Complete Works of Emile Zola (1652 page)

“I am telling you, my daughter. Restitution must be made to all. Nothing of that which we have believed to be our wealth is ours. If this wealth has poisoned us and destroyed us, it is because it was the wealth of others. For our own happiness, for the happiness of others, it is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back.” It was a scene of sovereign beauty, of incomparable grandeur. Monsieur Jérôme did not always find words, but he completed his thoughts by gestures. In the midst of the silence which those who listened sacredly preserved, he slowly and in spite of obstacles succeeded in making them understand. He had seen everything, heard everything, and understood everything; and, as Suzanne had foreseen with an agonizing dread, it was the entire past that now appeared in his words, all the truth of the terrible past which poured forth in an overwhelming flood, from this witness so long mute and impassive, incarcerated in his human prison. He seemed to have outlived the innumerable disasters that had overtaken a once happy family overwhelmed by ruin, only to draw from his experience a great example. Now in his day of awakening, before death overtook him, he was detailing his long sufferings as a man who, after having believed in his race, and having seen it established in the position of authority won by himself, had lived long enough to perceive the race and the authority swept away by the wind of the future. And he was explaining why, he was sitting in judgment, and was making reparation.

There had been in the beginning the first Qurignon, the working forgeman who created the Pit, with some comrades as poor as himself, but no doubt less dexterous and economical. Then there was himself, the second Qurignon, who gained the fortune, the accumulated millions, by an obstinate struggle, in which he showed himself a hero of determination, of constant and intelligent effort. But although he had accomplished prodigies of activity and of creative genius, and had gained money by an honorable appreciation of the conditions of production and sale, he understood perfectly that he was simply an originator, and that his strength and his success were the result of long generations of working-men culminating in him. What numbers of peasants sweating in the field, of workmen exhausted by mechanical labor, had been necessary in order to produce the two first Qurignons, the conquerors of the fortune? In them had been amassed the hard necessity for effort, for self-enrichment, for social ascent, the slow enfranchisement of the miserable slave oppressed by the labor of servitude. And, finally, there was produced a Qurignon who was sufficiently strong to vanquish all obstacles and to escape from captivity, to acquire the longed-for wealth, to be, in his turn, a rich man and a master. And then, immediately afterwards, in two generations, the race had degenerated, had fallen behind in the melancholy contest, already enfeebled by pleasure and consumed by it as though by flames.

“It is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back.”

There was his son Michel, who, after his period of madness, destroyed himself the day before his payments fell due. There was his other son, Philippe, who married a good-for-nothing woman, and, ruined by her, lost his life in an idiotic duel. There was his daughter Laure, her brain enfeebled by mystic visions, dying later, unmarried, in a convent. There were his two grandsons, André, the son of Philippe, rachitic and semi-insane, wasting his existence in an asylum, and Gustave, the son of Michel, meeting a tragic end on the road to Italy, after having driven his father to suicide by robbing him of his mistress and of the money for his months payments. Lastly, there was his granddaughter, Suzanne, the tender, the good, and the well - beloved, whose husband, Boisgelin, after having bought back the Pit and Guerdache, had completed their destruction. The Pit was in ashes, still hot from the destroying fire, the avenger of folly and pollution. Guerdache, where he had hoped to see his race increase, surrounded him like a desert, with its empty rooms and its gloomy park, across which passed nothing except the pale phantom of the murderess, the temptress, of that Fernande whose ruin had just been consummated. And while the different members of his race thus succumbed, one after the other, unsettling and sweeping away the work of his father and himself, he had seen a new enterprise established opposite — La Crêcherie — where everything was now prospering, the living witness of the future that it was introducing. He was aware of these things, because they had passed before his wide - open eyes in the course of his continual airings and his hours of mute contemplation, when he was waiting before the Pit at the moment when the workmen came out, or before La Crêcherie, where the older workmen, deserters from the Pit, still saluted him, and again before the Pit on the morning when there remained nothing of this beloved establishment but smoking ruins.

