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 SEVENTH EDITION

A New History
of Social Welfare
Phyllis J. Day

with

Jerome H. Schiele
University of Georgia

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Day, Phyllis J.
A new history of social welfare / Phyllis J. Day; with Jerome H. Schiele. — 7th ed.
p. cm.
Includes index.
ISBN-13: 978-0-205-05273-8
ISBN-10: 0-205-05273-8
1. United States—Social policy. 2. Social policy. 3. Public welfare—United States—History.
4. Public welfare—History. I. Schiele, Jerome H. II. Title.
HN57.D33 2013
361.6’10973—dc23
2012012779
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1—EB—13 12 11 10 09

Student Edition
ISBN-10: 0-205-05273-8
ISBN-13: 978-0-205-05273-8
Instructor Edition
ISBN-10: 0-205-05365-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-205-05365-0
à la Carte Edition
ISBN-10: 0-205-05311-4
ISBN-13: 978-0-205-05311-7
Contents

Preface xix

1. Values In Social Welfare 1

Values in Social Welfare 4
What Are Values? 5
Foundations of Charity and Control 5
Dominant American Social Values 6
Judaeo-Christian Charity Values 7
Democratic Egalitarianism and Individualism 8
The Protestant Work Ethic and Capitalism 9
Social Darwinism 10
The New Puritanism 10
Patriarchy 11
White Privilege 12
Marriage and the Nuclear Family 13
The “American Ideal”: “Looksism” and “Otherism” 14
Issues of Discrimination 15
Classism and Poverty 15
Institutional Discrimination 19
Conclusion: Values and Power 25
PRACTICE TEST 27
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 28

2. The Institution of Social Welfare: An Overview 29

The Meaning of Social Institution 30
The Economy 31
The Polity 32
The Family and Religion 33
Social Welfare 34
Perspectives on Social Welfare 35
The Residual Perspective 36
The Institutional Perspective 38
Newer Perspectives in Social Welfare 39

ix
x Contents

The Scope of Social Welfare 44

Life Necessity Services: Overview 45
Educational, Recreational, or Rehabilitative Services: Overview 47
Protective or Custodial Services: Overview 48
Personal Social Services: Overview 49
The Profession of Social Work 50
The Emergence of the Profession 52
Conclusion: Social Work and Social Control 55
PRACTICE TEST 56
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 57

3. The Beginnings of Social Welfare 58

The Beginnings of History 6000–1200 B.C.E. 59
Africa: Birthplace of Humankind 60
Mesopotamia in the Bronze Age: To 1200 B.C.E. 61
Invasion, Conquest, and Patriarchal Religion 63
The Israelite Influence 63
Moving Into The Iron Age: 1200–400 B.C.E. 66
Early Judaic Social Welfare 66
The Dynasties of China 67
India and the Caste System 68
Greece, Christianity, and the Roman Empire 69
Greece and the City–States 69
Early Roman Society and the Beginning of Christianity 72
Jesus and the New Religion 75
State and Church in Rome 77
Conclusion: Beginnings of Charity and Control 80
PRACTICE TEST 81
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 82

4. Feudalism and the Welfare State 83

The Dark and Middle Ages 85
The Feudal Society 88
The Scientific Revolution 90
The Church and Social Welfare 92
Forms of Private Welfare 93
The Dissolution of Feudalism 94
The Black Death and the Witchcraze 95
Poverty Becomes a Crime 97
The Statute of Laborers 97
The Commercial Revolution 99
Contents xi

The Protestant Reformation: New Meanings for Work

and Welfare 99
Lutheranism, Calvinism, and the Work Ethic 100
Women Under Protestantism 101
Social Welfare and Work Morality 102
Social Welfare in England: The Tudor Period 103
The Elizabethan Poor Laws of 1601 104
Almshouses for the Impotent Poor 106
Dependent Children 107
Sturdy Beggars: The Able-Bodied Poor 107
Prisons 108
Overview of Social Welfare in England 109
The Industrial Revolution and the Emergence
of Capitalism 109
The Emergence of Capitalism 110
The Industrial Revolution and the
New Poor Law 111
Conclusion: Reifying the Values of the Past 114
PRACTICE TEST 115
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 116

5. Social Welfare Moves to the Americas 117

The Indigenous Peoples of America 120
The European Invasion of North America 122
The French in the New World 125
The Spanish in the New World 126
The Dutch in North America 128
The English in New England 129
Work in North America 131
The Practice of Indenture 131
Women in the Colonies 133
Social Welfare in the Colonies 136
Early American Poor Laws 136
Private Philanthropy 140
Slavery in the Americas 141
The Golden Triangle and the Triangular Trade 143
Toward the Revolution 145
Women in the Revolution 145
The New Nation and its Constitution 146
Conclusion: Revolution to Status Quo 148
PRACTICE TEST 149
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 150
xii Contents

6. America to the Civil War 151

The First Civil Rights Movement 153
Immigration and Migration 154
Employment and Unionization 156
Private Philanthropy 158
Religious Answers to Poverty 158
Social Reform Ideals 159
The Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor 160
Special-Interest Charities 161
Government Responses 162
Outdoor Relief 165
Special Treatment in the 1800s 166
Medical Care and General Hospitals 166
Mental Hospitals and Psychiatry 168
Education 169
Care of Blind, Deaf, and Developmentally Disabled People 170
Social Control 171
Juvenile Justice Systems 171
Adult Criminals and Penitentiaries 172
Nonwhite Minorities: Expendable Commodities in the New Nation 173
Native Americans: A Case of Genocide 173
Chinese in America 176
The Contributions of People of African Descent 176
Hispanic Americans 182
The Women’s Movement in the 1800s 183
Conclusion: Working toward Freedom 185
PRACTICE TEST 187
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 188

7. The American Welfare State Begins 189

The Civil War: A New Nation Emerges 192
Charity in the Civil War 194
After the Civil War 195
The Freedmen’s Bureau 195
Services for Veterans 195
Postwar Political Economy 196
Labor and Unionization 197
Population, Immigration, and the People 199
White Immigration, African-American Migration 199
Asian Immigrants 199
Native Americans After the War 201
Emancipation and the Plight of the Freedmen 202
“True Womanhood” 205
Contents xiii

Emerging Philosophies and Social Welfare 208

Social Darwinism and the Charity Organization Society 209
Private Interest Agencies 212
Populism and the Settlement House Movement 213
Child-Saving 215
Public Welfare Efforts 218
Professionalization of Social Work 220
Conclusion: Moving toward Reform 222
PRACTICE TEST 223
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 224

8. The Progressive Era, War, and Recovery 225

The Progressive Era 227
Population Movements and Immigration 230
Immigration Acts 231
Oppression of African Americans and Native Americans 233
African-American Leaders 234
Native Americans 237
Labor and the Unions 237
Women and Unions 238
Social Welfare in the Progressive Era 239
Reforms for Children 241
Medical and Psychiatric Social Work 245
Veterans’ Welfare 247
Aid to Blind People and Aid to People with Disabilities 247
Old Age Assistance 248
Unemployment Insurance and Workers’ Compensation 249
Juvenile and Criminal Justice 250
Women’s Movements and Peace Protests 250
Suffrage 251
Women and Health 252
Abortion and Contraception 254
The Professionalization of Social Work 256
Conclusion: New Freedoms and Old Constraints 257
PRACTICE TEST 258
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 259

9. The Great Depression and Social Security for Americans 260

The Great Depression 263
Social Revolt and Temporary Relief 265
Roosevelt’s Emergency Measures 266
Eleanor Roosevelt and Women in the New Deal 270
xiv Contents

Social Insurance in the United States 271

Programs of Social Insurance Based on Social Security Acts 273
Old Age and Survivors Insurance (OASI) 274
Unemployment Compensation: Title III 274
Workers’ Compensation: State Social Insurance 275
Public Assistance Programs of the Social Security Acts 276
Old Age Assistance (OAA) 276
Aid to the Blind (AB) and Aid to the Disabled (AD) 276
Aid to Dependent Children (ADC) 277
Maternal and Child Welfare Act: Title V 278
The Professionalization of Social Work 279
World War II 281
Internment of Japanese Americans 281
The War Years 282
The War and People of Minorities 284
Social Welfare Services: The War and After 286
Women After the War 287
The Resurgence of Social Work 289
Reorganizing Federal Social Welfare Efforts 291
The American Dream 291
Conclusion: Moving Toward the Future 292
PRACTICE TEST 293
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 294

10. Civil and Welfare Rights in the New Reform Era 295
The State of the Nation Under Eisenhower 298
Social Programs in the 1950s 299
Social Insurance 300
Public Assistance 300
Civil Rights Before Kennedy 303
African Americans 303
Native Americans 305
Hispanic Americans 306
Chinese Americans 307
Civil Rights in the Kennedy–Johnson Years 308
Johnson and the Great Society 309
The Civil Rights Act and Continued Protest 309
The Voting Rights Act and New Legal Rights 314
Social Programs in the Kennedy–Johnson Years 315
Kennedy’s Social Security Amendments 316
The Economic Opportunity Act of 1964 317
Programs Amended Under Johnson 320
Other Kennedy–Johnson Social Programs 322
Contents xv

Welfare, Civil Rights, and the Social Work Profession 325

Conclusion: Looking Back on the 1960s 326
PRACTICE TEST 328
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 329

11. The Return to the Past 330

A Retreat From the Welfare State 331
Social Programs in the 1970s 334
Social Insurance 334
Public Assistance Programs 336
Other Social Welfare Programs 340
Food Stamps 340
Comprehensive Education and Training Act (CETA) 340
Education and Youth Programs 341
Housing 342
Juvenile Protection and Adult Corrections 342
Civil Rights in the 1970s 343
Native Americans 343
Japanese Americans 346
Other Asian Americans 347
Mexican Americans 347
Puerto Ricans and Cubans 348
African Americans 349
Women 351
Gay Liberation 353
Conclusion: Tightening the Reins 354
PRACTICE TEST 355
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 356

