Les misyrables, p.77
Les Misérables, page 77
CHAPTER V--A SUITABLE TOMB
Javert deposited Jean Valjean in the city prison.
The arrest of M. Madeleine occasioned a sensation, or rather, anextraordinary commotion in M. sur M. We are sorry that we cannot concealthe fact, that at the single word, "He was a convict," nearly every onedeserted him. In less than two hours all the good that he had done hadbeen forgotten, and he was nothing but a "convict from the galleys." Itis just to add that the details of what had taken place at Arras werenot yet known. All day long conversations like the following were to beheard in all quarters of the town:--
"You don't know? He was a liberated convict!" "Who?" "The mayor." "Bah!M. Madeleine?" "Yes." "Really?" "His name was not Madeleine at all; hehad a frightful name, Béjean, Bojean, Boujean." "Ah! Good God!" "Hehas been arrested." "Arrested!" "In prison, in the city prison, whilewaiting to be transferred." "Until he is transferred!" "He is to betransferred!" "Where is he to be taken?" "He will be tried at theAssizes for a highway robbery which he committed long ago." "Well! Isuspected as much. That man was too good, too perfect, too affected.He refused the cross; he bestowed sous on all the little scamps he cameacross. I always thought there was some evil history back of all that."
The "drawing-rooms" particularly abounded in remarks of this nature.
One old lady, a subscriber to the _Drapeau Blanc_, made the followingremark, the depth of which it is impossible to fathom:--
"I am not sorry. It will be a lesson to the Bonapartists!"
It was thus that the phantom which had been called M. Madeleine vanishedfrom M. sur M. Only three or four persons in all the town remainedfaithful to his memory. The old portress who had served him was amongthe number.
On the evening of that day the worthy old woman was sitting in herlodge, still in a thorough fright, and absorbed in sad reflections.The factory had been closed all day, the carriage gate was bolted, thestreet was deserted. There was no one in the house but the two nuns,Sister Perpétue and Sister Simplice, who were watching beside the bodyof Fantine.
Towards the hour when M. Madeleine was accustomed to return home,the good portress rose mechanically, took from a drawer the key ofM. Madeleine's chamber, and the flat candlestick which he used everyevening to go up to his quarters; then she hung the key on the nailwhence he was accustomed to take it, and set the candlestick on oneside, as though she was expecting him. Then she sat down again on herchair, and became absorbed in thought once more. The poor, good oldwoman had done all this without being conscious of it.
It was only at the expiration of two hours that she roused herself fromher revery, and exclaimed, "Hold! My good God Jesus! And I hung his keyon the nail!"
At that moment the small window in the lodge opened, a hand passedthrough, seized the key and the candlestick, and lighted the taper atthe candle which was burning there.
The portress raised her eyes, and stood there with gaping mouth, and ashriek which she confined to her throat.
She knew that hand, that arm, the sleeve of that coat.
It was M. Madeleine.
It was several seconds before she could speak; she had a _seizure_, asshe said herself, when she related the adventure afterwards.
"Good God, Monsieur le Maire," she cried at last, "I thought you were--"
She stopped; the conclusion of her sentence would have been lacking inrespect towards the beginning. Jean Valjean was still Monsieur le Maireto her.
He finished her thought.
"In prison," said he. "I was there; I broke a bar of one of the windows;I let myself drop from the top of a roof, and here I am. I am going upto my room; go and find Sister Simplice for me. She is with that poorwoman, no doubt."
The old woman obeyed in all haste.
He gave her no orders; he was quite sure that she would guard him betterthan he should guard himself.
No one ever found out how he had managed to get into the courtyardwithout opening the big gates. He had, and always carried about him,a pass-key which opened a little side-door; but he must have beensearched, and his latch-key must have been taken from him. This pointwas never explained.
He ascended the staircase leading to his chamber. On arriving at thetop, he left his candle on the top step of his stairs, opened his doorwith very little noise, went and closed his window and his shutters byfeeling, then returned for his candle and re-entered his room.
It was a useful precaution; it will be recollected that his window couldbe seen from the street.
He cast a glance about him, at his table, at his chair, at his bed whichhad not been disturbed for three days. No trace of the disorder of thenight before last remained. The portress had "done up" his room; onlyshe had picked out of the ashes and placed neatly on the table the twoiron ends of the cudgel and the forty-sou piece which had been blackenedby the fire.
He took a sheet of paper, on which he wrote: "These are the two tips ofmy iron-shod cudgel and the forty-sou piece stolen from Little Gervais,which I mentioned at the Court of Assizes," and he arranged this pieceof paper, the bits of iron, and the coin in such a way that they werethe first things to be seen on entering the room. From a cupboard hepulled out one of his old shirts, which he tore in pieces. In thestrips of linen thus prepared he wrapped the two silver candlesticks. Hebetrayed neither haste nor agitation; and while he was wrapping up theBishop's candlesticks, he nibbled at a piece of black bread. It wasprobably the prison-bread which he had carried with him in his flight.
