CHAPTER II.
MOTHER PLUTARCH ACCOUNTS FOR A PHENOMENON.
One evening little Gavroche had eaten nothing; he remembered thathe had not dined either on the previous day, and that was becomingridiculous; so he formed the resolution to try and sup. He wentprowling about at the deserted spots beyond the Salpêtrière, for thereare good windfalls there; where there is nobody, something may befound. He thus reached a suburb which seemed to him to be the villageof Austerlitz. In one of his previous strolls he had noticed therean old garden frequented by an old man and an old woman, and in thisgarden a passable apple-tree. By the side of this tree was a sort ofbadly closed fruit-loft, whence an apple might be obtained. An apple isa supper, an apple is life; and what ruined Adam might save Gavroche.The garden skirted a solitary unpaved lane, bordered by shrubs whilewaiting for houses, and a hedge separated it from the lane. Gavrocheproceeded to the garden. He found the lane again, he recognized theapple-tree, and examined the hedge; a hedge is but a stride. Day wasdeclining; there was not a cat in the lane, and the hour was good.Gavroche was preparing to clamber over the hedge, when he stoppedshort,--some people were talking in the garden. Gavroche looked throughone of the interstices in the hedge. Two paces from him, at the footof the hedge on the other side, at precisely the point where the holehe had intended to make would have opened, lay a stone which formeda species of bench; and on this bench the old man of the garden wasseated with the old woman standing in front of him. The old woman wasgrumbling, and Gavroche, who was not troubled with too much discretion,listened.
"Monsieur Mabœuf!" the old woman said.
"Mabœuf!" Gavroche thought, "that's a rum name."
The old man thus addressed did not stir, and the old woman repeated,--
"Monsieur Mabœuf!"
The old man, without taking his eyes off the ground, decided toanswer,--
"Well, Mother Plutarch!"
"Mother Plutarch!" Gavroche thought, "that's another rum name."
Mother Plutarch continued, and the old gentleman was compelled tosubmit to the conversation.
"The landlord is not satisfied."
"Why so?"
"There are three quarters owing."
"In three months more we shall owe four."
"He says that he will turn you out."
"I will go."
"The green-grocer wants to be paid, or she will supply no more fagots.How shall we warm ourselves this winter if we have no wood?"
"There is the sun."
"The butcher has stopped our credit, and will not supply any more meat."
"That is lucky, for I cannot digest meat; it is heavy."
"But what shall we have for dinner?"
"Bread."
"The baker insists on receiving something on account; no money, nobread, he says."
"Very good."
"What will you eat?"
"We have apples."
"But, really, sir, we cannot live in that way without money."
"I have none."
The old woman went away, and left the old gentleman alone. He beganthinking, and Gavroche thought too; it was almost night. The firstresult of Gavroche's reflection was, that instead of climbing overthe hedge, he lay down under it. The branches parted a little at thebottom. "Hilloh," said Gavroche to himself, "it's an alcove," and hecrept into it. His back was almost against the octogenarian's bench,and he could hear him breathe. Then, in lieu of dining, Gavroche triedto sleep, but it was the sleep of a cat, with one eye open. Whiledozing, Gavroche watched. The whiteness of the twilight sky lit upthe ground, and the lane formed a livid line between two rows of darkstreets. All at once two figures appeared on this white stripe; one wasin front and the other a little distance behind.
"Here are two coves," Gavroche growled.
The first figure seemed to be some old bowed citizen, more than simplyattired, who walked slowly, owing to his age, and was strollingabout in the starlight. The second was straight, firm, and slim. Heregulated his steps by those of the man in front; but suppleness andagility could be detected in his voluntary slowness. This figure hadsomething ferocious and alarming about it, and the appearance of whatwas called a dandy in those days; the hat was of a good shape, andthe coat was black, well cut, probably of fine cloth, and tight atthe waist. He held his head up with a sort of robust grace; and underthe hat a glimpse could be caught of a pale youthful profile in thetwilight. This profile had a rose in its mouth, and was familiar toGavroche, for it was Montparnasse; as for the other, there was nothingto be said save that he was a respectable old man. Gavroche at oncebegan observing, for it was evident that one of these men had projectsupon the other. Gavroche was well situated to see the finale; and thealcove had opportunely become a hiding-place. Montparnasse, huntingat such an hour in such a spot,--that was menacing. Gavroche felt hisgamin entrails moved with pity for the old gentleman. What should hedo,--interfere? One weakness helping another! Montparnasse would havelaughed at it; for Gavroche did not conceal from himself that the oldman first, and then the boy, would be only two mouthfuls for thisformidable bandit of eighteen. While Gavroche was deliberating, theattack--a sudden and hideous attack--took place; it was the attack ofa tiger on an onager, of a spider on a fly. Montparnasse threw awaythe rose, leaped upon the old man, grappled him and clung to him; andGavroche had difficulty in repressing a cry. A moment after, one ofthese men was beneath the other, crushed, gasping, and struggling witha knee of marble on his chest. But it was not exactly what Gavroche hadanticipated; the man on the ground was Montparnasse, the one at the topthe citizen. All this took place a few yards from Gavroche. The old manreceived the shock, and repaid it so terribly that in an instant theassailant and the assailed changed parts.
