GERMINAL
PART IV
CHAPTER II
THE previous day, at a meeting held at
Rasseneur's, Étienne and some comrades had
chosen the delegates who were to proceed on the
following day to the manager's house. When, in
the evening, Maheude learnt that her man was one
of them, she was in despair, and asked him if he
wanted them to be thrown on the street. Maheu
himself had agreed with reluctance. Both of them,
when the moment of action came, in spite of the
injustice of their wretchedness fell back on the
resignation of their race, trembling before the
morrow, preferring still to bend their backs to
the yoke. In the management of affairs he usually
gave way to his wife, whose advice was sound.
This time, however, he grew angry at last, all the
more so since he secretly shared her fears.
"Just leave me alone, will you?" he
said, going to bed and turning his back. "A
fine thing to leave the mates now! I'm doing my
duty."
She went to bed in her turn. Neither of them
spoke. Then, after a long silence, she replied:
"You're right; go. Only, poor old man, we
are done for."
Midday struck while they were at lunch, for the
rendezvous was at one o'clock at the Avantage,
from which they were to go together to M.
Hennebeau's. They were eating potatoes. As there
was only a small morsel of butter left, no one
touched it. They would have bread and butter in
the evening.
"You know that we reckon on you to
speak," said Étienne suddenly to
Maheu.
The latter was so overcome that he was silent from
emotion.
"No, no! that's too much," cried
Maheude. "I'm quite willing he should go
there, but I don't allow him to go at the head.
Why him, more than any one else?"
Then Étienne, with his fiery eloquence,
began to explain. Maheu was the best worker in
the pit, the most liked, and the most respected;
whose good sense was always spoken of. In his
mouth the miners' claims would carry decisive
weight. At first Étienne had arranged to
speak, but he had been at Montsou for too short a
time. One who belonged to the country would be
better listened to. In fact, the comrades were
confiding their interests to the most worthy; he
could not refuse, it would be cowardly.
Maheude made a gesture of despair.
"Go, go, my man; go and be killed for the
others. I'm willing, after all!"
"But I could never do it," stammered
Maheu. "I should say something stupid."
Étienne, glad to have persuaded him, struck
him on the shoulder.
"Say what you feel, and you won't go
wrong."
Father Bonnemort, whose legs were now less
swollen, was listening with his mouth full,
shaking his head. There was silence. When
potatoes were being eaten, the children were
subdued and behaved well. Then, having swallowed
his mouthful, the old man muttered slowly:
"You can say what you like, and it will be
all the same as if you said nothing. Ah! I've
seen these affairs, I've seen them! Forty years
ago they drove us out of the manager's house, and
with sabres too! Now they may receive you,
perhaps, but they won't answer you any more than
that wall. Lord! they have money, why should
they care?"
There was silence again; Maheu and Étienne
rose, and left the family in gloom before the
empty plates. On going out they called for
Pierron and Levaque, and then all four went to
Rasseneur's, where the delegates from the
neighbouring settlements were arriving in little
groups. When the twenty members of the deputation
had assembled there, they settled on the terms to
be opposed to the Company's, and then set out for
Montsou. The keen north-east wind was sweeping
the street. As they arrived, it struck two.
At first the servant told them to wait, and shut
the door on them; then, when he came back, he
introduced them into the drawing-room, and opened
the curtains. A soft daylight entered, sifted
through the lace. And the miners, when left
alone, in their embarrassment did not dare to sit;
all of them very clean, dressed in cloth, shaven
that morning, with their yellow hair and
moustaches. They twisted their caps between their
fingers, and looked sideways at the furniture,
which was in every variety of style, as a result
of the taste for the old-fashioned: Henry II
easy-chairs, Louis XV chairs, an Italian cabinet
of the seventeenth century, a Spanish contador of
the fifteenth century, with an altar-front serving
as a chimney-piece, and ancient chasuble trimming
reapplied to the curtains. This old gold and
these old silks, with their tawny tones, all this
luxurious church furniture, had overwhelmed them
with respectful discomfort. The eastern carpets
with their long wool seemed to bind their feet.
