Germinal. Эмиль Золя

descent, was digging up his patch of vegetable ground without raising his head. But as Maheude arrived opposite the other block of buildings, she was surprised to see a gentleman and two ladies in front of the church. She stopped a moment and recognized them; it was Madame Hennebeau bringing her guests, the decorated gentleman and the lady in the fur mantle, to see the settlement.

      “Oh! why did you take this trouble?” exclaimed Pierronne, when Maheude had returned the coffee. “There was no hurry.”

      She was twenty-eight, and was considered the beauty of the settlement, dark, with a low forehead, large eyes, straight mouth, and coquettish as well; with the neatness of a cat, and with a good figure, for she had had no children. Her mother, Brulé, the widow of a pikeman who died in the mine, after having sent her daughter to work in a factory, swearing that she should never marry a collier, had never ceased to be angry since she had married, somewhat late, Pierron, a widower with a girl of eight. However, the household lived very happily, in the midst of chatter, of scandals which circulated concerning the husband’s complaisance and the wife’s lovers. No debts, meat twice a week, a house kept so clean that one could see oneself in the saucepans. As an additional piece of luck, thanks to favours, the Company had authorized her to sell bon-bons and biscuits, jars of which she exhibited, on two boards, behind the windowpanes. This was six or seven sous profit a day, and sometimes twelve on Sundays. The only drawback to all this happiness was Mother Brulé, who screamed with all the rage of an old revolutionary, having to avenge the death of her man on the masters, and little Lydie, who pocketed, in the shape of frequent blows, the passions of the family.

      “How big she is already!” said Pierronne, simpering at Estelle.

      “Oh! the trouble that it gives! Don’t talk of it!” said Maheude. “You are lucky not to have any. At least you can keep clean.”

      Although everything was in order in her house, and she scrubbed every Saturday, she glanced with a jealous housekeeper’s eye over this clean room, in which there was even a certain coquetry, gilt vases on the sideboard, a mirror, three framed prints.

      Pierronne was about to drink her coffee alone, all her people being at the pit.

      “You’ll have a glass with me?” she said.

      “No, thanks; I’ve just swallowed mine.”

      “What does that matter?”

      In fact, it mattered nothing. And both began drinking slowly. Between the jars of biscuits and bon-bons their eyes rested on the opposite houses, of which the little curtains in the windows formed a row, revealing by their greater or less whiteness the virtues of the housekeepers. Those of the Levaques were very dirty, veritable kitchen clouts, which seemed to have wiped the bottoms of the saucepans.

      “How can they live in such dirt?” murmured Pierronne.

      Then Maheude began and did not stop. Ah! if she had had a lodger like that Bouteloup she would have made the household go. When one knew how to do it, a lodger was an excellent thing. Only one ought not to sleep with him. And then the husband had taken to drink, beat his wife, and ran after the singers at the Montsou caféconcerts.

      Pierronne assumed an air of profound disgust. These singers gave all sort of diseases. There was one at Joiselle who had infected a whole pit.

      “What surprises me is that you let your son go with their girl.”

      “Ah, yes! but just stop it then! Their garden is next to ours. Zacharie was always there in summer with Philoméne behind the lilacs, and they didn’t put themselves out on the shed; one couldn’t draw water at the well without surprising them.”

      It was the usual history of the promiscuities of the settlement; boys and girls became corrupted together, throwing themselves on their backsides, as they said, on the low, sloping roof of the shed when twilight came on. All the putters got their first child there when they did not take the trouble to go to Réquillart or into the cornfields. It was of no consequence; they married afterwards, only the mothers were angry when their lads began too soon, for a lad who married no longer brought anything into the family.

      “In your place I would have done with it,” said Pierronne, sensibly. “Your Zacharie has already filled her twice, and they will go on and get spliced. Anyhow, the money is gone.”

      Maheude was furious and raised her hands.

      “Listen to this: I will curse them if they get spliced. Doesn’t Zacharie owe us any respect? He has cost us something, hasn’t he? Very well. He must return it before getting a wife to hang on him. What will become of us, eh, if our children begin at once to work for others? Might as well die!”

      However, she grew calm.

      “I’m speaking in a general way; we shall see later. It is fine and strong, your coffee; you make it proper.”

      And after a quarter of an hour spent over other stories, she ran off, exclaiming that the men’s soup was not yet made. Outside, the children were going back to school; a few women were showing themselves at their doors, looking at Madame Hennebeau, who, with lifted finger, was explaining the settlement to her guests. This visit began to stir up the village. The earth-cutting man stopped digging for a moment, and two disturbed fowls took fright in the gardens.

      As Maheude returned, she ran against the Levaque woman who had come out to stop Dr. Vanderhaghen, a doctor of the Company, a small hurried man, overwhelmed by work, who gave his advice as he walked.

      “Sir,” she said, “I can’t sleep; I feel ill everywhere. I must tell you about it.”

      He spoke to them all familiarly, and replied without stopping:

      “Just leave me alone; you drink too much coffee.”

      “And my husband, sir,” said Maheude in her turn, “you must come and see him. He always has those pains in his legs.”

      “It is you who take too much out of him. Just leave me alone!”

      The two women were left to gaze at the doctor’s retreating back.

      “Come in, then,” said the Levaque woman, when she had exchanged a despairing shrug with her neighbour. “You know, there is something new. And you will take a little coffee. It is quite fresh.”

      Maheude refused, but without energy. Well! a drop, at all events, not to disoblige. And she entered.

      The room was black with dirt, the floor and the walls spotted with grease, the sideboard and the table sticky with filth; and the stink of a badly kept house took you by the throat. Near the fire, with his elbows on the table and his nose in his plate, Bouteloup, a broad stout placid man, still young for thirty-five, was finishing the remains of his boiled beef, while standing in front of him, little Achille, Philoméne’s first-born, who was already in his third year, was looking at him in the silent, supplicating way of a gluttonous animal. The lodger, very kind behind his big brown beard, from time to time stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth.

      “Wait till I sugar it,” said the Levaque woman, putting some brown sugar beforehand into the coffee-pot.

      Six years older than he was, she was hideous and worn out, with her bosom hanging on her belly, and her belly on her thighs, with a flattened muzzle, and greyish hair always uncombed. He had taken her naturally, without choosing, the same as he did his soup in which he found hairs, or his bed of which the sheets lasted for three months. She was part of the lodging; the husband liked repeating that good reckonings make good friends.

      “I was going to tell you,” she went on, “that Pierrone was seen yesterday prowling about on the Bas-de-Soie side. The gentleman you know of was waiting for her behind Rasseneur’s, and they went off together along the canal. Eh! that’s nice, isn’t it? A married woman!”

      “Gracious!” said Maheude; “Pierron, before marrying her, used to give the captain rabbits; now it costs him less to lend his wife.”

      Bouteloup began to laugh enormously, and threw a fragment of sauced bread into Achille’s mouth. The two women went on relieving themselves