12. The Reactionary Vision 357

Biting The Conservative Bullet 358
Reaganomics: The Conservative Political
Economy 360
The New Federalism 362
Privatization 362
New Federalism: Returning Programs to States 363
Pruning the Programs 365
Old Age, Survivors, Disability, and Health
Insurance 366
Unemployment Insurance and the New Poor 367
Public Assistance Programs 368
The Family Support Act (FSA) of 1988 370
xvi Contents

Basic Needs Programs 372

Reaganomics and Nutrition 372
Reaganomics and Health Care 373
Housing in the 1980s 375
Education and Training 377
Civil Rights Under Reagan and Bush 378
The Costs of Social Welfare 381
Estimating Poverty 381
How Much Did Welfare Cost in the Reagan Era? 382
The International Element 383
Conclusion: Past Ideology in a Postindustrial World 383
PRACTICE TEST 385
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 386

13. The Decline of Social Responsibility 387

Clinton and the Republican Congress 388
Welfare As We Knew It 389
The “Contract with America” 389
Restructuring Public Assistance: Losing the Safety Net 390
The Structure of TANF 392
The Place of Values in TANF 396
Did TANF Work? 399
Other Safety Net Programs in the Clinton Era 401
Supplemental Security Income (SSI) 401
Earned Income Tax Credits (EITCs) and Child and Dependent Care Credits
(CDCCs) 402
Social Insurance 403
Nutrition Programs: Food Stamps, WIC, and Child Nutrition 405
Homelessness and Housing 406
Health Care in America 407
Health Insurance 407
Medicare 409
Medicaid 410
Social Issues 411
Empowerment Enterprise Zones 411
Crime Control 411
Education 413
Employment and Jobs 413
Affirmative Action and Civil Rights 414
Private Charity 416
Welfare for the Wealthy and Corporate Welfare 417
Capital Assets and Tax Cuts 417
Corporate Welfare 418
Globalization, the International Economy, and American Social Welfare 422
Contents xvii

Conclusion 425
PRACTICE TEST 427
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 428

14. Spiraling Down to Welfare Past 429

The Bush/Cheney Presidency 430
Oil and War 431
Religion and the Presidency 431
The Conservative Economy and Poverty 432
Social Welfare in the Bush/Cheney Administration 434
Faith-Based Initiatives 434
Levels of Income Security 435
The First Level: Employment 435
The Second Level: Social Insurance 437
The Third Level: Public Assistance Programs 438
Health Care Under the Bush/Cheney Presidency 443
Medicare 443
Medicaid 444
State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) 445
Other Health Programs and Issues 445
Education 447
Juvenile and Criminal Justice Systems 448
Juvenile Justice 448
Criminal Justice System 449
Our “Ism-Ridden” Society 450
Racism 450
Sexism in the United States 451
Conclusion: Where are the Social Workers? 452
PRACTICE TEST 454
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 455

15. Political Stonewalls 456

The Bitter Remnants of the Bush Administration 457
The Historical Significance of the 2008 Election 457
The Economic Morass 458
Social Welfare in the Obama Administration 459
Obama’s Signature Acts: Health Care and
Stimulus Acts 459
Unemployment, Homelessness, and Housing 460
Human Rights and Justice 461
xviii Contents

Social Issues and Vulnerable Populations 467

Women 467
People of Color 468
LGBT Persons 469
The Elderly and Disabled 470
Portending the Future 471
Tea Party Movement 471
Mid-Term Elections 472
The Arab Spring 474
Social Work and the Obama Administration 474
The World in Turmoil 475
Conclusion: Afterword 476
Cycles of Power 476
Cycles of History 477
The “Why” of Values Analysis 478
Toward the Future 478
PRACTICE TEST 480
MYSEARCHLAB CONNECTIONS 481

Notes 482
Photo Credits 511
Index 512
Preface

Traditionally, a preface is the place to thank those who have contributed to

the accomplishment that is a book. Throughout my life, people have touched
me with their feelings, thoughts, and knowledge, and this book is, in a very
true sense, a part of me that was part of them. My teachers, my colleagues, my
students, my friends, my family of origin and of marriage—all who partici-
pated in my life have contributed.
The book tries to answer the “why” of social welfare. In great part, it is a
history of those involved in the social welfare institution not as wielders but
as subjects, victims, recipients, and clients. It seeks to redress in part the loss
of history for women, nonwhite people, and other groups oppressed by social
institutions, and to relate intimately the place of the labor force and working
people with the social welfare institution. The breadth of the book ensures its
failure to adequately cover its aspirations. I am well aware of much left un-
done, through lack of either space/time or knowledge. However, it is a begin-
ning from which students and others can seek more deeply and, hopefully, fill
in its blanks.
A New History of Social Welfare looks at the earliest forces for both aspects
of social welfare: social treatment and social control. These themes are car-
ried forward from a perspective that considers the synergistic relationships of
economy, polity, religion, and social welfare and asks the “why” of treatment
and/or control. To this end, I view the ways people related to each other from
early history within their societal contexts and the needs of society either to
provide care for valued members or to ensure enough members for social tasks.
Because social welfare is so deeply affected by institutional racism, sex-
ism, classism, and “otherism,” the historical and evolutionary sources of these
“isms” are given a great deal of attention. One of the results of institutional
discrimination has been an “elimination” of history, or a selective compilation
of a series of achievements of men who are generally Caucasian or Aryan and
of the elite and/or warrior classes. That reading of history ignores or belittles
the contributions of women, nonwhite people, and the poor laborers on whose
backs history occurred. A New History hopefully provides new or reinterpreted
historical information to set a less biased social context.
Of particular import in this perspective is the analysis of humankind’s
relationships with deity—religions—both in providing charity and in elabo-
rating on or perpetuating social control. This dichotomy of religiously legiti-
mated charity and control underlies the development of social welfare in all its
ramifications, the values that provide the push to helping or controlling “others”
and the ways in which the profession of social work itself came into being and
grew. Religions are synergistically related to other major institutions of soci-
ety, whether we speak of European feudalism, the European invasions of the
Western Hemisphere, colonial America, the Progressive movement of the early
1900s, the conservative backlash of the Reagan era, the power of the Far Right
and the Religious Right to destroy the safety net of the poor or the makings of
xix
xx Preface

an imperialist president in the new millennium. This synergism, then, is the

key to the historical analysis of social welfare and the social work profession.
When I wrote the first edition of the book in the Reagan years, the conser-
vative backlash occurring seemed to be just a glitch to be overcome. By the
1990s, I saw that the Reagan years were probably a permanent trend to ulti-
mately reverse the social morality we had over the past 300 years. Under poli-
cies endorsed by the presidential administrations of George H. W. Bush, Bill
Clinton, and George W. Bush, we destroyed programs that underlaid our social
responsibility. Rather than replacing them, we now simply refuse to look at
the consequences. Social responsibility and morality have taken a back seat
to greed at both national and international levels. Our world has narrowed,
but worse, we as individuals and as a nation have narrowed, condensed, and
encapsulated ourselves. We have no space, no heart, for others, and this plays
itself out in our social policies.
While social policies continue to be made every day, only time will tell if
the lessons learned from history will have impact on future social work prac-
tice and the evolution of the social welfare institution. I hope, at the very least,
that events, values, and perspectives presented here will serve social work stu-
dents well in their attempts to find social justice for their future clients. The
many fine policy analysis texts now extant can provide frameworks for analyz-
ing the “what” and “how” of social welfare, and perhaps A New History can
help define the “why.”
And now to thank those who helped me with this project. The greatest
influence on the book and on my life was my mother, Nora Seymour Phelps,
dead these many years. She gave me, from the beginning of my life, the cour-
age to follow my convictions and search for reality no matter where the path
led. Although her heart finally failed her, her spirit never did. Also, my sis-
ters contributed more than they knew with strength, endurance, and courage
throughout their hard lives and harder deaths: Avah, who always knew that
“things will be better tomorrow”; Evah, with her gentle courage; and Lois, who
never gave up and always faced the world with valor. Thanks also to my men-
tors, Rosemary C. Sarri, who serves as a model, however unattainable, for more
women than she knows; and John E. Tropman, who always believed in me. My
gratitude to dear friends Joan Bowker, Keetjie Ramo, Harry Macy, and Mary
Ann Foley, all of whom have saved my life in ways they will never know; and
to my former husband, Jerald R. Day, and my children—Jerry II, Nora Gaye,
Merry Rose, Sean, and Joy Alyssa.
For the first edition, I continue to thank the editors and personnel at Pren-
tice Hall/ over the past more than 25 years: Nancy Roberts, Marianne Peters,
Judy Fifer, Julie Cancio, Jennifer Miller, Jacqueline Aaron, Michael Granger,
Patricia Quinlin, and Annemarie Kennedy.
Also, many thanks to my reviewers of all editions of this text, including
Albert Roberts, Indiana University; George Siefert, Jr., Daemen College; Jack
Otis, University of Texas–Austin; Patricia K. Cianciolo, Northern Michigan
University; Paul H. Stuart, University of Alabama; Marcia B. Cohen, University
of New England; Nancy L. Mary, California State University–San Bernadino;
James D. Stafford, University of Mississippi; Marina Barnett, Temple Univer-
sity; Karen A. Ford, James Madison University; Walter Pierce, Barry Univer-
sity; and Beverly Stadum, St. Cloud State University. Thanks for the seventh
edition go to Ashley Dodge, Carly Czech, Nicole Suddeth, Greg Johnson,
Meghan DeMaio, and Sneha Pant.
Preface xxi

Special thanks also to my colleague, Professor Jerome H. Schiele of the

University of Georgia, for his help in developing the Afrocentric perspective,
defining White Privilege as a social value, and collaborating with me in pre-
paring this seventh edition of A New History of Social Welfare for publication.
Thanks also to all my colleagues in social work education who have taken
A New History to heart for their classes, and to students who have read it and
found it useful in their lives. I hope you enjoy the new edition.

