Part 12

But Étienne was growing heated. A whole predisposition to revolt threw him into the struggle of labor against capital, into the first illusions of his ignorance. It was a matter of the International Workingmen's Association, of that famous International which had just been founded in London. Was there not there a superb effort, a campaign in which justice was at last to triumph? No more frontiers, the workers of the entire world rising, uniting, to secure for the laborer the bread he earns. And what a simple and grand organization: at the bottom, the section, representing the commune; then, the federation, grouping the sections of a single province; then, the nation, and above, finally, humanity, incarnated in a General Council, where each nation was represented by a corresponding secretary. Within six months, they would have conquered the earth, they would dictate laws to the bosses, if the bosses acted wickedly.

--Nonsense! repeated Souvarine. Your Karl Marx is still at the point of wanting to let natural forces operate. No politics, no conspiracy, isn't that it? all in broad daylight, and solely for the raising of wages... Leave me alone, then, with your evolution! Set fire to the four corners of the cities, mow down the peoples, raze everything, and when nothing remains of this rotten world, perhaps a better one will grow back.

Étienne began to laugh. He did not always understand his comrade's words; this theory of destruction seemed to him a pose. Rasseneur, even more practical, and with the good sense of a settled man, did not deign to grow angry. He only wanted to clarify matters.

--So, what? you're going to try to create a section at Montsou?

That was what Pluchart wished, who was secretary of the Federation of the North. He insisted particularly on the services the Association would render to the miners, if they should one day go on strike. Étienne, precisely, believed the strike was near: the timber affair would end badly, it would take only one more demand from the Company to revolt all the pits.

--The annoying part is the dues, declared Rasseneur in a judicious tone. Fifty centimes a year for the general fund, two francs for the section, that doesn't seem like anything, and I bet many will refuse to give them.

--All the more, added Étienne, since we should first create here a benefit fund, which we could turn into a resistance fund when needed... No matter, it is time to think of these things. Me, I'm ready, if the others are ready.

There was a silence. The oil lamp smoked on the counter. Through the wide-open door, one distinctly heard the shovel of a fireman at the Voreux loading a furnace of the machine.

--Everything is so dear! resumed Madame Rasseneur, who had come in and was listening with a gloomy air, seeming taller in her eternal black dress. If I told you I paid twenty-two sous for the eggs... Something's got to blow.

The three men, this time, were of the same opinion. They spoke one after the other, in a desolate voice, and the complaints began. The worker could not hold out, the Revolution had only worsened his miseries, it was the bourgeois who had been fattening themselves since '89, so greedily, that they did not even leave him the bottoms of the dishes to wipe. Let someone say if the workers had had their reasonable share, in the extraordinary increase of wealth and well-being, over the past hundred years? They had mocked them by declaring them free: yes, free to starve to death, which they scarcely denied themselves. Voting for fellows who then stuffed themselves, without thinking any more of the wretches than of their old boots, did not put bread in the bin. No, one way or another, it had to end, whether nicely, by laws, by an understanding of good friendship, or whether savagely, by burning everything and eating one another. The children would surely see it, if the old ones did not, for the century could not close without there being another revolution, that of the workers this time, a shaking-up which would clean society from top to bottom, and rebuild it with more cleanliness and justice.

--Something's got to blow, repeated energetically Madame Rasseneur.

--Yes, yes, cried all three of them, something's got to blow.

Souvarine was now stroking the ears of Poland, whose nose curled with pleasure. He said in a half-voice, his eyes lost, as if to himself:

--Raise the wage, can you? It is fixed by the iron law at the smallest indispensable sum, just the necessary to make the workers eat dry bread and manufacture children... If it falls too low, the workers die, and the demand for new men makes it rise. If it climbs too high, the too-great supply makes it fall... It is the equilibrium of empty bellies, the perpetual sentence to the jail of hunger.

When he forgot himself thus, broaching subjects of an educated socialist, Étienne and Rasseneur remained uneasy, troubled by his disheartening assertions, to which they knew not what to reply.

--Do you hear! he resumed with his habitual calm, looking at them, everything must be destroyed, or hunger will return. Yes! anarchy, nothing more, the earth washed by blood, purified by fire!... We'll see afterward.

--The gentleman is quite right, declared Madame Rasseneur, who, in her revolutionary violences, showed a great politeness.

Étienne, in despair at his ignorance, did not wish to discuss further. He stood up, saying:

--Let's go to bed. None of this will keep me from getting up at three.

Already Souvarine, after blowing out the cigarette butt stuck to his lips, was delicately taking the big rabbit under the belly, to set it on the ground. Rasseneur was closing the house. They parted in silence, ears buzzing, heads as if swollen with the grave questions they were turning over.

