Les Misérables, v. 1/5: Fantine
CHAPTER III.
THE HEROISM OF PASSIVE OBEDIENCE.
The door was thrown open wide, as if some one were pushing itenergetically and resolutely. A man entered whom we already know; itwas the traveller whom we saw just now wandering about in search of ashelter. He entered and stopped, leaving the door open behind him. Hehad his knapsack on his shoulder, his stick in his hand, and a rough,bold, wearied, and violent expression in his eyes. The fire-light fellon him; he was hideous; it was a sinister apparition.
Madame Magloire had not even the strength to utter a cry, she shiveredand stood with widely-open mouth. Mademoiselle Baptistine turned,perceived the man who entered, and half started up in terror; then,gradually turning her head to the chimney, she began looking at herbrother, and her face became again calm and serene. The Bishop fixeda quiet eye on the man, as he opened his mouth, doubtless to ask thenew-comer what he wanted. The man leaned both his hands on his stick,looked in turn at the two aged females and the old man, and, notwaiting for the Bishop to speak, said in a loud voice,--
"Look here! My name is Jean Valjean. I am a galley-slave, and havespent nineteen years in the bagne. I was liberated four days ago, andstarted for Pontarlier, which is my destination. I have been walkingfor four days since I left Toulon, and to-day I have marched twelveleagues. This evening on coming into the town I went to the inn, butwas sent away in consequence of my yellow passport, which I had shownat the police office. I went to another inn, and the landlord said tome, "Be off!" It was the same everywhere, and no one would have anydealings with me. I went to the prison, but the jailer would not takeme in. I got into a dogs kennel, but the dog bit me and drove me off,as if it had been a man; it seemed to know who I was. I went into thefields to sleep in the star-light, but there were no stars. I thoughtit would rain, and as there was no God to prevent it from raining, Icame back to the town to sleep in a doorway. I was lying down on astone in the square, when a good woman pointed to your house, and said,"Go and knock there." What sort of a house is this? Do you keep aninn? I have money, 109 francs 15 sous, which I earned at the bagne bymy nineteen years' toil. I will pay, for what do I care for that, asI have money! I am very tired and frightfully hungry; will you let mestay here?"
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop, "you will lay another knife andfork."
The man advanced three paces, and approached the lamp which was on thetable. "Wait a minute," he continued, as if he had not comprehended,"that will not do. Did you not hear me say that I was a galley-slave, aconvict, and have just come from the bagne?" He took from his pocket alarge yellow paper, which he unfolded. "Here is my passport, yellow asyou see, which turns me out wherever I go. Will you read it? I can readit, for I learned to do so at the bagne, where there is a school forthose who like to attend it. This is what is written in my passport:'Jean Valjean, a liberated convict, native of'--but that does notconcern you--'has remained nineteen years at the galleys. Five yearsfor robbery with house-breaking, fourteen years for having tried toescape four times. The man is very dangerous.' All the world has turnedme out, and are you willing to receive me? Is this an inn? Will yougive me some food and a bed? Have you a stable?"
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop, "you will put clean sheets on thebed in the alcove."
We have already explained of what nature was the obedience of the twofemales. Madame Magloire left the room to carry out the orders. TheBishop turned to the man.
"Sit down and warm yourself, sir. We shall sup directly, and your bedwill be got ready while we are supping."
The man understood this at once. The expression of his face, which hadhitherto been gloomy and harsh, was marked with stupefaction, joy,doubt, and became extraordinary. He began stammering like a lunatic.
"Is it true? what? You will let me stay, you will not turn me out, aconvict? You call me _Sir,_ you do not 'thou' me. 'Get out, dog!' thatis what is always said to me; I really believed that you would turn meout, and hence told you at once who I am. Oh! what a worthy woman shewas who sent me here! I shall have supper, a bed with mattresses andsheets, like everybody else. For nineteen years I have not slept in abed! You really mean that I am to stay. You are worthy people; besides,I have money, and will pay handsomely. By the way, what is your name,Mr. Landlord? I will pay anything you please, for you are a worthy man.You keep an inn, do you not?"
"I am," said the Bishop, "a priest living in this house."
"A priest!" the man continued. "Oh! what a worthy priest! I suppose youwill not ask me for money. The Cur?, I suppose,--the Cur? of that bigchurch? Oh yes, what an ass I am! I did not notice your cassock."
While speaking he deposited his knapsack and stick in a corner,returned his passport to his pocket, and sat down. While MademoiselleBaptistine regarded him gently, he went on,--
"You are humane, sir, and do not feel contempt. A good priest is verygood. Then you do not want me to pay?"