PHYLLIS J. DAY, MSW, MA, PH.D.

WITH
JEROME H. SCHIELE, D.S.W.

Dedicated to my mother, Nora Isabel Seymour Phelps 1892–1957, who

loved unconditionally and taught me unconditional love, and to all women
for their wisdom, strength, courage, and endurance.
This page intentionally left blank
 1
Values In Social Welfare

CHAPTER OUTLINE
Values in Social Welfare 4 Marriage and the Nuclear Family 13
What Are Values? 5 The “American Ideal”: “Looksism” and
Foundations of Charity and Control 5 “Otherism” 14

Dominant American Social Values 6 Issues of Discrimination 15

Judaeo-Christian Charity Values 7 Classism and Poverty 15
Democratic Egalitarianism and Individualism 8 Institutional Discrimination 19
The Protestant Work Ethic and Capitalism 9 Conclusion: Values and Power 25
Social Darwinism 10
The New Puritanism 10 Practice Test 27
Patriarchy 11
White Privilege 12
Mysearchlab Connections 28

Competencies Applied with Practice Behavior Examples—in This Chapter

Professional x Ethical Critical x Diversity in x Human Rights
Identity Practice Thinking Practice & Justice

Research Based Human x Policy Practice Engage, Assess,

Practice Behavior Practice Contexts Intervene, Evaluate

1
2 Chapter 1

Once upon a time . . .

. . . love is not enough.
This is a book about love: of people helping others, of organizations that ease
Social welfare and the
the way for people in trouble, and of people joining together to work for the
profession of social benefit of others. Love is not simply the idea of helping others; it inspires each
work are much more of us to enter the field of human services, to share our efforts, and to work for
complex, and we the well-being of humanity. Our first and best intentions are to care for others,
must not let fairy tales to help the disadvantaged “live happily ever after.” But love is not enough.
blind us. Social welfare and the profession of social work are much more complex, and
we must not let fairy tales blind us.
Love’s dark side is power; society, through social welfare, uses that power
to control. Both help and control are traditions of social work and social wel-
fare, and through them we help to maintain society’s structures of inequality.
Despite society’s investment in social welfare, our own commitment as social
workers, or the willingness or ability of our clients, we will not be able to
change those structures unless we understand both sides of social welfare. As
it is, our targets for blame and change are misplaced. We blame our clients
when they fail despite our efforts, they blame themselves for failure, and so-
ciety blames both clients and social workers for wasted money and lost effort

Times and Events

Welfare based on the synergistic evolution of values . . . resulting from

interplay of politics, economics, and religion, and based on society’s
deliberate decisions concerning full personhood in a society.
The “whys” of discrimination against the poor, the elderly, gays, or ethnic
minorities
Social Treatment and Social Control
American Social Values
Judaeo-Christian Charity
Democratic Egalitarianism and Individualism
Work Ethic and Capitalism
Social Darwinism
New Puritanism
Patriarchy
White Privilege
Marriage and the Nuclear Family
The American Ideal
Issues of Discrimination: Prejudice with
Power
Classism and poverty
Racism
Sexism
Ageism
Heterosexism
Otherism
Values and Power
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
the ball-room, a large hall only planked in the middle, being paved
with bricks round the sides. It was decorated with two garlands of
paper flowers which crossed one another, and were united in the
middle by a crown of the same flowers; while along the walls were
rows of gilt shields bearing the names of saints—St. Éloi, patron of
the iron-workers; St. Crispin, patron of the shoemakers; St. Barbara,
patron of the miners; the whole calendar of corporations. The ceiling
was so low that the three musicians on their platform, which was
about the size of a pulpit, knocked their heads against it. When it
became dark four petroleum lamps were fastened to the four
corners of the room.
On this Sunday there was dancing from five o'clock with the full
daylight through the windows, but it was not until towards seven
that the rooms began to fill. Outside, a gale was rising, blowing
great black showers of dust which blinded people and sleeted into
the frying-pans. Maheu, Étienne, and Pierron, having come in to sit
down, had found Chaval at the Bon-Joyeux dancing with Catherine,
while Philoméne by herself was looking on. Neither Levaque nor
Zacharie had reappeared. As there were no benches around the ball-
room, Catherine came after each dance to rest at her father's table.
They called Philoméne, but she preferred to stand up. The twilight
was coming on; the three musicians played furiously; one could only
see in the hall the movement of hips and breasts in the midst of a
confusion of arms. The appearance of the four lamps was greeted
noisily, and suddenly everything was lit up—the red faces, the
dishevelled hair sticking to the skin, the flying skirts spreading
abroad the strong odour of perspiring couples. Maheu pointed out
Mouquette to Étienne: she was as round and greasy as a bladder of
lard, revolving violently in the arms of a tall, lean lander. She had
been obliged to console herself and take a man.
At last, at eight o'clock, Maheude appeared with Estelle at her
breast, followed by Alzire, Henri, and Lénore. She had come there
straight to her husband without fear of missing him. They could sup
later on; as yet nobody was hungry, with their stomachs soaked in
coffee and thickened with beer. Other women came in, and they
whispered together when they saw, behind Maheude, the Levaque
woman enter with Bouteloup, who led in by the hand Achille and
Désirée, Philoméne's little ones. The two neighbours seemed to be
getting on well together, one turning round to chat with the other.
On the way there had been a great explanation, and Maheude had
resigned herself to Zacharie's marriage, in despair at the loss of her
eldest son's wages, but overcome by the thought that she could not
hold it back any longer without injustice. She was trying, therefore,
to put a good face on it, though with an anxious heart, as a
housekeeper who was asking herself how she could make both ends
meet now that the best part of her purse was going.
"Place yourself there, neighbour," she said, pointing to a table near
that where Maheu was drinking with Étienne and Pierron.
"Is not my husband with you?" asked the Levaque woman.
The others told her that he would soon come. They were all seated
together in a heap, Bouteloup and the youngsters so tightly
squeezed among the drinkers that the two tables only formed one.
There was a call for drinks. Seeing her mother and her children
Philoméne had decided to come near. She accepted a chair, and
seemed pleased to hear that she was at last to be married; then, as
they were looking for Zacharie, she replied in her soft voice:
"I am waiting for him; he is over there."
Maheu had exchanged a look with his wife. She had then consented?
He became serious and smoked in silence. He also felt anxiety for
the morrow in face of the ingratitude of these children, who got
married one by one leaving their parents in wretchedness.
The dancing still went on, and the end of a quadrille drowned the
ball-room in red dust; the walls cracked, a cornet produced shrill
whistling sounds like a locomotive in distress; and when the dancers
stopped they were smoking like horses.
"Do you remember?" said the Levaque woman, bending towards
Maheude's ear; "you talked of strangling Catherine if she did
anything foolish!"
Chaval brought Catherine back to the family table, and both of them
standing behind the father finished their glasses.
"Bah!" murmured Maheude, with an air of resignation, "one says
things like that—. But what quiets me is that she will not have a
child; I feel sure of that. You see if she is confined, and obliged to
marry, what shall we do for a living then?"
Now the cornet was whistling a polka, and as the deafening noise
began again, Maheu, in a low voice, communicated an idea to his
wife. Why should they not take a lodger? Étienne, for example, who
was looking out for quarters? They would have room since Zacharie
was going to leave them, and the money that they would lose in that
direction would be in part regained in the other. Maheude's face
brightened; certainly it was a good idea, it must be arranged. She
seemed to be saved from starvation once more, and her good
humour returned so quickly that she ordered a new round of drinks.
Étienne, meanwhile, was seeking to indoctrinate Pierron, to whom
he was explaining his plan of a Provident Fund. He had made him
promise to subscribe, when he was imprudent enough to reveal his
real aim.
"And if we go out on strike you can see how useful that fund will be.
We can snap our fingers at the Company, we shall have there a fund
to fight against them. Eh? don't you think so?"
Pierron lowered his eyes and grew pale; he stammered:
"I'll think over it. Good conduct, that's the best Provident Fund."
Then Maheu took possession of Étienne, and squarely, like a good
man, proposed to take him as a lodger. The young man accepted at
once, anxious to live in the settlement with the idea of being nearer
to his mates. The matter was settled in three words, Maheude
declaring that they would wait for the marriage of the children.
Just then, Zacharie at last came back, with Mouquet and Levaque.
The three brought in the odours of the Volcan, a breath of gin, a
musky acidity of ill-kept girls. They were very tipsy and seemed well
pleased with themselves, digging their elbows into each other and
grinning. When he knew that he was at last to be married Zacharie
began to laugh so loudly that he choked. Philoméne peacefully
declared that she would rather see him laugh than cry. As there
were no more chairs, Bouteloup had moved so as to give up half of
his to Levaque. And the latter, suddenly much affected by realizing
that the whole family party was there, once more had beer served
out.
"By the Lord! we don't amuse ourselves so often!" he roared.
They remained there till ten o'clock. Women continued to arrive,
either to join or to take away their men; bands of children followed
in rows, and the mothers no longer troubled themselves, pulling out
their long pale breasts, like sacks of oats, and smearing their chubby
babies with milk; while the little ones who were already able to walk,
gorged with beer and on all fours beneath the table, relieved
themselves without shame. It was a rising sea of beer, from Madame
Désir's disembowelled barrels, the beer enlarged every belly, flowing
from noses, eyes, and everywhere. So puffed out was the crowd that
every one had a shoulder or knee poking into his neighbour; all were
cheerful and merry in thus feeling each other's elbows. A continuous
laugh kept their mouths open from ear to ear. The heat was like an
oven; they were roasting and felt themselves at ease with glistening
skin, gilded in a thick smoke from the pipes; the only discomfort was
when one had to move away; from time to time a girl rose, went to
the other end, near the pump, lifted her clothes, and then came
back. Beneath the garlands of painted paper the dancers could no
longer see each other, they perspired so much; this encouraged the
trammers to tumble the putters over, catching them at random by
the hips. But where a girl tumbled with a man over her, the cornet
covered their fall with its furious music; the swirl of feet wrapped
them round as if the ball had collapsed upon them.
Someone who was passing warned Pierron that his daughter Lydie
was sleeping at the door, across the pavement. She had drunk her
share of the stolen bottle and was tipsy. He had to carry her away in
his arms while Jeanlin and Bébert, who were more sober, followed
him behind, thinking it a great joke. This was the signal for
departure, and several families came out of the Bon-Joyeux, the
Maheus and the Levaques deciding to return to the settlement. At
the same moment Father Bonnemort and old Mouque also left
Montsou, walking in the same somnambulistic manner, preserving
the obstinate silence of their recollections. And they all went back
together, passing for the last time through the fair, where the frying-
pans were coagulating, and by the estaminets, from which the last
glasses were flowing in a stream towards the middle of the road.
The storm was still threatening, and sounds of laughter arose as
they left the lighted houses to lose themselves in the dark country
around. Panting breaths arose from the ripe wheat; many children
must have been made on that night. They arrived in confusion at the
settlement. Neither the Levaques nor the Maheus supped with
appetite, and the latter kept on dropping off to sleep while finishing
their morning's boiled beef.
Étienne had led away Chaval for one more drink at Rasseneur's.
"I am with you!" said Chaval, when his mate had explained the
matter of the Provident Fund. "Put it there! you're a fine fellow!"
The beginning of drunkenness was flaming in Étienne's eyes. He
exclaimed:
"Yes, let's join hands. As for me, you know I would give up
everything for the sake of justice, both drink and girls. There's only
one thing that warms my heart, and that is the thought that we are
going to sweep away these bourgeois."

