GERMINAL
PART III
CHAPTER V
A WEEK passed, and work went on suspiciously and
mournfully in expectation of the conflict.
Among the Maheus the fortnight threatened to be
more meagre than ever. Maheude grew bitter, in
spite of her moderation and good sense. Her
daughter Catherine, too, had taken it into her
head to stay out one night. On the following
morning she came back so weary and ill after this
adventure that she was not able to go to the pit;
and she told with tears how it was not her fault,
for Chaval had kept her, threatening to beat her
if she ran away. He was becoming mad with
jealousy, and wished to prevent her from returning
to Étienne's bed, where he well knew, he
said, that the family made her sleep. Maheude was
furious, and, after forbidding her daughter ever
to see such a brute again, talked of going to
Montsou to box his ears. But, all the same, it
was a day lost, and the girl, now that she had
this lover, preferred not to change him.
Two days after there was another incident. On
Monday and Tuesday Jeanlin, who was supposed to be
quietly engaged on his task at the Voreux, had
escaped, to run away into the marshes and the
forest of Vandame with Bébert and Lydie.
He had seduced them; no one knew to what plunder
or to what games of precocious children they had
all three given themselves up. He received a
vigorous punishment, a whipping which his mother
applied to him on the pavement outside before the
terrified children of the settlement. Who could
have thought such a thing of children belonging to
her, who had cost so much since their birth, and
who ought now to be bringing something in? And in
this cry there was the remembrance of her own hard
youth, of the hereditary misery which made of each
little one in the brood a bread-winner later on.
That morning, when the men and the girl set out
for the pit, Maheude sat up in her bed to say to
Jeanlin:
"You know that if you begin that game again,
you little beast, I'll take the skin off your
bottom!"
In Maheu's new stall the work was hard. This part
of the Filonniére seam was so thin that the
pikemen, squeezed between the wall and the roof,
grazed their elbows at their work. It was, too,
becoming very damp; from hour to hour they feared
a rush of water, one of those sudden torrents
which burst through rocks and carry away men. The
day before, as Étienne was violently
driving in his pick and drawing it out, he had
received a jet of water in his face; but this was
only an alarm; the cutting simply became damper
and more unwholesome. Besides, he now thought
nothing of possible accidents; he forgot himself
there with his mates, careless of peril. They
lived in fire-damp without even feeling its weight
on their eyelids, the spider's-web veil which it
left on the eyelashes. Sometimes when the flame
of the lamps grew paler and bluer than usual it
attracted attention, and a miner would put his
head against the seam to listen to the low noise
of the gas, a noise of air-bubbles escaping from
each crack. But the constant threat was of
landslips; for, besides the insufficiency of the
timbering, always patched up too quickly, the
soil, soaked with water, would not hold.
Three times during the day Maheu had been obliged
to add to the planking. It was half-past two, and
the men would soon have to ascend. Lying on his
side, Étienne was finishing the cutting of
a block, when a distant growl of thunder shook the
whole mine.
"What's that, then?" he cried, putting
down his axe to listen.
He had at first thought that the gallery was
falling in behind his back.
But Maheu had already glided along the slope of
the cutting, saying:
"It's a fall! Quick, quick!"
All tumbled down and hastened, carried away by an
impulse of anxious fraternity. Their lamps danced
at their wrists in the deathly silence which had
fallen; they rushed in single file along the
passages with bent backs, as though they were
galloping on all fours; and without slowing this
gallop they asked each other questions and threw
brief replies. Where was it, then? In the
cuttings, perhaps. No, it came from below; no,
from the haulage. When they arrived at the
chimney passage, they threw themselves into it,
tumbling one over the other without troubling
about bruises.
Jeanlin, with skin still red from the whipping of
the day before, had not run away from the pit on
this day. He was trotting with naked feet behind
his train, closing the ventilation doors one by
one; when he was not afraid of meeting a captain
he jumped on to the last tram, which he was not
allowed to do for fear he should go to sleep. But
his great amusement was, whenever the train was
shunted to let another one pass, to go and join
Bébert, who was holding the reins in front.
He would come up slyly without his lamp and
vigorously pinch his companion, inventing
mischievous monkey tricks, with his yellow hair,
his large ears, his lean muzzle, lit up by little
green eyes shining in the darkness. With morbid
precocity, he seemed to have the obscure
intelligence and the quick skill of a human
abortion which had returned to its animal ways.
In the afternoon, Mouque brought Bataille, whose
turn it was, to the trammers; and as the horse was
snuffing in the shunting, Jeanlin, who had glided
up to Bébert, asked him:
"What's the matter with the old crock to stop
short like that? He'll break my legs."