"No," said the Bishop, "keep your money. How long did you take inearning these 109 francs?"
"Nineteen years."
"Nineteen years!" The Bishop gave a deep sigh.
The man went on: "I have all my money still; in four days I have onlyspent 25 sous, which I earned by helping to unload carts at Grasse. Asyou are an abb? I will tell you: we had a chaplain at the bagne, andone day I saw a bishop, Monseigneur, as they call him. He is the cur?over the cur?s, you know. Pardon, I express it badly; but it is so farabove me, a poor convict, you see. He said mass in the middle of thebagne at an altar, and had a pointed gold thing on his head, whichglistened in the bright sunshine; we were drawn up on three sides of asquare, with guns and lighted matches facing us. He spoke, but was toofar off, and we did not hear him. That is what a bishop is."
While he was speaking the Bishop had gone to close the door, which hadbeen left open. Madame Magloire came in, bringing a silver spoon andfork, which she placed on the table.
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop, "lay them as near as you can to thefire;" and turning to his guest, he said, "The night breeze is sharp onthe Alps, and you must be cold, sir."
Each time he said the word _Sir_ with his gentle grave voice the man'sface was illumined. _Sir_ to a convict is the glass of water to theshipwrecked sailor of the M?duse. Ignominy thirsts for respect.
"This lamp gives a very bad light," the Bishop continued. MadameMagloire understood, and fetched from the chimney of Monseigneur'sbed-room the two silver candlesticks, which she placed on the tableready lighted.
"Monsieur le Cur?," said the man, "you are good, and do not despise me.You receive me as a friend and light your wax candles for me, and yetI have not hidden from you whence I come, and that I am an unfortunatefellow."
The Bishop, who was seated by his side, gently touched his hand. "Youneed not have told me who you were; this is not my house, but thehouse of Christ. This door does not ask a man who enters whether hehas a name, but if he has a sorrow; you are suffering, you are hungryand thirsty, and so be welcome. And do not thank me, or say that I amreceiving you in my house, for no one is at home here excepting the manwho has need of an asylum. I tell you, who are a passer-by, that youare more at home here than I am myself, and all there is here is yours.Why do I want to know your name? besides, before you told it to me youhad one which I knew."
The man opened his eyes in amazement.
"Is that true? you know my name?"
"Yes," the Bishop answered, "you are my brother."
"Monsieur le Cur?," the man exclaimed, "I was very hungry when I camein, but you are so kind that I do not know at present what I feel; ithas passed over."
The Bishop looked at him and said,--
"You have suffered greatly?"
"Oh! the red jacket, the cannon ball on your foot, a plank to sleep on,heat, cold, labor, the set of men, the blows, the double chain for anothing, a dungeon for a word, even when you are ill in bed, and thechain-gang. The very dogs are happier. Nineteen years! and now I amforty-six; and at present, the yellow passport! There it is!"
"Yes," s
aid the Bishop, "you have come from a place of sorrow. Listento me; there will be more joy in heaven over the tearful face of arepentant sinner than over the white robes of one hundred just men. Ifyou leave that mournful place with thoughts of hatred and anger againstyour fellow-men you are worthy of pity; if you leave it with thoughtsof kindliness, gentleness, and peace, you are worth more than any ofus."
In the meanwhile Madame Magloire had served the soup: it was made ofwater, oil, bread, and salt, and a little bacon, and the rest of thesupper consisted of a piece of mutton, figs, a fresh cheese, and a loafof rye bread. She had herself added a bottle of old Mauves wine. TheBishop's face suddenly assumed the expression of gayety peculiar tohospitable natures. "To table," he said eagerly, as he was wont to dowhen any stranger supped with him; and he bade the man sit down on hisright hand, while Mlle. Baptistine, perfectly peaceful and natural,took her seat on his left. The Bishop said grace, and then served thesoup himself, according to his wont. The man began eating greedily. Allat once the Bishop said,--
"It strikes me that there is something wanting on the table."
Madame Magloire, truth to tell, had only laid the absolutely necessarysilver. Now it was the custom in this house, when the Bishop had anyone to supper, to arrange the whole stock of plate on the table, asan innocent display. This graceful semblance of luxury was a speciesof childishness full of charm in this gentle and strict house, whichelevated poverty to dignity. Madame Magloire took the hint, went outwithout a word, and a moment after the remaining spoons and forksglittered on the cloth, symmetrically arranged before each of theguests.