CHAPTER VII.
FAUCHELEVENT HAS AN IDEA.
This is what took place above the coffin which contained Jean Valjean.When the hearse had gone away, when the priest and the chorister haddriven off in the coach, Fauchelevent, who did not once take his eyesoff the grave-digger, saw him stoop down and seize his spade, which wasstanding upright in the heap of earth. Fauchelevent formed a supremeresolution; he placed himself between the grave and the digger, foldedhis arms, and said,--
"I'll pay."
The grave-digger looked at him in amazement, and replied,--
"What, peasant?"
Fauchelevent repeated, "I'll pay for the wine."
"What wine?"
"The Argenteuil."
"Where is it?"
"At the 'Bon Coing.'"
"Go to the devil!" said the grave-digger.
And he threw a spadeful of earth on the coffin, which produced a hollowsound. Fauchelevent tottered, and was himself ready to fall into thegrave. He cried, in a voice with which a death-rattle was beginning tobe mingled,--
"Come along, mate, before the 'Bon Coing' closes."
The grave-digger filled his spade again, and Fauchelevent continued,"I'll pay."
And he seized the grave-digger's arm.
"Listen to me, mate; I am the convent grave-digger, and have come tohelp you. It is a job which can be done by night, so let us begin byhaving a drink."
And while speaking, while clinging to this desperate pressing, he madethe melancholy reflection, "And suppose he does drink, will he getdrunk?"
"Provincial," said the grave-digger, "since you are so pressing, Iconsent. We will drink, but after work, not before."
And he raised his spade, but Fauchelevent restrained him.
"It is Argenteuil wine."
"Why," said the grave-digger, "you must be a bell-ringer; ding, dong,ding, dong. You can only say that. Go and have yourself pulled."
And he threw the second spadeful. Fauchelevent had reached that momentwhen a man is no longer aware of what he says.
"But come and drink," he cried, "since I offer to pay."
"When we have put the child to bed," said Gribier.
He threw the third spadeful; and then added as he dug the spade intothe ground,--
"It will be very cold to-night, and the dead woman would halloo afterus if we were to leave her here without a blanket."
At this moment the grave-digger stooped to fill his spade and hisjacket-pocket gaped. Fauchelevent's wandering glance fell mechanicallyinto his pocket and remained there. The sun was not yet hidden by thehorizon, and there was still sufficient light to distinguish somethingwhite at the bottom of this gaping pocket.
All the brightness of which a Picard peasant's eye is capableglistened in Fauchelevent's,--an idea had struck him. Unnoticed bythe grave-digger, he thrust his hand into his pocket from behind, anddrew out the white thing at the bottom. The grave-digger threw thefourth spadeful into the grave: and as he hurried to raise a fifth,Fauchelevent looked at him with profound calmness, and said,--
"By the way, my novice, have you your card?"
The grave-digger stopped.
"What card?"
"The sun is just going to set."
"Very good, it can put on its nightcap."
"The cemetery gates will be shut."
"Well, and what then?"
"Have you your card?"
"Ah, my card!" the grave-digger said; and he felt in one pocket andthen in another, he passed to his fobs and turned them inside out.
"No," he said; "I have not got my card, I must have forgotten it."
"Fifteen francs' fine," said Fauchelevent.
The grave-digger turned green, for the pallor of livid men is green.
"Oh, Lord, have mercy upon me!" he exclaimed; "fifteen francs' fine!"
"Three one hundred sous pieces," said Fauchelevent.
The grave-digger let his shovel fall, and Fauchelevent's turn hadarrived.
"Come, conscript," said the old gardener, "no despair; you need nottake advantage of the grave to commit suicide. Fifteen francs arefifteen francs, and besides, you can avoid paying them. I am old andyou a new-comer, and I am up to all the tricks and dodges. I willgive you a piece of friendly advice. One thing is clear,--the sun issetting; it is touching the dome, and the cemetery will shut in fiveminutes."
