Part 17

--Hush! said Mr. Hennebeau, vexed, looking toward the windows, from which the road could be seen. The country has no need to know that we are receiving guests this morning.

--Here is at least a round of sausage they won't get, declared Mr. Grégoire.

Laughter broke out again, but more discreetly. Each guest made himself comfortable in this room hung with Flemish tapestries, furnished with old oak chests. Pieces of silverware gleamed behind the glass of the sideboards; and there was a large pendant lamp of red copper, whose polished globes reflected a palm tree and an aspidistra, greening in majolica pots. Outside, the December day was frozen by a bitter northeast wind. But not a breath entered; there was a greenhouse warmth, which brought out the fine smell of a pineapple, cut at the bottom of a crystal bowl.

--Should we close the curtains? suggested Négrel, amused by the idea of terrifying the Grégoires.

The chambermaid, who was helping the servant, took it for an order and went to draw one of the curtains. Then followed endless joking: not a glass or a fork was set down without precautions; each dish was saluted like a relic escaped from a pillage, in a conquered town; and, behind this forced gaiety, there was a dull fear, betrayed by involuntary glances cast toward the road, as if a band of starvelings were watching the table from outside.

After the scrambled eggs with truffles, river trout appeared. The conversation had fallen upon the industrial crisis, which had been worsening for eighteen months.

--It was inevitable, said Deneulin, the too great prosperity of recent years had to bring us here... Just think of the enormous capital tied up, in railways, ports and canals, in all the money buried in the maddest speculations. In our region alone, sugar refineries were installed as if the department were to yield three beet harvests... And, well! today, money has grown scarce, we must wait to recover the interest on the millions spent: hence a deadly congestion and the final stagnation of business.

Mr. Hennebeau disputed this theory, but he agreed that the happy years had spoiled the worker.

--When I think, he cried, that those fellows, in our pits, could make up to six francs a day, double what they earn now! And they lived well, and took to luxurious tastes... Today, naturally, it seems hard to them, to go back to their former frugality.

--Mr. Grégoire, interrupted Mrs. Hennebeau, I beg you, a little more of this trout... They are delicate, are they not?

The director went on:

--But, truly, is it our fault? We are cruelly hit, too... Since the factories are closing one by one, we have the devil of a time getting rid of our stock; and, before the growing reduction in orders, we find ourselves forced to lower the cost price... That is what the workers refuse to understand.

A silence reigned. The servant presented roasted partridges, while the chambermaid began to pour chambertin for the guests.

--There has been a famine in India, Deneulin resumed in a half-voice, as if speaking to himself. America, by ceasing its orders for iron and cast iron, has dealt a harsh blow to our blast furnaces. Everything is connected, a distant shock suffices to shake the world... And the Empire that was so proud of that warm fever of industry!

He attacked his partridge wing. Then, raising his voice:

--The worst is that, to lower the cost price, one would logically have to produce more: otherwise, the reduction falls on wages, and the worker is right to say he pays for the broken pots.

This admission, wrung from his frankness, raised a discussion. The ladies were not much amused. Besides, everyone attended to his plate, in the heat of first appetite. As the servant came back in, he seemed about to speak, then hesitated.

--What is it? asked Mr. Hennebeau. If it is telegrams, give them to me... I am expecting replies.

--No, Sir, it is Mr. Dansaert who is in the vestibule... But he fears to disturb.

The director excused himself and had the head-foreman come in. The latter stood, a few steps from the table; while all turned to look at him, enormous, out of breath with the news he brought. The mining villages remained quiet; only, it was a decided thing, a delegation was going to come. Perhaps, in a few minutes, it would be there.

--Very well, thank you, said Mr. Hennebeau. I want a report morning and evening, do you hear!

And, as soon as Dansaert had left, they began joking again, fell upon the Russian salad, declaring one must not lose a second, if one wanted to finish it. But gaiety knew no bounds, when Négrel, having asked the chambermaid for bread, she answered him with a "Yes, Sir" so low and so terrified, that she seemed to have a band behind her, ready for massacre and rape.

--You may speak, said Mrs. Hennebeau obligingly. They are not here yet.

The director, to whom a packet of letters and telegrams was brought, wanted to read one of the letters aloud. It was a letter from Pierron, in which, in respectful phrases, he warned that he found himself obliged to go on strike with his comrades, not to be ill-treated; and he added that he had not even been able to refuse to be part of the delegation, although he blamed the step.

--There is freedom of labor! cried Mr. Hennebeau.

Then, they came back to the strike, asked his opinion of it.

--Oh! he replied, we have seen others... It will be a week, a fortnight at most of laziness, like last time. They will roll through the taverns; then, when they are too hungry, they will go back to the pits.

Deneulin shook his head.

--I am not so easy... This time, they seem better organized. Have they not a benefit fund?

