CHAPTER VII.
AN OLD HEART AND A YOUNG HEART FACE TO FACE.
Father Gillenormand at this period had just passed his ninety-firstbirthday, and still lived with his daughter at No. 6, Rue desFilles-de-Calvaire, in the old house which was his own property. Hewas, it will be remembered, one of those antique old men whose agefalls on without bending them, and whom even sorrow cannot bow. Still,for some time past his daughter had said, "My father is breaking." Heno longer slapped the servants, or rapped so violently with his canethe staircase railing where Basque kept him waiting. The Revolutionof July had not exasperated him for more than six months, and he hadseen almost with tranquillity in the _Moniteur_ this association ofwords, M. Humblot-Conté, Peer of France. The truth is, that the oldman was filled with grief; he did not bend, he did not surrender, forthat was not possible either with his moral or physical nature; buthe felt himself failing inwardly. For four years he had been awaitingMarius with a firm foot,--that is really the expression,--with theconviction that the wicked young scape-grace would ring his bell someday; and now he had begun to say to himself, when depressed, thatMarius might remain away a little too long. It was not death that wasinsupportable to him, but the idea that perhaps he might not see Mariusagain. This idea had never occurred to him till one day, and at presentit rose before him constantly, and chilled him to death. Absence, asever happens in natural and true feelings, had only heightened thegrandfather's love for the ungrateful boy who had gone away like that.It is on December nights, when the thermometer is almost down at zero,that people think most of the sun. M. Gillenormand was, or fanciedhimself, utterly incapable of taking a step toward his grandson; "Iwould rot first," he said to himself. He did not think himself at allin the wrong, but he only thought of Marius with profound tenderness,and the dumb despair of an old man who is going down into the valleyof the shadows. He was beginning to lose his teeth, which added to hissorrow. M. Gillenormand, without confessing it to himself, however,for he would have been furious and ashamed of it, had never loved amistress as he loved Marius. He had hung up in his room, as the firstthing he might see on awaking, an old portrait of his other daughter,the one who was dead, Madame de Pontmercy, taken when she was eighteen.He incessantly regarded this portrait, and happened to say one day,while gazing at it,--
"I can notice a likeness."
"To my sister?" Mlle. Gillenormand remarked; "oh, certainly."
The old man added, "And to him too."
When he was once sitting, with his knees against each other, and hiseyes almost closed in a melancholy posture, his daughter ventured tosay to him,--
"Father, are you still so furious against--" She stopped, not daring togo further.
"Against whom?" he asked.
"That poor Marius."
He raised his old head, laid his thin wrinkled fist on the table, andcried, in his loudest and most irritated accent,--
"Poor Marius, you say! That gentleman is a scoundrel, a scamp, a littlevain ingrate, without heart or soul, a proud and wicked man!"
And he turned away, so that his daughter might not see a tear which hehad in his eyes. Three days later he interrupted a silence which hadlasted four hours to say to his daughter gruffly,--
"I had had the honor of begging Mademoiselle Gillenormand never tomention his name to me."
Aunt Gillenormand gave up all attempts, and formed this profounddiagnostic: "My father was never very fond of my sister after herfolly. It is clear that he detests Marius." "After her folly" meant,"since she married the Colonel." Still, as may be conjectured,Mademoiselle Gillenormand failed in her attempt to substitute herfavorite, the officer of lancers, in Marius's place. Théodule hadmet with no success, and M. Gillenormand refused to accept the_qui pro quo;_ for the vacuum in the heart cannot be stopped by abung. Théodule, on his side, while sniffing the inheritance, felt arepugnance to the labor of pleasing, and the old gentleman annoyedthe lancer, while the lancer offended the old gentleman. LieutenantThéodule was certainly gay but gossiping, frivolous but vulgar, a goodliver but bad company; he had mistresses, it is true, and he talkeda good deal about them, it is also true, but then he talked badly.All his qualities had a defect, and M. Gillenormand was worn outwith listening to the account of the few amours he had had round hisbarracks in the Rue de Babylone. And then Lieutenant Théodule calledsometimes in uniform with the tricolor cockade, which rendered himsimply impossible. M. Gillenormand eventually said to his daughter, "Ihave had enough of Théodule, for I care but little for a warrior inpeace times. You can receive him if you like, but for my part I do notknow whether I do not prefer the sabrers to the trailing of sabres,and the clash of blades in a battle is less wretched, after all, thanthe noise of scabbards on the pavement. And then, to throw up one'shead like a king of clubs, and to lace one's self like a woman, to wearstays under a cuirass, is doubly ridiculous. When a man is a real manhe keeps himself at an equal distance from braggadocio and foppishness.So keep your Théodule for yourself." Though his daughter said to him,"After all, he is your grand-nephew," it happened that M. Gillenormand,who was grandfather to the end of his nails, was not a grand-uncleat all; the fact is, that as he was a man of sense and comparison,Théodule only served to make him regret Marius the more.