But what especially suffocated them was the heat,
heat like that of a hot-air stove, which surprised
them as they felt it with cheeks frozen from the
wind of the road. Five minutes passed by and
their awkwardness increased in the comfort of this
rich room, so pleasantly warm. At last M.
Hennebeau entered, buttoned up in a military
manner and wearing on his frock-coat the correct
little bow of his decoration. He spoke first.
"Ah! here you are! You are in rebellion, it
seems."
He interrupted himself to add with polite
stiffness:
"Sit down, I desire nothing better than to
talk things over."
The miners turned round looking for seats. A few
of them ventured to place themselves on chairs,
while the others, disturbed by the embroidered
silks, preferred to remain standing.
There was a period of silence. M. Hennebeau, who
had drawn his easy-chair up to the fire-place, was
rapidly looking them over and endeavouring to
recall their faces. He had recognized Pierron,
who was hidden in the last row, and his eyes
rested on Étienne who was seated in front
of him.
"Well," he asked, "what have you to
say to me?"
He had expected to hear the young man speak and he
was so surprised to see Maheu come forward that he
could not avoid adding:
"What! you, a good workman who have always
been so sensible, one of the old Montsou people
whose family has worked in the mine since the
first stroke of the axe! Ah! it's a pity, I'm
sorry that you are at the head of the
discontented."
Maheu listened with his eyes down. Then he began,
at first in a low and hesitating voice.
"It is just because I am a quiet man, sir,
whom no one has anything against, that my mates
have chosen me. That ought to show you that it
isn't just a rebellion of blusterers, badly
disposed men who want to create disorder. We only
want justice, we are tired of starving, and it
seems to us that the time has come when things
ought to be arranged so that we can at least have
bread every day."
His voice grew stronger. He lifted his eyes and
went on, while looking at the manager.
"You know quite well that we cannot agree to
your new system. They accuse us of bad timbering.
It's true we don't give the necessary time to the
work. But if we gave it, our day's work would be
still smaller, and as it doesn't give us enough
food at present, that would mean the end of
everything, the sweep of the clout that would wipe
off all your men. Pay us more and we will timber
better, we will give the necessary hours to the
timbering instead of putting all our strength into
the picking, which is the only work that pays.
There's no other arrangement possible; if the work
is to be done it must be paid for. And what have
you invented instead? A thing which we can't get
into our heads, don't you see? You lower the
price of the tram and then you pretend to make up
for it by paying for all timbering separately. If
that was true we should be robbed all the same,
for the timbering would still take us more time.
But what makes us mad is that it isn't even true;
the Company compensates for nothing at all, it
simply puts two centimes a tram into its pocket,
that's all."
"Yes, yes, that's it," murmured the
other deputies, noticing M. Hennebeau make a
violent movement as if to interrupt.
But Maheu cut the manager short. Now that he had
set out his words came by themselves. At times he
listened to himself with surprise as though a
stranger were speaking within him. It was the
things amassed within his breast, things he did
not even know were there, and which came out in an
expansion of his heart. He described the
wretchedness that was common to all of them, the
hard toil, the brutal life, the wife and little
ones crying from hunger in the house. He quoted
the recent disastrous payments, the absurd
fortnightly wages, eaten up by fines and rest days
and brought back to their families in tears. Was
it resolved to destroy them?
"Then, sir," he concluded, "we have
come to tell you that if we've got to starve we
would rather starve doing nothing. It will be a
little less trouble. We have left the pits and we
don't go down again unless the Company agrees to
our terms. The Company wants to lower the price
of the tram and to pay for the timbering
separately. We ask for things to be left as they
were, and we also ask for five centimes more the
tram. Now it is for you to see if you are on the
side of justice and work."
Voices rose among the miners.
"That's it--he has said what we all feel--we
only ask what's reason."
Others, without speaking, showed their approval by
nodding their heads. The luxurious room had
disappeared, with its gold and its embroideries,
its mysterious piling up of ancient things; and
they no longer even felt the carpet which they
crushed beneath their heavy boots.
