Germinal - Emile Zola [245]
‘And what about my mother? And the little girl? Everybody saw you hiding behind them when they stopped all those bullets that were meant for you!’
What should he do? Throttle La Pierronne and the other women, take on the whole village? For a moment Étienne felt like doing just that. The blood was throbbing in his head, and he now considered the comrades little better than dumb animals. He was irritated by their primitiveness and the lack of intelligence that had led them to blame him for the logic of events. How stupid could you get! In his inability to influence them any more he felt disgust for them; and he simply quickened his step, as if deaf to their abuse. But soon he was in headlong flight, with each household booing him as he passed, and people chasing after him, a whole crowd cursing him in a thunderous crescendo as their hatred spilled over. He was the one, the one who had exploited them, the one who had murdered them, the unique cause of all their wretchedness. Pale and frightened, Étienne ran from the village with the screaming horde at his heels. Eventually, once they were out on the open road, many stopped chasing; but a few were still after him when, at the bottom of the hill, outside the Advantage, he met another group coming out of Le Voreux.
Old Mouque and Chaval were among them. Since the death of La Mouquette, his daughter, and of his son, Mouquet, the old man had continued to work on as a stableman without a word of regret or complaint. But suddenly, on catching sight of Étienne, he was seized with fury; tears streamed from his eyes, and a torrent of bad language came pouring out of his mouth, which was black and bleeding from chewing tobacco:
‘You bastard! You shit! You sodding, fucking bastard!…Just you wait! You’re damn well going to pay me back for my poor bloody children! It’s your turn now.’
He picked up a brick, broke it in two, and threw both pieces at Étienne.
‘Yeah, come on, let’s get rid of the scum!’ sneered Chaval loudly, overjoyed at this opportunity for revenge and in a lather of excitement. ‘We’ll take it in turns…There, how does that feel to have your back to the wall, you filthy piece of shit!’
And he too attacked Étienne, with stones. A wild clamour broke out, and everybody picked up bricks and started breaking them and throwing them. They wanted to slaughter him, as though it was the soldiers themselves they were slaughtering. Dazed and bewildered, Étienne ceased his attempts at escape and turned to face them, trying to placate them with his words. His old speeches, which had previously been so warmly acclaimed, sprang once more to his lips. He repeated the phrases with which he had turned the heads of his loyal followers in the days when they had listened to him with rapt attention; but his power had gone, and the only response was brickbats. He had just been hit on the left arm and was backing away, in some considerable danger, when he found himself pinned against the front wall of the Advantage.
Rasseneur had recently appeared on his doorstep.
‘Come in,’ he said simply.
Étienne hesitated. It galled him to take refuge there.
‘Come in, for goodness’ sake. I’ll speak to them.’
Étienne accepted reluctantly and hid at the far end of the saloon while Rasseneur blocked the doorway with his broad shoulders.
‘Now then, my friends, easy does it…You know that I at least have never let you down. I’ve always been one for the softly softly approach, and if you’d listened to me, there is no doubt that you would not be in the position you’re all in now.’
Shoulders back and belly out, he spoke at length, letting his undemanding eloquence pour forth with the soothing gentleness of warm water. And once more he succeeded as of old, effortlessly regaining his former popularity, quite naturally, as though only one month ago the comrades had never booed him or called him a coward. Voices shouted their approval. Hear, hear! You