--Yes, barely three thousand francs: where do you expect them to go with that?... I suspect a man named Étienne Lantier of being their chief. He is a good worker, it would annoy me to have to return his book, as once with the famous Rasseneur, who keeps on poisoning the Voreux, with his ideas and his beer... No matter, in eight days, half the men will go down again, and in fifteen, the ten thousand will be at the bottom.

He was convinced. His only worry came from his possible disgrace, if the Company left him the responsibility of the strike. For some time, he felt less in favor. Also, abandoning the spoonful of Russian salad he had taken, he reread the telegrams received from Paris, the replies whose every word he tried to penetrate. He was excused, the meal turned into a military lunch, eaten on a battlefield, before the first shots.

The ladies, then, joined the conversation. Mrs. Grégoire pitied those poor people who were going to suffer hunger; and already Cécile was planning to distribute bread and meat vouchers. But Mrs. Hennebeau wondered, hearing of the misery of the Montsou colliers. Were they not very happy? People housed, heated, cared for at the Company's expense! In her indifference to that herd, she knew of it only the lesson learned, with which she amazed visiting Parisians; and she had ended by believing it, she was indignant at the ingratitude of the people.

Négrel, meanwhile, continued to frighten Mr. Grégoire. Cécile did not displease him, and he was willing to marry her, to please his aunt; but he brought to it no amorous fever, being an experienced young man who no longer got carried away, as he said. He, claimed to be a republican, which did not prevent him from driving his workers with extreme rigor, and from bantering them finely, in the company of ladies.

--I do not have my uncle's optimism either, he resumed. I fear serious disorders... Thus, Mr. Grégoire, I advise you to bolt the Piolaine. You might be pillaged.

Precisely, without leaving the smile that lit his good face, Mr. Grégoire outdid his wife in paternal feelings toward the miners.

--Pillage me! he cried, stupefied. And why pillage me?

--Are you not a shareholder of Montsou? You do nothing, you live off others' work. In short, you are infamous capital, and that suffices... Be certain that, if the revolution triumphed, it would force you to restore your fortune, as stolen money.

Thereupon, he lost the childlike calm, the serenity of unconsciousness in which he lived. He stammered:

--Stolen money, my fortune! Did not my great-grandfather earn, and hardly, the sum once invested? Have we not run all the risks of the enterprise? Do I make bad use of the income, today?

Mrs. Hennebeau, alarmed to see mother and daughter white with fear, too, hastened to intervene, saying:

--Paul is joking, dear Sir.

But Mr. Grégoire was beside himself. As the servant passed a bunch of crayfish, he took three, without knowing what he did, and began to break the legs with his teeth.

--Ah! I do not say, there are shareholders who abuse. For example, I was told that ministers received Montsou funds, in bribes, for services rendered to the Company. It is like that great lord I shall not name, a duke, our strongest shareholder, whose life is a scandal of prodigality, millions thrown to the street in women, in feasting, in useless luxury... But we, but we who live without noise, like the honest folk we are! we who do not speculate, who content ourselves with living healthily with what we have, giving the poor their share!... Come now! your workers would have to be famous brigands to steal a pin from us!

Négrel himself had to calm him, much amused by his anger. The crayfish kept passing, one heard the little cracklings of the shells, while the conversation fell upon politics. Despite all, still shivering, Mr. Grégoire called himself liberal; and he regretted Louis-Philippe. As for Deneulin, he was for a strong government, he declared the emperor was slipping down the slope of dangerous concessions.

--Remember 89, he said. It is the nobility that made the Revolution possible by its complicity, by its taste for philosophical novelties... Well, the bourgeoisie plays today the same imbecile game, with its fury of liberalism, its rage of destruction, its flatteries to the people... Yes, yes, you sharpen the monster's teeth so it may devour us. And it will devour us, be assured!

The ladies silenced him and wanted to change the talk, asking him news of his daughters. Lucie was at Marchiennes, where she sang with a friend; Jeanne was painting the head of an old beggar. But he said these things distractedly, he did not take his eyes off the director, absorbed in reading his telegrams, forgetful of his guests. Behind those thin sheets, he felt Paris, the orders of the managers, which would decide the strike. Also he could not help yielding again to his preoccupation.

--Well, what are you going to do? he asked abruptly.

Mr. Hennebeau started, then got out of it with a vague phrase.

--We shall see.

--No doubt, you have a solid back, you can wait, Deneulin began to think aloud. But I shall be done for, if the strike spreads to Vandame. I may have rebuilt Jean-Bart anew, I cannot get out of it, with that single pit, except by incessant production... Ah! I do not see myself at the feast, I assure you!