"Let me reply, then," at last exclaimed
M. Hennebeau, who was growing angry. "First
of all, it is not true that the Company gains two
centimes the tram. Let us look at the
figures."
A confused discussion followed. The manager,
trying to divide them, appealed to Pierron, who
hid himself, stammering. Levaque, on the
contrary, was at the head of the more aggressive,
muddling up things and affirming facts of which he
was ignorant. The loud murmurs of their voices
were stifled beneath the hangings in the hothouse
atmosphere.
"If you all talk at the same time," said
M. Hennebeau, "we shall never come to an
understanding."
He had regained his calmness, the rough
politeness, without bitterness, of an agent who
has received his instructions, and means that they
shall be respected. From the first word he never
took his eye off Étienne, and manoeuvred to
draw the young man out of his obstinate silence.
Leaving the discussion about the two centimes, he
suddenly enlarged the question.
"No, acknowledge the truth: you are yielding
to abominable incitations. It is a plague which
is now blowing over the workers everywhere, and
corrupting the best. Oh! I have no need for any
one to confess. I can see well that you have been
changed, you who used to be so quiet. Is it not
so? You have been promised more butter than
bread, and you have been told that now your turn
has come to be masters. In fact, you have been
enrolled in that famous International, that army
of brigands who dream of destroying society."
Then Étienne interrupted him.
"You are mistaken, sir. Not a single Montsou
collier has yet enrolled. But if they are driven
to it, all the pits will enroll themselves. That
depends on the Company."
From that moment the struggle went on between M.
Hennebeau and Étienne as though the other
miners were no longer there.
"The Company is a providence for the men, and
you are wrong to threaten it. This year it has
spent three hundred thousand francs in building
settlements which only return two per cent, and I
say nothing of the pensions which it pays, nor of
the coals and medicines which it gives. You who
seem to be intelligent, and who have become in a
few months one of our most skilful workmen, would
it not be better if you were to spread these
truths, rather than ruin yourself by associating
with people of bad reputation? Yes, I mean
Rasseneur, whom we had to turn off in order to
save our pits from socialistic corruption. You
are constantly seen with him, and it is certainly
he who has induced you to form this provident
fund, which we would willingly tolerate if it were
merely a means of saving, but which we feel to be
a weapon turned against us, a reserve fund to pay
the expenses of the war. And in this connection I
ought to add that the Company means to control
that fund."
Étienne allowed him to continue, fixing his
eyes on him, while a slight nervous quiver moved
his lips. He smiled at the last remark, and
simply replied:
"Then that is a new demand, for until now,
sir, you have neglected to claim that control.
Unfortunately, we wish the Company to occupy
itself less with us, and instead of playing the
part of providence to be merely just with us,
giving us our due, the profits which it
appropriates. Is it honest, whenever a crisis
comes, to leave the workers to die with hunger in
order to save the shareholders' dividends?
Whatever you may say, sir, the new system is a
disguised reduction of wages, and that is what we
are rebelling against, for if the Company wants to
economize it acts very badly by only economizing
on the men."
"Ah! there we are!" cried M. Hennebeau.
"I was expecting that--the accusation of
starving the people and living by their sweat.
How can you talk such folly, you who ought to know
the enormous risks which capital runs in
industry--in the mines, for example? A
well-equipped pit today costs from fifteen hundred
thousand francs to two millions; and it is
difficult enough to get a moderate interest on the
vast sum that is thus swallowed. Nearly half the
mining companies in France are bankrupt. Besides,
it is stupid to accuse those who succeed of
cruelty. When their workers suffer, they suffer
themselves. Can you believe that the Company has
not as much to lose as you have in the present
crisis? It does not govern wages; it obeys
competition under pain of ruin. Blame the facts,
not the Company. But you don't wish to hear, you
don't wish to understand."
"Yes," said the young man, "we
understand very well that our lot will never be
bettered as long as things go on as they are
going; and that is the reason why some day or
another the workers will end by arranging that
things shall go differently."