"That's a tough invalid," Gavroche thought. And he could not refrainfrom clapping his hands, but it was thrown away; it was not heard bythe two combatants, who deafened one another, and mingled their breathin the struggle. At length there was a silence, and Montparnasse ceasedwrithing. Gavroche muttered this aside, "Is he dead?" The worthy manhad not uttered a word or given a cry; he rose, and Gavroche heard himsay to Montparnasse, "Get up."
Montparnasse did so, but the citizen still held him. Montparnassehad the humiliated and furious attitude of a wolf snapped at by asheep. Gavroche looked and listened, making an effort to double hiseyes with his ears; he was enormously amused. He was rewarded for hisconscientious anxiety, for he was able to catch the following dialogue,which borrowed from the darkness a sort of tragic accent. The gentlemanquestioned, and Montparnasse answered,--
"What is your age?"
"Nineteen."
"You are strong and healthy, why do you not work?"
"It is a bore."
"What is your trade?"
"Idler."
"Speak seriously. Can anything be done for you? What do you wish to be?"
"A robber."
There was a silence, and the old gentleman seemed in profound thought;but he did not loose his hold of Montparnasse. Every now and thenthe young bandit, who was vigorous and active, gave starts like awild beast caught in a snare; he shook himself, attempted a trip,wildly writhed his limbs, and tried to escape. The old gentleman didnot appear to notice it, and held the ruffian's two arms in one handwith the sovereign indifference of absolute strength. The old man'sreverie lasted some time; then, gazing fixedly at Montparnasse, hemildly raised his voice and addressed to him, in the darkness wherethey stood, a sort of solemn appeal, of which Gavroche did not lose asyllable.
"My boy, you are entering by sloth into the most laborious ofexistences. Ah! you declare yourself an idler, then prepare yourselffor labor. Have you ever seen a formidable machine which is called arolling-mill? You must be on your guard against it; for it is a craftyand ferocious thing, and if it catch you by the skirt of the coat itdrags you under it entirely. Such a machine is indolence. Stop whilethere is yet time, and save yourself, otherwise it is all over withyou, and ere long you will be among the cog-wheels. Once caught, hopefor nothing
more. You will be forced to fatigue yourself, idler; andno rest will be allowed you, for the iron hand of implacable toil hasseized you. You refuse to earn your livelihood, have a calling, andaccomplish a duty. It bores you to be like the rest; well, you will bedifferent. Labor is the law, and whoever repulses it as a bore musthave it as a punishment. You do not wish to be a laborer, and you willbe a slave. Toil only lets you loose on one side to seize you againon the other; you do not wish to be its friend, and you will be itsnegro. Ah, you did not care for the honest fatigue of men, and youare about to know the sweat of the damned; while others sing you willgroan. You will see other men working in the distance, and they willseem to you to be resting. The laborer, the reaper, the sailor, theblacksmith, will appear to you in the light like the blessed inmates ofa paradise. What a radiance there is in the anvil! What joy it is toguide the plough, and tie up the sheaf! What a holiday to fly beforethe wind in a boat! But you, idler, will have to dig and drag, androll and walk. Pull at your halter, for you are a beast of burden inthe service of hell! So your desire is to do nothing? Well, you willnot have a week, a day, an hour without feeling crushed. You will notbe able to lift anything without agony, and every passing minute willmake your muscles crack. What is a feather for others will be a rockfor you, and the most simple things will become steep. Life willbecome a monster around you, and coming, going, breathing, will be somany terrible tasks for you. Your lungs will produce in you the effectof a hundred-pound weight; and going there sooner than here will be aproblem to solve. Any man who wishes to go out, merely opens his doorand finds himself in the street; but if you wish to go out you mustpierce through your wall. What do honest men do to reach the street?They go downstairs; but you will tear up your sheets, make a cord ofthem fibre by fibre, then pass through your window and hang by thisthread over an abyss. And it will take place at night, in the storm,the rain, or the hurricane; and if the cord be too short you will havebut one way of descending, by falling--falling haphazard into thegulf, and from any height, and on what? On some unknown thing beneath.Or you will climb up a chimney at the risk of burning yourself; orcrawl through a sewer at the risk of drowning. I will say nothing ofthe holes which must be masked; of the stones which you will have toremove and put back twenty times a day, or of the plaster you must hideunder your mattress. A lock