GERMINAL
PART V
CHAPTER I
AT four o'clock the moon had set, and the night
was very dark. Everything was still asleep at
Deneulin's; the old brick house stood mute and
gloomy, with closed doors and windows, at the end
of the large ill-kept garden which separated it
from the Jean-Bart mine. The other frontage faced
the deserted road to Vandame, a large country
town, about three kilometres off, hidden behind
the forest.
Deneulin, tired after a day spent in part below,
was snoring with his face toward the wall, when he
dreamt that he had been called. At last he awoke,
and really hearing a voice, got out and opened the
window. One of his captains was in the garden.
"What is it, then?" he asked.
"There's a rebellion, sir; half the men will
not work, and are preventing the others from going
down."
He scarcely understood, with head heavy and dazed
with sleep, and the great cold struck him like an
icy douche.
"Then make them go down, by George!" he
stammered.
"It's been going on an hour," said the
captain. "Then we thought it best to come
for you. Perhaps you will be able to persuade
them."
"Very good; I'll go."
He quickly dressed himself, his mind quite clear
now, and very anxious. The house might have been
pillaged; neither the cook nor the man-servant had
stirred. But from the other side of the staircase
alarmed voices were whispering; and when he came
out he saw his daughters' door open, and they both
appeared in white dressing-gowns, slipped on in
haste.
"Father, what is it?"
Lucie, the elder, was already twenty-two, a tall
dark girl, with a haughty air; while Jeanne, the
younger, as yet scarcely nineteen years old, was
small, with golden hair and a certain caressing
grace.
"Nothing serious," he replied, to
reassure them. "It seems that some
blusterers are making a disturbance down there. I
am going to see."
But they exclaimed that they would not let him go
before he had taken something warm. If not, he
would come back ill, with his stomach out of
order, as he always did. He struggled, gave his
word of honour that he was too much in a hurry.
"Listen!" said Jeanne, at last, hanging
to his neck, "you must drink a little glass
of rum and eat two biscuits, or I shall remain
like this, and you'll have to take me with
you."
He resigned himself, declaring that the biscuits
would choke him. They had already gone down
before him, each with her candlestick. In the
dining-room below they hastened to serve him, one
pouring out the rum, the other running to the
pantry for the biscuits. Having lost their mother
when very young, they had been rather badly
brought up alone, spoilt by their father, the
elder haunted by the dream of singing on the
stage, the younger mad over painting in which she
showed a singular boldness of taste. But when
they had to retrench after the embarrassment in
their affairs, these apparently extravagant girls
had suddenly developed into very sensible and
shrewd managers, with an eye for errors of
centimes in accounts. Today, with their boyish
and artistic demeanour, they kept the purse, were
careful over sous, haggled with the tradesmen,
renovated their dresses unceasingly, and in fact,
succeeded in rendering decent the growing
embarrassment of the house.
"Eat, papa," repeated Lucie.
Then, remarking his silent gloomy preoccupation,
she was again frightened.
"Is it serious, then, that you look at us
like this? Tell us; we will stay with you, and
they can do without us at that lunch."
She was speaking of a party which had been planned
for the morning, Madame Hennebeau was to go in her
carriage, first for Cécile, at the
Grégoires', then to call for them, so that
they could all go to Marchiennes to lunch at the
Forges, where the manager's wife had invited them.
It was an opportunity to visit the workshops, the
blast furnaces, and the coke ovens.
"We will certainly remain," declared
Jeanne, in her turn.
But he grew angry.
"A fine idea! I tell you that it is nothing.
Just be so good as to get back into your beds
again, and dress yourselves for nine o'clock, as
was arranged."
He kissed them and hastened to leave. They heard
the noise of his boots vanishing over the frozen
earth in the garden.
Jeanne carefully placed the stopper in the rum
bottle, while Lucie locked up the biscuits. The
room had the cold neatness of dining-rooms where
the table is but meagrely supplied. And both of
them took advantage of this early descent to see
if anything had been left uncared for the evening
before. A serviette lay about, the servant should
be scolded. At last they were upstairs again.
