Germinal | Page 9

francs to Maigrat, who turned me out of doors day
before yesterday. That won't prevent me from going to see him again.
But if he goes on refusing----" And Maheude continued in her
melancholy voice, without moving her head, only closing her eyes now
and then beneath the dim light of the candle. She said the cupboard was
empty, the little ones asking for bread and butter, even the coffee was
done, and the water caused colic, and the long days passed in deceiving
hunger with boiled cabbage leaves. Little by little she had been obliged
to raise her voice, for Estelle's screams drowned her words. These cries
became unbearable. Maheu seemed all at once to hear them, and, in a
fury, snatched the little one up from the cradle and threw it on the
mother's bed, stammering with rage: "Here, take her; I'll do for her!
Damn the child! It wants for nothing: it sucks, and it complains louder
than all the rest!" Estelle began, in fact, to suck. Hidden beneath the
clothes and soothed by the warmth of the bed, her cries subsided into
the greedy little sound of her lips. "Haven't the Piolaine people told you
to go and see them?" asked the father, after a period of silence. The
mother bit her lip with an air of discouraged doubt. "Yes, they met me;
they were carrying clothes for poor children. Yes, I'll take Lénore and
Henri to them this morning. If they only give me a few pence!" There
was silence again. Maheu was ready. He remained a moment
motionless, then added, in his hollow voice: "What is it that you want?
Let things be, and see about the soup. It's no good talking, better be at
work down below." "True enough," replied Maheude. "Blow out the
candle: I don't need to see the colour of my thoughts." He blew out the
candle. Zacharie and Jeanlin were already going down; he followed
them, and the wooden staircase creaked beneath their heavy feet, clad
in wool. Behind them the closet and the room were again dark. The
children slept; even Alzire's eyelids were closed; but the mother now
remained with her eyes open in the darkness, while, pulling at her
breast, the pendent breast of an exhausted woman, Estelle was purring
like a kitten. Down below, Catherine had at first occupied herself with

the fire, which was burning in the iron grate, flanked by two ovens. The
Company distributed every month, to each family, eight hectolitres of a
hard slaty coal, gathered in the passages. It burnt slowly, and the young
girl, who piled up the fire every night, only had to stir it in the morning,
adding a few fragments of soft coal, carefully picked out. Then, after
having placed a kettle on the grate, she sat down before the sideboard.
It was a fairly large room, occupying all the ground floor, painted an
apple green, and of Flemish cleanliness, with its flags well washed and
covered with white sand. Besides the sideboard of varnished deal the
furniture consisted of a table and chairs of the same wood. Stuck on to
the walls were some violently-coloured prints, portraits of the emperor
and the empress, given by the Company, of soldiers and of saints
speckled with gold, contrasting crudely with the simple nudity of the
room; and there was no other ornament except a box of rose-coloured
pasteboard on the sideboard, and the clock with its daubed face and
loud tick-tack, which seemed to fill the emptiness of the place. Near the
staircase door another door led to the cellar. In spite of the cleanliness,
an odour of cooked onion, shut up since the night before, poisoned the
hot, heavy air, always laden with an acrid flavour of coal. Catherine, in
front of the sideboard, was reflecting. There only remained the end of a
loaf, cheese in fair abundance, but hardly a morsel of butter; and she
had to provide bread and butter for four. At last she decided, cut the
slices, took one and covered it with cheese, spread another with butter,
and stuck them together; that was the "briquet," the bread-and-butter
sandwich taken to the pit every morning. The four briquets were soon
on the table, in a row, cut with severe justice, from the big one for the
father down to the little one for Jeanlin. Catherine, who appeared
absorbed in her household duties, must, however, have been thinking of
the stories told by Zacharie about the head captain and the Pierron
woman, for she half opened the front door and glanced outside. The
wind was still whistling. There were numerous spots of light on the low
fronts of the settlement, from which arose a vague tremor of awakening.
Already doors were being closed, and