Germinal | Page 3

came yesterday. There's nothing." A gust cut
short their speech. Then Étienne asked, pointing to the sombre pile of
buildings at the foot of the platform: "A pit, isn't it?" The old man this
time could not reply: he was strangled by a violent cough. At last he
expectorated, and his expectoration left a black patch on the purple soil.
"Yes, a pit. The Voreux. There! The settlement is quite near." In his
turn, and with extended arm, he pointed out in the night the village of
which the young man had vaguely seen the roofs. But the six trams
were empty, and he followed them without cracking his whip, his legs
stiffened by rheumatism; while the great yellow horse went on of itself,
pulling heavily between the rails beneath a new gust which bristled its
coat. The Voreux was now emerging from the gloom. Étienne, who
forgot himself before the stove, warming his poor bleeding hands,

looked round and could see each part of the pit: the shed tarred with
siftings, the pit-frame, the vast chamber of the winding machine, the
square turret of the exhaustion pump. This pit, piled up in the bottom of
a hollow, with its squat brick buildings, raising its chimney like a
threatening horn, seemed to him to have the evil air of a gluttonous
beast crouching there to devour the earth. While examining it, he
thought of himself, of his vagabond existence these eight days he had
been seeking work. He saw himself again at his workshop at the
railway, delivering a blow at his foreman, driven from Lille, driven
from everywhere. On Saturday he had arrived at Marchinnes, where
they said that work was to be had at the Forges, and there was nothing,
neither at the Forges nor at Sonneville's. He had been obliged to pass
the Sunday hidden beneath the wood of a cartwright's yard, from which
the watchman had just turned him out at two o'clock in the morning. He
had nothing, not a penny, not even a crust; what should he do,
wandering along the roads without aim, not knowing where to shelter
himself from the wind? Yes, it was certainly a pit; the occasional
lanterns lighted up the square; a door, suddenly opened, had enabled
him to catch sight of the furnaces in a clear light. He could explain even
the escapement of the pump, that thick, long breathing that went on
without ceasing, and which seemed to be the monster's congested
respiration. The workman, expanding his back at the tipping-cradle,
had not even lifted his eyes on Étienne, and the latter was about to pick
up his little bundle, which had fallen to the earth, when a spasm of
coughing announced the carman's return. Slowly he emerged from the
darkness, followed by the yellow horse drawing six more laden trams.
"Are there factories at Montsou?" asked the young man. The old man
expectorated, then replied in the wind: "Oh, it isn't factories that are
lacking. Should have seen it three or four years ago. Everything was
roaring then. There were not men enough; there never were such wages.
And now they are tightening their bellies again. Nothing but misery in
the country; every one is being sent away; workshops closing one after
the other. It is not the emperor's fault, perhaps; but why should he go
and fight in America? without counting that the beasts are dying from
cholera, like the people." Then, in short sentences and with broken
breath, the two continued to complain. Étienne narrated his vain
wanderings of the past week: must one, then, die of hunger? Soon the

roads would be full of beggars. "Yes," said the old man, "this will turn
out badly, for God does not allow so many Christians to be thrown on
the street." "We don't have meat every day." "But if one had bread!"
"True, if one only had bread." Their voices were lost, gusts of wind
carrying away the words in a melancholy howl. "Here!" began the
carman again very loudly, turning towards the south. "Montsou is over
there." And stretching out his hand again he pointed out invisible spots
in the darkness as he named them. Below, at Montsou, the Fauvelle
sugar works were still going, but the Hoton sugar works had just been
dismissing hands; there were only the Dutilleul flour mill and the
Bleuze rope walk for mine-cables which kept up. Then, with a large
gesture he indicated the north half of the horizon: the Sonneville
workshops had not received two-thirds of their usual orders; only two
of the three blast furnaces of the Marchiennes Forges were alight;
finally, at the Gagebois glass works a strike was threatening, for there
was talk of a reduction of wages. "I know, I know," replied the young
man