“No, on that matter you’re mistaken. I submitted to Josette. She never pleased me. It was loneliness and the circumstances of the war that brought us together. Especially since Sixte’s return, however, that liaison has become a torment for me.”
“You’re doubtless not unaware that Josette is my mistress, too.”
Aubert looked at his son. “Truly, I regret such a confidence. You should have kept that to yourself.”
“A secret for a secret, Papa. It’s to let you know that I understand the difference you’re establishing between Madame Coutan and Madame Jousselin.”
“I don’t even attempt any comparison,” said Antoine, dryly. “However, since you’ve brought up the subject, I’m astonished that, knowing, as you’ve just informed me that you do, about my former relationship with that whore, you’ve become her lover.”
“Oh, in our epoch, and with Josette, that’s of no importance. Me or someone else, Coutan would be cuckolded anyway. Anyway, I have the excuse that Josette was my wartime godmother.52 That title has its impositions.”
“What? Your relationship goes back that far?”
“Yes—but don’t worry about it. I appreciate Josette for what she’s worth: an amusing playmate, nothing more.”
“I’ve always deplored the fact that Coutan’s in that woman’s hands. In spite of everything, he’s a good fellow and an honest man. The husband’s millions will be frittered away.”
“He has good business sense, and so has she—perhaps more than him. He’ll earn as much as he wants.”
“You call that earning money? Deceiving and bluffing incessantly, taking advantage of dupes, stealing.”
“Business? It’s taking money from others. It’s time has come.”
“Etienne, if I thought that you, too, were thinking about getting rich by any possible means, I’d rather give you a million and not associate you with the factory. To live well by working hard, that’s my ideal, but not be trafficking in dubious enterprises.”
“Have no fear on that subject. The Aubert company will always be stainless and above reproach, like the knight Bayard of old.”
“Thank you, my son; I am and will thus remain proud of you.”
X. To Be or Not to Be the Master of the Factory
If Antoine Aubert had been able to read his son’s thoughts, he would have been less reassured—not that Etienne was thinking of launching himself, like Coutan and Josette, into financial dealings; he had THE FACTORY in his blood and under his skin. In fact, since his early childhood, he had been obsessed with the idea, which had also been that of his grandfather and father, of the continued expansion and ever-increasing prosperity of the factory. The very term “The Factory” had a solemn and martial splendor of conquest in his eyes.
With a grip that was growing stronger every year, the workers were obtaining an superiority over the upper classes, the progression of a proletariat hoping for a nobler bourgeoisie than that comprised by a few merchants and state functionaries, an ascension similar to that of the military man beginning as a simple soldier and in the process of seizing the starry baton of a Maréchal de France—with the difference that industry leads to social amelioration while militarism leads to destruction, a retrogression of humanity.
There was, throughout the stages of life—apprentice, drudge, piece-worker or wage earner, foreman, overseer, director, boss—a natural competition of intelligent and honest men. Instead of envisaging, like his father, a union of workers and industrialists, Etienne Aubert only saw his egotistical domination over workers who would be exploited as ruthlessly as possible, in a sort of mild forced labor, over which he would reign as absolute master, a boss getting richer and richer, relentlessly, on the universal march. He wanted to become one of those autocrats of labor with whom Heads of State were obliged to reckon.
That was what the young man, lying in his bed, was mulling over vaguely, and which prevented him from sleeping. And with his ambitious dreams were mingled the faces—superimposed, as they say in the cinema—of Madame Jousselin and Ulette. The hypothesis of an eventual marriage with the ten-year-old girl did not displease him, but that was a long way off, whereas his future mother-in-law would make an adorable mistress.
When? Immediately.
He had retained from the uncertainty of life, the uncertainty of seeing tomorrow, during the Great War, the desire for immediate enjoyment caused by the apprehension of death. And that unhealthy obsession with immediate enjoyment, one of the fatal consequences of the spirit of war, was aggravated by a kind of morbid sadism, the unconscious and irresistible idea of possessing everything that his father possessed: the mistress, THE FACTORY, the wife.