While he was taking the shortest cut through the
narrow paths of his kitchen garden, Deneulin was
thinking of his compromised fortune, this Montsou
denier, this million which he had realized,
dreaming to multiply it tentold, and which was
to-day running such great risks. It was an
uninterrupted course of ill-luck, enormous and
unforeseen repairs, ruinous conditions of
exploitation, then the disaster of this industrial
crisis, just when the profits were beginning to
come in. If the strike broke out here, he would
be overthrown. He pushed a little door: the
buildings of the pit could be divined in the black
night, by the deepening of the shadow, starred by
a few lanterns.
Jean-Bart was not so important as the Voreux, but
its renewed installation made it a pretty pit, as
the engineers say. They had not been contented by
enlarging the shaft one metre and a half, and
deepening it to seven hundred and eight metres,
they had equipped it afresh with a new engine, new
cages, entirely new material, all set up according
to the latest scientific improvements; and even a
certain seeking for elegance was visible in the
constructions, a screening-shed with carved
frieze, a steeple adorned with a clock, a
receiving-room and an engine-room both rounded
into an apse like a Renaissance chapel, and
surmounted by a chimney with a mosaic spiral made
of black bricks and red bricks. The pump was
placed on the other shaft of the concession, the
old Gaston-Marie pit, reserved solely for this
purpose. Jean-Bart, to right and left of the
winding-shaft, only had two conduits, that for the
steam ventilator and that for the ladders.
In the morning, ever since three o'clock, Chaval,
who had arrived first, had been seducing his
comrades, convincing them that they ought to
imitate those at Montsou, and demand an increase
of five centimes a tram. Soon four hundred
workmen had passed from the shed into the
receiving-room, in the midst of a tumult of
gesticulation and shouting. Those who wished to
work stood with their lamps, barefooted, with
shovel or pick beneath their arms; while the
others, still in their sabots, with their
overcoats on their shoulders because of the great
cold, were barring the shaft; and the captains
were growing hoarse in the effort to restore
order, begging them to be reasonable and not to
prevent those who wanted from going down.
But Chaval was furious when he saw Catherine in
her trousers and jacket, her head tied up in the
blue cap. On getting up, he had roughly told her
to stay in bed. In despair at this arrest of work
she had followed him all the same, for he never
gave her any money; she often had to pay both for
herself and him; and what was to become of her if
she earned nothing? She was overcome by fear, the
fear of a brothel at Marchiennes, which was the
end of putter-girls without bread and without
lodging.
"By God!" cried Chaval, "what the
devil have you come here for?"
She stammered that she had no income to live on
and that she wanted to work.
"Then you put yourself against me, wench?
Back you go at once, or I'll go back with you and
kick my sabots into your backside."
She recoiled timidly but she did not leave,
resolved to see how things would turn out.
Deneulin had arrived by the screening-stairs. In
spite of the weak light of the lanterns, with a
quick look he took in the scene, with this rabble
wrapt in shadow; he knew every face--the pike-men,
the porters, the landers, the putters, even the
trammers. In the nave, still new and clean, the
arrested task was waiting; the steam in the
engine, under pressure, made slight whistling
sounds; the cages were hanging motionless to the
cables; the trains, abandoned on the way, were
encumbering the metal floors. Scarcely eighty
lamps had been taken; the others were flaming in
the lamp cabin. But no doubt a word from him
would suffice, and the whole life of labour would
begin again.
"Well, what's going on then, my lads?"
he asked in a loud voice. "What are you
angry about? Just explain to me and we will see
if we can agree."
He usually behaved in a paternal way towards his
men, while at the same time demanding hard work.
With an authoritative, rough manner, he had tried
to conquer them by a good nature which had its
outbursts of passion, and he often gained their
love; the men especially respected in him his
courage, always in the cuttings with them, the
first in danger whenever an accident terrified the
pit. Twice, after fire-damp explosions, he had
been let down, fastened by a rope under his
armpits, when the bravest drew back.
"Now," he began again, "you are not
going to make me repent of having trusted you.
You know that I have refused police protection.
Talk quietly and I will hear you."
All were now silent and awkward, moving away from
him; and it was Chaval who at last said:
"Well, Monsieur Deneulin, we can't go on
working; we must have five centimes more the
tram."
He seemed surprised.
"What! five centimes! and why this demand?
I don't complain about your timbering, I don't
want to impose a new tariff on you like the
Montsou directors."
"Maybe! but the Montsou mates are right, all
the same. They won't have the tariff, and they
want a rise of five centimes because it is not
possible to work properly at the present rates.
We want five centimes more, don't we, you
others?"
