Complete Works of Emile Zola (1613 page)

Luc found in all this the answer to the question which had often puzzled him — namely, how Jordan, delicate as he was, found strength for his immense labors. He found it, as Luc now saw, in method alone — in the wise and reasonable employment of his resources, slender as they were. He even utilized his own feebleness, making of it a protection against outside distractions. But, above all, he never varied in his end; he bestowed upon his work every moment that he had at his disposal, and he did so without discouragement and without weariness, sustained always by that continued, enduring, effectual faith that removes mountains. No one realizes the amount of work that can be accomplished by two hours only of daily labor, when this time is bestowed on a useful, decisive work, which is never interrupted by idleness or whims. It is the grain of wheat that overfills the sack; it is the drop of water that makes the river overflow its banks. Stone by stone the building is erected; the monument rises to the height of mountains. And it was thus that this frail little man, wrapped up in shawls and forced to drink warm water for fear of taking cold, had achieved immense results; it was by prodigies of method and of personal adaptation, and by consecrating to his work exclusively the rare hours of intellectual health which he saved from physical weakness.

The dinner was very sociable and delightful. All the service of the table was performed by women, Sœurette having found that men-servants were too noisy and bustling for her brother. The coachman and the groom simply gave assistance on certain definite days of unusual labor. And the maid-servants, who were chosen with great care for their pleasant manners and adroit service, were an addition to the peaceful happiness of the warm, secluded dwelling where only intimates were ever received. This evening the dishes prepared for the master’s return were very simple; they consisted of a stock soup, a barbillon from the Mionne, dressed in butter, a roasted pullet, and a vegetable salad.

“You have really not been bored to death since Saturday?” Sœurette said to Luc when they were all three seated at table in the well-appointed little dining-room.

“No, indeed, I assure you,” answered the young man. “Moreover, you will never be able to guess how I have been occupied.”

And he began at once to tell of his Saturday evening, of the condition of gloomy revolt in which he had found Beauclair, the bread stolen by Nanet, the arrest of Lange, and of his visit to Bonnaire, the victim of the strike. But moved by some peculiar scruple, which astonished himself later, he passed over his meeting with Josine, whom he did not even mention.

“Poor people,” said the young girl, with pity. “This terrible strike has reduced many of them to bread and water, and those are fortunate who still have bread.... What can we do? How can we come to their aid? To give charity is only an infinitesimal relief, and you cannot believe how unhappy it has made me, during the last two months, to feel that we, the rich and fortunate, are radically powerless to help.”

She was a born humanitarian, and a pupil of her grandfather Michon, the old doctor, who was a Fourieriste and a Saint-Simonian, and who had taken her on his knee when she was little, in order to tell her beautiful stories, which he invented, of the fortunate isles, and of lands where men realized all their dreams of happiness in an eternal spring-time.

“What can we do? What can we do?” she repeated, sadly, with her beautiful eyes, full of tenderness and pity, fixed on Luc. “Something must be done.”

Then Luc, overcome by his own emotion, allowed the heartfelt cry to escape him:

“Ah, yes, it is indeed time; some action must be taken.”

Jordan, however, shook his head. In his cloistered existence he never occupied himself with social questions.

He had, indeed, a great contempt for them — most unreasonably, for it is of all things important that men should interest themselves in the methods by which they are governed. But from the lofty heights at which he dwelt all these events seemed daily accidents of the most trivial character, simple obstacles on the highway. From his point of view it was science alone which led humanity in the direction of truth, justice, and final happiness, and to that ideal future condition towards which men move with slow and painful steps. What did anything else matter? Was it not all-sufficient that science should advance? And in her advance each one of her achievements was definite. The victory of life was hers; and whatever might be the catastrophes attending her progress, in her humanity fulfilled its destiny. He was in reality no less kind, no less tender-hearted than his sister, but he deliberately closed his ears to the struggle going on around him, and shut himself up in his laboratory, where he worked, he said, for the happiness of the morrow.