And, every evening, there were similar conversations, in the bare room, around the single mug that Étienne took an hour to empty. A fund of obscure ideas, asleep within him, stirred, widened. Especially devoured by the need to know, he had long hesitated to borrow books from his neighbor, who unfortunately possessed hardly anything but German and Russian works. At last, he had got lent a French book on Cooperative Societies, still nonsense, said Souvarine; and he also read regularly a newspaper that the latter received, _Le Combat_, an anarchist sheet published at Geneva. Besides, despite their daily intercourse, he found him always just as closed, with his air of camping in life, without interests, or feelings, or possessions of any sort.

It was toward the first days of July that Étienne's situation improved. In the midst of this monotonous life, endlessly recommencing, of the mine, an accident had occurred: the workings of the Guillaume seam had just come upon a faulting, a whole disturbance in the layer, which certainly announced the approach of a fault; and, indeed, they had soon met this fault, which the engineers, despite their great knowledge of the ground, still ignored. That upset the pit, they spoke only of the vanished seam, slipped no doubt lower down, on the other side of the fault. The old miners already opened their nostrils, like good dogs launched on the hunt for coal. But, meanwhile, the workings could not remain with arms folded, and posters announced that the Company was going to put new contract-work up for auction.

Maheu, one day, on coming out, accompanied Étienne and offered him to enter as a hewer in his contract-work, in place of Levaque, gone to another working. The affair was already arranged with the head-porter and the engineer, who showed themselves very pleased with the young man. So Étienne had only to accept this rapid advancement, happy at the growing esteem in which Maheu held him.

That very evening, they went together to the pit to examine the posters. The stalls put up for auction were in the Filonnière seam, in the north gallery of the Voreux. They seemed little advantageous, the miner shook his head at the reading that the young man made him of the conditions. Indeed, the next day, when they had gone down and he had taken him to visit the seam, he pointed out to him the distance from the shaft, the crumbly nature of the ground, the slight thickness and hardness of the coal. Yet, if one wanted to eat, one had to work. So, the following Sunday, they went to the auction, which took place in the shack, and which the pit engineer, assisted by the head-porter, presided over, in the absence of the divisional engineer. Five or six hundred colliers were there, facing the small platform, planted in a corner; and the lettings went at such a pace, that one heard only a dull tumult of voices, figures cried, stifled by other figures.

For an instant, Maheu feared he could not obtain one of the forty contract-works offered by the Company. All the competitors were lowering, uneasy at the rumors of crisis, seized by the panic of unemployment. Engineer Négrel did not hurry before this frenzy, let the bids fall to the lowest possible figures, while Dansaert, desirous of hastening things further, lied about the excellence of the contracts. Maheu had to, to have his fifty meters of advance, struggle against a comrade, who also persisted; in turn, they each withdrew a centime from the tub; and, if he remained victor, it was by lowering the wage so much, that porion Richomme, standing behind him, grew angry between his teeth, pushed him with his elbow, grumbling with rage that never would he get out of it, at that price.

When they came out, Étienne was swearing. And he burst out before Chaval, who was coming back from the wheat with Catherine, strolling, while the father-in-law attended to the serious affairs.

--God's name! he cried, there's a slaughter!... So, today, it's the worker they force to eat the worker!

Chaval flew into a passion; never would he have lowered, him! And Zacharie, come out of curiosity, declared it was disgusting. But Étienne silenced them with a gesture of mute violence.

--That will end, we will be the masters, one day!

Maheu, silent since the auction, seemed to wake. He repeated:

--The masters... Ah! damned fate! it would not be too soon!

II

It was the last Sunday of July, the day of the ducasse of Montsou. From Saturday evening, the good housewives of the coron had washed their room with great water, a deluge, buckets flung at random on the flagstones and against the walls; and the ground was not yet dry, despite the white sand with which they seeded it, a whole costly luxury for those poor purses. However, the day promised very hot, one of those heavy skies, crushing with storm, which in summer stifle the countrysides of the North, flat and bare, to infinity.

Sunday upset the hours of rising, at the Maheus'. While the father, from five o'clock, fretted in bed, nevertheless dressed, the children slept late until nine o'clock. That day, Maheu went to smoke a pipe in his garden, ended by coming back to eat a slice of bread alone, waiting. He thus passed the morning, without quite knowing at what: he mended the pail that leaked, glued under the cuckoo clock a portrait of the imperial prince that had been given the little ones. Meanwhile, the others came down one by one, father Bonnemort had brought out a chair to sit in the sun, the mother and Alzire had at once set to in the kitchen. Catherine appeared, pushing before her Lénore and Henri whom she had just dressed; and eleven o'clock was striking, the smell of the rabbit boiling with potatoes already filled the house, when Zacharie and Jeanlin came down last, eyes puffed, still yawning.

