CHAPTER V.
THE LITTLE ONE ALONE.
As Thénardier's inn was in that part of the village near the church,Cosette had to fetch the water from the spring in the forest on theChelles side. She did not look at another stall; so long as she was inthe lane and the vicinity of the church, the illuminated booths litup the road, but the last gleam of the last stall soon disappeared,and the poor child found herself in darkness. She went farther intoit; but, as she felt some emotion while walking, she shook the handleof her bucket as much as she could, which produced a noise that gaveher company. The farther she went, the more dense the gloom became;there was no one in the streets except a woman, who turned on seeingher pass, and muttered between her teeth, "Wherever can the child begoing? Can she be a goblin?" Then she recognized Cosette. "Why," shesaid, "it is the Lark." Cosette in this way went through the labyrinthof winding deserted streets which end the village of Montfermeil onthe side of Chelles; and so long as she had houses, or even walls onboth sides of the way, she walked rather boldly. From time to timeshe saw a candle glimmering through the crack of a shutter; it waslight and life, people were there, and this reassured her. Still, inproportion as she advanced, her step became slower, as if mechanical,and when she had passed the corner of the last house, Cosette stopped.Going beyond the last stall had been difficult, but going farther thanthe last house became an impossibility. She put her bucket on theground, plunged her hand into her hair, and began scratching her headslowly,--a gesture peculiar to terrified and undecided children. It wasno longer Montfermeil, but the fields, and black deserted space wasbefore her. She looked despairingly at this space in which there wasnobody, but where there were beasts, and there might be ghosts. Shelooked out, and heard the beasts walking in the grass, and distinctlysaw the ghosts moving among the trees. Then she took her bucket again,and fear gave her boldness. "Well," she said, "I will tell her thatthere was no water;" and she boldly re-entered Montfermeil. She hadscarce gone one hundred yards when she stopped, and began scratchingher head again. Now it was her mistress who appeared to her,--herhideous mistress with her hyena mouth, and her eyes flashing withpassion. The child took a lamentable glance before and behind her. Whatshould she do? What would become of her? Where should she go? It wasfrom her mistress she recoiled; she turned back in the direction of thespring, and began running. She left the village running, she enteredthe wood running, looking at nothing, hearing nothing. She did not stoptill breath failed her, but she still went on ahead, wildly. Whilerunning she felt inclined to cry, for the nocturnal rustling of theforest completely surrounded her. She did not think, she did not see;the immensity of night was opposed to this little creature; on one sidewas darkness, on the other an atom. It was only seven or eight minutes'walk from the skirt of the wood to the spring, and Cosette knew theroad from having gone there several times by day. Strange to say, shedid not lose her way, for a remnant of instinct vaguely guided her;still she did not look either to the right or left, for fear of seeingthings in the branches and shrubs. In this way she reached the spring;it was a narrow natural basin hollowed by the water in the dry soil,about two feet in depth, surrounded by moss and that gauffered grasswhich is called Henri IV.'s ruff, and paved with a few heavy stones. Arivulet escaped from it with a little gentle murmur.
Cosette did not take the time to breathe; it was very dark, but shewas accustomed to come to this fountain. She felt in the obscurityfor a young oak that leaned over the spring, and usually served heras a support, caught a branch, stooped down, and plunged the bucketinto the water. She was in such a violent state that her strength wastripled. While thus bent, she did not notice that the pocket of herapron emptied itself into the stream, and that the fifteen-sous piecefell into the water. Cosette neither saw nor heard it fall; she drewup the bucket nearly full, and placed it on the grass. This done, shefelt that she was exhausted with fatigue; she would have liked to startagain at once, but the effect of filling the bucket had been so greatthat she found it impossible to move a step. She fell on to the grass,and lay there utterly exhausted. She shut her eyes, then opened themagain, not knowing why, but unable to do otherwise. By her side thewater stirring in the bucket made circles that resembled snakes ofwhite fire. Over her head the sky was covered with large black clouds,which seemed like smoke; the tragic mask of the gloom seemed to bendvaguely over this child. Jupiter was setting in the profundity; thechild gazed with a wondering eye at this large star, which she didnot know, and which terrified her. The planet, in fact, was at thismoment very near the horizon, and was passing through a dense fog,which gave it a horrible redness. The fog, which was of a gloomy purplehue, enlarged the planet and it looked like a luminous wound. A coldwind blew from the plain; the wood was dark, but there was no rustlingof leaves, and none of the vague and fresh gleams of summer. Largebranches stood out frightfully, and shapeless, stunted bushes soughedin the glades. The tall grass twined under the breeze like eels, andthe brambles writhed like long arms provided with claws seeking toclutch their prey. A few withered patches of fern, impelled by thebreeze, passed rapidly, and seemed to be flying before something thatwas coming up.