It was that secret but tenacious envy that had driven him to reveal to his father that he, too, was Josette Courtan’s lover; and now obscure meditations were opposing his restfulness.
Finally, very weary, he went to sleep.
XI. Le Bar des Barbeaus et des Tantes
In reality, the proprietor has simply baptized the Bar with his own name, which was Léon Barbeau, but the humor of the clients and their special qualities had inspired the true designation of the establishment, which was thus known in the quarter as Le Bar des Barbeaus et des Tantes.53
A few hundred meters from Père-Lachaise cemetery, on a corner, with a terrace on the Rue des Pyrenées, the place was divided into two parts: the bar, with a long high counter, and what was called “the café,” a small part of which, at the back, formed a shady intimate back room, closed by a door with an interior bolt, fitted with a divan and a wash basin, and with no other exit than the one to the café.
Three o’clock in the afternoon: at that time, the only customers were those who justified the bar’s appellation—when the nearby workshops emptied, the clientele became more honorable. At the counter, the idlers succeeded one another with the nonchalant and slothful air of pimps and rent-boys whiling away the time. Near the café entrance there were four, three semi-males and a woman, playing cards.
“Go on, shut your trap. You’ve lost. You’re going down. You’ve lost, because it’s your turn. If he doesn’t have the cards, the cleverest player is stuffed. Are you going to stick it out?”
“In truth, no. What if we took a stroll to unearth Vizautrou? There was talk yesterday of a good tip, to make a stack of bills.”
“Well, go with Tuemouche. I’ll go back with Sans-Liquette.54 If it’s anything good, tell us about it.”
The two rent-boys went out. Baudard and his wife remained silent for a moment, then Sans-Liquette said: “Why didn’t you go with them? Vizautrou often has nice tricks, and I wouldn’t be sorry to walk for a while. Goujot’s chick is at the sea baths.”
“If I haven’t gone with them, it’s because there’s something on with the Petomane.”55
“I don’t like the Petomane. He shows off too much.”
“Well, he’s an artist. And then, he doesn’t put on airs with me. We’ve known one another since we were kids.”
“Lick your glass, then. We’ll go up to the roost.”
The door of the bar opened and a woman appeared, seemingly looking for someone.
“Berthe!” shouted Sans-Liquette.
Thus summoned, Berthe Jafaux—Souriah the somnambulist—came in.
“I had difficulty finding you.”
“We moved house because of Armand—it’s a long story. Are you having a drink?”
“Yes, a cognac coffee. Anyway, I’ve found you—that’s the main thing. Are you free, Baudard?”
“Completely. Is there a job for me?”
“Yes. A big deal that could put us all in the sun for a long time, and no risk. Thomas is steering the boat, and me.”
“You’re still with that sorcerer, little sister?” asked Sans-Liquette.
“Yes, there’s something in his noggin. It only needed the opportunity, and it’s finally come along. Yes, a big deal, and I repeat, no risk. Remember that Thomas isn’t one of ours. He needs me, and I need you. Especially you, Ar
mand. You haven’t forgotten your trade as a mechanic?”
“Oh,” said Baudard, “I hope you don’t have the intention of putting me to work?”
“Don’t worry—not for long.”
“And what’s it worth?”
Five hundred thousand. Four hundred for Keysar and me, a hundred thousand for the two of you.”
“Shit! You call that cutting the pear in two, do you?”
“We’re the brains—you’re only the arm. Take it or leave it. For twenty thousand I can find someone else.”
“And what is there to do?”
“Go into a factory as a worker and cause an accident—an accident, you hear—that leads to the death of the boss.”
“That suits me. Since I’m no longer working I’m sick of bosses. When do we do it?”
“They’ll be hiring tomorrow, Saturday. You’ll be signaled, you’re sure to be taken on. Then, the rest is up to you.”
“I’ll try to work quickly, then. Fork out the information.”