CHAPTER III

Towards the middle of August, Étienne settled with the Maheus,

Zacharie having married and obtained from the Company a vacant
house in the settlement for Philoméne and the two children. During
the first days, the young man experienced some constraint in the
presence of Catherine. There was a constant intimacy, as he
everywhere replaced the elder brother, sharing Jeanlin's bed over
against the big sister's. Going to bed and getting up he had to dress
and undress near her, and see her take off and put on her garments.
When the last skirt fell from her, she appeared of pallid whiteness,
that transparent snow of anaemic blondes; and he experienced a
constant emotion in finding her, with hands and face already spoilt,
as white as if dipped in milk from her heels to her neck, where the
line of tan stood out sharply like a necklace of amber. He pretended
to turn away; but little by little he knew her: the feet at first which
his lowered eyes met; then a glimpse of a knee when she slid
beneath the coverlet; then her bosom with little rigid breasts as she
leant over the bowl in the morning. She would hasten without
looking at him, and in ten seconds was undressed and stretched
beside Alzire, with so supple and snake-like a movement that he had
scarcely taken off his shoes when she disappeared, turning her back
and only showing her heavy knot of hair.
She never had any reason to be angry with him. If a sort of
obsession made him watch her in spite of himself at the moment
when she lay down, he avoided all practical jokes or dangerous
pastimes. The parents were there, and besides he still had for her a
feeling, half of friendship and half of spite, which prevented him
from treating her as a girl to be desired, in the midst of the
abandonment of their now common life in dressing, at meals, during
work, where nothing of them remained secret, not even their most
intimate needs. All the modesty of the family had taken refuge in the
daily bath, for which the young girl now went upstairs alone, while
the men bathed below one after the other.
At the end of the first month, Étienne and Catherine seemed no
longer to see each other when in the evening, before extinguishing
the candle, they moved about the room, undressed. She had ceased
to hasten, and resumed her old custom of doing up her hair at the
edge of her bed, while her arms, raised in the air, lifted her chemise
to her thighs, and he, without his trousers, sometimes helped her,
looking for the hairpins that she had lost. Custom killed the shame of
being naked; they found it natural to be like this, for they were
doing no harm, and it was not their fault if there was only one room
for so many people. Sometimes, however, a trouble came over them
suddenly, at moments when they had no guilty thought. After some
nights when he had not seen her pale body, he suddenly saw her
white all over, with a whiteness which shook him with a shiver, which
obliged him to turn away for fear of yielding to the desire to take
her. On other evenings, without any apparent reason, she would be
overcome by a panic of modesty and hasten to slip between the
sheets as if she felt the hands of this lad seizing her. Then, when the
candle was out, they both knew that they were not sleeping but
were thinking of each other in spite of their weariness. This made
them restless and sulky all the following day; they liked best the
tranquil evenings when they could behave together like comrades.
Étienne only complained of Jeanlin, who slept curled up. Alzire slept
lightly, and Lénore and Henri were found in the morning, in each
other's arms, exactly as they had gone to sleep. In the dark house
there was no other sound than the snoring of Maheu and Maheude,
rolling out at regular intervals like a forge bellows. On the whole,
Étienne was better off than at Rasseneur's; the bed was tolerable
and the sheets were changed every month. He had better soup, too,
and only suffered from the rarity of meat. But they were all in the
same condition, and for forty-five francs he could not demand rabbit
to every meal. These forty-five francs helped the family and enabled
them to make both ends meet, though always leaving some small
debts and arrears; so the Maheus were grateful to their lodger; his
linen was washed and mended, his buttons sewn on, and his affairs
kept in order; in fact he felt all around him a woman's neatness and
care.
It was at this time that Étienne began to understand the ideas that
were buzzing in his brain. Up till then he had only felt an instinctive
revolt in the midst of the inarticulate fermentation among his mates.
All sorts of confused questions came before him: Why are some
miserable? why are others rich? why are the former beneath the
heel of the latter without hope of ever taking their place? And his
first stage was to understand his ignorance. A secret shame, a
hidden annoyance, gnawed him from that time; he knew nothing, he
dared not talk about these things which were working in him like a
passion—the equality of all men, and the equity which demanded a
fair division of the earth's wealth. He thus took to the methodless
study of those who in ignorance feel the fascination of knowledge.
He now kept up a regular correspondence with Pluchart, who was
better educated than himself and more advanced in the Socialist
movement. He had books sent to him, and his ill-digested reading
still further excited his brain, especially a medical book entitled
Hygiéne du Mineur, in which a Belgian doctor had summed up the
evils of which the people in coal mines were dying; without counting
treatises on political economy, incomprehensible in their technical
dryness, Anarchist pamphlets which upset his ideas, and old
numbers of newspapers which he preserved as irrefutable
arguments for possible discussions. Souvarine also lent him books,
and the work on Co-operative Societies had made him dream for a
month of a universal exchange association abolishing money and
basing the whole social life on work. The shame of his ignorance left
him, and a certain pride came to him now that he felt himself
thinking.
During these first months Étienne retained the ecstasy of a novice;
his heart was bursting with generous indignation against the
oppressors, and looking forward to the approaching triumph of the
oppressed. He had not yet manufactured a system, his reading had
been too vague. Rasseneur's practical demands were mixed up in his
mind with Souvarine's violent and destructive methods, and when he
came out of the Avantage, where he was to be found nearly every
day railing with them against the Company, he walked as if in a
dream, assisting at a radical regeneration of nations to be effected
without one broken window or a single drop of blood. The methods
of execution remained obscure; he preferred to think that things
would go very well, for he lost his head as soon as he tried to
formulate a programme of reconstruction. He even showed himself
full of illogical moderation; he often said that we must banish politics
from the social question, a phrase which he had read and which
seemed a useful one to repeat among the phlegmatic colliers with
whom he lived.
Every evening now, at the Maheus', they delayed half an hour before
going up to bed. Étienne always introduced the same subject. As his
nature became more refined he found himself wounded by the
promiscuity of the settlement. Were they beasts to be thus penned
together in the midst of the fields, so tightly packed that one could
not change one's shirt without exhibiting one's backside to the
neighbours? And how bad it was for health; and boys and girls were
forced to grow corrupt together.
"Lord!" replied Maheu, "if there were more money there would be
more comfort. All the same it's true enough that it's good for no one
to live piled up like that. It always ends with making the men drunk
and the girls big-bellied."
And the family began to talk, each having his say, while the
petroleum lamp vitiated the air of the room, already stinking of fried
onion. No, life was certainly not a joke. One had to work like a brute
at labour which was once a punishment for convicts; one left one's
skin there oftener than was one's turn, all that without even getting
meat on the table in the evening. No doubt one had one's feed; one
ate, indeed, but so little, just enough to suffer without dying,
overcome with debts and pursued as if one had stolen the bread.
When Sunday came one slept from weariness. The only pleasures
were to get drunk and to get a child with one's wife; then the beer
swelled the belly, and the child, later on, left you to go to the dogs.
No, it was certainly not a joke.
Then Maheude joined in.
"The bother is, you see, when you have to say to yourself that it
won't change. When you're young you think that happiness will
come some time, you hope for things; and then the wretchedness
begins always over again, and you get shut up in it. Now, I don't
wish harm to any one, but there are times when this injustice makes
me mad."
There was silence; they were all breathing with the vague discomfort
of this closed-in horizon. Father Bonnemort only, if he was there,
opened his eyes with surprise, for in his time people used not to
worry about things; they were born in the coal and they hammered
at the seam, without asking for more; while now there was an air
stirring which made the colliers ambitious.
"It don't do to spit at anything," he murmured. "A good glass is a
good glass. As to the masters, they're often rascals; but there
always will be masters, won't there? What's the use of racking your
brains over those things?"
Étienne at once became animated. What! The worker was to be
forbidden to think! Why! that was just it; things would change now
because the worker had begun to think. In the old man's time the
miner lived in the mine like a brute, like a machine for extracting
coal, always under the earth, with ears and eyes stopped to outward
events. So the rich, who governed, found it easy to sell him and buy
him, and to devour his flesh; he did not even know what was going
on. But now the miner was waking up down there, germinating in
the earth just as a grain germinates; and some fine day he would
spring up in the midst of the fields: yes, men would spring up, an
army of men who would re-establish justice. Is it not true that all
citizens are equal since the Revolution, because they vote together?
Why should the worker remain the slave of the master who pays
him? The big companies with their machines were crushing
everything, and one no longer had against them the ancient
guarantees when people of the same trade, united in a body, were
able to defend themselves. It was for that, by God, and for no other
reason, that all would burst up one day, thanks to education. One
had only to look into the settlement itself: the grandfathers could
not sign their names, the fathers could do so, and as for the sons,
they read and wrote like schoolmasters. Ah! it was springing up, it
