Germinal (41 page)

‘No, no,' said Étienne under his breath, waving his hand as though to banish these appalling scenes. ‘We aren't that desperate here yet. Murder? Arson? Never. It's monstrous and unjust. The comrades would soon get their hands on whoever did it and strangle them!'

In any case he still didn't understand. There was something in his blood that made him reject this dark prospect of global destruction, of a world where everything was scythed down like a field of rye. What would happen afterwards? How would the peoples of the earth rise again? He wanted to know.

‘Explain to me what you have in mind. The rest of us want to know where we're headed.'

Then, with that dreamy, distant look in his eye again, Souvarine quietly concluded:

‘Any rational analysis of the future is criminal, because it prevents things from being simply destroyed. It impedes the Revolution.'

That made Étienne laugh, despite the fact that it also sent shivers down his spine. For the rest he readily acknowledged the good sense in some of these ideas, which attracted him by their terrifying simplicity. But it would hand the advantage to Rasseneur if they were to tell the comrades this sort of thing. They had to be practical.

Widow Desire came in to offer them some lunch. They accepted and went through to the bar area, which was closed off from the hall during the week by a sliding partition.

When they had finished their omelette and cheese, Souvarine wanted to leave; and when Étienne tried to make him stay, he said:

‘What's the point? To listen to you all talking nonsense?…I've heard enough for one day, thanks!'

He departed with his customary air of quiet determination, a cigarette between his lips.

Étienne was becoming increasingly worried. It was now one o'clock: clearly Pluchart was going to let him down. By half past one the delegates began to appear, and he had to receive them because he wanted to vet them as they entered in case the Company had sent its usual spies along. He examined each letter of invitation and scrutinized each man carefully as he came past, although in fact many were able to get in without the letter since if he knew them already they were automatically allowed in. At the stroke of two he saw Rasseneur arrive and go to the bar, where he took his time finishing his pipe and talking to people. This impudent show of unflappability succeeded in irritating him, especially as one or two humorists had turned up just for the laugh, such as Zacharie, Mouquet and some others. This bunch didn't care a jot about the strike and just found it hilarious to have nothing to do; and as they sat at their tables spending
their last few coins on a glass of beer, they sneered and made fun of the comrades who were seriously committed to the strike, and who walked away, determined to hold their tongues despite their annoyance.

Another quarter of an hour went by. The men in the hall were growing restive. Eventually, having given up hope, Étienne braced himself for action. And he was just about to enter the hall when Widow Desire shouted from the front entrance where she had been keeping a lookout:

‘Wait, your gentleman's here!'

It was indeed Pluchart. He arrived in a carriage drawn by a broken-down nag. At once he jumped down on to the road, a thin, foppish-looking man with a disproportionately large, square head, and wearing the Sunday best of a well-to-do artisan beneath his black woollen coat. It was five years since he had last touched a metalworker's file, and he took great care of his appearance, his hair especially, as well as great pride in his skills as an orator; but manual labour had left him stiff in the joints, and the nails on his large hands had not grown back after all the metalwork. As someone who liked to keep busy, he served his ambitions by criss-crossing the region in the relentless diffusion of his political ideas.

‘Now don't be angry!' he said, forestalling any question or reproach. ‘Yesterday I had a lecture at Preuilly in the morning and a meeting at Valençay in the evening. Today it was lunch in Marchiennes, with Sauvagnat…And then I finally managed to get a cab. I'm exhausted, just listen to my voice. But never mind, I shall speak just the same.'

He had reached the door of the Jolly Fellow when he suddenly remembered something.

‘Heavens! I nearly forgot the membership cards! Right fools we'd look!'

He returned to the cab, which the coachman was now backing into a shed, removed a small black wooden chest from the baggage compartment and tucked it under his arm before walking back.