“It is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back.”

This cry, to which he constantly gave vent, in the midst of his slow flow of words, and which he emphasized every time with more energy, arose as the necessary consequence of the disastrous occurrences from which he had so much suffered. If the things around him had crumbled away so rapidly, was it not because the fortune acquired by the labor of others was corrupted and corrupting? The kind of pleasure that it procures is the most certain of destructive ferments; it debases the race, disorganizes the family, and brings about abominable tragedies. It was this that in less than half a century had devoured that strength, that intelligence, and that genius which had been laid up in reserve among the Qurignons during centuries of hard labor. The error of these stalwart workmen had been to believe that they had the right, for their personal happiness, to take possession of and enjoy the wealth that they were creating through the hands of their comrades. But the wealth dreamed of, the wealth accumulated, had resulted in a punishment. Nothing affords a worse moral example than the spectacle of the working-man who, having gained wealth and become a master, is the ruler of thousands of men bent under their task and sweating the money with which he triumphs. When people say, “You see clearly that a simple forgeman can achieve anything,” they simply urge on the work of iniquity and aggravate social disquietude. The happiness of the elect is made up only of the misfortune of others, since it is their happiness that he reduces and steals. A comrade who is successful bars the road to thousands of others, and lives thenceforward upon their wretchedness and suffering. And such a fortunate man is often punished by success and by the fortune itself, which has been too hastily acquired, and is disproportionate, and therefore destructive. This is why the only thing to do is to return to all-saving labor, to the labor of all, to the gaining of a livelihood by all, the happiness of all being due only to their intelligence and their effort.

“It is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back.”

It is necessary to give back, because death results from the wealth stolen from others. It is necessary to give back, because the only cure, the only certainty, and the only happiness lie in doing so. It is necessary to give back, from a spirit of justice, and still more from personal interest, as the happiness of each can reside only in the happiness of all. It is necessary to give back, in order to compass our own welfare, and to live a healthy and a happy life in the midst of universal peace. It is necessary to give back, since if all the possessors of public wealth should to-morrow give up all the riches that they are squandering for their solitary pleasures — the great domains, the great exploitations, the manufactories, etc. — we should at once have peace, love flourishing ‘among men, and such an abundance of blessings that there would no longer be a single wretched person upon earth. It is necessary to give back; it is necessary to set an example if it is desired that other necessary rich persons may understand and feel whence proceed the evils that they suffer, and desire again to seek in active life, in daily labor, the bread that never nourishes better than when it has been earned. It is necessary to give back, while yet there is time, when there is still some nobility in making restitution to one’s comrades, in showing them that one has been deceived, and in resuming one’s place for the common effort, with the hope of the approaching hour of justice and peace. It is necessary to give back, and thus to die with a clear conscience and a heart rejoicing at a duty fulfilled, leaving behind the lesson of reparation and liberation, to the last of the race, in order that he may raise it again, that he may save it from error, and that he may continue it in strength, in joy, and in beauty.

“It is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back.”

Tears started to Suzanne’s eyes on seeing the exaltation that the great-grandfather’s words aroused in her son Paul; while Boisgelin was manifesting his secret irritation by movements of impatience.

“But, grandfather,” inquired she, “to whom do you wish us to give back, and how?”

The old man turned his luminous eyes towards Luc.

“My children,” said he, “if I desired that the creator of La Crêcherie should be here, it was because he understands me and will aid you. He has already accomplished a great deal in the work of reparation, and he alone can intervene and give back what remains of our fortune to the comrades of the present and to the sons and grandsons of those of former times.”

Luc was oppressed by the emotion called forth by this exhibition of extraordinary nobility, but, nevertheless, he hesitated, feeling how hostile Boisgelin was.

“There is only one thing,” said he, “that I can do.