was springing up, little by little, a rough harvest of men who would
ripen in the sun! From the moment when they were no longer each
of them stuck to his place for his whole existence, and when they
had the ambition to take a neighbour's place, why should they not
hit out with their fists and try for the mastery?
Maheu was shaken but remained full of doubts.
"As soon as you move they give you back your certificate," he said.
"The old man is right; it will always be the miner who gets all the
trouble, without a chance of a leg of mutton now and then as a
reward."
Maheude, who had been silent for a while, awoke as from a dream.
"But if what the priests tell is true, if the poor people in this world
become the rich ones in the next!"
A burst of laughter interrupted her; even the children shrugged their
shoulders, being incredulous in the open air, keeping a secret fear of
ghosts in the pit, but glad of the empty sky.
"Ah! bosh! the priests!" exclaimed Maheu. "If they believed that,
they'd eat less and work more, so as to reserve a better place for
themselves up there. No, when one's dead, one's dead."
Maheude sighed deeply.
"Oh, Lord, Lord!"
Then her hands fell on to her knees with a gesture of immense
dejection:
"Then if that's true, we are done for, we are."
They all looked at one another. Father Bonnemort spat into his
handkerchief, while Maheu sat with his extinguished pipe, which he
had forgotten, in his mouth. Alzire listened between Lénore and
Henri, who were sleeping on the edge of the table. But Catherine,
with her chin in her hand, never took her large clear eyes off Étienne
while he was protesting, declaring his faith, and opening out the
enchanting future of his social dream. Around them the settlement
was asleep; one only heard the stray cries of a child or the
complaints of a belated drunkard. In the parlour the clock ticked
slowly, and a damp freshness arose from the sanded floor in spite of
the stuffy air.
"Fine ideas!" said the young man; "why do you need a good God
and his paradise to make you happy? Haven't you got it in your own
power to make yourselves happy on earth?"
With his enthusiastic voice he spoke on and on. The closed horizon
was bursting out; a gap of light was opening in the sombre lives of
these poor people. The eternal wretchedness, beginning over and
over again, the brutalizing labour, the fate of a beast who gives his
wool and has his throat cut, all the misfortune disappeared, as
though swept away by a great flood of sunlight; and beneath the
dazzling gleam of fairyland justice descended from heaven. Since the
good God was dead, justice would assure the happiness of men, and
equality and brotherhood would reign. A new society would spring
up in a day just as in dreams, an immense town with the splendour
of a mirage, in which each citizen lived by his work, and took his
share in the common joys. The old rotten world had fallen to dust; a
young humanity purged from its crimes formed but a single nation of
workers, having for their motto: "To each according to his deserts,
and to each desert according to its performance." And this dream
grew continually larger and more beautiful and more seductive as it
mounted higher in the impossible.
At first Maheude refused to listen, possessed by a deep dread. No,
no, it was too beautiful; it would not do to embark upon these ideas,
for they made life seem abominable afterwards, and one would have
destroyed everything in the effort to be happy. When she saw
Maheu's eyes shine, and that he was troubled and won over, she
became restless, and exclaimed, interrupting Étienne:
"Don't listen, my man! You can see he's only telling us fairy-tales. Do
you think the bourgeois would ever consent to work as we do?"
But little by little the charm worked on her also. Her imagination was
aroused and she smiled at last, entering his marvellous world of
hope. It was so sweet to forget for a while the sad reality! When one
lives like the beasts with face bent towards the earth, one needs a
corner of falsehood where one can amuse oneself by regaling on the
things one will never possess. And what made her enthusiastic and
brought her into agreement with the young man was the idea of
justice.
"Now, there you're right!" she exclaimed. "When a thing's just I
don't mind being cut to pieces for it. And it's true enough! it would
be just for us to have a turn."
Then Maheu ventured to become excited.
"Blast it all! I am not rich, but I would give five francs to keep alive
to see that. What a hustling, eh? Will it be soon? And how can we
set about it?"
Étienne began talking again. The old social system was cracking; it
could not last more than a few months, he affirmed roundly. As to
the methods of execution, he spoke more vaguely, mixing up his
reading, and fearing before ignorant hearers to enter on
explanations where he might lose himself. All the systems had their
share in it, softened by the certainty of easy triumph, a universal
kiss which would bring to an end all class misunderstandings;
without taking count, however, of the thick-heads among the
masters and bourgeois whom it would perhaps be necessary to bring
to reason by force. And the Maheus looked as if they understood,
approving and accepting miraculous solutions with the blind faith of
new believers, like those Christians of the early days of the Church,
who awaited the coming of a perfect society on the dunghill of the
ancient world. Little Alzire picked up a few words, and imagined
happiness under the form of a very warm house, where children
could play and eat as long as they liked. Catherine, without moving,
her chin always resting in her hand, kept her eyes fixed on Étienne,
and when he stopped a slight shudder passed over her, and she was
quite pale as if she felt the cold.
But Maheude looked at the clock.
"Past nine! Can it be possible? We shall never get up to-morrow."
And the Maheus left the table with hearts ill at ease and in despair.
It seemed to them that they had just been rich and that they had
now suddenly fallen back into the mud. Father Bonnemort, who was
setting out for the pit, growled that those sort of stories wouldn't
make the soup better; while the others went upstairs in single file,
noticing the dampness of the walls and the pestiferous stuffiness of
the air. Upstairs, amid the heavy slumber of the settlement when
Catherine had got into bed last and blown out the candle, Étienne
heard her tossing feverishly before getting to sleep.
Often at these conversations the neighbours came in: Levaque, who
grew excited at the idea of a general sharing; Pierron, who prudently
went to bed as soon as they attacked the Company. At long intervals
Zacharie came in for a moment; but politics bored him, he preferred
to go off and drink a glass at the Avantage. As to Chaval, he would
go to extremes and wanted to draw blood. Nearly every evening he
passed an hour with the Maheus; in this assiduity there was a
certain unconfessed jealousy, the fear that he would be robbed of
Catherine. This girl, of whom he was already growing tired, had
become precious to him now that a man slept near her and could
take her at night.
Étienne's influence increased; he gradually revolutionized the
settlement. His propaganda was unseen, and all the more sure since
he was growing in the estimation of all. Maheude, notwithstanding
the caution of a prudent housekeeper, treated him with
consideration, as a young man who paid regularly and neither drank
nor gambled, with his nose always in a book; she spread abroad his
reputation among the neighbours as an educated lad, a reputation
which they abused by asking him to write their letters. He was a sort
of business man, charged with correspondence and consulted by
households in affairs of difficulty. Since September he had thus at
last been able to establish his famous Provident Fund, which was still
very precarious, only including the inhabitants of the settlement; but
he hoped to be able to obtain the adhesion of the miners at all the
pits, especially if the Company, which had remained passive,
continued not to interfere. He had been made secretary of the
association and he even received a small salary for the clerking. This
made him almost rich. If a married miner can with difficulty make
both ends meet, a sober lad who has no burdens can even manage
to save.
From this time a slow transformation took place in Étienne. Certain
instincts of refinement and comfort which had slept during his
poverty were now revealed. He began to buy cloth garments; he
also bought a pair of elegant boots; he became a big man. The
whole settlement grouped round him. The satisfaction of his self-love
was delicious; he became intoxicated with this first enjoyment of
popularity; to be at the head of others, to command, he who was so
young, and but the day before had been a mere labourer, this filled
him with pride, and enlarged his dream of an approaching revolution
in which he was to play a part. His face changed: he became serious
and put on airs, while his growing ambition inflamed his theories and
pushed him to ideas of violence.
But autumn was advancing, and the October cold had blighted the
little gardens of the settlement. Behind the thin lilacs the trammers
no longer tumbled the putters over on the shed, and only the winter
vegetables remained, the cabbages pearled with white frost, the
leeks and the salads. Once more the rains were beating down on the
red tiles and flowing down into the tubs beneath the gutters with the
sound of a torrent. In every house the stove piled up with coal was
never cold, and poisoned the close parlours. It was the season of
wretchedness beginning once more.
In October, on one of the first frosty nights, Étienne, feverish after
his conversation below, could not sleep. He had seen Catherine glide
beneath the coverlet and then blow out the candle. She also
appeared to be quite overcome, and tormented by one of those fits
of modesty which still made her hasten sometimes, and so
awkwardly that she only uncovered herself more. In the darkness
she lay as though dead; but he knew that she also was awake, and
he felt that she was thinking of him just as he was thinking of her:
this mute exchange of their beings had never before filled them with
such trouble. The minutes went by and neither he nor she moved,
only their breathing was embarrassed in spite of their efforts to
retain it. Twice over he was on the point of rising and taking her. It
was idiotic to have such a strong desire for each other and never to
satisfy it. Why should they thus sulk against what they desired? The
children were asleep, she was quite willing; he was certain that she
was waiting for him, stifling, and that she would close her arms
round him in silence with clenched teeth. Nearly an hour passed. He
did not go to take her, and she did not turn round for fear of calling
him. The more they lived side by side, the more a barrier was raised
of shames, repugnancies, delicacies of friendship, which they could
not explain even to themselves.

