The Rush for the Spoil (La Curée): A Realistic NovelZola, Émile
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The Rush for the Spoil (La Curée): A Realistic Novel
Zola, Émile
Paris (France) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
However, the doctor, with his cigar between his teeth, had set himself
in front of a demolished house, of which there only remained the rooms
of the ground floor, filled with the remnants of the other storeys. A
single fragment of wall rose up above the pile of materials; and to
overthrow it at one effort, it had been girt round with a rope, at
which several workmen were tugging.
"They won't manage it," muttered the doctor. "They are pulling too much
to the left."
The four other jurors had retraced their steps to see the wall tumble.
And all five of them, with their eyes stretched out, and with bated
breath, waited for the fall with a quiver of delight. The workmen,
giving way, and then suddenly stiffening themselves, cried out, "Oh!
heave oh!"
"They won't manage it," repeated the doctor.
Then after a few seconds of anxiety:
"It is moving, it is moving," joyfully cried one of the commercial men.
And when the wall gave way at last, and fell with a frightful crash,
raising a cloud of plaster, the gentlemen looked at each other with
smiles. They were delighted. Their frock-coats became covered with a
fine dust, which whitened their arms and shoulders.
Resuming their prudent march amid the puddles, they now began to
talk about the workmen. There were not many good ones. They were all
idle fellows, prodigals, and withal most obstinate, only dreaming of
their masters' ruin. Monsieur de Mareuil, who for a moment had been
looking with a shudder at two poor devils perched on the corner of a
roof demolishing a wall with their pick-axes, expressed, however, the
opinion that, all the same, these men really possessed great courage.
The other jurors again paused and raised their eyes to the workmen who
balanced themselves, leaning and striking with all their strength;
they pushed the stones down with their feet, and quietly looked at
them shattering below. If the pick-axes had missed striking, the mere
impulsion of the men's arms would have precipitated them into space.
"Bah! it's habit," said the doctor, setting his cigar in his mouth
again. "They are brutes!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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