It is simply, if the owners of the Pit wish it, to receive them into our association at La Crêcherie. Like other works that have already joined us, the Pit will increase our family of workmen, and will at once double the importance of our growing city. And if, by giving back, you mean a return to greater justice and an approach towards absolute justice, I am able to assist you, and consent to it with all my heart.”

“I understand,” answered Monsieur Jérôme, slowly.

“I do not ask more.”

But Boisgelin, unable to contain himself longer, protested.

“Oh no! that is not what I wish. In spite of the great distress that such a course will occasion me, I am ready to dispose of the Pit to La Crêcherie. The selling price will be a matter for discussion, and I shall expect, in addition to a fixed sum, to preserve an interest in the works, the amount of which can also be discussed later.

I am in need of money. I wish to sell.”

This was the plan that he had been maturing for several days, under the impression that Luc had an intense desire for the property of the Pit, and that he could extract from the latter a considerable sum at once, while reserving an income from it in the future. But this plan fell entirely to pieces when Luc declared, in a distinct voice, in which could be perceived an irrevocable determination:

“It is impossible for us to purchase. Such a thing is contrary to the spirit that governs us, We are an association only, a family open to all brothers desirous of joining us.”

Monsieur Jérôme, whose piercing glance was fixed on Boisgelin, answered, without temper and with his sovereign tranquillity:

“‘It is I who wish, and I who command. My granddaughter, Suzanne, here present, the joint owner of the Pit, will formally refuse any other arrangement if it is contrary to my will. And I am sure that she, like myself, will have but one regret, that of not being able to give back anything, for she will still receive the interest on her capital, which she will dispose of according to her own pleasure.”

Boisgelin was silenced, submitting entirely in the bewildered feebleness into which his ruin had thrown him, and the old man continued:

“That is not all; there still remain Guerdache and the farm. It is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back.”

Then he finished expressing his wishes, although he was much exhausted and speech failed him. Just as the Pit was to be merged in La Crêcherie, so he wished that the farm should form part of the Combettes association. The whole property would go to enlarge the wide fields made common property by Lenfant, Yvonnot, and the other peasants, who had lived like brothers ever since their interests, well understood, had been reconciled. There was for them now but one earth, a single mother who nourished all, because she was beloved by all and cultivated by all. The entire plain of Roumagne would at last present one single uninterrupted harvest, the abundant granary of the regenerated Beauclair. As for Guerdache, since it belonged absolutely to Suzanne, he advised her to give it back to the poor and the suffering, in order that nothing might be kept of the corrupting wealth through which the Qurignons had suffered. Then, turning again to Paul, still seated on the side of the bed, and taking the boy’s hands in his, he looked at him with eyes whose light was now beginning to grow dim, and said, in a voice becoming fainter and fainter:

“It is necessary to give back; it is necessary to give back, my child. You will keep nothing; you will give this park to our old comrades, in order that they may rejoice in it upon holidays, and that their wives and children may walk in it, to enjoy hours of health and gayety there under the beautiful trees. You will give it back, and you will also give up the house, this immense dwelling that we have not known how to fill, in spite of our money. I desire that it shall belong to the wives and children of the poor workmen. Let them be welcomed here, let them be cared for when they are ill or simply weary. Keep nothing, give back everything; give back everything, my child, if you wish to save yourself from the infection. And work; live only by your work, and seek the daughter of some old comrade who also works; marry her, and have by her beautiful children who will work, who will be among the good and the happy, and who will have other beautiful children who will carry on the eternal labor of the future. Keep nothing, my child; give back everything; it is the only safety, peace, and joy.”

They were all weeping. Never had nobler, grander, or more heroic words been heard by human beings. The vast chamber had become sanctified thereby. The old man’s eyes, which had beamed while he was speaking, became gradually dim, while his voice sounded more hollow as he approached eternal silence. He had accomplished his sublime work of reparation, of truth, and of justice, by lending his aid to that happiness which is the primordial right of all men. In the evening he died.