One evening, it was the 4th of June, which did not prevent FatherGillenormand from having an excellent fire in his chimney, he haddismissed his daughter, who was sewing in the adjoining room. He wasalone in his apartment with the pastoral hangings, with his feet on theandirons, half enveloped in his nine-leaved Coromandel screen, sittingat a table on which two candles burned under a green shade, swallowedup in his needle-worked easy-chair, and holding a book in his hand,which he was not reading. He was dressed, according to his mode, asan "Incroyable," and resembled an old portrait of Garat. This wouldhave caused him to be followed in the streets; but whenever he wentout, his daughter wrapped him up in a sort of episcopal wadded coat,which hid his clothing. At home he never wore a dressing-gown, savewhen he got up and went to bed. "It gives an old look," he was wont tosay. Father Gillenormand was thinking of Marius bitterly and lovingly,and, as usual, bitterness gained the upper hand. His savage tendernessalways ended by boiling over and turning into indignation, and he wasat the stage when a man seeks to make up his mind and accept thatwhich lacerates. He was explaining to himself that there was no longerany reason for Marius's return, that if he had meant to come home hewould have done so long before, and all idea of it must be given up.He tried to form the idea that it was all over, and that he should diewithout seeing that "gentleman" again. But his whole nature revolted,and his old paternity could not consent. "What," he said, and it washis mournful burden, "he will not come back!" and his old bald fell onhis chest, and he vaguely fixed a lamentable and irritated glance uponthe ashes on his hearth. In the depth of this reverie his old servantBasque came in and asked,--
"Can you receive M. Marius, sir?"
The old man sat up, livid, and like a corpse which is roused by agalvanic shock. All his blood flowed to his heart, and he stammered,--
"M. Marius! Who?"
"I do not know," Basque replied, intimidated and disconcerted by hismaster's air, "for I did not see him. It was Nicolette who said to mejust now, 'There is a young man here; say it is M. Marius.'"
Father Gillenormand stammered in a low voice, "Show him in."
And he remained in the same attitude, with hanging head and eye fixedon the door. It opened, and a young man appeared; it was Marius,who stopped in the doorway as if waiting to be asked in. His almostwretched clothes could not be seen in the obscurity produced by theshade, and only his calm, grave, but strangely sorrowful face could bedistinguished. Father Gillenormand, as if stunned by stupor and joy,remained for a few minutes seeing nothing but a brilliancy, as when anapparition rises before us. He was ready to faint, and perceived Mariusthrough a mist. It was really he, it was really Marius! At length,after four years! He took him in entirely, so to speak, at a glance,and found him handsome, noble, distinguis
hed, grown, a thorough man,with a proper attitude and a charming air. He felt inclined to open hisarms and call the boy to him, his bowels were swelled with ravishment,affectionate words welled up and overflowed his bosom. At length allthis tenderness burst forth and reached his lips, and through thecontrast which formed the basis of his character a harshness issuedfrom it. He said roughly,--
"What do you want here?"
Marius replied with an embarrassed air,--
"Sir--"
Monsieur Gillenormand would have liked for Marius to throw himself intohis arms, and he was dissatisfied both with Marius and himself. He feltthat he was rough and Marius cold, and it was an insupportable andirritating anxiety to the old gentleman to feel himself so tender andimploring within, and unable to be otherwise than harsh externally. Hisbitterness returned, and he abruptly interrupted Marius.
"In that case, why do you come?"
The "in that case" meant "if you have not come to embrace me," Mariusgazed at his ancestor's marble face.
"Sir--"
The old gentleman resumed in a stern voice,--
"Have you come to ask my pardon? Have you recognized your error?"
He believed that he was putting Marius on the right track, and that"the boy" was going to give way. Marius trembled, for it was adisavowal of his father that was asked of him, and he lowered his eyesand replied, "No, sir."