This sentence, so moderate in form, was pronounced
in a low voice, but with such conviction,
tremulous in its menace, that a deep silence
followed. A certain constraint, a breath of fear
passed through the polite drawing-room. The other
delegates, though scarcely understanding, felt
that their comrade had been demanding their share
of this comfort; and they began to cast sidelong
looks over the warm hangings, the comfortable
seats, all this luxury of which the least
knick-knack would have bought them soup for a
month.
At last M. Hennebeau, who had remained thoughtful.
rose as a sign for them to depart. All imitated
him. Étienne had lightly pushed Maheu's
elbow, and the latter, his tongue once more thick
and awkward, again spoke.
"Then, sir, that is all that you reply? We
must tell the others that you reject our
terms."
"I, my good fellow!" exclaimed the
manager, "I reject nothing. I am paid just
as you are. I have no more power in the matter
than the smallest of your trammers. I receive my
orders, and my only duty is to see that they are
executed. I have told you what I thought I ought
to tell you, but it is not for me to decide. You
have brought me your demands. I will make them
known to the directors, then I will tell you their
reply."
He spoke with the correct air of a high official
avoiding any passionate interest in the matter,
with the courteous dryness of a simple instrument
of authority. And the miners now looked at him
with distrust, asking themselves what interest he
might have in lying, and what he would get by thus
putting himself between them and the real masters.
A schemer, perhaps, this man who was paid like a
worker, and who lived so well!
Étienne ventured to intervene again.
"You see, sir, how unfortunate it is that we
cannot plead our cause in person. We could
explain many things, and bring forward many
reasons of which you could know nothing, if we
only knew where we ought to go."
M. Hennebeau was not at all angry. He even
smiled. "Ah! it gets complicated as soon as
you have no confidence in me; you will have to go
over there."
The delegates had followed the vague gesture of
his hand toward one of the windows. Where was it,
over there? Paris, no doubt. But they did not
know exactly; it seemed to fall back into a
terrible distance, in an inaccessible religious
country, where an unknown god sat on his throne,
crouching down at the far end of his tabernacle.
They would never see him; they only felt him as a
force far off, which weighed on the ten thousand
colliers of Montsou. And when the director spoke
he had that hidden force behind him delivering
oracles.
They were overwhelmed with discouragement;
Étienne himself signified by a shrug of the
shoulders that it would be best to go; while M.
Hennebeau touched Maheu's arm in a friendly way
and asked after Jeanlin.
"That is a severe lesson now, and it is you
who defend bad timbering. You must reflect, my
friends; you must realize that a strike would be a
disaster for everybody. Before a week you would
die of hunger. What would you do? I count on
your good sense, anyhow; and I am convinced that
you will go down on Monday, at the latest."
They all left, going out of the drawing-room with
the tramping of a flock and rounded backs, without
replying a word to this hope of submission. The
manager, who accompanied them, was obliged to
continue the conversation. The Company, on the
one side, had its new tariff; the workers, on the
other, their demand for an increase of five
centimes the tram. In order that they might have
no illusions, he felt he ought to warn them that
their terms would certainly be rejected by the
directors.
"Reflect before committing any follies,"
he repeated, disturbed at their silence.
In the porch Pierron bowed very low, while Levaque
pretended to adjust his cap. Maheu was trying to
find something to say before leaving, when
Étienne again touched his elbow. And they
all left in the midst of this threatening silence.
The door closed with a loud bang.
When M. Hennebeau re-entered the dining-room he
found his guests motionless and silent before the
liqueurs. In two words he told his story to
Deneulin, whose face grew still more gloomy.
Then, as he drank his cold coffee, they tried to
speak of other things. But the Grégoires
themselves returned to the subject of the strike,
expressing their astonishment that no laws existed
to prevent workmen from leaving their work. Paul
reassured Cécile, stating that they were
expecting the police.
At last Madame Hennebeau called the servant:
"Hippolyte, before we go into the
drawing-room just open the windows and let in a
little air."