Complete Works of Emile Zola (1621 page)

“No, no!” cried Luc, “it must come to an end; else humanity will be destroyed in some last outbreak of insanity. A new agreement must be made between capital and labor. Every man born into this world has the right to live; and the soil is the common property of all. The tools for toil must be given to every man; and every one must do his own personal share in the work of all.... If history, with its past crimes and hatreds, has thus far been merely the abominable record of former robbery and the tyranny of a few; robbers who have stimulated men to cut each other’s throats, and to set up law-courts, and build prisons to defend their ill-gotten gains, it is high time to begin a new era, and on the opening of a new century to commence with a single act of justice giving back to men the riches of the earth, letting labor become the universal law of human society, even as it is the law of the universe, that peace may be made among us and blessed fraternity commence its reign.... It will come to pass; I will work for it; I shall succeed.”

He was so passionately in earnest, so grand, so sure of conquest as he stood there like a prophet in his enthusiasm, that Jordan, astonished, turned to Sœurette, and said:

“Look at him — is he not handsome?”

But Sœurette, excited and pale, had not taken her eyes off him, as if her whole being was possessed by a religious fervor.

“Oh! he is handsome,” she said, in a low voice, “and he is good.”

“Only, my friend,” said Jordan, with a smile, “handsome and good though you may be, you are an anarchist, though you think yourself an evolutionist, and you are right in saying that while all reformers begin by the doctrine of Fourier, they will end by a free commune, and by mankind in perfect liberty.”

Luc began to laugh.

“At any rate, let us begin; we shall see in time where we shall end.”

Jordan had gone back into a reverie, and did not seem to hear him. He, the man of science, shut up in his laboratory, had been deeply moved, and though he still doubted if it were possible to hasten the march of humanity, he was not disposed to obstruct the attempt.

“No doubt,” he said, slowly, “individual effort is often very powerful. To set facts in motion, it needs a man who can will and who will act; a rebel of genius and of free thought who is the bearer of a new truth to men.

... In a shipwreck, when the only chance of safety lies in cutting a cable or chopping away a mast, a man and an axe are all that are needed. The will is everything; the man who saves is he who wields the axe.... Nothing can resist him; he can remove mountains; the seas draw back before a man who of his own initiative knows how to act.”

That was it. In these few words Luc found what gave new fuel to the power of will and of conviction that burned within him. He as yet knew nothing of his own genius; but it was in him, like strength that had been long accumulating, a revolt against unrighteousness; an ardent desire to see justice done to all. He was a man who exercised his private judgment; he would accept nothing but what could be demonstrated scientifically. He stood alone; he wished to act alone; he put all his faith into action. He was a man who could dare — that was enough — his mission would be accomplished.

There was silence for a few moments. Then Jordan spoke in a tone of friendly cordiality:

“As I have told you, in hours of depression I have thought of letting Delaveau have all my works — the blast-furnace and the mine and all the land — that I might get rid of them and give myself up in peace to my studies and experiments. Take them; I prefer to give them to you, who will make good use of them. All that I ask of you is to make me completely free; to leave me in my own corner to labor undisturbed, to complete my life-work, and never again to talk to me about these things.”

Luc looked at him with sparkling eyes, in which shone gratitude and deep affection. Then, with hesitation, he made answer:

“That is not all, my friend. I want your large heart to do something more. I dare not undertake anything without money. I shall want five hundred thousand francs to set up such a factory and such workshops as those of which I have dreamed; then I can reorganize labor, and make it the foundation of that future city.... I am persuaded that I can make of it a good business enterprise, since your capital will go into the association, and it is sure to bring you a large share of the profits.”

And though Jordan wanted to interrupt him, he continued:

“
Yes; I know you do not care to become more wealthy. But yet you must live; and if you give me your money I want to make sure that you will have means to lead a comfortable existence, so that nothing may interrupt you in your peaceful work as a great scientific laborer.”

Again there was a silence, grave, but not without emotion, in the great laboratory where so much labor lay waiting for the moment when it might bring forth an abundant harvest. The decision to be taken was so important that it seemed to, send through all of them a kind of religious thrill as they waited for the decision.