“Action,” he remarked, in his turn, “thought is action, and it is the most fruitful form of action in its influence on the world. Do we know which seeds, of all that are planted, will germinate?... If all this misery wrings my heart, I do not make myself uneasy on that account, for the harvest must ripen in its own time.”

Luc, not wishing to push the matter in his own feverish and troubled state of mind, then described how he had spent Sunday — his invitation to Guerdache, the breakfast at which he had been present, the persons whom he had met, and their sayings and doings. He was perfectly conscious, however, that the brother and sister became indifferent, having no interest in this other world.

“We very rarely see the Boisgelins since they came to Beauclair,” explained Jordan, with his easy frankness.

“They were very pleasant to us in Paris; but we live here in such seclusion that our intercourse with them has, little by little, almost ceased. In fact, to tell the truth, our habits and our points of view differ too widely. As to Delaveau, he is an active and intelligent man, who is entirely occupied by his business as I am by mine. I must admit that the society at Beauclair inspires me with such aversion that I close my door firmly against it; I am quite satisfied to have it despise me and cast me on one side as a dangerous lunatic.”

Sœurette began to laugh.

“Martial exaggerates a little,” she said. “I receive the Abbe Marie, who is an excellent man, and also the doctor, Novarre, and the head of the institute, Hermeline, both of whom interest me by their conversation. And although it is true that our present relations with the owners of Guerdache are those of simple courtesy, I retain, nevertheless, a sincere friendship for Madame Boisgelin, who is so good and so charming.”

Jordan enjoyed teasing her a little sometimes.

“Let us say, then,” he remarked, “that it is I who desire to fly from the world, and that if I were not here you would open wide the doors.”

“Oh, but of course,” she cried, gayly, “the house is conducted as you please. Do you wish that I should give a great ball, where I would entertain the sub-prefect Châtelard, the mayor Gourier, Judge Gaume, Captain Jollivet, and the Mazelles, the Boisgelins, and the Delaveaus? You shall open the ball with Madame Mazelle.” They continued to laugh together, very happy at their return to their own nest and in Luc’s company. At last, with the dessert, the great question of moment was broached. The two maids, so swift and so silent in their felt shoes, which made not the slightest sound, had left the room. The quiet dining-room had the infinite charm of personal intimacy, where hearts and brains could freely expand.

“
See then, my friend,” said Jordan, “I will explain what I hope for from your kind friendship.... You will consider the question attentively, and you will tell me plainly what you would do in my place.”

He proceeded to discuss the whole affair, and to explain the position in which he now found himself. He would have wished to get rid of the blast-furnace long since had not its operation proceeded, so to speak, of itself, in an unvarying manner, regulated by routine. The profits from it had remained sufficiently good, but these were not of importance in his eyes, for he believed himself to be very rich; and, on the other hand, although they might be doubled or tripled, it would be necessary, in order to do this, to renew a part of the
matériel,
to improve the rendering, and, in short, to give himself entirely up to it. This was what he neither would nor could do; all the more because these old-fashioned blast-furnaces which, according to him, were childish and barbarous, no longer interested him, neither could they be of any use in the experiments on electrical furnaces, in which his whole being was absorbed. Therefore, he had let his own go to pieces, and had given it as little attention as possible while waiting the opportunity to abandon it altogether.

“You understand how that is, do you not, my friend?... And now, here is my old Laroche dead, all of a sudden, and the entire management, with all its cares, falls on my shoulders. You have no conception of what it would mean to undertake it; a man’s entire existence would hardly suffice to do so, if it were done seriously. Now, nothing in the world would induce me to abandon my researches. I have very nearly made up my mind that the best thing for me to do is to sell it, but I am waiting to know your opinion before I do so.”

Luc, who thoroughly understood the matter, considered his views very reasonable.

“There can be no doubt,” he answered, “that you must not change your work, which is your whole existence. Not only you yourself but the world at large would lose by that. But there may be some other solution possible,  if you reflect a little more.... And, moreover, in order to sell, there must be a purchaser.”

