The Fifth Desk · Evaluation
Act I · The Map
Émile Zola · a novel in seven parts · the thirteenth novel of the Rougon-Macquart · serialised in Gil Blas, November 1884 to February 1885, and published by Charpentier, Paris, March 1885 · scored as a novel on its own, on Zola’s French, read from knowledge; no text in hand, French quoted only where its words are certain, with the desk’s plain English beneath, and Roger Pearson’s translation (2004) for sense
Mode
Naturalist novel of labour and of the strike; social novel, mass drama and myth of descent and rising in one work
Mythos
The pit as a beast that eats men and at last eats itself; the descent to the underworld; the crop of the revolutionary month, men sown in the earth
Phase
One year less a few weeks in the late Second Empire, from a March night on the road to Montsou to an April morning on the same plain
Presentation
Fiction; seven parts and forty chapters; omniscient narration with free indirect passages, largely through Étienne Lantier, and mass scenes told through bodies rather than minds
Register
From the comedy of La Piolaine and the debate at the Avantage to the bestial in the corons and the dark of the flooded galleries
Scale
A family of miners in three generations, a village, a company, its shareholders and its soldiers; a coal basin from the plain to the floor of the pit
Governing Proposition
A young man comes on foot one March night to a coal town in the north, goes down the pit, settles among a family of miners and leads them into a strike that ends in hunger, soldiers, a shooting at the pit head and a flood that drowns the mine; in April he walks away over a plain where the earth is breaking with seed. The wager of the novel is that wage labour under industrial capital is a structure no one inside it controls, the masters as bound as the men; that hunger makes politics before ideas do; that a crowd is neither saint nor beast but both; and that the men buried under the earth are a crop, not a waste.
Act II · The Essay
Movement I
“Dans la plaine rase, sous la nuit sans étoiles”
“On the open plain, under a starless night.” The book opens on a man alone on the road from Marchiennes to Montsou, in the cold wind across the plain, walking toward red fires. What he finds is the pit, Le Voreux, crouched in the dark: a red glow and a panting engine. He is Étienne Lantier, the son of Gervaise from L’Assommoir, and the book names in him a hereditary craving for drink and the violence it brings. The cycle he belongs to is context here; the novel is scored on its own.
Old Bonnemort spits black, and his family has worked the pit for eighty years: the first genealogy of the book, and a genealogy of the damned. The pit has a name, and the name says what it does. Vorer is to devour, and the novel calls the Voreux again and again a beast that eats men. It is not atmosphere. The pit has eaten the Maheus’ forebears, it will take Catherine, and at the end it will fall into itself.
Étienne goes down. The first descent is in the cage, the water falling, to the seam where he works on his side beside someone he takes at first for a boy: Catherine. Below are the tubs and the horses, among them Bataille, who has not seen daylight in ten years and remembers a mill. The book will measure the year by this descent, and it will make the descent again at the close, to the floor of the mine.
Movement II
The second part sets two rooms side by side. At La Piolaine the Grégoires take breakfast with Cécile, and there is brioche. In the corons of the Deux-Cent-Quarante the Maheus’ bread box is empty. La Maheude goes to La Piolaine to beg, and she is given clothes and not money. The argument of the book is in those two rooms, and the chain that joins them will close in the sixth part, when Cécile comes into the hands of old Bonnemort.
Above the Company is no one the book can see. Hennebeau, the manager, is a salaried servant of shareholders he never meets; the god of the system sits in its tabernacle in Paris. His household is given at length, his wife’s liaison with Négrel and his own envy of the miners’ freedom to couple, and so is the ruin of Deneulin, the independent owner of Jean-Bart, crushed by the Company beside him. The structure holds the masters as it holds the men.
Étienne settles in the village and the idea of the strike settles in him. He reads, half-digested, Darwin and Lassalle; at the Avantage there is political debate, Rasseneur’s reformism against the International and Pluchart; and beside them stands Souvarine, the anarchist, who loves a tame rabbit called Pologne and has no other appetite. The economics are exact: payment by the tub, the provident fund, the credit at Maigrat’s. When the Company changes the payment for timbering, the strike begins.
Movement III
The strike is declared in the fourth part, and its meeting is held in the forest by moonlight, with Étienne speaking from a fallen tree. The scene is built as a mass scene, the point of view moving through the crowd’s bodies rather than through any one mind, and that is how the book makes the crowd a character, with its own motion and its own will. Étienne enjoys his rising. The book does not hide it.
In the fifth part the strikers march across the plain at sunset, the women in front and the men with axes, and their cry is “Du pain! du pain! du pain!”
