"I can see her whole soul!" he exclaimed.
This handkerchief belonged to the old gentleman, who had simply let itfall from his pocket. On the following days, when Marius went to theLuxembourg, he kissed the handkerchief, and pressed it to his heart.The lovely girl did not understand what this meant, and expressed hersurprise by imperceptible signs.
"Oh, modesty!" said Marius.
CHAPTER VIII.
EVEN INVALIDS MAY BE LUCKY.
Since we have uttered the word _modesty_, and as we conceal nothing,we are bound to say, however, that notwithstanding his ecstasy, onone occasion "his Ursule" caused him serious vexation. It was on oneof the days when she induced M. Leblanc to leave the bench and walkabout. There was a sharp spring breeze which shook the tops of theplane-trees; and father and daughter, arm in arm, had just passed infront of Marius, who rose and watched them, as was fitting for a man inhis condition. All at once a puff of wind, more merry than the rest,and probably ordered to do the business of spring, dashed along thewalk, enveloped the maiden in a delicious rustling worthy of the nymphsof Virgil and the Fauns of Theocritus, and raised her dress--that dressmore sacred than that of Isis--almost as high as her garter. A leg ofexquisite shape became visible. Marius saw it, and he was exasperatedand furious. The maiden rapidly put down her dress, with a divinelystartled movement, but he was not the less indignant. There was noone in the walk, it was true, but there might have been somebody; andif that somebody had been there! Is such a thing conceivable? Whatshe has just done is horrible! Alas! the poor girl had done nothing,and there was only one culprit, the wind; but Marius, in whom faintlyquivered the Bartholo which is in Cherubino, was determined to bedissatisfied, and was jealous of his shadow; it is thus, in fact,that the bitter and strange jealousy of the flesh is aroused in thehuman heart, and dominates it, even unjustly. Besides, apart from hisjealousy, the sight of this charming leg was not at all agreeable tohim, and any other woman's white stocking would have caused him morepleasure.
When "his Ursule," after reaching the end of the walk, turned backwith M. Leblanc, and passed in front of the bench on which Marius wassitting, he gave her a stern, savage glance. The girl drew herselfslightly up, and raised her eyelids, which means, "Well, what is thematter now?" This was their first quarrel. Marius had scarce finishedupbraiding her in this way with his eyes, when some one crossed thewalk. It was a bending invalid, all wrinkled and white, wearing theuniform of Louis XV., having on his chest the little oval red clothbadge with crossed swords, the soldier's cross of Saint Louis, anddecorated besides with an empty coat-sleeve, a silver chin, and awooden leg. Marius fancied he could notice that this man had an airof satisfaction; it seemed to him that the old cynic, while hobblingpast him, gave him a fraternal and extremely jovial wink, as if someaccident had enabled them to enjoy in common some good thing. Why wasthis relic of Mars so pleased? What had occurred, between this woodenleg and the other? Marius attained the paroxysm of jealousy, "He wasperhaps there," he said to himself; "perhaps he saw," and he feltinclined to exterminate the invalid.
With the help of time every point grows blunted, and Marius's angerwith "Ursule," though so just and legitimate, passed away. He ended bypardoning her; but it was a mighty effort, and he sulked with her forthree days. Still, through all this, and owing to all this, his passionincreased, and became insane.
CHAPTER IX.
ECLIPSE.
We have seen how Marius discovered, or fancied he had discovered, thather name was Ursule. Appetite comes while loving, and to know that hername was Ursule was a great deal already, but it was little. In threeor four weeks Marius had devoured this happiness and craved another; hewished to know where she lived. He had made the first fault in fallinginto the trap of the Gladiator's bench; he had committed a second bynot remaining at the Luxembourg when M. Leblanc went there alone;and he now committed a third, an immense one,--he followed "Ursule."She lived in the Rue de l'Ouest, in the most isolated part, in a newthree-storied house of modest appearance. From this moment Marius addedto his happiness of seeing her at the Luxembourg the happiness offollowing her home. His hunger increased; he knew what her name was,her Christian name at least, the charming, the real name of a woman;he knew where she lived; and he now wanted to know who she was. Oneevening after following them home, and watching them disappear in thegateway, he went in after them, and valiantly addressed the porter.
"Is that the gentleman of the first floor who has just come in?"
"No," the porter answered, "it is the gentleman of the third floor."
Another step made! This success emboldened Marius.
"Front?" he asked.
"Hang it!" said the porter, "our rooms all look on the street."
"And what is the gentleman?" Marius continued.
"He lives on his property. He is a very good man, who does a deal ofgood to the unhappy, though he is not rich."
"What is his name?" Marius added.
The porter raised his head and said,--
"Are you a police spy, sir?"
Marius went off much abashed, but highly delighted, for he wasprogressing.