"That is true."--
"Five minutes will not be enough for you to fill up this grave, whichis deuced deep, and reach the gates in time to get out before theyclose."
"Perfectly correct."
"In that case, fifteen francs' fine. But you have time,--where do youlive?"
"Hardly a quarter of an hour's walk from here, at No. 87, Rue deVaugirard."
"You have just time enough to get out, if you look sharp."
"So I have."
"Once outside the gates, you will gallop home and fetch your card; andwhen you return the porter will open the gate for you gratis. And youwill bury your dead woman, whom I will stop from running away duringyour absence."
"I owe you my life, peasant."
"Be off at once," said Fauchelevent.
The grave-digger, who was beside himself with gratitude, shook his handand ran off.
When he had disappeared behind a clump of trees, Fauchelevent listenedtill his footsteps died away, then bent over the grave, and said in alow voice, "Father Madeleine!"
There was no reply. Fauchelevent trembled; he tumbled all of a heapinto the grave, threw himself on the coffin lid, and cried,--
"Are you there?"
There was silence in the coffin, and Fauchelevent, who could notbreathe for trembling, took out his cold-chisel and hammer and priedoff the coffin lid. He could see Jean Valjean's face in the gloom,pale, and with the eyes closed. The gardener's hair stood on end; hegot up, and then fell against the side of the grave. He gazed at JeanValjean, who lay livid and motionless. Fauchelevent murmured in a voicefaint as a breath, "He is dead!"
And drawing himself up, he folded his arms so violently that hisclenched fists struck his shoulders, and cried, "That is the way inwhich I save him!"
Then the poor old man began sobbing and soliloquizing; for it is amistake to suppose that there is no soliloquy in nature. Powerfulagitations often talk aloud.
"It is Father Mestienne's fault. Why did that ass die? Had he anyoccasion to go off the hooks so unexpectedly? It is he who has killedM. Madeleine. Father Madeleine! he is in his coffin, and it is allover with him. Has such a thing as this any common-sense? Oh, mygoodness, he is dead! Well, and what shall I do with his little girl?What will the green-grocer say? Is it possible that such a man can diein such a way? When I think how he got under my cart! Father Madeleine!Father Madeleine! By Heaven, he is suffocated, as I said he wouldbe, and he would not believe me. Well I this is a pretty trick of myperformance. The worthy man is dead, the best man among all God's goodpeople; and his little one! Well, I sha'n't go back to the convent,but stop here. To have done such a thing as this! it is not worthwhile being two old men to be two old fools. But how did he manage toget into the convent? That was the beginning, and a man ought not todo things like that. Father Madeleine, Madeleine, Monsieur Madeleine,Monsieur le Maire! He does not hear me. Get out of it now as best youcan."
And he tore his hair. A shrill grating sound was audible at adistance through the trees; it was the closing of the cemetery gate.Fauchelevent bent over Jean Valjean, and all at once bounded backto the further end of the grave,--Jean Valjean's eyes were open andstaring at him.
If seeing a death is fearful, seeing a resurrection is nearly asfrightful. Fauchelevent became like stone. He was pale, haggard,confounded by such excessive emotion, not knowing if he had to do witha dead man or a living man, and looking at Jean Valjean, who looked athim.
"I was falling asleep," said Valjean.
And he sat up. Fauchelevent fell on his knees.
"Holy Virgin! how you frightened me!"
Then he rose and cried,--"Thank you, Fa
ther Madeleine!"
Jean Valjean had only fainted, and the fresh air aroused him again. Joyis the reflux of terror; and Fauchelevent had almost as much difficultyin recovering himself as had Jean Valjean.
"Then you are not dead! Oh, what a clever fellow you are! I called toyou so repeatedly that you came back. When I saw your eyes closed, Isaid, 'There, he is suffocated!' I should have gone stark mad, fitfor a strait waistcoat, and they would have put me in Bicêtre. Whatwould you have me do if you were dead; and your little girl? Thegreen-grocer's wife would not have understood it at all. A child isleft upon her hands, and the grandfather is dead! What a story! Oh, mygood saints in Paradise, what a story! Well, you are alive, that's thegreat thing."