“Bread! bread! bread!” The bourgeois see them through a barn door, a vision of the revolution to come, and the book cuts between the march, the Grégoires and the Hennebeaus’ dinner. The crowd sabotages Deneulin’s pit at Jean-Bart, and Maigrat, the grocer who held the miners’ credit, is killed.
What the women do to Maigrat’s corpse is told without a softening word. The crowd that shouts for bread is the same crowd that mutilates a body, and the book shows it as both: neither saint nor beast, and each of them. This is the second of its disclosures, harder than the first, and it falls on the leader too. Étienne has begun to despise the Maheus’ crowding and their smell.
Movement IV
The sixth part is hunger, and then the troops. At the pit the soldiers fire on the strikers, and Maheu is killed; la Maheude does not speak. The people Étienne led stone him afterward. In the same part old Bonnemort, eighty years of the pit in his body, strangles Cécile Grégoire: the girl of the brioche dies under the hands of the man who spits black, because the chain the book has built runs both ways.
Then Souvarine saws through the Voreux’s tubbing, and walks away without looking back. He is the same man who loved the rabbit. His nihilism is the book’s law carried out by a man without appetites, and the novel leaves open whether he is its horror or its logic.
In the seventh part the pit collapses into itself, and the canal pours into it. The beast that ate men eats itself, and the myth is the action. The horse Bataille, who remembered a mill, drowns in the galleries. Étienne and Catherine are entombed below, and Chaval, the man she chose before Étienne, returns in the flooded gallery. Some of the machinery shows here, in that return and in the timing of the rescue, and the book does not quite hide it.
Movement V
In the dark at the bottom of the flooded mine, after their first and only union, Catherine dies in Étienne’s arms, of hunger and cold under the earth. It is the farthest point from La Piolaine the book reaches, and one law governs both: bodies under need, and a system that feeds some on the hunger of others without anyone’s will. Étienne is brought up alive. La Maheude chooses to go back down the pit.
The book ends where it began, on the plain and on foot, but the night has become an April morning, and Étienne walks away from Montsou under the spring sun. The seven parts have made a descent and a rising: down at night in March, up in the morning a year less a few weeks later. The earth he crosses is heaving with seed, and the book turns the men under it into a crop: “une armée noire, vengeresse, qui germait lentement dans les sillons”
“a black avenging army, germinating slowly in the furrows.”
The title is the month of seed in the revolutionary calendar, and the close is its counter-myth to the beast: the pit eats, and the earth grows. It is asserted more than earned, since the strike was broken, the men shot and the mine drowned; the law of fact becomes at the last a law of promise. Whether it promises the future or states a law of nature, the socialist and the conservative readings of 1885 have both survived, and the book does not choose between them.
Act III · The Twelve
The spine is compelled: hunger forces the strike, the strike forces the march, the march forces the troops, the shooting forces the sabotage, and the flood forces the last descent. The subtractive test finds the joints. Remove the Grégoires and the chain loses its other end: their brioche at breakfast in the second part against the Maheus’ empty bread box is the argument in two rooms, and Cécile strangled by old Bonnemort in the sixth is the chain closing. Remove Souvarine and the flood has no cause. What holds the axis lowest of the twelve: the Hennebeau household is given more than the argument needs, Deneulin’s ruin is told at a length its function does not require, and the beast, the wind and the red vision repeat past the point where the image is fixed. A tenth or so of the book is permitted, not compelled.
Score: 8.3 / 10
The disclosure can be stated and holds: wage labour under industrial capital is a structure no one inside it controls. The masters are as bound as the men. Hennebeau is a salaried servant of shareholders he never sees, and the god of the system sits in its tabernacle in Paris. Hunger makes politics before ideas do. Beside it stands a harder disclosure, the leader’s corruption by the crowd he leads. Étienne reads half-digested Darwin and Lassalle, enjoys his rising, comes to despise the Maheus’ crowding and smell, and is stoned by the same people after the shooting. The crowd is shown as both saint and beast, and the women’s mutilation of Maigrat’s corpse is told without a softening word. Held off the top because the determinism sometimes states its law rather than lets it show, and its science of heredity has dated as truth, though not as observation.
Score: 8.9 / 10
Elevation is frequent and mostly dreadful. The Voreux at night in the opening, a red glow and a panting engine on the plain; the first descent in the cage, the water falling, the seam where Catherine and Étienne work on their sides; the march across the plain at sunset, the women in front and the men with axes, seen by the bourgeois through a barn door; the shooting, Maheu dead and la Maheude silent; the Voreux collapsing into itself and the canal pouring into the pit; the horse Bataille, who has not seen daylight in ten years and remembers a mill, drowning in the galleries; Catherine dying in Étienne’s arms in the dark. Then a spring morning, the earth heaving with seed. The register is grand and sometimes forced; the heights are real and they come often.