This involuntary confession seemed to strike Mr. Hennebeau. He listened, and a plan was germinating in him: in case the strike turned bad, why not use it, let things worsen to the neighbor's ruin, then buy his concession cheap? It was the surest means of regaining the good graces of the managers, who, for years, had dreamed of owning Vandame.

--If Jean-Bart bothers you that much, he said laughing, why do you not cede it to us?

But Deneulin already regretted his complaints. He cried:

--Never in my life!

They laughed at his violence, they finally forgot the strike, at the moment dessert appeared. An apple charlotte with meringue was overwhelmed with praise. Then, the ladies discussed a recipe, about the pineapple, declared equally exquisite. Fruits, grapes and pears, finished this happy abandonment of copious lunch endings. All talked at once, softened, while the servant poured a Rhine wine, to replace the champagne, judged common.

And the marriage of Paul and Cécile certainly made a serious step, in this sympathy of dessert. His aunt had thrown him such pressing glances, that the young man showed himself agreeable, reconquering with his coaxing air the Grégoires, shattered by his pillage stories. For an instant, Mr. Hennebeau, before the so close understanding of his wife and nephew, felt the abominable suspicion revive, as if he had surprised a touching, in the exchanged glances. But, again, the idea of this marriage, made there, before him, reassured him.

Hippolyte was serving coffee, when the chambermaid ran in, full of fright.

--Sir, Sir, they are here!

They were the delegates. Doors banged, one heard a breath of dread pass, through the neighboring rooms.

--Show them into the salon, said Mr. Hennebeau.

Around the table, the guests had looked at each other, with a wavering of unease. A silence reigned. Then, they wanted to resume their joking: they pretended to put the rest of the sugar in their pocket, they spoke of hiding the silver. But the director remained grave, and the laughs fell, the voices became whispers, while the heavy steps of the delegates, being shown in, crushed the salon carpet next door.

Mrs. Hennebeau said to her husband, lowering her voice:

--I hope you are going to drink your coffee.

--Of course, he answered. Let them wait!

He was nervous, he lent ear to the noises, his air solely occupied with his cup.

Paul and Cécile had just risen, and he had made her risk an eye at the keyhole. They stifled laughs, they spoke very low.

--Do you see them?

--Yes... I see a big one, with two little ones behind.

--Eh? they have abominable faces.

--But no, they are very nice.

Abruptly, Mr. Hennebeau left his chair, saying the coffee was too hot and he would drink it later. As he went out, he placed a finger on his mouth, to recommend prudence. All had sat down again, and they remained at table, mute, not daring to move, listening from afar, ear strained, in the discomfort of those loud men's voices.

II

Since the day before, at a meeting held at Rasseneur's, Étienne and some comrades had chosen the delegates who were to go the next day to the Management. When, in the evening, Maheude knew her man was one, she was desolate, she asked him if he wanted them thrown into the street. Maheu himself had not accepted without repugnance. Both, at the moment of acting, despite the injustice of their misery, fell back to the resignation of the race, trembling before tomorrow, still preferring to bend the back. Usually, he, for the conduct of life, left it to his wife's judgment, who was of good counsel. This time, however, he ended by getting angry, all the more as he secretly shared her fears.

--Leave me alone, eh! he said to her, going to bed and turning his back. It would be fine, to desert the comrades!... I am doing my duty.

She went to bed in turn. Neither spoke. Then, after a long silence, she answered:

--You are right, go. Only, my poor old man, we are done for.

Noon was striking, when they lunched, for the appointment was for one o'clock, at the Avantage, from where they would then go to Mr. Hennebeau's. There were potatoes. As there remained only a small bit of butter, no one touched it. In the evening, there would be bread and butter.

--You know we count on you to speak, Étienne suddenly said to Maheu.

The latter remained struck, his voice cut by emotion.

--Ah! no, that is too much! cried Maheude. I am willing he goes, but I forbid him to play the chief... See! why him rather than another?

Then Étienne explained, with his eloquent fervor. Maheu was the best worker of the pit, the most liked, the most respected, the one cited for his good sense. Also the miners' claims would take, in his mouth, a decisive weight. First, he, Étienne, was to speak; but he had been at Montsou too short a time. They would listen more to an old-timer of the country. Finally, the comrades entrusted their interests to the most worthy: he could not refuse, that would be cowardly.

Maheude made a desperate gesture.

--Go, go, my man, get yourself killed for others. Me, I consent, after all!

--But I shall never know, stammered Maheu. I shall say stupid things.

Étienne, happy to have decided him, tapped him on the shoulder.

--You will say what you feel, and it will be very well.

Mouth full, father Bonnemort, whose legs were unswelling, listened, nodding. A silence fell. When one ate potatoes, the children choked and stayed very good. Then, after swallowing, the old man murmured slowly:

--Say what you will, and it will be as if you said nothing... Ah! I have seen, I have seen, of those affairs! Forty years ago, they flung us out the Management door, and with saber blows too! Today, they may receive you; but they will answer you no more than that wall... Lord! they have the money, they don't care!

