CHAPTER X.
DAWN.
At this moment Cosette awoke: her bed-room was narrow, clean,circumspect, with a long window on the east side looking out into thecourt-yard of the house. Cosette knew nothing of what was going on inParis, for she had returned to her bed-room at the time when Toussaintsaid, "There is a row." Cosette had slept but a few hours, though well.She had had sweet dreams, which resulted perhaps from the fact thather small bed was very white. Somebody, who was Marius, appeared toher in light; and she rose with the sun in her eyes, which at firstproduced the effect of a continuation of her dream upon her. Her firstthought on coming out of the dream was of a smiling nature, and shefelt quite reassured. Like Jean Valjean a few hours before, she waspassing through that reaction of the soul which absolutely desires nomisfortune. She began hoping with all her strength, without knowingwhy, and then suffered from a contraction of the heart. She had notseen Marius for three days; but she said to herself that he must havereceived her letter, that he knew where she was, that he was clever andwould find means to get to her,--certainly to-day, and perhaps thatvery morning. It was bright day, but the sunbeam was nearly horizontal,and so she thought that it must be early, but that she ought to risein order to receive Marius. She felt that she could not live withoutMarius, and that consequently was sufficient, and Marius would come. Noobjection was admissible; all this was certain. It was monstrous enoughto have suffered for three days: Marius absent for three days, that washorrible on the part of le bon Dieu. Now this cruel suspense sent fromon high was a trial passed through; Marius was about to come and bringgood news. Thus is youth constituted: it wipes away its tears quickly,and finding sorrow useless, does not accept it. Youth is the smile ofthe future of an unknown thing, which is itself: it is natural for itto be happy, and it seems as if its breath were made of hope.
However, Cosette could not succeed in recalling to mind what Marius hadsaid to her on the subject of this absence, which was only to last oneday, and what explanation he had given her about it. Every one willhave noticed with what skill a coin let fall on the ground runs tohide itself, and what art it has in rendering itself invisible. Thereare thoughts which play us the same trick; they conceal themselvesin a corner of our brain: it is all over, they are lost, and it isimpossible to recall them to memory. Cosette felt somewhat vexed at thelittle useless effort her memory made, and said to herself that it wasvery wrong and culpable of her to forget words pronounced by Marius.She left her bed, and performed the two ablutions of the soul and thebody, her prayers and her toilette.
We may, if absolutely required, introduce a reader into a nuptialchamber, but not into a virgin's room. Verse could hardly ventureit, prose ought not. It is the interior of a still closed flower, awhiteness in the gloaming, the inner cell of a closed lily, which mustnot be gazed at by man till it has been gazed at by the sun. Womanin the bud is sacred: this innocent bud which discovers itself, thisadorable semi-nudity which is afraid of itself, this white foot whichtakes refuge in a slipper, this throat which veils itself before amirror as if the mirror were an eye, this chemise which hurriedly risesand covers the shoulder at the sound of a piece of furniture creakingor a passing vehicle, these knotted strings, this stay-lace, thistremor, this shudder of cold and shame, this exquisite shyness in everymovement, this almost winged anxiety when there is nothing to fear,the successive phases of the apparel, which are as charming as theclouds of dawn,--it is not befitting that all this should be described,and it is too much to have merely indicated it. The eye of man mustto even more religious before the rising of a maiden than before therising of a star. The possibility of attaining ought to be turned intoaugmented respect. The down of the peach, the first bloom of the plum,the crystal radiate of the snow, the butterfly's wing Powdered withfeathers, are but coarse things by the side of this chastity, whichdoes not know itself that it is chaste. The maiden is only the flashof the dream, and is not yet a statue; her alcove is concealed in thedim part of the ideal, and the indiscreet touch of the eye brutalizesthis vague twilight. In this case contemplation is profanation. We willtherefore say nothing about the sweet awaking and rising of Cosette. AnEastern fable tells us that the rose was made white by God, but thatAdam having looked at it for a moment when it opened, it felt ashamed,and turned pink. We are of those who feel themselves abashed in thepresence of maidens and flowers, for we find them worthy of veneration.
Cosette dressed herself very rapidly, and combed and dressed her hair,which was very simple at that day, when women did not swell theirringlets and plaits with cushions and pads, and placed no crinolinein their hair. Then she opened the window and looked all around,hoping to discern a little of the street, an angle of the house, ora corner of the pavement, to watch for Marius. But nothing could beseen of the outside: the court-yard was surrounded by rather loftywalls, and was bounded by other gardens. Cosette declared these gardenshideous, and for the first time in her life considered flowers ugly.The paltriest street gutter would have suited her purpose better; andshe resolved to look up to heaven, as if she thought that Marius mightpossibly come thence. Suddenly she burst into tears, not through anyfickleness of temperament, but her situation consisted of hopes dashedwith despondency. She confusedly felt something horrible; that it wasreally in the air. She said to herself that she was sure of nothing,that letting herself out of sight was losing herself; and the ideathat Marius might return to her from heaven appeared to her no longercharming but lugubrious. Then--for such these clouds are--calmnessreturned, and hope, and a species of smile, unconscious, but trustingin God.
Everybody was still asleep in the house, and a provincial silenceprevailed. No shutter was opened, and the porter's lodge was stillclosed. Toussaint was not up, and Cosette naturally thought that herfather was asleep. She must have suffered greatly, and must still besuffering, for she said to herself that her father had been unkind,but she reckoned on Marius. The eclipse of such a light was decidedlyimpossible. At moments she heard some distance off a sort of heavyshock, and thought how singular it was that gates were opened and shutat so early an hour; it was the sound of the cannon-balls batteringthe barricade. There was a martin's nest a few feet below Cosette'swindow in the old smoke-blackened cornice, and the mouth of thenest projected a little beyond the cornice, so that the interior ofthis little Paradise could be seen from above. The mother was thereexpanding her wings like a fan over her brood; the male bird flutteredround, went away, and then returned, bringing in his bill food andkisses. The rising day gilded this happy thing; the great law, increaseand multiply, was there smiling and august; and the sweet mysterywas unfolded in the glory of the morn. Cosette, with her hair in thesunshine, her soul in flames, enlightened by love within and the dawnwithout, bent forward as if mechanically, and, almost without daring toconfess to herself that she was thinking at the same time of Marius,she began looking at these birds, this family, this male and female,this mother and her little ones, with all the profound agitation whichthe sight of a nest occasions a virgin.