Score: 8.8 / 10
Myth built, not evoked. The pit is a beast that eats men, named and renamed, and its name says it: vorer, to devour. The action is that beast swallowing, the Maheus’ forebears, then Catherine, and at last swallowing itself, so that the myth is load-bearing: its fall is the climax. Tartaret burning underground is the inferno beside it; the descent to the underworld is literal and recurring; Bonnemort spitting black, with eighty years of his family in the pit, is a genealogy of the damned. The title builds the counter-myth: Germinal, the month of seed in the revolutionary calendar, and the close turns the men under the earth into a crop. The myth stays particular, a family, a coron, a grocer’s debts. Held off the top because the seasonal myth of the last page is asserted more than earned by an action that ends in defeat.
Score: 8.9 / 10
The inheritance is the French realist novel, Balzac and Flaubert, and Zola’s own naturalism, whose larger swerve was L’Assommoir (1877): the working class in its own language. Germinal’s turn is to make the collective the protagonist, the crowd a character with its own motion and mind, the strike the plot and capital an agent without a face, and to give labour underground the full apparatus of the novel. The stake was political as well as literary: a novel of a miners’ strike, with the shooting of strikers at its centre, published the year after the strike at Anzin, which Zola had visited. Held at the gate because the method was already Zola’s and proven; the swerve is in the subject and the collective hero more than in the form.
Score: 8.5 / 10
Change the form and much of the knowledge goes. The seven parts are a descent and a rising: the book begins at night going down and ends in morning sun going up, and that shape is what it knows about the year’s hope and its loss. The alternation between the corons and La Piolaine is the instrument of the class argument. The crowd chapters, the meeting in the forest and the march, are built as mass scenes in which the point of view moves through bodies rather than minds, and that is how the book can say what a crowd is. Charged: the point of view is largely Étienne’s or the narrator’s, and the free indirect method does not reach the Maheus’ interiors as it reaches his; la Maheude, the book’s moral centre, is seen more than entered.
Score: 8.5 / 10
Evidence rather than promise: a hundred and forty years of reading that keeps dividing. Is the book revolutionary, or a warning against revolution? Does the close promise the future, or merely state a law of nature? Is Souvarine the novel’s horror or its logic, Étienne its hero or its satire of the intellectual, the crowd dignified or pathological? The socialist and the conservative readings of 1885 have both survived, and neither has closed the other. The questions are real and the book does not answer them. Held a step down because it yields less on return at the level of the sentence and the inner life than the deepest novels; its depth is in its argument and its images.
Score: 8.5 / 10
The field is the French novel of the nineteenth century and, by its reach, the European novel of industrial society. The force is a real reorganisation of what a novel could hold: Germinal set the model for the novel of labour and of the strike, and for the crowd as protagonist. Achieved reach is scored with intrinsic force: broad and lasting, a book read in France as the Zola novel, translated into most written languages and filmed by Capellani (1913), Allégret (1963) and Berri (1993); its reach outside France is plain in general and is not argued here in particulars. Held below the top because the form it set was a method more than a revolution of the novel’s means, and the larger change in the field was naturalism as a whole.
Score: 8.8 / 10
Survival is demonstrated over a hundred and forty years. Form first: the text is whole and has been in print without a break since 1885. Presence: it is read in French schools as the Zola novel, translated many times into English and into most written languages, and filmed in three eras. It has outlived its conditions. The Second Empire, the coal pits of the Nord (the last closed in 1990) and the science of heredity are history, and the book is read for what they pressed upon. Charged: it is less read outside France than Madame Bovary or Anna Karenina, so it is not the widest presence of its span, and its surface is partly fixed to a science that has dated. At the top of the usual figure for its age, not above it.
Score: 9.1 / 10
Judged on Zola’s French as far as this reading carries it; the music of the long periodic sentence is neither credited nor charged beyond what can be heard here. The construction is the book’s strongest craft: seven parts timed to the season; the strike’s economics, the new payment for timbering that starts it, the provident fund, the credit at Maigrat’s, accurate and dramatic; crowd scenes managed with a command few novelists have matched; the cross-cutting of the march with the Grégoires and the Hennebeaus’ dinner exact. Charged: the leitmotif becomes a tic at times; some of the melodrama is machinery, Chaval’s return in the flooded gallery and the timing of the rescue; minor characters are typed rather than drawn, the Grégoires’ complacency, Pierronne’s coquetry; and adjectives of the bestial and the enormous sometimes do the work the scene should.