Bébert could not reply; he had to hold in
Bataille, who was growing lively at the approach
of the other train. The horse had smelled from
afar his comrade, Trompette, for whom he had felt
great tenderness ever since the day when he had
seen him disembarked in the pit. One might say
that it was the affectionate pity of an old
philosopher anxious to console a young friend by
imparting to him his own resignation and patience;
for Trompette did not become reconciled, drawing
his trains without any taste for the work,
standing with lowered head blinded by the
darkness, and for ever regretting the sun. So
every time that Bataille met him he put out his
head snorting, and moistened him with an
encouraging caress.
"By God!" swore Bébert,
"there they are, licking each other's skins
again!"
Then, when Trompette had passed, he replied, on
the subject of Bataille:
"Oh, he's a cunning old beast! When he stops
like that it's because he guesses there's
something in the way, a stone or a hole, and he
takes care of himself; he doesn't want to break
his bones. To-day I don't know what was the
matter with him down there after the door. He
pushed it, and stood stock-still. Did you see
anything?"
"No, said Jeanlin. "There's water, I've
got it up to my knees."
The train set out again. And, on the following
journey, when he had opened the ventilation door
with a blow from his head, Bataille again refused
to advance, neighing and trembling. At last he
made up his mind, and set off with a bound.
Jeanlin, who closed the door, had remained behind.
He bent down and looked at the mud through which
he was paddling, then, raising his lamp, he saw
that the wood had given way beneath the continual
bleeding of a spring. Just then a pikeman, one
Berloque, who was called Chicot, had arrived from
his cutting, in a hurry to go to his wife who had
just been confined. He also stopped and examined
the planking. And suddenly, as the boy was
starting to rejoin his train, a tremendous
cracking sound was heard, and a landslip engulfed
the man and the child.
There was deep silence. A thick dust raised by
the wind of the fall passed through the passages.
Blinded and choked, the miners came from every
part, even from the farthest stalls, with their
dancing lamps which feebly lighted up this gallop
of black men at the bottom of these molehills.
When the first men tumbled against the landslip,
they shouted out and called their mates. A second
band, come from the cutting below, found
themselves on the other side of the mass of earth
which stopped up the gallery. It was at once seen
that the roof had fallen in for a dozen metres at
most. The damage was not serious. But all hearts
were contracted when a death-rattle was heard from
the ruins.
Bébert, leaving his train, ran up,
repeating:
"Jeanlin is underneath! Jeanlin is
underneath!"
Maheu, at this very moment, had come out of the
passage with Zacharie and Étienne. He was
seized with the fury of despair, and could only
utter oaths:
"My God! my God! my God!"
Catherine, Lydie, and Mouquette, who had also
rushed up, began to sob and shriek with terror in
the midst of the fearful disorder, which was
increased by the darkness. The men tried to make
them be silent, but they shrieked louder as each
groan was heard.
The captain, Richomme, had come up running, in
despair that neither Négrel, the engineer,
nor Dansaert was at the pit. With his ear pressed
against the rocks he listened; and, at last, said
those sounds could not come from a child. A man
must certainly be there. Maheu had already called
Jeanlin twenty times over. Not a breath was
heard. The little one must have been smashed up.
And still the groans continued monotonously. They
spoke to the agonized man, asking him his name.
The groaning alone replied.
"Look sharp!" repeated Richomme, who had
already organized a rescue, "we can talk
afterwards."
From each end the miners attacked the landslip
with pick and shovel. Chaval worked without a
word beside Maheu and Étienne, while
Zacharie superintended the removal of the earth.
The hour for ascent had come, and no one had
touched food; but they could not go up for their
soup while their mates were in peril. They
realized, however, that the settlement would be
disturbed if no one came back, and it was proposed
to send off the women. But neither Catherine nor
Mouquette, nor even Lydie, would move, nailed to
the spot with a desire to know what had happened,
and to help. Levaque then accepted the commission
of announcing the landslip up above--a simple
accident, which was being repaired. It was nearly
four o'clock; in less than an hour the men had
done a day's work; half the earth would have
already been removed if more rocks had not slid
from the roof. Maheu persisted with such energy
that he refused, with a furious gesture, when
another man approached to relieve him for a
moment.
"Gently! said Richomme at last, "we are
getting near. We must not finish them off."
In fact the groaning was becoming more and more
distinct. It was a continuous rattling which
guided the workers; and now it seemed to be
beneath their very picks. Suddenly it stopped.
In silence they all looked at one another, and
shuddered as they felt the coldness of death pass
in the darkness. They dug on, soaked in sweat,
their muscles tense to breaking. They came upon a
foot, and then began to remove the earth with
their hands, freeing the limbs one by one. The
head was not hurt. They turned their lamps on it,
and Chicot's name went round. He was quite warm,
with his spinal column broken by a rock.
"Wrap him up in a covering, and put him in a
tram," ordered the captain. "Now for
the lad; look sharp."