Besides, the coron was astir, lit up by the feast, in the heat of dinner, which they hurried to flock in bands to Montsou. Troops of children galloped, men in shirt-sleeves dragged slippers, with the lazy sway of rest days. The windows and doors, wide open to the fine weather, let see the row of rooms, all overflowing, in gestures and cries, with the swarming of families. And, from one end to the other of the façades, it smelled of rabbit, a rich kitchen perfume, which that day fought the inveterate smell of fried onion.

The Maheus dined at noon striking. They made no great noise, amid the door-to-door chatter, the neighborhoods mixing the women, in a continual eddy of calls, answers, lent objects, brats chased or brought back with a slap. Moreover, they had been on cold terms for three weeks with their neighbors, the Levaques, over the marriage of Zacharie and Philomène. The men saw each other, but the women affected no longer to know each other. This quarrel had drawn closer the relations with the Pierronne. Only, the Pierronne, leaving her mother Pierron and Lydie, had left at dawn to spend the day at a cousin's, at Marchiennes; and they joked, for they knew her, the cousin: she had mustaches, she was head-porter at the Voreux. La Maheude declared it was hardly proper, to abandon her family, a ducasse Sunday.

Besides the rabbit with potatoes, which they had been fattening in the pot for a month, the Maheus had a fat soup and the beef. The fortnight's pay had just fallen the day before. They did not remember such a treat. Even at the last Sainte-Barbe, that feast of the miners where they do nothing for three days, the rabbit had not been so fat nor so tender. So the ten pairs of jaws, from little Estelle whose teeth were beginning to grow, to old Bonnemort losing his, worked with such heart, that the bones themselves disappeared. It was good, the meat; but they digested it poorly, they saw it too rarely. All went, there remained only a piece of boiled beef for the evening. They would add slices of bread, if they were hungry.

It was Jeanlin who disappeared first. Bébert was waiting for him, behind the school. And they roamed long before debauching Lydie, whom la Brûlé wanted to keep near her, decided not to go out. When she noticed the child's flight, she howled, waved her thin arms, while Pierron, annoyed at the noise, went off to stroll tranquilly, with the air of a husband who amuses himself without remorse, knowing that his wife, she too, has pleasure.

Old Bonnemort left next, and Maheu decided to take the air, after asking la Maheude if she would join him, down there. No, she could hardly, it was a real chore, with the little ones; perhaps yes all the same, she would think, they would always find each other again. When he was outside, he hesitated, then he went into the neighbors', to see if Levaque was ready. But he found Zacharie waiting for Philomène; and la Levaque had just opened the eternal subject of the marriage, cried that they were making fun of her, that she would have a last explanation with la Maheude. Was it a life, to keep the fatherless children of her daughter, when the latter rolled with her lover? Philomène having tranquilly finished putting on her bonnet, Zacharie took her off, repeating that he was willing, if his mother was. Besides, Levaque had already slipped away, Maheu sent the neighbor back to his wife and hastened out. Bouteloup, finishing a piece of cheese, both elbows on the table, obstinately refused the friendly offer of a mug. He stayed home, as a good husband.

Little by little, however, the coron emptied, all the men went off one behind the other; while the girls, watching on the doors, left in the opposite direction, on the arm of their sweethearts. As her father turned the corner of the church, Catherine, who caught sight of Chaval, hastened to join him, to take with him the road to Montsou. And the mother remained alone, amid the scattered children, found not the strength to leave her chair, poured herself a second glass of burning coffee, which she drank in little sips. In the coron, there were only women left, inviting each other, finishing draining the coffeepots, around the tables still warm and greasy from dinner.

Maheu scented that Levaque was at the Avantage, and he went down to Rasseneur's, without haste. Indeed, behind the bar, in the narrow garden closed by a hedge, Levaque was playing a game of ninepins with comrades. Standing, not playing, father Bonnemort and old Mouque followed the ball, so absorbed, that they even forgot to nudge each other with the elbow. An ardent sun beat straight down, there was only a streak of shadow, along the cabaret; and Étienne was there, drinking his mug before a table, annoyed that Souvarine had just dropped him to go up to his room. Almost every Sunday, the engine-man shut himself in, wrote or read.

--Do you play? asked Levaque of Maheu.

But the latter refused. He was too hot, he was already dying of thirst.

--Rasseneur! called Étienne. Bring a mug, will you.

And, turning toward Maheu:

--You know, it's me who pays.

Now, all used the familiar form. Rasseneur did not hurry, he had to be called three times; and it was Madame Rasseneur who brought the lukewarm beer. The young man had lowered his voice to complain of the house: good people no doubt, people whose ideas were good; only, the beer was no good, and the soups execrable! Ten times already, he would have changed boarding, if he had not recoiled before the walk to Montsou. One day or another, he would end by seeking a family in the coron.