Darkness produces a dizziness. Man requires light, and any one whoenters the opposite of light, feels his heart contracted. When the eyesees darkness, the soul sees trouble: in an eclipse, in night, in sootyopaqueness, there is anxiety even for the strongest men. No one walksalone at night in a forest without a tremor, for shadows and trees areformidable densities. A chimerical reality appears in the indistinctprofundity; the inconceivable is visible a few paces from you withspectral clearness. You see floating in space, or in your own brain,something vague and intangible, like the dreams of sleeping flowers.There are stern attitudes on the horizon, and you breathe the effluviaof the great black vacuum. You feel frightened and inclined to lookbehind you. The cavities of night, the silent outlines which disperseas you advance, the irritated tufts, the lurid pools, the lugubriousreflected in the mournful, the sepulchral immensity of silence, thepossible strange beings, the bending of mysterious branches, thefrightful torsos of trees, the long waves of quivering grass,--youare defenceless against this. There is no man, however bold, who doesnot shudder and feel this proximity of agony; something hideous isexperienced, as if the soul were amalgamated with the shades. Thispenetration of darkness is indescribably sinister in a child. Forestsare apocalypses, and the beating of the wings of a little soul producesa sound of death beneath their monstrous dome.
Without understanding what she experienced, Cosette felt herselfaffected by this black enormity of nature: it was no longer terroralone that over-powered her, but something even more terrible thanterror. She shuddered, and words fail us to describe the strange natureof this shudder which chilled her to the heart. Her eye had becomestern, and she felt as if she could not prevent herself from returningto the same spot on the morrow. Then, by a species of instinct, and inorder to emerge from this singular state which she did not understand,but which terrified her, she began counting aloud one, two, three,four, up to ten, and when she finished, she began again. This restoredher a true perception of the things that surrounded her: she felt thecoldness of her hands, which she had wetted in drawing the water. Sherose, for fear had seized upon her again, a natural and insurmountablefear. She had only one thought left, to fly, fly at full speed throughthe wood, and across the fields, as far as the houses, the windows,and the lighted candles. Her eye fell on the bucket before her; andsuch was the terror with which her mistress inspired her that she didnot dare fly without the bucket. She seized the handle with both handsand found it difficult to lift. She proceeded thus for about a dozenyards, but the bucket was full and heavy, and she was compelled toset it on the ground. She breathed for a moment, and then lifted thebucket and started again, this time going a little farther. But she wasstill obliged to stop once more, and after a few moments' rest, set outagain. She walked with body bent forward and drooping head, like an oldwoman, and the weight of the bucket stiffened her thin arms. The ironhandle sw
elled and froze her small white hands. From time to time shewas forced to stop, and each time she did so, the cold water from thebucket plashed her bare legs. This occurred in the heart of a wood,at night, in winter, far from any human eye. She was a child of eightyears of age, and God alone at this moment saw this sorrowful sight,and her mother too, doubtless! for there are things which open the eyesof the dead in their graves.
She breathed with a sort of dolorous rattle; sobs contracted herthroat, but she did not dare cry, for she was so afraid of hermistress, even at a distance. It was her habit always to imagine MadameThénardier present. Still, she did not make much progress in this way,and she walked very slowly, although she strove to lessen the lengthof her halts and walk as long as she possibly could between them. Shethought with agony that it would take her more than an hour to get backto Montfermeil in this way, and that her mistress would beat her. Thisagony was mingled with her terror at being alone in the wood at night;she was worn out with fatigue, and had not yet left the forest. Onreaching an old chestnut-tree which she knew, she made a longer haltthan the others to rest herself thoroughly; then she collected all herstrength, took up the bucket again, and began walking courageously.Still the poor little creature in her despair could not refrain fromexclaiming,--"My God! my God!" All at once she suddenly felt that thebucket no longer weighed anything; a hand which seemed to her enormoushad seized it, and was vigorously lifting it. She raised her head, andsaw a tall black form walking by her side; it was a man who had comeup behind her, and whom she had not heard. This man, without saying aword, had seized the handle of the bucket which she was carrying. Thereis an instinct in every meeting of this life. The child felt no fear.