presents itself, and the citizen has in hispocket the key for it, made by the locksmith; but you, if you wish togo out, are condemned to make a terrible masterpiece. You will take adouble sou and cut it asunder. With what tools? You will invent them;that is your business. Then you will hollow out the interior of thetwo parts, being careful not to injure the outside, and form a threadall round the edge, so that the two parts may fit closely like a boxand its cover. When they are screwed together there will be nothingsuspicious to the watchers,--for you will be watched. It will be adouble sou, but for yourself a box. What will you place in this box?A small piece of steel, a watch-spring in which you have made teeth,and which will be a saw. With this saw, about the length of a pin, youwill be obliged to cut through the bolt of the lock, the padlock ofyour chain, the bar at your window, and the fetter on your leg. Thismasterpiece done, this prodigy accomplished, all the miracles of art,skill, cleverness, and patience executed, what will be your reward ifyou are detected? A dungeon. Such is the future. What precipices aresloth and pleasure! To do nothing is a melancholy resolution, are youaware of that? To live in indolence on the social substance; to beuseless, that is to say, injurious,--this leads straight to the bottomof misery. Woe to the man who wishes to be a parasite, for he willbe vermin! Ah! it does not please you to work. Ah! you have only onethought, to drink well, eat well, and sleep well. You will drink water;you will eat black bread; you will sleep on a plank, with fettersriveted to your limbs, and feel their coldness at night in your flesh!You will break these fetters and fly; very good. You will drag yourselfon your stomach into the shrubs and eat grass like the beasts of thefield; and you will be re-captured, and then you will pass years in adungeon, chained to the wall, groping in the dark for your water-jug,biting at frightful black bread which dogs would refuse, and eatingbeans which maggots have eaten before you. You will be a wood-lousein a cellar. Ah, ah! take pity on yourself, wretched boy, still soyoung, who were at your nurse's breast not twenty years ago, and havedoubtless a mother still! I implore you to listen to me. You want fineblack cloth, polished shoes, to scent your head with fragrant oil, toplease bad women, and be a pretty fellow; you will have your hair closeshaven, and wear a red jacket and wooden shoes. You want a ring on yourfinger; and will wear a collar on your neck, and if you look at a womanyou will be beaten. And you will go in there at twenty and come out atfifty years of age. You will go in young, red-cheeked, healthy, withyour sparkling eyes and all your white teeth, and your curly locks; andyou will come out again broken, bent, wrinkled, toothless, horrible,and gray-headed! Ah, my poor boy, you are on the wrong road, andindolence is a bad adviser; for robbery is the hardest of labors. Takemy advice, and do not undertake the laborious task of being an idler.To become a rogue is inconvenient, and it is not nearly so hard to bean honest man. Now go, and think over what I have said to you. By thebye, what did you want of me? My purse? Here it is."
And the old man, releasing Montparnasse, placed his purse in his hand,which Montparnasse weighed for a moment; after which, with the samemechanical precaution as if he had stolen it, Montparnasse let it glidegently into the back-pocket of his coat. All this said and done, theold gentleman turned his back and quietly resumed his walk.
"Old humbug!" Montparnasse muttered. Who was the old gentleman? Thereader has doubtless guessed. Montparnasse, in his stupefaction,watched him till he disappeared in the gloom, and this contemplationwas fatal for him. While the old gentleman retired, Gavroche advanced.He had assured himself by a glance that Father Mabœuf was stillseated on his bench, and was probably asleep; then the gamin leftthe bushes, and began crawling in the shadow behind the motionlessMontparnasse. He thus got up to the young bandit unnoticed, gentlyinsinuated his hand into the back-pocket of the fine black cloth coat,seized the purse, withdrew his hand, and crawled back again into theshadow like a lizard. Montparnasse, who had no reason to be on hisguard, and who was thinking for the first time in his life, perceivednothing; and Gavroche, when he had returned to the spot where FatherMabœuf was sitting, threw the purse over the hedge and ran offat full speed. The purse fell on Father Mabœuf's foot and awokehim. He stooped down and picked up the purse, which he opened withoutcomprehending anything. It was a purse, with two compartments; in onewas some change, in the other were six napoleons. M. Mabœuf, greatlystartled, carried the thing to his housekeeper.
"It has fallen from heaven," said Mother Plutarch.
BOOK V.
IN WHICH THE END DOES NOT RESEMBLE THE BEGINNING.