"Well, in that case," the old man exclaimed impetuously, and with asharp sorrow full of anger, "what is it you want of me?"
Marius clasped his hands, advanced a step, and said, in a weak,trembling voice,--
"Take pity on me, sir."
This word moved M. Gillenormand; had it come sooner it would havesoftened him, but it came too late. The old gentleman rose, and restedboth hands on his cane; his lips were white, his forehead shook, buthis lofty stature towered over the stooping Marius.
"Pity on you, sir! The young man asks pity of an old man of ninety-one!You are entering life, and I am leaving it; you go to the play, toballs, to the coffee-house, the billiard-table; you are witty, youplease women, you are a pretty fellow, while I spit on my logs in themiddle of summer; you are rich with the only wealth there is, while Ihave all the poverty of old age, infirmity, and isolation. You haveyour two-and-thirty teeth, a good stomach, a quick eye, strength,appetite, health, gayety, a forest of black hair, while I have noteven my white hair left. I have lost my teeth, I am losing my legs,I am losing my memory, for there are three names of streets which Iincessantly confound,--the Rue Charlot, the Rue du Chaume, and the RueSt. Claude. Such is my state; you have a whole future before you, fullof sunshine, while I am beginning to see nothing, as I have advancedso far into night. You are in love, that is a matter of course, whileI am not beloved by a soul in the world, and yet you ask me for pity!By Jove! Molière forgot that. If that is the way in which you lawyersjest at the palais, I compliment you most sincerely upon it, for youare droll fellows."
And the octogenarian added, in a serious and wrathful voice,--
"Well; what is it you want of me?"
"I am aware, sir," said Marius, "that my presence here displeases you;but I have only come to ask one thing of you, and then I shall go awayat once."
"You are a fool!" the old man said. "Who told you to go away?"
This was the translation of the tender words which he had at the bottomof his heart. "Ask my pardon, why don't you? and throw your arms roundmy neck." M. Gillenormand felt that Marius was going to leave himin a few moments, that his bad reception offended him, and that hisharshness expelled him; he said all this to himself, and his griefwas augmented by it, and as his grief immediately turned into passionhis harshness grew the greater. He had wished that Marius shouldunderstand, and Marius did not understand, which rendered the oldgentleman furious. He continued,--
"What! you insulted me, your grandfather; you left my house to go theLord knows whither; you broke your aunt's heart; you went away to leada bachelor's life,--of course that's more convenient,--to play the fop,come home at all hours, and amuse yourself; you have given me no signof life; you have incurred debts without even asking me to pay them;you have been a breaker of windows and a brawler; and at the end offour years you return to my house and have nothing more to say to methan that!"
This violent way of forcing the grandson into tenderness only producedsilence on the part of Marius. M. Gillenormand folded his arms,--agesture which with him was peculiarly imperious,--and bitterlyaddressed Marius,--
"Let us come to an end. You have come to ask something of me, you say.Well, what is it? Speak!"
"Sir," said Marius, with the look of a man who feels that he is goingto fall over a precipice, "I have come to ask your permission to marry."
M. Gillenormand rang the bell, and Basque poked his head into the door.
"Send my daughter here."
A second later the door opened again, and Mlle. Gillenormand did notenter, but showed herself. Marius was standing silently, with droopingarms and the face of a criminal, while M. Gillenormand walked up anddown the room. He turned to his daughter and said to her,--
"It is nothing. This is M. Marius; wish him good-evening. Thisgentleman desires to marry That will do. Be off!"
The sound of the old man's sharp, hoarse voice announced a mightyfury raging within him. The aunt looked at Marius in terror, seemedscarce to recognize him, did not utter a syllable, and disappearedbefore her father's breath like a straw before a hurricane. In the meanwhile M. Gillenormand had turned back, and was now leaning against themantel-piece.
"You marry! at the age of one-and-twenty! You have settled all that,and have only a permission to ask, a mere formality! Sit down, sir.Well, you have had a revolution since I had the honor of seeing youlast; the Jacobins had the best of it, and you are of course pleased.Are you not a republican since you became a baron? Those two things gofamously together, and the republic is a sauce for the barony. Are youone of the decorated of July? Did you give your small aid to take theLouvre, sir? Close by, in the Rue St. Antoine, opposite the Rue desNonaindières, there is a cannon-ball imbedded in the wall of a housethree stories up, with the inscription, 'July 28, 1830.' Go and look atit, for it produces a famous effect. Ah! your friends do very prettythings! By the way, are they not erecting a fountain on the site of theDuc de Berry's monument? So you wish to marry? May I ask, without anyindiscretion, who the lady is?"
