what you told me!" For a time she collapsed, but then suddenly rose energetically, saying: "Then we must get it paid at once. It's surely possible to find twenty krones (a guinea)!" And hastening up to their flat, she quickly returned in her hat and jacket.

"What are you going to do?" asked Pelle in amazement.

"What am I going to do? I'm going to 'Queen Theresa.' She _can_ get it! Don't be afraid!" she said, bending down and kissing him. She soon returned with the money. "I may pay it back by _was.h.i.+ng_," she said cheerfully.

So that matter was settled, and they would have been glad if the loan had been the same. It scarcely moved, however; the instalments ate themselves up in some wonderful way. Two or three times they had had to ask for a postponement, and each time the usurer added the amount of the instalment to the sum still owing; he called it punishment interest.

Pelle read seldom; he felt no wish to do so. He was out early and late looking for a job. He fetched and took back furniture in the town for the second-hand dealer, and did anything else that came to hand.

One evening Ellen came up with a newspaper cutting that "Queen Theresa"

had sent her, an advertis.e.m.e.nt of a good, well-paid situation for a trustworthy man, who had been trained as a shoemaker. "It's this morning's," said Ellen anxiously, "so I only hope it isn't too late. You must go out there at once." She took out Pelle's Sunday clothes quickly, and helped him to make himself tidy. It was for a boot-factory in Borger Street. Pelle took the tram in order to get there quickly, but he had no great hopes of getting the place. The manufacturer was one of his most bitter opponents among the employers at the time when he was organizing the trade--a young master-shoemaker who had had the good sense to follow the development and take the leap over to manufacturer.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said. "Well, well, old differences shan't stand between us if we can come to an agreement in other ways. What I want is a man who'll look a little after everything, a kind of right-hand man who can take something off my shoulders in a general way, and superintend the whole thing when I'm travelling. I think you'll do capitally for that, for you've got influence with the men; and I'd like things to go nicely and smoothly with them, without giving in to them too much, you understand. One may just as well do things pleasantly; it doesn't cost an atom more, according to my experience, and now one belongs to the party one's self."

"Do you?" said Pelle, hardly able to believe his ears.

"Yes! Why shouldn't an employer be a fellow-partisan? There's nothing to be afraid of when once you've peeped in behind the scenes; and it has its advantages, of course. In ten years' time every sensible man will be a social democrat."

"That's not at all unlikely," said Pelle, laughing.

"No, is it! So one evening I said to my wife: 'I say, you know it won't do soon to own that you don't belong to the party; in other countries millionaires and counts and barons already belong to it.' She didn't quite like it, but now she's quite satisfied. They're quite nice people, as she said herself. There are even persons of rank among them. Well, it wasn't conviction that drove me at first, but now I agree because what they say's very sensible. And upon my word it's the only party that can thrash the anarchists properly, don't you think so? In my opinion all should unite in fighting against them, and that'll be the end of it, I suppose. I've reflected a good deal upon politics and have come to the conclusion that we employers behaved like a.s.ses from the beginning. We oughtn't to have struggled against the Movement; it only drove it to extremes. Just see how well-behaved it's become since we began to take off our hats to it! You _become_ what you're _treated_ as, let me tell you. You wouldn't have acted so harshly if we others had been a little kinder to you. Don't you allow that? You're exactly like every one else: you want to have good food and nice clothes--be considered respectable people. So it was wise to cut off the lower end; you can't rise when you've too much lumber as ballast. Fellows who pull up paving-stones and knock you down are no company for me. You must have patience and wait until the turn comes to your party to come in for a share: those are my politics. Well, what do you think about the job?"

"I don't understand the machines," said Pelle.

"You'll soon get into that! But it's not that that matters, if only you know how to treat the workmen, and that of course you do. I'll pay you thirty-five krones (2) a week--that's a good weekly wage--and in return you'll have an eye to my advantage of course. One doesn't join the party to be bled--you understand what I mean? Then you get a free house--in the front building of course--so as to be a kind of vice-landlord for the back building here; there are three stairs with one-roomed flats.

I can't be bothered having anything to do with that; there's so much nonsense about the mob. They do damage and don't pay if they can help it, and when you're a little firm with them they fly to the papers and write spiteful letters. Of course I don't run much risk of that, but all the same I like things to go smoothly, partly because I aspire to become a member of the management. So you get eighteen hundred krones (100) a year and a flat at four hundred (22), which makes two thousand two hundred krones (l22)--a good wage, though perhaps I oughtn't to say so myself; but good pay makes good work. Well, is it a bargain?"

Pelle wanted to have till the next day to think it over.

"What do you want to think over? One ought never to think over things too much; our age requires action. As I said before, an expert knowledge is not the main thing; it's your authority that I chiefly want. In other words, you'll be my confidential man. Well, well, then you'll give me your answer to-morrow."

Pelle went slowly homeward. He did not know why he had asked time to think it over; the matter was settled. If you wanted to make a home, you must take the consequences of it and not sneak away the first time a prospect offered of making it a little comfortable for your wife and children. So now he was the dog set to watch his companions.

He went down the King's New Market and into the fas.h.i.+onable quarter.

It was bright and gay here, with the arc-lamps hanging like a row of light-birds above the asphalt, now and then beating their wings to keep themselves poised. They seemed to sweep down the darkness of night, and great shadows flickered through the street and disappeared. In the narrow side streets darkness lay, and insistent sounds forced their way out of it--a girl's laugh, the crying of a lonely child, the ceaseless bickering of a cowed woman. But people strolled, quietly conversing, along the pavement in couples and heard nothing. They had got out their winter coats, and were luxuriating in the first cold weather.

Music sounded from the large _cafes_, which were filled to overflowing.

People were sitting close together in small select companies, and looked gay and happy. On the tables round which they sat, stood the wine-cooler with the champagne bottle pointing obliquely upward as though it were going to shoot down heaven itself to them. How secure they appeared to feel! Had they no suspicion that they were sitting upon a thin crust, with the h.e.l.l of poverty right beneath them? Or was that perhaps why they were enjoying themselves--to-day your turn, to-morrow mine? Perhaps they had become reconciled to the idea, and took what they could get without listening too carefully to the hoa.r.s.e protests of the back streets!

Under one of the electric lamp-posts on the Town Hall Square a man was standing selling papers. He held one out to Pelle, saying: "A halfpenny if you can afford it, if not you can have it for nothing!" He was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, and he had a dark beard. He looked as if he were suffering from some internal complaint which was slowly consuming him. Pelle looked at him, and saw to his surprise that it was Peter Dreyer, his comrade of long ago!

"Do you go about selling newspapers?" he exclaimed in astonishment, holding out his hand.

Peter Dreyer quietly returned his greeting. He had the same heavy, introspective look that he had had when Pelle met him in the garret in Jager Street, but looked even more perplexed.

"Yes, I've become a newspaper man," he said, "but only after working hours. It's a little paper that I write and print myself. It may perhaps do you good to read it."

"What's it about?"

"About you and me."

"It's anarchistic, I suppose?" said Pelle, looking at the t.i.tle of the paper. "You were so strange last time I met you."

"Well, you can read it. A halfpenny if you can afford it, if not gratis!" he cried, holding out a copy to the pa.s.sers-by. A policeman was standing a little way off observing him. He gradually drew nearer.

"I see you're under observation!" said Pelle, drawing his attention to the policeman.

"I'm used to that. Once or twice they've seized my inoffensive little paper."

"Then it can't have been altogether inoffensive?" said Pelle, smiling.