Maheu gave a last blow, and an opening was made,
communicating with the men who were clearing away
the soil from the other side. They shouted out
that they had just found Jeanlin, unconscious,
with both legs broken, still breathing. It was
the father who took up the little one in his arms,
with clenched jaws constantly uttering "My
God!" to express his grief, while Catherine
and the other women again began to shriek.
A procession was quickly formed. Bébert
had brought back Bataille, who was harnessed to
the trams. In the first lay Chicot's corpse,
supported by Étienne; in the second, Maheu
was seated with Jeanlin, still unconscious, on his
knees, covered by a strip of wool torn from the
ventilation door. They started at a walking pace.
On each tram was a lamp like a red star. Then
behind followed the row of miners, some fifty
shadows in single file. Now that they were
overcome by fatigue, they trailed their feet,
slipping in the mud, with the mournful melancholy
of a flock stricken by an epidemic. It took them
nearly half an hour to reach the pit-eye. This
procession beneath the earth, in the midst of deep
darkness, seemed never to end through galleries
which bifurcated and turned and unrolled.
At the pit-eye Richomme, who had gone on before,
had ordered an empty cage to be reserved. Pierron
immediately loaded the two trams. In the first
Maheu remained with his wounded little one on his
knees, while in the other Étienne kept
Chicot's corpse between his arms to hold it up.
When the men had piled themselves up in the other
decks the cage rose. It took two minutes. The
rain from the tubbing fell very cold, and the men
looked up towards the air impatient to see
daylight.
Fortunately a trammer sent to Dr. Vanderhaghen's
had found him and brought him back. Jeanlin and
the dead man were placed in the captains' room,
where, from year's end to year's end, a large fire
burnt. A row of buckets with warm water was ready
for washing feet; and, two mattresses having been
spread on the floor, the man and the child were
placed on them. Maheu and Étienne alone
entered. Outside, putters, miners, and boys were
running about, forming groups and talking in a low
voice.
As soon as the doctor had glanced at Chicot:
"Done for! You can wash him."
Two overseers undressed and then washed with a
sponge this corpse blackened with coal and still
dirty with the sweat of work.
"Nothing wrong with the head," said the
doctor again, kneeling on Jeanlin's mattress.
"Nor the chest either. Ah! it's the legs
which have given."
He himself undressed the child, unfastening the
cap, taking off the jacket, drawing off the
breeches and shirt with the skill of a nurse. And
the poor little body appeared, as lean as an
insect, stained with black dust and yellow earth,
marbled by bloody patches. Nothing could be made
out, and they had to wash him also. He seemed to
grow leaner beneath the sponge, the flesh so
pallid and transparent that one could see the
bones. It was a pity to look on this last
degeneration of a wretched race, this mere nothing
that was suffering and half crushed by the falling
of the rocks. When he was clean they perceived
the bruises on the thighs, two red patches on the
white skin.
Jeanlin, awaking from his faint, moaned. Standing
up at the foot of the mattress with hands hanging
down, Maheu was looking at him and large tears
rolled from his eyes.
"Eh, are you the father?" said the
doctor, raising his eyes; "no need to cry
then, you can see he is not dead. Help me
instead."
He found two simple fractures. But the right leg
gave him some anxiety, it would probably have to
be cut off.
At this moment the engineer, Négrel, and
Dansaert, who had been informed, came up with
Richomme. The first listened to the captain's
narrative with an exasperated air. He broke out:
Always this cursed timbering! Had he not repeated
a hundred times that they would leave their men
down there! and those brutes who talked about
going out on strike if they were forced to timber
more solidly. The worst was that now the Company
would have to pay for the broken pots. M.
Hennebeau would be pleased!
"Who is it?" he asked of Dansaert, who
was standing in silence before the corpse which
was being wrapped up in a sheet.
"Chicot! one of our good workers,"
replied the chief captain. "He has three
children. Poor chap!"
Dr. Vanderhaghen ordered Jeanlin's immediate
removal to his parents'. Six o'clock struck,
twilight was already coming on, and they would do
well to remove the corpse also; the engineer gave
orders to harness the van and to bring a
stretcher. The wounded child was placed on the
stretcher while the mattress and the dead body
were put into the van.
Some putters were still standing at the door
talking with some miners who were waiting about to
look on. When the door reopened there was silence
in the group. A new procession was then formed,
the van in front, then the stretcher, and then the
train of people. They left the mine square and
went slowly up the road to the settlement. The
first November cold had denuded the immense plain;
the night was now slowly burying it like a shroud
fallen from the livid sky.
Étienne then in a low voice advised Maheu
to send Catherine on to warn Maheude so as to
soften the blow. The overwhelmed father, who was
following the stretcher, agreed with a nod; and
the young girl set out running, for they were now
near. But the van, that gloomy well-known box,
was already signalled. Women ran out wildly on to
the paths; three or four rushed about in anguish,
without their bonnets. Soon there were thirty of
them, then fifty, all choking with the same
terror. Then someone was dead? Who was it? The
story told by Levaque after first reassuring them,
now exaggerated their nightmare: it was not one
man, it was ten who had perished, and who were now
being brought back in the van one by one.