He stopped, and before Marius had time to answer, he added violently,--
"Ah! have you a profession, a fortune? How much do you earn by yourtrade as a lawyer?"
"Nothing," said Marius, with a sort of fierceness and almost sternresolution.
"Nothing? Then you have only the twelve hundred livres which I allowyou to live on?"
Marius made no reply, and M. Gillenormand continued,--
"In that case, I presume that the young lady is wealthy?"
"Like myself."
"What! no dowry?"
"No."
"Any expectations?"
"I do not think so."
"Quite naked! And what is the father?"
"I do not know."
"And what is her name?"
"Mademoiselle Fauchelevent."
"Mademoiselle Fauchewhat?"
"Fauchelevent."
"Ptt!" said the old gentleman.--
"Monsieur!" Marius exclaimed.
M. Gillenormand interrupted him, with the air of a man who is talkingto himself,--
"That is it, one-and-twenty, no profession, twelve hundred livres ayear, and the Baroness Pontmercy will go and buy two sous' worth ofparsley at the green-grocer's!"
"Sir," Marius replied in the wildness of the last vanishing hope, "Iimplore you, I conjure you in Heaven's name, with clasped hands I throwmyself at your feet,--sir, permit me to marry her!"
The old man burst into a sharp, melancholy laugh, through which hecoughed and spoke,--
"Ah, ah, ah! you said to yourself, 'I'll go and see that old periwig,that absurd ass! What a pity that I am n
ot five-and-twenty yet! how Iwould send him a respectful summons! Old fool, you are too glad to seeme; I feel inclined to marry Mamselle Lord-knows-who, the daughter ofMonsieur Lord-knows-what. She has no shoes and I have no shirt; thatmatches. I am inclined to throw into the river my career, my youth, myfuture, my life, and take a plunge into wretchedness with a wife roundmy neck--that is my idea, and you must consent:' and the old fossilwill consent. Go in, my lad, fasten your paving-stone round your neck,marry your Pousselevent, your Coupelevent,--never, sir, never!"
"Father--"
"Never!"
Marius lost all hope through the accent with which this "never" waspronounced. He crossed the room slowly, with hanging head, tottering,and more like a man that is dying than one who is going away. M.Gillenormand looked after him, and at the moment when the door openedand Marius was about to leave the room he took four strides with thesenile vivacity of an impetuous and spoiled old man, seized Marius bythe collar, pulled him back energetically into the room, threw him intoan easy-chair, and said,--
"Tell me all about it."
The word _father_ which had escaped from Marius's lips producedthis revolution. Marius looked at M. Gillenormand haggardly, buthis inflexible face expressed nought now but a rough and ineffablegoodness. The ancestor had made way for the grandfather.
"Well, speak; tell me of your love episodes, tell me all. Sapristi! howstupid young men are!"
"My father!" Marius resumed.
The old gentleman's entire face was lit up with an indescribableradiance.
"Yes, that is it, call me father, and you'll see."
There was now something so gentle, so good, so open, and so paternal inthis sharpness, that Marius, in this sudden passage from discouragementto hope, was, as it were, stunned and intoxicated. As he was seatednear the table the light of the candles fell on his seedy attire, whichFather Gillenormand studied with amazement.
"Well, father," said Marius.
"What!" M. Gillenormand interrupted him, "have you really no money? Youare dressed like a thief."
He felt in a drawer and pulled out a purse, which he laid on the table.
"Here are one hundred louis to buy a hat with."
"My father," Marius continued, "my kind father. If you only knew how Ilove her! You cannot imagine it. The first time I saw her was at theLuxembourg, where she came to walk. At the beginning I paid no greatattention to her, and then I know not how it happened, but I fell inlove with her. Oh, how wretched it made me! I see her now every day ather own house, and her father knows nothing about it. Just fancy, theyare going away; we see each other at night in the garden; her fathermeans to take her to England; and then I said to myself, 'I will goand see my grandfather and tell him about it.' I should go mad first,I should die, I should have a brain fever, I should throw myself intothe water. I must marry her, or else I shall go mad. That is the wholetruth, and I do not believe that I have forgotten anything. She livesin a garden with a railing to it, in the Rue Plumet: it is on the sideof the Invalides."