“Oh,” replied Jordan, “I have a purchaser ready. For some time past Delaveau has dreamed of annexing the blast-furnace of La Crêcherie to the steel-factories of the Pit. He has sounded me already, and I need only give him the chance.”

Luc gave a sudden start at the name of Delaveau, for he at once perceived why the latter had shown himself so uneasy, and been so pressing in his inquiries. And when his host, having noticed his movement of surprise, asked him if he had anything to say against the director of the Pit, he replied:

“No, no; I believe him to be, as you say, an intelligent and active man.”

“
For that reason,” continued Jordan, “the business would be in expert hands.... I am afraid it would be necessary to accept payments in instalments at very long intervals, for money is not forthcoming immediately, as Boisgelin has no more available capital. But that is no matter; I can wait, and the Pit is a sufficient security.” Then stopping short, and looking Luc full in the face, he concluded:

“Finally, then, do you advise me to have done with it, and to negotiate with Delaveau?”

The young man did not answer at once. A sudden uneasiness, an invincible repugnance, took possession of his entire being. Why was this? he asked himself. Why should he feel anger and repulsion, as if, in advising the sale of the blast-furnace to this man, he was committing an evil action for which he would afterwards suffer remorse? He certainly could not find any good reason which justified him in giving his advice to the contrary. At length he answered:

“Certainly, all that you tell me is very judicious, and I can only approve.... Still, I say, reflect, reflect a little longer.”

Up to this point Sœurette had listened very attentively, without interfering. She had seemed to share Luc’s secret uneasiness; and from time to time she had cast a glance in his direction, with an expression betokening anxiety at what he might be going to say.

“It is not the blast-furnace alone,” she said, at last; “there is also the mine; there is all that immense extent of rocks which go with it, and which could not, so it seems to me, be separated from it.”

Her brother made a gesture of impatience, caused by his desire to get rid of the whole thing at once.

“Delaveau may take the land also, if he wants it. What do you wish that we should do with it? It is nothing but bare, calcined rock, where even the brambles refuse to grow. Moreover, it is entirely worthless now that the mine can no longer be worked.”

“Is it, indeed, so certain that it can no longer be worked?” she insisted. “I remember, Monsieur Froment, that you told us, one evening, how they had succeeded in the East in utilizing ores of very poor quality, thanks to a chemical process. Why have we not yet tried this process ourselves?”

Jordan raised his two hands to heaven, as if in despair.

“Why, why, my darling?... Because Laroche was wholly incapable of taking an initiative; because I myself have not had time to concern myself about it; because things went on according to a certain established custom, and they could not go on in any other.... Don’t you see that my wish to sell is only in order that I may hear the last of it, since it is radically impossible for me to direct the business, and it would certainly make me ill?”

He stood up, and his sister was silenced, seeing him so agitated, and dreading that he might have fever.

“There are times,” he continued, “when I long to tell Delaveau that he may take the whole thing, even if he pays me nothing.... As for the electric furnace, the solution of the question of which I am so earnestly seeking, I have never wished to put that to use myself in order to make money out of it, for, as soon as I shall have found it, I shall give it to the world for the fortune and happiness of all.... Come, the matter will be settled from the moment that our friend pronounces our plan reasonable, and to-morrow we will study the method of transfer, and I will make an end of the business.”

Then, as Luc did not respond, being desirous, in his strange reluctance, not to commit himself further, Jordan became still more excited, and proposed to him to come up with him at once and they would ascertain for themselves how the blast-furnace had worked during his three days’ absence.

“I am not without uneasiness,” he said. “Laroche has been dead a week, and I have not yet replaced him. I left my master-founder, Morfain, to direct the work. He is an admirable man, born here, and has grown up in the works. But, all the same, it is a heavy responsibility for a simple workman, which is all he is.”

Sœurette, seized with fear, would have interfered, and entreated him: