..
“It was the red
vision of the revolution, which would one day inevitably carry them all away,
on some bloody evening at the end of the century. Yes, some evening the people,
unbridled at last, would thus gallop along the roads, making the blood of the
middle class flow, parading severed heads and sprinkling gold from
disembowelled coffers. The women would yell, the men would have those wolf-like
jaws open to bite. Yes, the same rags, the same thunder of great sabots, the
same terrible troop, with dirty skins and tainted breath, sweeping away the old
world beneath an overflowing flood of barbarians. Fires would flame; they would
not leave standing one stone of the towns; they would return to the savage life
of the woods, after the great rut, the great feast-day, when the poor in one
night would emaciate the wives and empty the cellars of the rich. There would
be nothing left, not a sou of the great fortunes, not a title-deed of
properties acquired; until the day dawned when a new earth would perhaps spring
up once more. Yes, it was these things which were passing along the road; it
was the force of nature herself, and they were receiving the terrible wind of
it in their faces.”
“Era a visão vermelha da revolução que arrastaria a todos,
fatalmente, numa dessas noites sangrentas desse fim de século. Sim, uma noite,
o povo em torrentes, desenfreado, correria assim pelos caminhos, gotejando o
sangue burguês, exibindo cabeças, semeando o ouro dos cofres arrombados. As
mulheres gritariam, os homens abririam suas queixadas de lobos, prontos para
morderem. Sim, seriam os mesmos farrapos, o mesmo matraquear de tamancos
grosseiros, a mesma turba assustadora, suja, de hálito fétido, varrendo o mundo
caduco com a sua irresistível avalanche de bárbaros. Arderiam incêndios, nas
cidades não ficaria pedra sobre pedra, regredir-se-ia à vida selvagem das
florestas após o grande cio, o grande rega-bofe, em que os pobres, numa só
noite, extenuariam as mulheres e esvaziariam as adegas dos ricos. Não sobraria
nada, as fortunas e os títulos das situações adquiridas desapareceriam, até o
dia em que talvez desabrochasse uma nova sociedade. Sim, eram essas coisas que
estavam passando pela estrada, como uma força da natureza, e vinha delas o
vento terrível que lhes açoitava os rostos.”
Émile Zola – “Germinal” (1885)
« C’était la vision rouge de la révolution qui les emporterait tous,
fatalement, par une soirée sanglante de cette fin de siècle. Oui, un soir, le
peuple lâché, débridé, galoperait ainsi sur les chemins ; et il ruissellerait
du sang des bourgeois. Il promènerait des têtes, il sèmerait l’or des coffres
éventrés. Les femmes hurleraient, les hommes auraient ces mâchoires de loups,
ouvertes pour mordre. Oui, ce seraient les mêmes guenilles, le même tonnerre de
gros sabots, la même cohue effroyable, de peau sale, d’haleine empestée,
balayant le vieux monde, sous leur poussée débordante de barbares. Des
incendies flamberaient, on ne laisserait pas debout une pierre des villes, on
retournerait à la vie sauvage dans les bois, après le grand rut, la grande ripaille,
où les pauvres, en une nuit, efflanqueraient les femmes et videraient les caves
des riches. Il n’y aurait plus rien, plus un sou des fortunes, plus un titre
des situations acquises, jusqu’au jour où une nouvelle terre repousserait
peut-être. Oui, c’étaient ces choses qui passaient sur la route, comme une
force de la nature, et ils en recevaient le vent terrible au visage. »
…..
…..
Émile Zola – “Germinal” (1885)
Lisboa, Portugal, 1980
(but it could be
yesterday,
or today,
or tomorrow,
or the day after...)
..
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