“The Aubert factory, Quai de Javel. You present yourself to the son, Etienne Aubert, on behalf of Monsieur Thomas Keysar. The boss’s son will be warned by telephone.”
“And the cash?”
“Within a fortnight at the latest, after the burial of Antoine Aubert, the father.”
“Good. Is there any payment in advance?”
“The boss has to be dead in order to dip into the funds.”
“I’ll go to the Quai de Javel tomorrow. Kiss your sister. We’re going.”
And Berthe Jafaux—Souriah—went back along the Rue des Pyrenées as far as the Avenue Gambetta, which she went down as far as the Square du Père-Lachaise. There she met up with Thomas Keysar, who was waiting, buttoned up to the neck in a reefer jacket with a red ribbon. She sat down beside him on the bench, where he was reading a literary magazine.
“I was beginning to get worried. Did you succeed?”
“I had trouble finding them. The affair’s in the bag. You still have your guarantee?”
“Here.” said Thomas Keysar, taking a wallet out of an inside pocket and a piece of stamped paper from the wallet. “It’s compromising for him if he doesn’t pay up. Have no fear. He’ll pay.”
Berthe took the piece of paper.
“Give it here—I’d like to reread it.
“I, the undersigned, Etienne Aubert, industrialist, Quai de Javel, acknowledge a debt to Monsieur Thomas Keysar, journalist and Mademoiselle Berthe Jafaux, the sum of five hundred thousand francs, which I promise to reimburse them on the day when I enter into the employment as my father’s succession.
“Signed, Etienne Aubert.
“Written from end to end in his hand. He can’t refuse to execute it.”
Berthe handed back the document. “Above all, don’t lose it. You know what’s agreed between us: we get married. If we were keeping a journal of our life, of which there’s no need, we could write today: Poverty ended.”
XII. The Workers on the March
A few days before the celebration of his marriage, Antoine Aubert gathered his entire workforce together on that Saturday evening. Lafon, who was in his confidence, had ordered the machines to be stopped and announced that the Boss wanted to talk to the workers.
At quarter past five, he appeared on the mobile walkway that overlooked the workshops. Without further ado he leaned over the side, supporting himself on the handrail, and began.
“Comrades—permit me to use that term, which has something amicable and familiar about it, between us. For you, until today, I’ve been a good enough Boss, but a Boss all the same—which is to say, someone who exploits the workers solely for his own benefit. Don’t think that what I’m going to say to you is a sudden decision. No, for a long time, I’ve been thinking about it, and my father thought about it before me. I want to associate you all with the fortune of the factory, by giving you an interest in its profits. You won’t only be my workers, you’ll become my collaborators, my associates.
“Perhaps you’re saying to yourselves, ‘If he had these ideas, he and his father, why has he waited so long?’ It’s because, my friends, it isn’t as easy as you think. To install a factory like ours, with its enormous equipment of machinery, requires capital. My father and I took forty years to build up that capital, which represents today at least four million. That four million isn’t money, but the tools necessary to earn it.
“What I’m proposing to you, which I hope you’ll accept, is very serious, capable of having repercussions throughout the metal-working corporations. You’re all, as things stand, members of trade unions, and by virtue of that fact, united with your comrades in similar trades. Now I can’t, by myself, convert all the factories of my colleagues overnight. It’s necessary for you and me to be the fundamental nucleus of a vast future association.
“For a long time, I’ve been living with you; I know you all, and I can boast, not without pride, of having gathered in this factory a veritable elite of good and wise workers. The man who wants a fruitful crop must choose his land and his seed well. Reflect maturely on the proposition that I’m making to you. Tomorrow, Sunday, there’ll be a meeting at three o’clock. Discuss it in complete liberty. If your response is favorable, the new exercise will begin in Monday, in the afternoon. These are the broad outlines of the pact to be concluded between us.