Voices approved, and the noise began again in the
midst of violent gesticulation. Gradually they
drew near, forming a small circle.
A flame came into Deneulin's eyes, and his fist,
that of a man who liked strong government, was
clenched, for fear of yielding to the temptation
of seizing one of them by the neck. He preferred
to discuss on the basis of reason.
"You want five centimes, and I agree that the
work is worth it. Only I can't give it. If I
gave it I should simply be done for. You must
understand that I have to live first in order for
you to live, and I've got to the end, the least
rise in net prices will upset me. Two years ago,
you remember, at the time of the last strike, I
yielded, I was able to then. But that rise of
wages was not the less ruinous, for these two
years have been a struggle. To-day I would rather
let the whole thing go than not be able to tell
next month where to get the money to pay
you."
Chaval laughed roughly in the face of this master
who told them his affairs so frankly. The others
lowered their faces, obstinate and incredulous,
refusing to take into their heads the idea that a
master did not gain millions out of his men.
Then Deneulin, persisting, explained his struggle
with Montsou, always on the watch and ready to
devour him if, some day, he had the stupidity to
come to grief. It was a savage competition which
forced him to economize, the more so since the
great depth of Jean-Bart increased the price of
extraction, an unfavourable condition hardly
compensated by the great thickness of the
coal-beds. He would never have raised wages after
the last strike if it had not been necessary for
him to imitate Montsou, for fear of seeing his men
leave him. And he threatened them with the
morrow; a fine result it would be for them, if
they obliged him to sell, to pass beneath the
terrible yoke of the directors! He did not sit on
a throne far away in an unknown sanctuary; he was
not one of those shareholders who pay agents to
skin the miner who has never seen them; he was a
master, he risked something besides his money, he
risked his intelligence, his health, his life.
Stoppage of work would simply mean death, for he
had no stock, and he must fulfil orders. Besides,
his standing capital could not sleep. How could
he keep his engagements? Who would pay the
interest on the sums his friends had confided to
him? It would mean bankruptcy.
"That's where we are, my good fellows,"
he said, in conclusion. "I want to convince
you. We don't ask a man to cut his own throat, do
we? and if I give you your five centimes, or if I
let you go out on strike, it's the same as if I
cut my throat."
He was silent. Grunts went round. A party among
the miners seemed to hesitate. Several went back
towards the shaft.
"At least," said a captain, "let
every one be free. Who are those who want to
work?"
Catherine had advanced among the first. But
Chaval fiercely pushed her back, shouting:
"We are all agreed; it's only bloody rogues
who'll leave their mates!"
After that, conciliation appeared impossible. The
cries began again, and men were hustled away from
the shaft, at the risk of being crushed against
the walls. For a moment the manager, in despair,
tried to struggle alone, to reduce the crowd by
violence; but it was useless madness, and he
retired. For a few minutes he rested, out of
breath, on a chair in the receiver's office, so
overcome by his powerlessness that no ideas came
to him. At last he grew calm, and told an
inspector to go and bring Chaval; then, when the
latter had agreed to the interview, he motioned
the others away.
"Leave us."
Deneulin's idea was to see what this fellow was
after. At the first words he felt that he was
vain, and was devoured by passionate jealousy.
Then he attacked him by flattery, affecting
surprise that a workman of his merit should so
compromise his future. It seemed as though he had
long had his eyes on him for rapid advancement;
and he ended by squarely offering to make him
captain later on. Chaval listened in silence,
with his fists at first clenched, but then
gradually unbent. Something was working in the
depths of his skull; if he persisted in the strike
he would be nothing more than Étienne's
lieutenant, while now another ambition opened,
that of passing into the ranks of the bosses. The
heat of pride rose to his face and intoxicated
him. Besides, the band of strikers whom he had
expected since the morning had not arrived; some
obstacle must have stopped them, perhaps the
police; it was time to submit. But all the same
he shook his head; he acted the incorruptible man,
striking his breast indignantly. Then, without
mentioning to the master the rendezvous he had
given to the Montsou men, he promised to calm his
mates, and to persuade them to go down.