Catherine found her mother agitated by a
presentiment; and after hearing the first
stammered words Maheude cried:
"The father's dead!"
The young girl protested in vain, speaking of
Jeanlin. Without hearing her, Maheude had rushed
forward. And on seeing the van, which was passing
before the church, she grew faint and pale. The
women at their doors, mute with terror, were
stretching out their necks, while others followed,
trembling as they wondered before whose house the
procession would stop.
The vehicle passed; and behind it Maheude saw
Maheu, who was accompanying the stretcher. Then,
when they had placed the stretcher at her door and
when she saw Jeanlin alive with his legs broken,
there was so sudden a reaction in her that she
choked with anger, stammering, without tears:
"Is this it? They cripple our little ones
now! Both legs! My God! What do they want me to
do with him?"
"Be still, then," said Dr.
Vanderhaghen, who had followed to attend to
Jeanlin. "Would you rather he had remained
below?"
But Maheude grew more furious, while Alzire,
Lénore, and Henri were crying around her.
As she helped to carry up the wounded boy and to
give the doctor what he needed, she cursed fate,
and asked where she was to find money to feed
invalids. The old man was not then enough, now
this rascal too had lost his legs! And she never
ceased; while other cries, more heart-breaking
lamentations, were heard from a neighbouring
house: Chicot's wife and children were weeping
over the body. It was now quite night, the
exhausted miners were at last eating their soup,
and the settlement had fallen into a melancholy
silence, only disturbed by these loud outcries.
Three weeks passed. It was found possible to
avoid amputation; Jeanlin kept both his legs, but
he remained lame. On investigation the Company
had resigned itself to giving a donation of fifty
francs. It had also promised to find employment
for the little cripple at the surface as soon as
he was well. All the same their misery was
aggravated, for the father had received such a
shock that he was seriously ill with fever.
Since Thursday Maheu had been back at the pit and
it was now Sunday. In the evening Étienne
talked of the approaching date of the 1st of
December, preoccupied in wondering if the Company
would execute its threat. They sat up till ten
o'clock waiting for Catherine, who must have been
delaying with Chaval. But she did not return.
Maheude furiously bolted the door without a word.
Étienne was long in going to sleep,
restless at the thought of that empty bed in which
Alzire occupied so little room.
Next morning she was still absent; and it was only
in the afternoon, on returning from the pit, that
the Maheus learnt that Chaval was keeping
Catherine. He created such abominable scenes with
her that she had decided to stay with him. To
avoid reproaches he had suddenly left the Voreux
and had been taken on at Jean-Bart, M. Deneulin's
mine, and she had followed him as a putter. The
new household still lived at Montsou, at
Piquette's.
Maheu at first talked of going to fight the man
and of bringing his daughter back with a kick in
the backside. Then he made a gesture of
resignation: what was the good? It always turned
out like that; one could not prevent a girl from
sticking to a man when she wanted to.
It was much better to wait quietly for the
marriage. But Maheude did not take things so
easily.
"Did I beat her when she took this
Chaval?" she cried to Étienne, who
listened in silence, very pale. "See now,
tell me! you, who are a sensible man. We have
left her free, haven't we? because, my God! they
all come to it. Now, I was in the family way when
the father married me. But I didn't run away from
my parents, and I should never have done so dirty
a trick as to carry the money I earned to a man
who had no want of it before the proper age. Ah!
it's disgusting, you know. People will leave off
getting children!"
And as Étienne still replied only by
nodding his head, she insisted:
"A girl who went out every evening where she
wanted to! What has she got in her skin, then,
not to be able to wait till I married her after
she had helped to get us out of difficulties? Eh?
it's natural, one has a daughter to work. But
there! we have been too good, we ought not to let
her go and amuse herself with a man. Give them an
inch and they take an ell."
Alzire nodded approvingly. Lénore and
Henri, overcome by this storm, cried quietly,
while the mother now enumerated their misfortunes:
first Zacharie who had had to get married; then
old Bonnemort who was there on his chair with his
twisted feet; then Jeanlin who could not leave the
room for ten days with his badly united bones; and
now, as a last blow, this jade Catherine, who had
gone away with a man! The whole family was
breaking up. There was only the father left at
the pit. How were they to live, seven persons
without counting Estelle, on his three francs?
They might as well jump into the canal in a band.
"It won't do any good to worry
yourself," said Maheu in a low voice,
"perhaps we have not got to the end."
Étienne, who was looking fixedly at the
flags on the floor, raised his head, and murmured
with eyes lost in a vision of the future:
"Ah! it is time! it is time!"