A beaming Étienne followed after him while Rasseneur, at a loss, didn't even venture to hold out his hand. But already
Pluchart had grasped it and was making passing reference to his letter. What a funny thing to suggest! Not hold the meeting? You should always hold a meeting if you could. Widow Desire asked if she could get him anything, but he declined. No need! He could speak without having a drink first. But time was pressing, he wanted to make it to Joiselle that evening and sort things out with Legoujeux. And so the whole group entered the hall together. Maheu and Levaque, arriving late, followed them in. The door was locked so that they could ‘make themselves at home', which had the laughter-merchants guffawing even louder when Zacharie asked Mouquet at the top of his voice if this meant they were
all
going to get a screw.

A hundred or so miners were waiting on the benches in the stuffy hall, where the warm odours remaining from the most recent dance rose from the wooden floor. People were whispering and turning round in their seats as the new arrivals came and occupied the empty places. They eyed the gentleman from Lille, whose frock-coat surprised and unsettled them.

But immediately Étienne moved that a committee be appointed. He proposed some names, and others raised their hands in approval. Pluchart was elected chairman, and as his assistants they chose Maheu and Étienne himself. Chairs were moved around, and the committee took up position. They lost the chairman for a moment, but he had only disappeared under the table to stow the wooden chest that he had been hanging on to until then. When he resurfaced, he banged his fist gently on the table to call the meeting to order; and then, in a hoarse voice, he began:

‘Citizens…'

A small side-door opened, and he had to pause. It was Widow Desire, who had gone round by the kitchen and brought back six glasses of beer on a tray.

‘Don't mind me,' she whispered. ‘Talking makes a man thirsty.'

Maheu took the tray and Pluchart was able to continue. He said how touched he was to receive such a warm welcome from the workers of Montsou, and he apologized for being late, telling them about his sore throat and how tired he was. Then
he gave way to Citizen Rasseneur, who had asked for the floor.

Rasseneur had already taken up position beside the table, next to the beers. He had turned a chair round to use it as a rostrum. He seemed very emotional, and cleared his throat before launching forth in a loud voice:

‘Comrades…'

The reason for his influence over the colliers lay in the ease with which he spoke and the genial way he could go on talking to them for hours on end and never flagged. He didn't attempt any hand gestures but just plodded smilingly on, drowning them in his words until they were all so dazed that to a man they would shout: ‘Yes, yes, it's true, you're right!' Yet that day, from the moment he opened his mouth, he had sensed an unspoken hostility. And so he proceeded cautiously, confining himself to saying how they must continue the strike, waiting for the applause before he attacked the International. Yes, indeed, honour meant that they could not yield to the Company's demands; and yet what suffering, what suffering, what terrible times lay ahead if they had to hold out much longer! And without explicitly calling for an end to the strike, he set about weakening their resolve, painting a picture of starving villages and asking where the supporters of the strike were hoping to find the resources with which to continue. Three or four friends tried to show their support, but this only accentuated the cold silence of the remainder and the growing irritation and disapproval with which his speech was being received. Then, despairing of winning them over, he lost his temper and started predicting disaster if they allowed their heads to be turned by strangers who had come to agitate. By now two thirds of the men were on their feet, angrily trying to shut him up if all he was going to do was insult them and treat them like naughty children. But on he went despite the uproar, taking repeated swigs of beer and shouting that no man alive could stop him doing his duty!

Pluchart had stood up. Having no bell, he banged loudly on the table and repeated in a strangled voice:

‘Citizens! Citizens!'

Eventually he managed to restore some order and put the
matter to the meeting, which voted to withdraw Rasseneur's right to speak. Those delegates who had represented the different pits during the talks with M. Hennebeau gave the lead, and the rest of the men, their heads full of all the new ideas and goaded to a frenzy by hunger, followed. The result of the vote was a foregone conclusion.

‘It's all right for you, you bastard. You've got food!' screamed Levaque, shaking his fist at Rasseneur.

Étienne had leaned over behind Pluchart to calm Maheu, who had gone very red in the face in his fury at the hypocrisy of Rasseneur's speech.