This was proved by the crumbs which were found on the floor of the roomwhen the authorities made an examination later on.
There came two taps at the door.
"Come in," said he.
It was Sister Simplice.
She was pale; her eyes were red; the candle which she carried trembledin her hand. The peculiar feature of the violences of destiny is, thathowever polished or cool we may be, they wring human nature from ourvery bowels, and force it to reappear on the surface. The emotions ofthat day had turned the nun into a woman once more. She had wept, andshe was trembling.
Jean Valjean had just finished writing a few lines on a paper, which hehanded to the nun, saying, "Sister, you will give this to Monsieur leCuré."
The paper was not folded. She cast a glance upon it.
"You can read it," said he.
She read:--
"I beg Monsieur le Curé to keep an eye on all that I leave behind me. Hewill be so good as to pay out of it the expenses of my trial, and of thefuneral of the woman who died yesterday. The rest is for the poor."
The sister tried to speak, but she only managed to stammer a fewinarticulate sounds. She succeeded in saying, however:--
"Does not Monsieur le Maire desire to take a last look at that poor,unhappy woman?"
"No," said he; "I am pursued; it would only end in their arresting me inthat room, and that would disturb her."
He had hardly finished when a loud noise became audible on thestaircase. They heard a tumult of ascending footsteps, and the oldportress saying in her loudest and most piercing tones:--
"My good sir, I swear to you by the good God, that not a soul hasentered this house all day, nor all the evening, and that I have noteven left the door."
A man responded:--
"But there is a light in that room, nevertheless."
They recognized Javert's voice.
The chamber was so arranged that the door in opening masked the cornerof the wall on the right. Jean Valjean blew out the light and placedhimself in this angle. Sister Simplice fell on her knees near the table.
The door opened.
Javert entered.
The whispers of many men and the protestations of the portress wereaudible in the corridor.
The nun did not raise her eyes. She was praying.
The candle was on the chimney-piece, and gave but very little light.
Javert caught sight of the nun and halted in amazement.
It will be remembered that the fundamental point in Javert, his element,the very air he breathed, was veneration for all authority. This wasimpregnable, and admitted of neither objection nor restriction. In hiseyes, of course, the ecclesiastical authority was the chief of all; hewas religious, superficial and correct on this point as on all others.In his eyes, a priest was a mind, who never makes a mistake; a nun was acreature who never sins; they were souls walled in from this world,with a single door which never opened except to allow the truth to passthrough.
On perceiving the sister, his first movement was to retire.
But there was also another duty which bound him and impelled himimperiously in the opposite direction. His second movement was to remainand to venture on at least one question.
This was Sister Simplice, who had never told a lie in her life. Javertknew it, and held her in special veneration in consequence.
"Sister," said he, "are you alone in this room?"
A terrible moment ensued, during which the poor portress felt as thoughshe should faint.
The sister raised her eyes and answered:--
"Yes."
"Then," resumed Javert, "you will excuse me if I persist; it is my duty;you have not seen a certain person--a man--this evening? He has escaped;we are in search of him--that Jean Valjean; you have not seen him?"
The sister replied:--
"No."
She lied. She had lied twice in succession, one after the other, withouthesitation, promptly, as a person does when sacrificing herself.
"Pardon me," said Javert, and he retired with a deep bow.
O sainted maid! you left this world many years ago; you have rejoinedyour sisters, the virgins, and your brothers, the angels, in the light;may this lie be counted to your credit in paradise!
The sister's affirmation was for Javert so decisive a thing that he didnot even observe the singularity of that candle which had but just beenextinguished, and which was still smoking on the table.
An hour later, a man, marching amid trees and mists, was rapidlydeparting from M. sur M. in the direction of Paris. That man was JeanValjean. It has been established by the testimony of two or threecarters who met him, that he was carrying a bundle; that he was dressedin a blouse. Where had he obtained that blouse? No one ever found out.But an aged workman had died in the infirmary of the factory a few daysbefore, leaving behind him nothing but his blouse. Perhaps that was theone.
One last word about Fantine.
We all have a mother,--the earth. Fantine was given back to that mother.
The curé thought that he was doing right, and perhaps he really was, inreserving as much money as possible from what Jean Valjean had left forthe poor. Who was concerned, after all? A convict and a woman of thetown. That is why he had a very simple funeral for Fantine, and reducedit to that strictly necessary form known as the pauper's grave.
So Fantine was buried in the free corner of the cemetery which belongsto anybody and everybody, and where the poor are lost. Fortunately, Godknows where to find the soul again. Fantine was laid in the shade,among the first bones that came to hand; she was subjected to thepromiscuousness of ashes. She was thrown into the public grave. Hergrave resembled her bed.
[THE END OF VOLUME I. "FANTINE"] Enlarge
Enlarge
VOLUME II.--COSETTE
BOOK FIRST.--WATERLOO
