Germinal - Эмиль Золя

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came from the Pas-de-Calais.”

      Both rose; work was about to be resumed. When she saw him so cold she seemed annoyed. Doubtless she found him handsomer than the other; she would have preferred him perhaps. The idea of some amiable, consoling relationship disturbed her; and when the young man saw with surprise that his lamp was burning blue with a large pale ring, she tried at least to amuse him.

      “Come, I will show you something,” she said, in a friendly way.

      When she had led him to the bottom of the cutting, she pointed out to him a crevice in the coal. A slight bubbling escaped from it, a little noise like the warbling of a bird.

      “Put your hand there; you’ll feel the wind. It’s fire-damp.”

      He was surprised. Was that all? Was that the terrible thing which blew everything up? She laughed, she said there was a good deal of it to-day to make the flame of the lamps so blue.

      “Now, if you’ve done chattering, lazy louts!” cried Maheu’s rough voice.

      Catherine and Étienne hastened to fill their trams, and pushed them to the upbrow with stiffened back, crawling beneath the bossy roof of the passage. Even after the second journey, the sweat ran off them and their joints began to crack.

      The pikemen had resumed work in the cutting. The men often shortened their breakfast to avoid getting cold; and their bricks, eaten in this way, far from the sun, with silent voracity, loaded their stomachs with lead. Stretched on their sides they hammered more loudly, with the one fixed idea of filling a large number of trams. Every thought disappeared in this rage for gain which was so hard to earn. They no longer felt the water which streamed on them and swelled their limbs, the cramps of forced attitudes, the suffocation of the darkness in which they grew pale, like plants put in a cellar. Yet, as the day advanced, the air became more poisoned and heated with the smoke of the lamps, with the pestilence of their breaths, with the asphyxia of the fire-damp — blinding to the eyes like spiders’ webs — which only the aeration of the night could sweep away. At the bottom of their mole-hill, beneath the weight of the earth, with no more breath in their inflamed lungs, they went on hammering.

      Chapter 5

       Table of Contents

      MAHEU, without looking at his watch which he had left in his jacket, stopped and said:

      “One o’clock directly. Zacharie, is it done?”

      The young man had just been at the planking. In the midst of his labour he had been lying on his back, with dreamy eyes, thinking over a game of hockey of the night before. He woke up and replied:

      “Yes, it will do; we shall see to-morrow.”

      And he came back to take his place at the cutting. Levaque and Chaval had also dropped their picks. They were all resting. They wiped their faces on their naked arms and looked at the roof, in which slaty masses were cracking. They only spoke about their work.

      “Another chance,” murmured Chaval, “of getting into loose earth. They didn’t take account of that in the bargain.”

      “Rascals!” growled Levaque. “They only want to bury us in it.”

      Zacharie began to laugh. He cared little for the work and the rest, but it amused him to hear the Company abused. In his placid way Maheu explained that the nature of the soil changed every twenty metres. One must be just; they could not foresee everything. Then, when the two others went on talking against the masters, he became restless, and looked around him.

      “Hush! that’s enough.”

      “You’re right,” said Levaque, also lowering his voice; “it isn’t wholesome.”

      A morbid dread of spies haunted them, even at this depth, as if the shareholders’ coal, while still in the seam, might have ears.

      “That won’t prevent me,” added Chaval loudly, in a defiant manner, “from lodging a brick in the belly of that damned Dansaert, if he talks to me as he did the other day. I won’t prevent him, I won’t, from buying pretty girls with white skins.”

      This time Zacharie burst out laughing. The head captain’s love for Pierronne was a constant joke in the pit. Even Catherine rested on her shovel at the bottom of the cutting, holding her sides, and in a few words told Étienne the joke; while Maheu became angry, seized by a fear which he could not conceal.

      “Will you hold your tongue, eh? Wait till you’re alone if you want to get into trouble.”

      He was still speaking when the sound of steps was heard in the upper gallery. Almost immediately the engineer of the mine, little Négrel, as the workmen called him among themselves, appeared at the top of the cutting, accompanied by Dansaert, the head captain.

      “Didn’t I say so?” muttered Maheu. “There’s always someone there, rising out of the ground.”

      Paul Négrel, M. Hennebeau’s nephew, was a young man of twenty-six, refined and handsome, with curly hair and brown moustache. His pointed nose and sparkling eyes gave him the air of an amiable ferret of sceptical intelligence, which changed into an abrupt authoritative manner in his relations with the workmen. He was dressed like them, and like them smeared with coal; to make them respect him he exhibited a dare-devil courage, passing through the most difficult spots and always first when landslips or fire-damp explosions occurred.

      “Here we are, are we not, Dansaert?” he asked.

      The head captain, a coarse-faced Belgian, with a large sensual nose, replied with exaggerated politeness:

      “Yes, Monsieur Négrel. Here is the man who was taken on this morning.”

      Both of them had slid down into the middle of the cutting. They made Étienne come up. The engineer raised his lamp and looked at him without asking any questions.

      “Good,” he said at last. “But I don’t like unknown men to be picked up from the road. Don’t do it again.”

      He did not listen to the explanations given to him, the necessities of work, the desire to replace women by men for the haulage. He had begun to examine the roof while the pikemen had taken up their picks again. Suddenly he called out:

      “I say there, Maheu; have you no care for life? By heavens! you will all be buried here!”

      “Oh! it’s solid,” replied the workman tranquilly.

      “What! solid! but the rock is giving already, and you are planting props at more than two metres, as if you grudged it! Ah! you are all alike. You will let your skull be flattened rather than leave the seam to give the necessary time to the timbering! I must ask you to prop that immediately. Double the timbering — do you understand?”

      And in face of the unwillingness of the miners who disputed the point, saying that they were good judges of their safety, he became angry.

      “Go along! when your heads are smashed, is it you who will have to bear the consequences? Not at all! it will be the Company which will have to pay you pensions, you or your wives. I tell you again that we know you; in order to get two extra trains by evening you would sell your skins.”

      Maheu, in spite of the anger which was gradually mastering him, still answered steadily:

      “If they paid us enough we should prop it better.” The engineer shrugged his shoulders without replying. He had descended the cutting, and only said in conclusion, from below:

      “You have an hour. Set to work, all of you; and I give you notice that the stall is fined three francs.”

      A low growl from the pikemen greeted these words. The force of the system alone restrained them, that military system which, from the trammer to the head captain, ground one beneath the other. Chaval and Levaque, however, made a furious gesture, while Maheu restrained them by a glance, and Zacharie shrugged his shoulders chaffingly.

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