CHAPTER IV

"Listen," said Maheude to her man, "when you go to Montsou for the
pay, just bring me back a pound of coffee and a kilo of sugar."
He was sewing one of his shoes, in order to spare the cobbling.
"Good!" he murmured, without leaving his task.
"I should like you to go to the butcher's too. A bit of veal, eh? It's so
long since we saw it."
This time he raised his head.
"Do you think, then, that I've got thousands coming in? The
fortnight's pay is too little as it is, with their confounded idea of
always stopping work."
They were both silent. It was after breakfast, one Saturday, at the
end of October. The Company, under the pretext of the derangement
caused by payment, had on this day once more suspended output in
all their pits. Seized by panic at the growing industrial crisis, and not
wishing to augment their already considerable stock, they profited
by the smallest pretexts to force their ten thousand workers to rest.
"You know that Étienne is waiting for you at Rasseneur's," began
Maheude again. "Take him with you; he'll be more clever than you
are in clearing up matters if they haven't counted all your hours."
Maheu nodded approval.
"And just talk to those gentlemen about your father's affair. The
doctor's on good terms with the directors. It's true, isn't it, old un,
that the doctor's mistaken, and that you can still work?"
For ten days Father Bonnemort, with benumbed paws, as he said,
had remained nailed to his chair. She had to repeat her question,
and he growled:
"Sure enough, I can work. One isn't done for because one's legs are
bad. All that is just stories they make up, so as not to give the
hundred-and-eighty-franc pension."
Maheude thought of the old man's forty sous, which he would,
perhaps, never bring in any more, and she uttered a cry of anguish:
"My God! we shall soon be all dead if this goes on."
"When one is dead," said Maheu, "one doesn't get hungry."
He put some nails into his shoes, and decided to set out. The Deux-
Cent-Quarante settlement would not be paid till towards four o'clock.
The men did not hurry, therefore, but waited about, going off one by
one, beset by the women, who implored them to come back at once.
Many gave them commissions, to prevent them forgetting
themselves in public-houses.
At Rasseneur's Étienne had received news. Disquieting rumours were
flying about; it was said that the Company were more and more
discontented over the timbering. They were overwhelming the
workmen with fines, and a conflict appeared inevitable. That was,
however, only the avowed dispute; beneath it there were grave and
secret causes of complication.
Just as Étienne arrived, a comrade, who was drinking a glass on his
return from Montsou, was telling that an announcement had been
stuck up at the cashier's; but he did not quite know what was on the
announcement. A second entered, then a third, and each brought a
different story. It seemed certain, however, that the Company had
taken a resolution.
"What do you say about it, eh?" asked Étienne, sitting down near
Souvarine at a table where nothing was to be seen but a packet of
tobacco.
The engine-man did not hurry, but finished rolling his cigarette.
"I say that it was easy to foresee. They want to push you to
extremes."
He alone had a sufficiently keen intelligence to analyse the situation.
He explained it in his quiet way. The Company, suffering from the
crisis, had been forced to reduce their expenses if they were not to
succumb, and it was naturally the workers who would have to
tighten their bellies; under some pretext or another the Company
would nibble at their wages. For two months the coal had been
remaining at the surface of their pits, and nearly all the workshops
were resting. As the Company did not dare to rest in this way,
terrified at the ruinous inaction, they were meditating a middle
course, perhaps a strike, from which the miners would come out
crushed and worse paid. Then the new Provident Fund was
disturbing them, as it was a threat for the future, while a strike
would relieve them of it, by exhausting it when it was still small.
Rasseneur had seated himself beside Étienne, and both of them
were listening in consternation. They could talk aloud, because there
was no one there but Madame Rasseneur, seated at the counter.
"What an idea!" murmured the innkeeper; "what's the good of it?
The Company has no interest in a strike, nor the men either. It
would be best to come to an understanding."
This was very sensible. He was always on the side of reasonable
demands. Since the rapid popularity of his old lodger, he had even
exaggerated this system of possible progress, saying they would
obtain nothing if they wished to have everything at once. In his fat,
good-humoured nature, nourished on beer, a secret jealousy was
forming, increased by the desertion of his bar, into which the
workmen from the Voreux now came more rarely to drink and to
listen; and he thus sometimes even began to defend the Company,
forgetting the rancour of an old miner who had been turned off.
"Then you are against the strike?" cried Madame Rasseneur, without
leaving the counter.
And as he energetically replied, "Yes!" she made him hold his
tongue.
"Bah! you have no courage; let these gentlemen speak."
Étienne was meditating, with his eyes fixed on the glass which she
had served to him. At last he raised his head.
"I dare say it's all true what our mate tells us, and we must get
resigned to this strike if they force it on us. Pluchart has just written
me some very sensible things on this matter. He's against the strike
too, for the men would suffer as much as the masters, and it
wouldn't come to anything decisive. Only it seems to him a capital
chance to get our men to make up their minds to go into his big
machine. Here's his letter."
In fact, Pluchart, in despair at the suspicion which the International
aroused among the miners at Montsou, was hoping to see them
enter in a mass if they were forced to fight against the Company. In
spite of his efforts, Étienne had not been able to place a single
member's card, and he had given his best efforts to his Provident
Fund, which was much better received. But this fund was still so
small that it would be quickly exhausted, as Souvarine said, and the
strikers would then inevitably throw themselves into the Working
Men's Association so that their brothers in every country could come
to their aid.
"How much have you in the fund?" asked Rasseneur. "Hardly three
thousand francs," replied Étienne, "and you know that the directors
sent for me yesterday. Oh! they were very polite; they repeated that
they wouldn't prevent their men from forming a reserve fund. But I
quite understood that they wanted to control it. We are bound to
have a struggle over that."
The innkeeper was walking up and down, whistling contemptuously.
"Three thousand francs! what can you do with that! It wouldn't yield
six days' bread; and if we counted on foreigners, such as the people
in England, one might go to bed at once and turn up one's toes. No,
it was too foolish, this strike!"
Then for the first time bitter words passed between these two men
who usually agreed together at last, in their common hatred of
capital.
"We shall see! and you, what do you say about it?" repeated
Étienne, turning towards Souvarine.
The latter replied with his usual phrase of habitual contempt.
"A strike? Foolery!"
Then, in the midst of the angry silence, he added gently:
"On the whole, I shouldn't say no if it amuses you; it ruins the one
side and kills the other, and that is always so much cleared away.
Only in that way it will take quite a thousand years to renew the
world. Just begin by blowing up this prison in which you are all being
done to death!"
With his delicate hand he pointed out the Voreux, the buildings of
which could be seen through the open door. But an unforeseen
drama interrupted him: Poland, the big tame rabbit, which had
ventured outside, came bounding back, fleeing from the stones of a
band of trammers; and in her terror, with fallen ears and raised tail,
she took refuge against his legs, scratching and imploring him to
take her up. When he had placed her on his knees, he sheltered her
with both hands, and fell into that kind of dreamy somnolence into
which the caress of this soft warm fur always plunged him.
Almost at the same time Maheu came in. He would drink nothing, in
spite of the polite insistence of Madame Rasseneur, who sold her
beer as though she made a present of it. Étienne had risen, and
both of them set out for Montsou.
On pay-day at the Company's Yards, Montsou seemed to be in the
midst of a fete as on fine Sunday feast-days. Bands of miners arrived
from all the settlements. The cashier's office being very small, they
preferred to wait at the door, stationed in groups on the pavement,
barring the way in a crowd that was constantly renewed. Hucksters
profited by the occasion and installed themselves with their movable
stalls that sold even pottery and cooked meats. But it was especially
the estaminets and the bars which did a good trade, for the miners
before being paid went to the counters to get patience, and returned
to them to wet their pay as soon as they had it in their pockets. But
they were very sensible, except when they finished it at the Volcan.
As Maheu and Étienne advanced among the groups they felt that on
that day a deep exasperation was rising up. It was not the ordinary
indifference with which the money was taken and spent at the
publics. Fists were clenched and violent words were passing from
mouth to mouth.
"Is it true, then," asked Maheu of Chaval, whom he met before the
Estaminet Piquette, "that they've played the dirty trick?"
But Chaval contented himself by replying with a furious growl,
throwing a sidelong look on Étienne. Since the working had been
renewed he had hired himself on with others, more and more bitten
by envy against this comrade, the new-comer who posed as a boss
and whose boots, as he said, were licked by the whole settlement.
This was complicated by a lover's jealousy. He never took Catherine
to Réquillart now or behind the pit-bank without accusing her in
abominable language of sleeping with her mother's lodger; then,
seized by savage desire, he would stifle her with caresses.
Maheu asked him another question:
"Is it the Voreux's turn now?"
And when he turned his back after nodding affirmatively, both men
decided to enter the Yards.
The counting-house was a small rectangular room, divided in two by
a grating. On the forms along the wall five or six miners were
waiting; while the cashier assisted by a clerk was paying another
who stood before the wicket with his cap in his hand. Above the
form on the left, a yellow placard was stuck up, quite fresh against
the smoky grey of the plaster, and it was in front of this that the