‘Citizens,' said Pluchart. ‘Allow me to say something.'

There was complete silence. He spoke. His voice sounded hoarse and strained, but with his busy schedule he was used to it: laryngitis was all part of the programme. Gradually he began to increase the volume, and some touching sounds he made. With arms spread wide and shoulders dipping to the rhythm of his phrasing, he displayed a preacher's eloquence, dropping his voice at the end of each sentence to a kind of religious hush and gradually convincing his listeners by the insistence of his rolling cadence.

He delivered his set speech on how marvellous the International was and the benefits it could provide, for this was how he usually chose to present it at venues where he was speaking for the first time. He explained how its aim was the emancipation of the workers, and he described its grandiose structure, with the commune at the bottom, then the province, above that the nation, and lastly, at the very summit, humanity in general. His arms moved slowly through the air, piling level upon level and constructing the vast cathedral of the future. Then he spoke about how the organization was run: he read out its statutes, talked about the congresses, drew attention to the way the scope of its activities was growing, how its agenda had moved beyond the debate about pay and was now focused on dissolving social distinctions and abolishing the very notion of a wage-earning class. No more nationalities! The workers of the world united in the common pursuit of justice, sweeping away the dead wood of the bourgeoisie and finally creating the free society in which
he who works not, reaps not! He was now bellowing, and his breath set the streamers fluttering beneath the smoke-stained ceiling, itself so low that it magnified the sound of his voice.

Heads began to nod in waves of unison. One or two men called out:

‘That's the way!…We're with you!'

Pluchart went on. Within three years they would have conquered the world. And he listed the countries that had been conquered already. People everywhere were rushing to join. No new religion had ever made so many converts so quickly. Later, once they were the masters, it would be their turn to lay down the law, and then the bosses could have a taste of their own medicine for once.

‘Yes! Yes!…The bosses can go down the pits!'

He motioned to them to be silent. Now he was coming to the question of strikes. In principle he was against them: they took too long to have an effect and in fact just made life worse for the workers. Things would be better arranged in future, but for the moment – and when there was just no other way – you had to accept them, because at least they had the merit of disrupting capitalism. And in that kind of situation, as he pointed out, the International could be a godsend for strikers. He gave examples: one from Paris, when the bronze-founders went on strike and the bosses had met all their demands immediately because they were terrified at the news that the International was sending aid; another from the London branch, which had saved the miners at one colliery by paying for the repatriation of a team of Belgian pitmen brought over by the mine-owner. You had only to join and the companies started running scared, and that way the workers became part of labour's great army, ready to die for one another rather than remain the slaves of capitalist society.

He was interrupted by applause. He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief, refusing the glass of beer that Maheu wanted to pass him. When he tried to continue, he was prevented by further applause.

‘That should do it!' he said quickly to Étienne. ‘They've heard enough…Quick! The cards!'

He had dived under the table and soon re-emerged with the little black chest.

‘Citizens!' he shouted above the noise, ‘here are the membership cards. If your delegates will come forward, I will give them some to hand round…We can settle up later.'

Rasseneur rushed forward and started protesting again. Étienne for his part was getting worried because he, too, had a speech to make. There was complete chaos. Levaque was punching the air, ready for a fight. Maheu was on his feet saying something that nobody could hear a word of. And as the uproar increased, dust rose from the floor, the dust of dances past, fouling the air with the reek of pit-boys and putters.

Suddenly the side-door opened, and Widow Desire stood there, her stomach and bust filling the doorway as she boomed:

‘Quiet, for God's sake!…The men in blue are here.'

The local superintendent had turned up, rather belatedly, with the intention of breaking up the meeting and reporting the matter to his superiors. He was accompanied by four gendarmes. For the previous five minutes Widow Desire had been trying to delay them on her doorstep, telling them that it was her house and she had a perfect right to invite what friends she pleased. But then they had pushed their way in, so she had hurried to come and warn her brood.