Kabanata Kabanata 18 · 第18章

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 fireplace, 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 hot-house 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."