Silence fell again, Maheu and Étienne rose and left the mournful family, before the empty plates. Going out, they took Pierron and Levaque, then all four went to Rasseneur's, where the delegates of the neighboring villages arrived in small groups. There, when the twenty members of the delegation were gathered, they settled the conditions they would oppose to the Company's; and they set off for Montsou. The bitter northeast wind swept the pavement. Two o'clock was striking, as they arrived.

First, the servant told them to wait, closing the door on them; then, when he returned, he showed them into the salon, whose curtains he opened. A fine light entered, filtered by the guipures. And the miners, left alone, dared not sit, embarrassed, all very clean, clad in cloth, shaved that morning, with their yellow hair and mustaches. They rolled their caps between their fingers, they cast sidelong looks at the furniture, one of those confusions of all styles, that the taste for old things has put in fashion: Henri II armchairs, Louis XV chairs, an Italian cabinet of the seventeenth century, a Spanish contador of the fifteenth, and an altar front for the chimney lambrequin, and trimmings of old chasubles reapplied on the door curtains. These old golds, these old silks of fawn tones, all that chapel luxury, had seized them with a respectful unease. The Oriental carpets seemed to bind them at the feet with their high wool. But what suffocated them especially, was the heat, an even calorifier heat, whose envelopment surprised them, their cheeks frozen by the road wind. Five minutes passed. Their awkwardness increased, in the well-being of this rich room, so comfortably closed.

Finally, Mr. Hennebeau entered, buttoned militarily, wearing on his frock coat the correct little knot of his decoration. He spoke first.

--Ah! there you are!... You are rebelling, it seems...

And he broke off, to add with a polite stiffness:

--Sit down, I ask nothing better than to talk.

The miners turned, sought seats with their eyes. Some risked the chairs; while the others, uneasy at the embroidered silks, preferred to stand.

There was a silence. Mr. Hennebeau, who had rolled his armchair before the chimney, counted them quickly, tried to recall their faces. He had just recognized Pierron, hidden in the last rank; and his eyes had stopped on Étienne, seated facing him.

--Come, he asked, what have you to tell me?

He expected to hear the young man speak, and was so surprised to see Maheu advance, that he could not help adding:

--What! it is you, a good worker who has always shown so reasonable, an old-timer of Montsou whose family has worked at the bottom since the first pick stroke!... Ah! it is wrong, it grieves me that you are at the head of the discontented!

Maheu listened, eyes lowered. Then, he began, his voice hesitant and low at first.

--Mr. Director, it is precisely because I am a quiet man, whom no one can reproach, that the comrades chose me. That should prove to you it is not a revolt of noisy fellows, of bad heads seeking to make disorder. We only want justice, we are tired of dying of hunger, and it seems to us it would be time to arrange, so that we have at least bread every day.

His voice grew firmer. He raised his eyes, he went on, looking at the director:

--You know well we cannot accept your new system... We are accused of bad timbering. It is true, we do not give that work the necessary time. But, if we gave it, our day would be reduced still, and as it already fails to feed us, that would be the end of all, the cleaning rag blow that would wipe out your men. Pay us more, we will timber better, we will put the wanted hours in the wood, instead of rushing the cutting, the only productive task. There is no other possible arrangement, the work must be paid to be done... And what have you invented in place? a thing that cannot enter our head, see! You lower the price of the tub, then you pretend to compensate this lowering by paying the timbering apart. If that were true, we would be no less robbed, for the timbering would still take us more time. But what enrages us, is that it is not even true: the Company compensates nothing at all, it simply puts two centimes per tub in its pocket, that is all!

--Yes, yes, it is the truth, murmured the other delegates, seeing Mr. Hennebeau make a violent gesture, as if to interrupt.

Besides, Maheu cut the director off. Now, he was launched, the words came alone. At moments, he listened to himself with surprise, as if a stranger had spoken in him. These were things piled at the bottom of his chest, things he did not even know were there, and which came out, in a swelling of his heart. He told their misery all, the hard work, the brute life, the wife and little ones crying hunger at home. He cited the last disastrous pays, the derisory fortnights, eaten by fines and stoppages, brought back to weeping families. Had they resolved to destroy them?

--So, Mr. Director, he ended by concluding, we came to tell you that, to die for die, we prefer to die doing nothing. It will be less fatigue... We have left the pits, we shall not go down again unless the Company accepts our conditions. It wants to lower the tub price, pay the timbering apart. We, we want things to stay as they were, and we want still that five centimes more per tub be given us... Now, it is for you to see if you are for justice and for work.

Voices, among the miners, rose.

--That is it... He said our idea all... We ask only reason.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”