Germinal - Emile Zola [123]
There was silence. Hippolyte was serving roast partridge, while the maid began to pour some red burgundy for the guests.
‘There’s been a famine in India,’ Deneulin went on in a low voice, as though he were talking to himself. ‘America has stopped ordering iron and cast-iron from us, which has been a major setback for our blast-furnaces. Everything’s connected, one distant tremor can eventually shake the whole world…And to think how proud the Empire was of the white heat of its industry!’
He attacked the wing of his partridge. Then, speaking more loudly:
‘The worst of it is that if you want to reduce your production costs, then logically you should try and increase the amount you produce. Otherwise the reduction has to come from wage costs, and then the worker’s quite right to say that he’s the one who ends up paying the piper.’
This unexpectedly frank admission started an argument. The ladies were not amused. But everyone’s principal concern was the plate in front of them, which they addressed with an appetite as yet unblunted. When Hippolyte returned, he seemed to have something to say but hesitated:
‘What is it?’ asked M. Hennebeau. ‘If it’s more messages, leave them with me…I’m expecting some replies.’
‘No, sir, it’s Monsieur Dansaert, he’s waiting in the hall…But he doesn’t want to disturb you, sir.’
M. Hennebeau apologized to the company and had the overman shown in. The latter came and stood a few feet away from the table, as everyone turned to look at this large man who was breathless with the news he brought. Things were still quiet in the villages, but there was no question now, they were sending a deputation. It might even arrive in the next few minutes.
‘That will be all, thank you,’ said M. Hennebeau. ‘And I want a report twice a day. Understood?’
And as soon as Dansaert had gone, the joking began again, and they fell upon the Russian salad declaring that they had not a moment to lose if they hoped to finish it. But the hilarity reached fever pitch when the maid, having been asked by Négrel for some bread, said ‘yes, sir’ in such a low, terrified voice that there could have been a whole gang of men behind her bent on rape and pillage.
‘You may speak up,’ said Mme Hennebeau obligingly. ‘They’re not here yet.’
M. Hennebeau was brought a pile of letters and telegrams and wanted to read one of the letters out. It was from Pierron, who wrote respectfully to inform him that he found himself under the obligation to come out on strike with his comrades, for fear he might be roughly treated; and he added that he had been similarly forced to be part of the deputation, much as he deplored this particular initiative.
‘So much for workers’ freedom!’ cried M. Hennebeau.
So everyone started talking about the strike again, and they asked him for his opinion on the matter.
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘we’ve had strikes before…It means a week’s idleness, two weeks’ at the most, like last time. They’ll do the rounds of the bars, and then when they get too hungry, they’ll go back to the pits.’
Deneulin shook his head.
‘I’m not so sure…They seem better organized this time. In fact, they’ve got a provident fund, I believe?’
‘Yes, but there’s barely three thousand francs in it. How far’s that going to get them?…I suspect that a chap called Étienne Lantier is their leader. He’s a good worker, and I’d be sorry to have to sack him, like I had to with the famous Rasseneur, who’s still poisoning Le Voreux with his thoughts and his beer…Never mind, half of them will be back down the pit inside a week, and the whole ten thousand before the fortnight’s out.’
He was in no doubt. His only concern was about the possible disgrace to himself if the Board of Directors held him responsible for the strike. For some time now he had been sensing that he was out of favour. And so he abandoned