Father Gillenormand was sitting radiantly by Marius's side: whilelistening and enjoying the sound of his voice he enjoyed at the sametime a lengthened pinch of snuff. At the words "Rue Plumet" he brokeoff inhaling, and allowed the rest of the snuff to fall on his knees.
"Rue Plumet! Did you say Rue Plumet? Only think! Is there not a barrackdown there? Oh yes, of course there is: your cousin Théodule, theofficer, the lancer, told me about it--a little girl, my dear fellow,a little girl! By Jove! yes, Rue Plumet, which used formerly to becalled Rue Blomet. I remember it all now, and I have heard about thepetite behind the railings in the Rue Plumet. In a garden, a Pamela.Your taste is not bad. I am told she is very tidy. Between ourselves,I believe that ass of a lancer has courted her a little; I do notexactly know how far matters have gone, but, after all, that is of noconsequence. Besides, there is no believing him; he boasts. Marius,I think it very proper that a young man like you should be in love,for it becomes your age, and I would sooner have you in love than aJacobin. I would rather know you caught by a petticoat, ay, by twentypetticoats, than by Monsieur de Robespierre. For my part, I do myselfthe justice of saying that, as regards sans-culottes, I never lovedany but women. Pretty girls are pretty girls, hang it all! and thereis no harm in that. And so she receives you behind her father's back,does she? That's all right, and I had affairs of the same sort, morethan one. Do you know what a man does in such cases? He does not regardthe matter ferociously, he does not hurl himself into matrimony,or conclude with marriage and M. le Maire in his scarf. No, he is,although foolish, a youth of spirits and of good sense. Glide, mortals,but do not marry. Such a young man goes to his grandfather, who iswell inclined after all, and who has always a few rolls of louis in anold drawer, and he says to him, 'Grandpapa, that's how matters stand;'and grandpapa says, 'It is very simple; youth must make and old agebreak. I have been young and you will be old. All right, my lad, youwill requite it to your grandson. Here are two hundred pistoles; goand amuse yourself, confound you!' That is the way in which the mattershould be arranged; a man does not marry, but that is no obstacle: doyou understand?"
Marius, petrified and incapable of uttering a word, shook his head inthe negative. The old gentleman burst into a laugh, winked his agedeyelid, tapped him on the knee, looked at him in both eyes with amysterious and radiant air, and said with the tenderest shrug of theshoulders possible,--
"You goose! make her your mistress!"
Marius turned pale; he had understood nothing of what his grandfatherhad been saying, and this maundering about the Rue Blomet, Pamela, thebarracks, the lancer, had passed before Marius like a phantasmagoria.Nothing of all this could affect Cosette, who was a lily, and the oldgentleman was wandering. But this divagation had resulted in a sentencewhich Marius understood, and which was a mortal insult to Cosette, andthe words, _Make her your mistress_, passed through the pure youngman's heart like a sword-blade. He rose, picked up his hat which wason the ground, and walked to the door with a firm, assured step. Thenhe turned, gave his grandfather a low bow, drew himself up again, andsaid,--
"Five years ago you outraged my father; to-day you outrage my wife. Ihave nothing more to ask of you, sir; farewell!"
Father Gillenormand, who was stupefied, opened his mouth, stretchedout his arms, strove to rise, and ere he was able to utter a word, thedoor had closed again, and Marius had disappeared. The old gentlemanremained for a few minutes motionless, and as if thunderstruck, unableto speak or breathe, as though a garroter's hand were compressing histhroat. At length he tore himself out of his easy-chair, ran to thedoor as fast as a man can run at ninety-one, opened it, and cried,--
"Help! help!"
His daughter appeared, and then his servants; he went on with alamentable rattle in his throat,--
"Run after him! catch him up! How did I offend him? He is mad and goingaway! Oh Lord, oh Lord! this time he will not return."
He went to the window which looked on the street, opened it with hisold trembling hands, bent half his body out of it, while Basque andNicolette held his skirts, and cried,--
"Marius! Marius! Marius! Marius!"
But Marius could not hear him, for at this very moment he was turningthe corner of the Rue St. Louis. The nonagenarian raised his handstwice or thrice to his temples with an expression of agony, totteredback, and sank into an easy-chair, pulseless, voiceless, and tearless,shaking his head and moving his lips with a stupid air, and havingnothing left in his eyes or heart but a profound and gloomy rigiditywhich resembled night.
BOOK IX.
WHERE ARE THEY GOING?