men had been constantly passing all the morning. They entered two
or three at a time, stood in front of it, and then went away without a
word, shrugging their shoulders as if their backs were crushed.
Two colliers were just then standing in front of the announcement, a
young one with a square brutish head and a very thin old one, his
face dull with age. Neither of them could read; the young one spelt,
moving his lips, the old one contented himself with gazing stupidly.
Many came in thus to look, without understanding.
"Read us that there!" said Maheu, who was not very strong either in
reading, to his companion.
Then Étienne began to read him the announcement. It was a notice
from the Company to the miners of all the pits, informing them that
in consequence of the lack of care bestowed on the timbering, and
being weary of inflicting useless fines, the Company had resolved to
apply a new method of payment for the extraction of coal.
Henceforward they would pay for the timbering separately, by the
cubic metre of wood taken down and used, based on the quantity
necessary for good work. The price of the tub of coal extracted
would naturally be lowered, in the proportion of fifty centimes to
forty, according to the nature and distance of the cuttings, and a
somewhat obscure calculation endeavoured to show that this
diminution of ten centimes would be exactly compensated by the
price of the timbering. The Company added also that, wishing to
leave every one time to convince himself of the advantages
presented by this new scheme, they did not propose to apply it till
Monday, the 1st of December.
"Don't read so loud over there," shouted the cashier. "We can't hear
what we are saying."
Étienne finished reading without paying attention to this observation.
His voice trembled, and when he had reached the end they all
continued to gaze steadily at the placard. The old miner and the
young one looked as though they expected something more; then
they went away with depressed shoulders.
"Good God!" muttered Maheu.
He and his companions sat down absorbed, with lowered heads, and
while files of men continued to pass before the yellow paper they
made calculations. Were they being made fun of? They could never
make up with the timbering for the ten centimes taken off the tram.
At most they could only get to eight centimes, so the Company
would be robbing them of two centimes, without counting the time
taken by careful work. This, then, was what this disguised lowering
of wages really came to. The Company was economizing out of the
miners' pockets.
"Good Lord! Good Lord!" repeated Maheu, raising his head. "We
should be bloody fools if we took that."
But the wicket being free he went up to be paid. The heads only of
the workings presented themselves at the desk and then divided the
money between their men to save time.
"Maheu and associates," said the clerk, "Filonniére seam, cutting No.
7."
He searched through the lists which were prepared from the
inspection of the tickets on which the captains stated every day for
each stall the number of trams extracted. Then he repeated:
"Maheu and associates, Filonniére seam, cutting No. 7. One hundred
and thirty-five francs."
The cashier paid.
"Beg pardon, sir," stammered the pikeman in surprise. "Are you sure
you have not made a mistake?"
He looked at this small sum of money without picking it up, frozen
by a shudder which went to his heart. It was true he was expecting
bad payment, but it could not come to so little or he must have
calculated wrong. When he had given their shares to Zacharie,
Étienne, and the other mate who replaced Chaval, there would
remain at most fifty francs for himself, his father, Catherine, and
Jeanlin.
"No, no, I've made no mistake," replied the clerk. "There are two
Sundays and four rest days to be taken off; that makes nine days of
work." Maheu followed this calculation in a low voice: nine days gave
him about thirty francs, eighteen to Catherine, nine to Jeanlin. As to
Father Bonnemort, he only had three days. No matter, by adding the
ninety francs of Zacharie and the two mates, that would surely make
more.
"And don't forget the fines," added the clerk. "Twenty francs for
fines for defective timbering."
The pikeman made a gesture of despair. Twenty francs of fines, four
days of rest! That made out the account. To think that he had once
brought back a fortnight's pay of full a hundred and fifty francs when
Father Bonnemort was working and Zacharie had not yet set up
house for himself!
"Well, are you going to take it?" cried the cashier impatiently. "You
can see there's someone else waiting. If you don't want it, say so."
As Maheu decided to pick up the money with his large trembling
hand the clerk stopped him.
"Wait: I have your name here. Toussaint Maheu, is it not? The
general secretary wishes to speak to you. Go in, he is alone."
The dazed workman found himself in an office furnished with old
mahogany, upholstered with faded green rep. And he listened for
five minutes to the general secretary, a tall sallow gentleman, who
spoke to him over the papers of his bureau without rising. But the
buzzing in his ears prevented him from hearing. He understood
vaguely that the question of his father's retirement would be taken
into consideration with the pension of a hundred and fifty francs,
fifty years of age and forty years' service. Then it seemed to him
that the secretary's voice became harder. There was a reprimand; he
was accused of occupying himself with politics; an allusion was
made to his lodger and the Provident Fund; finally he was advised
not to compromise himself with these follies, he, who was one of the
best workmen in the mine. He wished to protest, but could only
pronounce words at random, twisting his cap between his feverish
fingers, and he retired, stuttering:
"Certainly, sir—I can assure you, sir——"
Outside, when he had found Étienne who waiting for him, he broke
out:
"Well, I am a bloody fool, I ought to have replied! Not enough
money to get bread, and insults as well! Yes, he has been talking
against you; he told me the settlement was being poisoned. And
what's to be done? Good God! bend one's back and say thank you.
He's right, that's the wisest plan."
Maheu fell silent, overcome at once by rage and fear. Étienne was
gloomily thinking. Once more they traversed the groups who blocked
the road. The exasperation was growing, the exasperation of a calm
race, the muttered warning of a storm, without violent gestures,
terrible to see above this solid mass. A few men understanding
accounts had made calculations, and the two centimes gained by the
Company over the wood were rumoured about, and excited the
hardest heads. But it was especially the rage over this disastrous
pay, the rebellion of hunger against the rest days and the fines.
Already there was not enough to eat, and what would happen if
wages were still further lowered? In the estaminets the anger grew
loud, and fury so dried their throats that the little money taken went
over the counters.
É
From Montsou to the settlement Étienne and Maheu never
exchanged a word. When the latter entered, Maheude, who was
alone with the children, noticed immediately that his hands were
empty.
"Well, you're a nice one!" she said. "Where's my coffee and my
sugar and the meat? A bit of veal wouldn't have ruined you."
He made no reply, stifled by the emotion he had been keeping back.
Then the coarse face of this man hardened to work in the mines
became swollen with despair, and large tears broke from his eyes
and fell in a warm rain. He had thrown himself into a chair, weeping
like a child, and throwing fifty francs on the table:
"Here," he stammered. "That's what I've brought you back. That's
our work for all of us."
Maheude looked at Étienne, and saw that he was silent and
overwhelmed. Then she also wept. How were nine people to live for
a fortnight on fifty francs? Her eldest son had left them, the old man
could no longer move his legs: it would soon mean death. Alzire
threw herself round her mother's neck, overcome on hearing her
weep. Estelle was howling, Lénore and Henri were sobbing.
And from the entire settlement there soon arose the same cry of
wretchedness. The men had come back, and each household was
lamenting the disaster of this bad pay. The doors opened, women
appeared, crying aloud outside, as if their complaints could not be
held beneath the ceilings of these small houses. A fine rain was
falling, but they did not feel it, they called one another from the
pavements, they showed one another in the hollow of their hands
the money they had received.
"Look! they've given him this. Do they want to make fools of
people?"
"As for me, see, I haven't got enough to pay for the fortnight's bread
with."
"And just count mine! I should have to sell my shifts!"
Maheude had come out like the others. A group had formed around
the Levaque woman, who was shouting loudest of all, for her
drunkard of a husband had not even turned up, and she knew that,
large or small, the pay would melt away at the Volcan. Philoméne
watched Maheu so that Zacharie should not get hold of the money.
Pierronne was the only one who seemed fairly calm, for that sneak
of a Pierron always arranged things, no one knew how, so as to
have more hours on the captain's ticket than his mates. But Mother
Brulé thought this cowardly of her son-in-law; she was among the
enraged, lean and erect in the midst of the group, with her fists
stretched towards Montsou.
"To think," she cried, without naming the Hennebeaus, "that this
morning I saw their servant go by in a carriage! Yes, the cook in a
carriage with two horses, going to Marchiennes to get fish, sure
enough!"
A clamour arose, and the abuse began again. That servant in a
white apron taken to the market of the neighbouring town in her
master's carriage aroused indignation. While the workers were dying
of hunger they must have their fish, at all costs! Perhaps they would
not always be able to eat their fish: the turn of the poor people
would come. And the ideas sown by Étienne sprang up and
expanded in this cry of revolt. It was impatience before the promised
age of gold, a haste to get a share of the happiness beyond this
horizon of misery, closed in like the grave. The injustice was
becoming too great; at last they would demand their rights, since
the bread was being taken out of their mouths. The women
especially would have liked at once to take by assault this ideal city
of progress, in which there was to be no more wretchedness. It was
almost night, and the rain increased while they were still filling the
settlement with their tears in the midst of the screaming helter-
skelter of the children.
That evening at the Avantage the strike was decided on. Rasseneur
no longer struggled against it, and Souvarine accepted it as a first