“Firstly, the annual profits will be divided into three parts. The first is to be divided among the workers, in equal shares. Only the daily wages will be dependent on capacities. The second part will be devoted to the augmentation of the company’s capital, in order that it will always be making progress and expanding. The third part will be attributed to Antoine Aubert as the interest on the capital invested by him.
“Secondly, each worker’s wage, in accordance with capability or skill, will be fixed by a workers’ council elected by you. Given that competition between all is a law of progress, that workers’ council will meet every three weeks in order to judge disputes between competing workers and then decide them in all conscience. The workers’ council, elected for three years, will be re-electable.
“That, comrades, is the basis of the initial statutes to be established. It is up to you, thereafter, to ameliorate anything that is faulty, and to create conditions susceptible of leading to progress, first in your association, and then in your corporation.”
This proposal was so unexpected that the workers remained mute, as if stupefied. Louis Lafon, who had been informed in advance, took it upon himself to reply.
“Monsieur Aubert, your proposition comes from a great heart. It ought to bring about a veritable revolution in the factories and the minds of all our comrades. On behalf of all of us I thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Long live the workers’ revolution! Long live its prophet! The cause of the workers is on the march, and it won’t stop. Long live Antoine Aubert! You’re the model of Bosses.”
The audience was unfrozen. Everyone applauded and cheered.
The next day, at the meeting held in the great machine hall, the workers, who had had time to reflect, were discussing the factory owner’s proposals. The trade union, having been alerted, had sent delegates; that was the opposition, for the great majority sided with Antoine Aubert. But to separate from the trade union was a serious step, in fact. Lafon went up onto the stage, a few planks place on trestles.
“Comrades of the union, until now we have been perfect syndicalists, and have always paid our subscriptions. However, at your head offices we see, not workers like ourselves but well-paid delinquents of the bourgeoisie who, having not succeeded in liberal functions and taking advantage of their educations, have infiltrated our ranks, and, being better educated, have easily taken the place of ignorant workers.
“That’s not a bad thing. The worker easily extends his hand to anyone who shows him amity. But often, these bureaucrats, to legitimate their functions, propagate arguments among us. It’s even said that they conspire with the bosses to stimulate strikes at times when orde
rs are slack. In those cases, they’re only serving the interests of the bosses, by making them close factories for a time, inasmuch as the workers are content to return to the same conditions as before the strike, when it isn’t with a reduction in wages or a selection of workers. A double advantage for the bosses: they’ve avoided the lay-offs of the slow season, and the workers capable of making trouble are put on the bosses’ blacklist.
“Well, comrades of the union, an exceptional opportunity has been offered to us to become the masters of out heads and our arms. Are you going to stop us? This experiment we ought and are going to undertake. It’s a step forward in the direction of industrial communism, the means of creating, with time, a single organism for labor and capital. If the union abandons us, too bad! It will lose more by it than we will.”
The delegates cried: “We’ll close your factory!”
“So be it. But we’re several hundred strong man to defend it, and when the comrades in the trade union know why we’re accepting the battle, I doubt that you’ll find many combatants for your side.”
Unanimously, the factory workers applauded Lafon’s proposition, and the representatives of the trade union went away, disappointed. But the union preferred to pretend to know nothing about it, and to continue collecting the subscriptions that Lafon and Aubert, in order to avoid a conflict, advised the workers to continue to pay, anticipating nevertheless that in the event of a strike, the Aubert factory would remain outside any difficulties, and would not close its workshops.
XIII. The Attraction of Forbidden Fruit
With the satisfaction of the duty accomplished toward his workers and associates, Antoine Aubert had celebrated his marriage with Aline Jousselin, which his personnel had already decided to celebrate, a month before, with the gift of a bronze bust, cast by the lost wax method, by La Monaca.56 In a few sessions the sculptor had made a clay image of the factory owner, a striking resemblance, astonishingly expressive and quivering with life. A wind of good fortune seemed to be blowing that July over the factory on the Quai de Javel, and the joy of the big boss, whom love had rejuvenated, as he prepared to leave for Brittany the following week with his young wife was also radiant in the faces of the workers.
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