--Sure, repeated Maheu in his slow voice, sure, you'd be better in a family.

But cries broke out, Levaque had knocked down all the pins at once. Mouque and Bonnemort, nose to the ground, kept amid the tumult a silence of deep approval. And the joy of such a stroke overflowed in jests, especially when the players caught sight, above the hedge, the joyful face of la Mouquette. She had been prowling there for an hour, she had grown bold to approach, on hearing the laughs.

--What! you're alone? cried Levaque. And your sweethearts?

--My sweethearts, I've put them away, she answered with a fine impudent gaiety. I'm looking for one.

All offered themselves, heated her with coarse words. She refused with her head, laughed louder, played the nice girl. Her father, besides, assisted at this game, without even taking his eyes from the downed pins.

--Go on! continued Levaque, throwing a glance toward Étienne, we well guess the one you're eyeing, my girl!... You'll have to take him by force.

Étienne, then, brightened. It was indeed around him that the hauler-girl was turning. And he said no, amused yet, but without the slightest desire of her. Some minutes more, she stayed planted behind the hedge, looking at him with her big fixed eyes; then, she went off with slowness, her face suddenly serious, as crushed by the heavy sun.

In a half-voice, Étienne had taken up long explanations that he was giving Maheu, on the necessity, for the colliers of Montsou, of founding a benefit fund.

--Since the Company pretends it leaves us free, he repeated, what do we fear? We have only its pensions, and it distributes them at its will, since it makes us no deduction. Well! it would be prudent to create, beside its good pleasure, a mutual relief association, on which we could count at least, in cases of immediate need.

And he specified details, discussed the organization, promised to take all the trouble.

--Me, I'm willing, said at last Maheu, convinced. Only, it's the others... Try to decide the others.

Levaque had won, they let the pins go to empty the mugs. But Maheu refused to drink a second: they would see later, the day was not over. He had just thought of Pierron. Where could he be, Pierron? no doubt at the Lenfant tavern. And he decided Étienne and Levaque, all three set off for Montsou, at the moment when a new band invaded the ninepin game of the Avantage.

On the way, on the pavement, they had to enter the Casimir bar, then the Progrès tavern. Comrades called them from the open doors: no means to say no. Each time, it was a mug, two if they did the politeness of returning. They stayed there ten minutes, exchanged four words, and began again further, very reasonable, knowing the beer, with which they could fill themselves, without other trouble than to piss it too fast, as they went, clear as rock water. At the Lenfant tavern, they fell right on Pierron who was finishing his second mug, and who, not to refuse to drink, swallowed a third. Them, naturally drank theirs. Now, they were four, they came out with the plan of seeing if Zacharie would not be at the Tison tavern. The room was empty, they asked for a mug to wait for him a moment. Then, they thought of the Saint-Éloi tavern, accepted there a round from porion Richomme, wandered thence from bar to bar, without pretext, solely to walk about.

--Got to go to the Volcan! said suddenly Levaque, who was lighting up.

The others began to laugh, hesitant, then accompanied the comrade, amid the growing crush of the ducasse. In the narrow and long room of the Volcan, on a platform of planks raised at the back, five singers, the reject of the public girls of Lille, paraded, with gestures and a décolletage of monsters; and the customers gave ten sous, when they wanted one, behind the planks of the platform. There were there especially haulers, putters, up to trapper boys of fourteen, all the youth of the pits, drinking more gin than beer. Some old miners risked it too, the lecherous husbands of the coron, those whose households fell to filth.

As soon as their party was seated around a small table, Étienne seized Levaque, to explain his idea of a benefit fund. He had the obstinate propaganda of new converts, who create themselves a mission.

--Each member, he repeated, could well pay twenty sous a month. With these twenty sous accumulated, we would have, in four or five years, a pile; and, when one has money, one is strong, isn't it? in whatever occasion... Hey! what do you say?

--Me, I don't say no, answered Levaque with a distracted air. We'll talk of it.

An enormous blonde was exciting him; and he persisted in staying, when Maheu and Pierron, after drinking their mug, wanted to leave, without waiting for a second romance.

Outside, Étienne, come out with them, found la Mouquette, who seemed to follow them. She was always there, looking at him with her big fixed eyes, laughing her good-girl laugh, as to say: "Do you want?" The young man joked, shrugged. Then, she had a gesture of anger and lost herself in the crowd.

--Where is Chaval? asked Pierron.

--It's true, said Maheu. He's surely at Piquette's... Let's go to Piquette's.

But, as they all three arrived at the Piquette tavern, a noise of battle, at the door, stopped them. Zacharie threatened with his fist a Walloon nailer, stocky and phlegmatic; while Chaval, hands in pockets, looked on.

--Look! there he is, Chaval, resumed tranquilly Maheu. He is with Catherine.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”