“You are full of the spirit of self-sacrifice and of goodness,” said Luc. “Did you not tell me yesterday that the discoveries you are making, the electric furnaces which must reduce the necessity for human strength, must enrich men with new fortunes, you would not work yourself, you would give them away.... It is not a gift I ask from you; it is fraternal aid — help which will enable me to overthrow injustice and make others happy.”

Then Jordan quietly consented.

“My friend,” said he, “I am ready. You shall have the money to realize your dream; but as it is not right to deceive you, I will tell you that your dream is, in my eyes, only a generous utopian scheme, for you have not fully convinced me. Excuse my doubts. I am a scientist.... But no matter. You are a good, brave man. Try what you can do. I am with you.”

Luc gave a cry of triumph, an outburst from his whole being. He seemed to be walking on air.

“Oh! thank you. Now I know that the work will be accomplished, and we shall all have a holy joy in it.” Sœurette had not moved; she had taken no part in the conversation. But the kindness of her heart shone in her face, great tears filled her eyes. She rose, as if irresistibly impelled, went up to Luc, and, without speaking, being almost beside herself, she kissed him on the forehead, while her tears wetted his cheeks. Then, in her great emotion, she threw herself into her brother’s arms, and sobbed there for some time.

Rather surprised at her kissing the young man, Jordan felt anxious.

“Why, how is this, little sister? You do not disapprove, I hope? I know I ought to have consulted you,... but it is not too late. Are you with us?”

“Oh yes! — oh yes!” she stammered, smiling, and beaming through her tears.
“
You are like two brothers, and as such I will serve you. Make any use of me you can.”

That night about eleven o’clock Luc leaned out of the window of his abode (a detached cottage in the courtyard, called a pavilion), as he had done the night before, to breathe the fresh, calm night air.

Opposite to him were some rocky, uncultivated fields; Beauclair lay asleep; one by one its lamps were being extinguished, while to his left the Pit still rang with the blows of its great hammers. Never had the breath of that unhappy giant seemed to him to come with more oppression. And, as on the previous evening, he heard a slight noise on the other side of the road, so slight that he fancied it was the flutter of a night bird. But his heart began to beat when the noise came again, for he recognized by the little rustle of a gown that some one was approaching. He recognized the same vague form that he had seen on the previous evening, so slight and so delicate that it seemed to float over the grass. And then, with a spring as light as that of a wild goat, a woman crossed the road and threw him a little bunch of mountain pinks, fresh gathered among the rocks, and with so strong a perfume that his room was scented by it.

“Oh! Josine! Josine!” he murmured, his heart filled with infinite tenderness.

She stood still, obedient to his voice, as in all things she would always be, with the same passionate gesture of gratitude, as when she had once before given him flowers as simple and uncultivated as she herself. He was refreshed by them; he enjoyed the little incident after all the physical and mental fatigue of that momentous day. Was not her presence the reward of his first effort — of his first resolute action in Beauclair? The bunch of flowers she had given him was an encouragement to what he had decided to do the next morning. It was through her that he loved all people who were suffering, she whom he wished to save from the monster’s grasp. He had found her the most wretched, the most ill-used of human creatures, as near dropping, metaphorically, into the gutter as she had been to falling into the stream upon whose banks she sat. With that poor hand which toil had mutilated, she seemed the incarnation of a whole race of victims, some giving their very being up to work, and some to what the vile call pleasure. As he had rescued her, so would he rescue others. She was also to him love’s representative, the love so necessary to complete the happiness of his city of the future.

Softly he called her:

“Josine! Josine! Is it you, Josine?”

But without a word she fled away and was lost in the darkness of the uncultivated moorland.

“Josine! Josine! I know it is you. I have something to say to you.”

Then, trembling but happy, she came back with her light step, and stopped upon the road below his window. Then she breathed softly:

“Yes — it is I, Monsieur Luc.”

He was in no hurry. He tried to see her better — so small, so vague, she seemed a vision that would float away into the darkness.

“Will you do me a service?... Tell Bonnaire to come and talk with me to-morrow morning. I have some good news for him. I have found work for him.”

She tried to give a little soft laugh of delight. It seemed like the chirp of a little bird.

“Ah! you are good — you are so good!”