"I am cold," said Valjean.
This remark completely recalled Fauchelevent to the reality, which wasurgent. These two men, who had scarce recovered, had a troubled mind,they knew not why, which emanated from the gloomy place where they were.
"Let us get out of this at once," said Fauchelevent.
He felt in his pocket and produced a flask.
"But a dram first," he said.
The flask completed what the fresh air had begun. Valjean drank amouthful of spirits and regained perfect possession of himself. He gotout of the coffin, and helped Fauchelevent to nail on the lid again;three minutes later they were out of the grave.
Fauchelevent was calm, and took his time. The cemetery was closed,and there was no fear of Gribier returning. That "conscript" was athome, busily seeking his card, and prevented from finding it becauseit was in Fauchelevent's pocket. Without it he could not return tothe cemetery. Fauchelevent took the spade, and Valjean the pick, andthey together buried the empty coffin. When the grave was filled op,Fauchelevent said,--
"Come along; you carry the pick and I will carry the spade."
The night was falling.
Jean Valjean felt some difficulty in moving and walking; for in thecoffin he had grown stiff, and become to some extent a corpse. Therigidity of death had seized upon him between these four planks, and hemust, so to speak, become thawed.
"You are stiff," said Fauchelevent; "it is a pity that I am a cripple,or we would have a run."
"Nonsense," said Valjean, "half a dozen strides will make my legs allright again."
They went along the avenues by which the hearse had passed, and onreaching the gate, Fauchelevent threw the grave-digger's card into thebox; the porter pulled the string, and they went out.
"How famously it has all gone," said Fauchelevent; "it was an excellentidea you had, Father Madeleine!"
They passed through the Vaugirard barrier in the simplest way in theworld, for in the vicinity of a cemetery, a spade and a pick are twopassports. The Rue de Vaugirard was deserted.
"Father Madeleine," Fauchelevent said, as they walked along, "you havebetter eyes than I have, so show me No. 87."
"Here it is," said Valjean.
"There is no one in the street," Fauchelevent continued; "give me thepick, and wait for me a couple of minutes."
Fauchelevent entered No. 87, went right to the top, guided by thatinstinct which ever leads the poor man to the garret, and rapped ata door in the darkness. A voice replied, "Come in." It was Gribier'svoice.
Fauchelevent pushed the door. The grave-digger's room was likeall these wretched abodes, an impoverished and crowded garret. Apacking-case--possibly a coffin--occupied the place of a chest ofdrawers, a butter-jar was the water-cistern, a paillasse representedthe bed, while the floor filled the place of chairs and table. In onecorner, on an old ragged piece of carpet, were a thin woman and aheap of children. The whole of this poor interior displayed signs ofa convulsion, and it seemed as if an earthquake "for one" had takenplace there. The blankets were torn away, the rags scattered about, thejug was broken, the mother had been crying, and the children probablybeaten,--there were evident signs of an obstinate and savage search. Itwas plain that the grave-digger had been wildly looking for his card,and made everything in the garret responsible for it, from his jug tohis wife. He looked desperate, but Fauchelevent was too eager to noticethis sad side of his success; he went in, and said, "I have brought youyour spade and pick."
Gribier looked at him in stupefaction.
"Is it you, peasant?"
"And to-morrow morning you will find your card with the porter of thecemetery."
And he placed the shovel and pick on the floor.
"What does this mean?" Gribier asked.
"It means that you let your card fall out of your pocket, that Ifound it on the ground when you had left, that I have buried the deadwoman, filled up the grave, done your work, the porter will give youyour card, and you will not pay fifteen francs. That's what it is,conscript!"
"Thanks, villager," said Gribier, quits dazzled, "next time I will payfor a bottle."