Deneulin remained hidden, and the captains
themselves stood aside. For an hour they heard
Chaval orating and discussing, standing on a tram
in the receiving-room. Some of the men hooted
him; a hundred and twenty went off exasperated,
persisting in the resolution which he had made
them take. It was already past seven. The sun
was rising brilliantly; it was a bright day of
hard frost; and all at once movement began in the
pit, and the arrested labour went on. First the
crank of the engine plunged, rolling and
unrolling the cables on the drums. Then, in the
midst of the tumult of the signals, the descent
took place. The cages filled and were engulfed,
and rose again, the shaft swallowing its ration of
trammers and putters and pikemen; while on the
metal floors the landers pushed the trains with a
sound of thunder.
"By God! What the devil are you doing
there?" cried Chaval to Catherine, who was
awaiting her turn. "Will you just go down
and not laze about!"
At nine o'clock, when Madame Hennebeau arrived in
her carriage with Cécile, she found Lucie
and Jeanne quite ready and very elegant, in spite
of their dresses having been renovated for the
twentieth time. But Deneulin was surprised to see
Négrel accompanying the carriage on
horseback. What! were the men also in the party?
Then Madame Hennebeau explained in her maternal
way that they had frightened her by saying that
the streets were full of evil faces, and so she
preferred to bring a defender. Négrel
laughed and reassured them: nothing to cause
anxiety, threats of brawlers as usual, but not one
of them would dare to throw a stone at a
window-pane. Still pleased with his success,
Deneulin related the checked rebellion at
Jean-Bart. He said that he was now quite at rest.
And on the Vandame road, while the young ladies
got into the carriage, all congratulated
themselves on the superb day, oblivious of the
long swelling shudder of the marching people afar
off in the country, though they might have heard
the sound of it if they had pressed their ears
against the earth.
"Well! it is agreed," repeated Madame
Hennebeau. "This evening you will call for
the young ladies and dine with us. Madame
Grégoire has also promised to come for
Cécile."
"You may reckon on me," replied
Deneulin.
The carriage went off towards Vandame, Jeanne and
Lucie leaning down to laugh once more to their
father, who was standing by the roadside; while
Négrel gallantly trotted behind the fleeing
wheels.
They crossed the forest, taking the road from
Vandame to Marchiennes. As they approached
Tartaret, Jeanne asked Madame Hennebeau if she
knew CôteVerte, and the latter, in spite of
her stay of five years in the country,
acknowledged that she had never been on that side.
Then they made a detour. Tartaret, on the
outskirts of the forest, was an uncultivated moor,
of volcanic sterility, under which for ages a coal
mine had been burning. Its history was lost in
legend. The miners of the place said that fire
from heaven had fallen on this Sodom in the bowels
of the earth, where the putter-girls had committed
abominations together, so that they had not even
had the time to come to the surface, and today
were still burning at the bottom of this hell.
The calcined rocks, of a sombre red, were covered
by an efflorescence of alum as by a leprosy.
Sulphur grew like a yellow flower at the edge of
the fissures. At night, those who were brave
enough to venture to look into these holes
declared that they saw flames there, sinful souls
shrivelling in the furnace within. Wandering
lights moved over the soil, and hot vapours, the
poisons from the devil's ordure and his dirty
kitchen, were constantly smoking. And like a
miracle of eternal spring, in the midst of this
accursed moor of Tartaret, Côte-Verte
appeared, with its meadows for ever green, its
beeches with leaves unceasingly renewed, its
fields where three harvests ripened. It was a
natural hot-house, warmed by the fire in the deep
strata beneath. The snow never lay on it. The
enormous bouquet of verdure, beside the leafless
forest trees, blossomed on this December day, and
the frost had not even scorched the edge of it.
Soon the carriage was passing over the plain.
Négrel joked over the legend, and explained
that a fire often occurred at the bottom of a mine
from the fermentation of the coal dust; if not
mastered it would burn on for ever, and he
mentioned a Belgian pit which had been flooded by
diverting a river and running it into the pit.
But he became silent. For the last few minutes
groups of miners had been constantly passing the
carriage; they went by in silence, with sidelong
looks at the luxurious equipage which forced them
to stand aside. Their number went on increasing.
The horses were obliged to cross the little bridge
over the Scarpe at walking pace. What was going
on, then, to bring all these people into the
roads? The young ladies became frightened, and
Négrel began to smell out some fray in the
excited country; it was a relief when they at last
arrived at Marchiennes. The batteries of coke
ovens and the chimneys of the blast furnaces,
beneath a sun which seemed to extinguish them,
were belching out smoke and raining their
everlasting soot through the air.