“And,” he went on, in a low voice, for he was much moved, “I shall have work to give to any workman who may wish to work. Yes; I am going to try to see if I can find justice and happiness for you all.”

She understood him. Her laugh was softer and more full of a sense of gratitude.

“Thank you, thank you, Monsieur Luc.”

The vision slipped away, but he could see her light form disappear among the bushes. It was accompanied by another shadowy form. Nanet, whom he had not seen before, was trotting by the side of his big sister.

“Josine! Josine!... Au revoir, Josine!”

“Thank you, thank you, Monsieur Luc!”

He could no longer distinguish her; she had disappeared; but he seemed still to hear her thanks of joy and gratitude; that little birdlike chirp which the wind brought to him. It had an infinite charm for him; all his heart was filled with it; it was enchantment.

Luc stood long at the window, wrapped in boundless hope for the future. The Pit was panting with its accursed labor, and Guerdache, with its park, made a black dot in the middle of the bare plain of Roumagne. He looked down at old Beauclair, at its working-men’s suburb, with its tottering houses half rotted away; the place lay asleep, worn out by poverty and suffering. And that was the sink of filth and vice that he wanted to purify, the stronghold of the system that he wanted to destroy with all its iniquities and cruelties, that he might purge humanity from its poison. He would build another suburb in the same place. He thought of his city of the future — the city of truth, justice, and happiness, the walls of whose white houses he saw in fancy rising in the midst of verdure, a place free and fraternal, bright with the sunshine of happiness.

Suddenly the sky was lighted up, a red flame shone over the roofs of Beauclair, over the Monts Bleuses, over the neighboring country. It was a flame from the blast furnace of La Crêcherie, and Luc had at first mistaken it for the sunrise. It was not dawn; it was like a shower of shooting-stars. Old Vulcan, tortured and chained to his anvil, was sending forth his last flames. Work should thenceforth bring health and joy to the workers — for the glad morrow was already at hand.

BOOK II

CHAPTER I

THREE years passed, and Luc had established his new works, which had given rise to an industrial town. The territory occupied more than two hundred and fifty acres below the acclivity of the Monts Bleuses, a vast and slightly sloping moorland that extended from the park of La Crêcherie to the accumulation of buildings of the Pit. As the beginning had to be on a small scale, only a small part of this moorland had been utilized, the rest having been reserved for hoped-for improvements in the future.

The works stood against a rocky promontory, directly under the blast-furnace, which communicated with the workshops by two elevators. Moreover, in anticipation of the revolution which Jordan’s electric furnaces were expected to introduce, Luc had not paid much attention to the blast-furnace, and had left it in the hands of Morfain, to be managed as before. But in establishing his works he had made use of all possible modern improvements, both in building and machinery, that were likely to promote good returns for labor, and to diminish his laborers’ toil. Besides this, he had been desirous that the houses of his industrial town, each of which stood in the middle of a garden, should be comfortable places of abode, in which family life might flourish. About fifty of these houses already occupied the land in the vicinity of La Crêcherie, and formed a little hamlet in the direction of Beauclair; for each house that was built was like a step made towards the construction of the city of the future, towards conquest of that doomed and guilty town. Furthermore, in the middle of the territory he had planned, Luc had erected the Communal House, a large building which contained school-rooms, a library, and a hall where men could meet one another socially, hold entertainments, and find places where they could play games and take baths. This was the only thing he had borrowed from the phalanstery of Fourier; allowing every man to build as he chose, without forcing him to keep to any regular street-line, for he recognized the necessity of association only as regarded certain public services. Finally, in the rear men organized co-operative stores, which grew larger day by day, a bakery, a butcher’s shop, and a grocery, besides shops for the sale of clothing, tools, and other indispensable small articles for daily use — a complete co-operative association, in short, under the control of the works, regulated by the prosperity of La Crêcherie, or the reverse. Of course all was as yet only in embryo, but it had life, and it was possible to foresee what it might one day become. Luc would not have been able to proceed so fast had not his workmen become interested in his building plans. He was especially pleased to have been able to impound the water of springs, scattered among the rocks above, so as to provide water for the rising town — water clear, pure, and abundant, which cleansed the works and the club-house, irrigated the gardens, with their thick verdure, and was brought into all the houses, to be a source of health and joy.