Score: 8.6 / 10
Take the two most distant elements: Cécile Grégoire’s brioche at breakfast and Catherine dying of hunger and cold under the earth; or Souvarine’s tender love for his tame rabbit Pologne and the same man sawing through the Voreux’s tubbing to drown a pit. One law governs them: bodies under need, and a system that feeds some on the hunger of others without anyone’s will. Cécile dies under Bonnemort’s hands because the chain runs both ways, and Souvarine’s nihilism is the same law carried out by a man without appetites. The range is wide and held: comedy at La Piolaine, the bestial in the corons, the political debate at the Avantage, the tomb underground. Charged: the close turns the law of fact into a law of promise that the rest of the book does not entirely support.
Score: 8.7 / 10
Held, not listed. Labour: the seam, the tubs, the horses, the payment by the tub and by the timbering, the work of women and children underground. The family: the Maheus’ household, three generations in the pit, la Maheude’s arithmetic of bread, Catherine and Chaval. Capital and the state: the Company, the shareholders, the independent owner crushed by it, the gendarmes and the soldiers. Ideas: the International and Pluchart, Rasseneur’s reformism, Étienne’s reading, Souvarine’s anarchism. The body: hunger, sex, drink and heredity. The natural order: the plain, the wind, the canal, the seasons, the earth at the close. The sacred is present by its absence, in the abbé Ranvier’s late Christian socialism and in the Company as the god that has replaced God. The narrowness is of place, not of orders of reality. Short of the top on the inner life only.
Score: 9.0 / 10
Act IV · The Reckoning
8.7 / 10 · Final Average
Placement: Tier IV · Canonical
Strongest Dimensions
The Imperishable at 9.1, then The Encompassed at 9.0, The Unconcealment and The Archetypal Deep at 8.9. A text whole and in print since 1885 that has outlived the pits it describes; labour, family, capital, the state, ideas, the body and the natural order held in one coal village and made to act on each other; a disclosure of a system no one in it controls, and of a leader corrupted by the crowd; and a myth built into the action, the pit that eats men and at last eats itself.
Limiting Dimension
The Inevitable at 8.3, the lowest of the twelve: the Hennebeau household, Deneulin’s ruin and the repeated beast, wind and red vision are given more than the argument needs, a tenth or so of the book permitted rather than compelled. Next above it, The Swerve, The Living Form and The Bottomless Well at 8.5: a method already Zola’s and proven, interiors of the Maheus seen rather than entered, and a yield on return in the argument and the images more than in the sentence. The music of Zola’s long French sentence is neither credited nor charged beyond what this reading can hear.
The Necessity Cap clears at 8.3 against a threshold of 7.5. The Coherence Floor clears with room: The Inner Law at 8.7, The Made at 8.6, The Living Form at 8.5, each against 7.0. The Epochal Gate is met on all five: The Imperishable at 9.1, The Unconcealment at 8.9, The Archetypal Deep at 8.9, Pressure on Tradition at 8.8 and The Swerve at 8.5 clear the bar of 8.5, the last exactly at it. The Universal Minimum is met (no axis falls below 8.3, against 7.5) and The Encompassed, which is exempted, clears its own floor of 6.0 at 9.0. Every summit condition is met; the work is held below the summit by its aggregate alone.
Basis · a reading from knowledge of Émile Zola’s Germinal, the thirteenth novel of the Rougon-Macquart, scored as a novel on its own: seven parts and forty chapters, serialised in Gil Blas from November 1884 to February 1885 and published in book form by Charpentier in Paris in March 1885. The cycle is context; Étienne Lantier’s descent from Gervaise of L’Assommoir is named in the book, and no axis is credited or charged for the cycle. The action is set in the late Second Empire; the book was written under the Third Republic, after the miners’ strike at Anzin in 1884, which Zola visited. No text was in hand; nothing was measured on a text, and no quotation was checked against a file. Every axis is judged on Zola’s French. French is quoted only where its words are certain, the opening, the cry of the march and the close, with the desk’s own plain English beneath; no published translation is quoted. Translation · Roger Pearson’s (Penguin, 2004), the most exact modern English version known to this reading, was used for sense, with Peter Collier’s (Oxford, 1993) as a check; Havelock Ellis’s (1894) is historically important and softened, and was not used. None is in hand, none is quoted, and nothing in any of them is charged to the novel. The structure, the people and the main scenes are judged in full; the sound and rhythm of Zola’s French sentence at length are beyond this reading, and are neither credited nor charged. Citations are by part only. Facts that could not be verified, among them the distribution of the chapters among the parts, the length in words, the exact years of the action, the novel’s influence abroad in particulars, the later critical literature, and the circumstances of Zola’s funeral, are not given.