É
step. Étienne summed up the situation in a word: if the Company
really wanted a strike then the Company should have a strike.

CHAPTER V

A week passed, and work went on suspiciously and mournfully in

expectation of the conflict.
Among the Maheus the fortnight threatened to be more meagre than
ever. Maheude grew bitter, in spite of her moderation and good
sense. Her daughter Catherine, too, had taken it into her head to
stay out one night. On the following morning she came back so
weary and ill after this adventure that she was not able to go to the
pit; and she told with tears how it was not her fault, for Chaval had
kept her, threatening to beat her if she ran away. He was becoming
mad with jealousy, and wished to prevent her from returning to
Étienne's bed, where he well knew, he said, that the family made
her sleep. Maheude was furious, and, after forbidding her daughter
ever to see such a brute again, talked of going to Montsou to box his
ears. But, all the same, it was a day lost, and the girl, now that she
had this lover, preferred not to change him.
Two days after there was another incident. On Monday and Tuesday
Jeanlin, who was supposed to be quietly engaged on his task at the
Voreux, had escaped, to run away into the marshes and the forest of
Vandame with Bébert and Lydie. He had seduced them; no one
knew to what plunder or to what games of precocious children they
had all three given themselves up. He received a vigorous
punishment, a whipping which his mother applied to him on the
pavement outside before the terrified children of the settlement.
Who could have thought such a thing of children belonging to her,
who had cost so much since their birth, and who ought now to be
bringing something in? And in this cry there was the remembrance
of her own hard youth, of the hereditary misery which made of each
little one in the brood a bread-winner later on.
That morning, when the men and the girl set out for the pit,
Maheude sat up in her bed to say to Jeanlin:
"You know that if you begin that game again, you little beast, I'll
take the skin off your bottom!"
In Maheu's new stall the work was hard. This part of the Filonniére
seam was so thin that the pikemen, squeezed between the wall and
the roof, grazed their elbows at their work. It was, too, becoming
very damp; from hour to hour they feared a rush of water, one of
those sudden torrents which burst through rocks and carry away
men. The day before, as Étienne was violently driving in his pick and
drawing it out, he had received a jet of water in his face; but this
was only an alarm; the cutting simply became damper and more
unwholesome. Besides, he now thought nothing of possible
accidents; he forgot himself there with his mates, careless of peril.
They lived in fire-damp without even feeling its weight on their
eyelids, the spider's-web veil which it left on the eyelashes.
Sometimes when the flame of the lamps grew paler and bluer than
usual it attracted attention, and a miner would put his head against
the seam to listen to the low noise of the gas, a noise of air-bubbles
escaping from each crack. But the constant threat was of landslips;
for, besides the insufficiency of the timbering, always patched up too
quickly, the soil, soaked with water, would not hold.
Three times during the day Maheu had been obliged to add to the
planking. It was half-past two, and the men would soon have to
ascend. Lying on his side, Étienne was finishing the cutting of a
block, when a distant growl of thunder shook the whole mine.
"What's that, then?" he cried, putting down his axe to listen.
He had at first thought that the gallery was falling in behind his
back.
But Maheu had already glided along the slope of the cutting, saying:
"It's a fall! Quick, quick!"
All tumbled down and hastened, carried away by an impulse of
anxious fraternity. Their lamps danced at their wrists in the deathly
silence which had fallen; they rushed in single file along the
passages with bent backs, as though they were galloping on all
fours; and without slowing this gallop they asked each other
questions and threw brief replies. Where was it, then? In the
cuttings, perhaps. No, it came from below; no, from the haulage.
When they arrived at the chimney passage, they threw themselves
into it, tumbling one over the other without troubling about bruises.
Jeanlin, with skin still red from the whipping of the day before, had
not run away from the pit on this day. He was trotting with naked
feet behind his tram, closing the ventilation doors one by one; when
he was not afraid of meeting a captain he jumped on to the last
tram, which he was not allowed to do for fear he should go to sleep.
But his great amusement was, whenever the tram was shunted to
let another one pass, to go and join Bébert, who was holding the
reins in front. He would come up slyly without his lamp and
vigorously pinch his companion, inventing mischievous monkey
tricks, with his yellow hair, his large ears, his lean muzzle, lit up by
little green eyes shining in the darkness. With morbid precocity, he
seemed to have the obscure intelligence and the quick skill of a
human abortion which had returned to its animal ways.
In the afternoon, Mouque brought Bataille, whose turn it was, to the
trammers; and as the horse was snuffing in the shunting, Jeanlin,
who had glided up to Bébert, asked him:
"What's the matter with the old hack to stop short like that? He'll
break my legs."
Bébert could not reply; he had to hold in Bataille, who was growing
lively at the approach of the other tram. The horse had smelled from
afar his comrade, Trompette, for whom he had felt great tenderness
ever since the day when he had seen him disembarked in the pit.
One might say that it was the affectionate pity of an old philosopher
anxious to console a young friend by imparting to him his own
resignation and patience; for Trompette did not become reconciled,
drawing his trams without any taste for the work, standing with
lowered head blinded by the darkness, and for ever regretting the
sun. So every time that Bataille met him he put out his head
snorting, and moistened him with an encouraging caress.
"By God!" swore Bébert, "there they are, licking each other's skins
again!"
Then, when Trompette had passed, he replied, on the subject of
Bataille:
"Oh, he's a cunning old beast! When he stops like that it's because
he guesses there's something in the way, a stone or a hole, and he
takes care of himself; he doesn't want to break his bones. To-day I
don't know what was the matter with him down there after the door.
He pushed it, and stood stock-still. Did you see anything?"
"No," said Jeanlin. "There's water, I've got it up to my knees."
The tram set out again. And, on the following journey, when he had
opened the ventilation door with a blow from his head, Bataille again
refused to advance, neighing and trembling. At last he made up his
mind, and set off with a bound.
Jeanlin, who closed the door, had remained behind. He bent down
and looked at the mud through which he was paddling, then, raising
his lamp, he saw that the wood had given way beneath the continual
bleeding of a spring. Just then a pikeman, one Berloque, who was
called Chicot, had arrived from his cutting, in a hurry to go to his
wife who had just been confined. He also stopped and examined the
planking. And suddenly, as the boy was starting to rejoin his train, a
tremendous cracking sound was heard, and a landslip engulfed the
man and the child.
There was deep silence. A thick dust raised by the wind of the fall
passed through the passages. Blinded and choked, the miners came
from every part, even from the farthest stalls, with their dancing
lamps which feebly lighted up this gallop of black men at the bottom
of these molehills. When the first men tumbled against the landslip,
they shouted out and called their mates. A second band, come from
the cutting below, found themselves on the other side of the mass of
earth which stopped up the gallery. It was at once seen that the roof
had fallen in for a dozen metres at most. The damage was not
serious. But all hearts were contracted when a death-rattle was
heard from the ruins.
Bébert, leaving his tram, ran up, repeating:
"Jeanlin is underneath! Jeanlin is underneath!"
Maheu, at this very moment, had come out of the passage with
Zacharie and Étienne. He was seized with the fury of despair, and
could only utter oaths:
"My God! my God! my God!"
Catherine, Lydie, and Mouquette, who had also rushed up, began to
sob and shriek with terror in the midst of the fearful disorder, which
was increased by the darkness. The men tried to make them be
silent, but they shrieked louder as each groan was heard.
The captain, Richomme, had come up running, in despair that
neither Négrel, the engineer, nor Dansaert was at the pit. With his
ear pressed against the rocks he listened; and, at last, said those
sounds could not come from a child. A man must certainly be there.
Maheu had already called Jeanlin twenty times over. Not a breath
was heard. The little one must have been smashed up.
And still the groans continued monotonously. They spoke to the
agonized man, asking him his name. The groaning alone replied.
"Look sharp!" repeated Richomme, who had already organized a
rescue, "we can talk afterwards."
From each end the miners attacked the landslip with pick and
shovel. Chaval worked without a word beside Maheu and Étienne,
while Zacharie superintended the removal of the earth. The hour for
ascent had come, and no one had touched food; but they could not
go up for their soup while their mates were in peril. They realized,
however, that the settlement would be disturbed if no one came
back, and it was proposed to send off the women. But neither
Catherine nor Mouquette, nor even Lydie, would move, nailed to the
spot with a desire to know what had happened, and to help.
Levaque then accepted the commission of announcing the landslip
up above—a simple accident, which was being repaired. It was
nearly four o'clock; in less than an hour the men had done a day's
work; half the earth would have already been removed if more rocks
had not slid from the roof. Maheu persisted with such energy that he
refused, with a furious gesture, when another man approached to
relieve him for a moment.
"Gently!" said Richomme at last, "we are getting near. We must not
finish them off."
In fact the groaning was becoming more and more distinct. It was a
continuous rattling which guided the workers; and now it seemed to
be beneath their very picks. Suddenly it stopped.
In silence they all looked at one another, and shuddered as they felt
the coldness of death pass in the darkness. They dug on, soaked in
sweat, their muscles tense to breaking. They came upon a foot, and
then began to remove the earth with their hands, freeing the limbs
one by one. The head was not hurt. They turned their lamps on it,
and Chicot's name went round. He was quite warm, with his spinal
column broken by a rock.
"Wrap him up in a covering, and put him in a tram," ordered the
captain. "Now for the lad; look sharp."
Maheu gave a last blow, and an opening was made, communicating
with the men who were clearing away the soil from the other side.
They shouted out that they had just found Jeanlin, unconscious,
with both legs broken, still breathing. It was the father who took up
the little one in his arms, with clenched jaws constantly uttering "My
God!" to express his grief, while Catherine and the other women
again began to shriek.
A procession was quickly formed. Bébert had brought back Bataille,
who was harnessed to the trams. In the first lay Chicot's corpse,
supported by Étienne; in the second, Maheu was seated with
Jeanlin, still unconscious, on his knees, covered by a strip of wool
torn from the ventilation door. They started at a walking pace. On
each tram was a lamp like a red star. Then behind followed the row
of miners, some fifty shadows in single file. Now that they were
overcome by fatigue, they trailed their feet, slipping in the mud, with
the mournful melancholy of a flock stricken by an epidemic. It took
them nearly half an hour to reach the pit-eye. This procession
beneath the earth, in the midst of deep darkness, seemed never to
end through galleries which bifurcated and turned and unrolled.
At the pit-eye Richomme, who had gone on before, had ordered an
empty cage to be reserved. Pierron immediately loaded the two
trams. In the first Maheu remained with his wounded little one on
his knees, while in the other Étienne kept Chicot's corpse between
his arms to hold it up. When the men had piled themselves up in the
other decks the cage rose. It took two minutes. The rain from the
tubbing fell very cold, and the men looked up towards the air
impatient to see daylight.
Fortunately a trammer sent to Dr. Vanderhaghen's had found him
and brought him back. Jeanlin and the dead man were placed in the
captains' room, where, from year's end to year's end, a large fire
burnt. A row of buckets with warm water was ready for washing
feet; and, two mattresses having been spread on the floor, the man
and the child were placed on them. Maheu and Étienne alone
entered. Outside, putters, miners, and boys were running about,
forming groups and talking in a low voice.
As soon as the doctor had glanced at Chicot:
"Done for! You can wash him."
Two overseers undressed and then washed with a sponge this
corpse blackened with coal and still dirty with the sweat of work.