"Good!" he thought; "I know that her name is Ursule, that she is thedaughter of a retired gentleman, and that she lives there, on a thirdfloor in the Rue de l'Ouest."
On the morrow M. Leblanc and his daughter made but a short appearanceat the Luxembourg, and went away in broad daylight. Marius followedthem to the Rue de l'Ouest, as was his habit, and on reaching thegateway M. Leblanc made his daughter go in first, then stopped, turned,and looked intently at Marius. The next day they did not come to theLuxembourg, and Marius waited in vain the whole day. At nightfall hewent to the Rue de l'Ouest, and noticed a light in the third-floorwindows, and he walked about beneath these windows till the lightwas extinguished. The next day there was no one at the Luxembourg;Marius waited all day, and then went to keep his night-watch under thewindows. This took him till ten o'clock, and his dinner became whatit could; for fever nourishes the sick man and love the lover. Eightdays passed in this way, and M. Leblanc and his daughter did not againappear at the Luxembourg. Marius made sorrowful conjectures, for he didnot dare watch the gateway by day; he contented himself with going atnight to contemplate the reddish brightness of the window-panes. He sawshadows pass now and then, and his heart beat.
On the eighth day, when he arrived beneath the windows, there was nolight. "What!" he said to himself, "the lamp is not lighted! can theyhave gone out?" He waited till ten o'clock, till midnight, till oneo'clock, but no light was kindled at the third-floor windows, andnobody entered the house. He went away with very gloomy thoughts.On the morrow--for he only lived from morrow to morrow, and he hadno to-day, so to speak--he saw nobody at the Luxembourg, as heexpected, and at nightfall he went to the house. There was no lightat the windows, the shutters were closed, and the third floor was alldarkness. Marius rapped, walked in, and said to the porter,--
"The gentleman on the third floor?"
"Moved," the porter answered.
Marius tottered, and asked feebly,--
"Since when?"
"Yesterday."
"Where is he living now?"
"I do not know."
"Then he did not leave his new address?"
"No."
And the porter, raising his nose, recognized Marius.
"What! it's you, is it?" he said; "why, you must really be a policespy."
BOOK VII
PATRON MINETTE.
CHAPTER I.
MINES AND MINERS.
Human societies have ever what is called in theatres "un troisièmedessous," and the social soil is everywhere undermined, here for goodand there for evil. These works are upon one another; there are uppermines and lower mines, and there is a top and bottom in this obscuresub-soil, which at times gives way beneath the weight of civilization,and which our indifference and carelessness trample under foot. TheEncyclopædia was in the last century an almost open mine, and thedarkness, that gloomy brooder of primitive C
hristianity, only awaitedan occasion to explode beneath the Cæsars and inundate the human racewith light. For in the sacred darkness there is latent light, and thevolcanoes are full of a shadow which is capable of flashing, and alllava begins by being night. The catacombs in which the first Mass wasread were not merely the cellar of Rome but also the vault of the world.
There are all sorts of excavations beneath the social building, thatmarvel complicated by a hovel; there is the religious mine, thephilosophic mine, the political mine, the social economic mine, and therevolutionary mine. One man picks with the idea, another with figure,another with auger, and they call to and answer each other from thecatacombs. Utopias move in subterranean passages and ramify in alldirections; they meet there at times and fraternize. Jean Jacqueslends his pick to Diogenes, who lends him his lantern in turn; attimes, though, they fight, and Calvin clutches Socinus by the hair. Butnothing arrests or interrupts the tension of all their energies towardthe object, and the vast simultaneous energy, which comes and goes,ascends, descends, and reascends, in the obscurity, and which slowlysubstitutes top for bottom and inside for out; it is an immense andunknown ant-heap. Society hardly suspects this excavation, which leavesno traces on its surface and yet changes its insides; and there are asmany different works and varying extractions as there are subterraneantiers. What issues from all these deep excavations? The future.
The deeper we go the more mysterious the mines become. To a certainpoint which the social philosopher is able to recognize the labor isgood; beyond that point it is doubtful and mixed, and lower stillit becomes terrible. At a certain depth the excavations can nolonger be endured by the spirit of civilization, and man's limit ofbreathing is passed: a commencement of monsters becomes possible.The descending ladder is strange, and each rung corresponds with astage upon which philosophy can land, and meet one of these miners,who are sometimes divine, at others deformed. Below John Huss thereis Luther; below Luther, Descartes; below Descartes, Voltaire; belowVoltaire, Condorcet; below Condorcet, Robespierre; below Robespierre,Marat; and below Marat, Babeuf; and so it goes on. Lower still wenotice confusedly, at the limit which separates the indistinct from theinvisible, other gloomy men, who perhaps do not yet exist: those ofyesterday are spectres, those of the morrow grubs. The mental eye canonly distinguish them obscurely, and the embryonic labor of the futureis one of the visions of the philosopher. A world in limbo at the fœtusstage--what an extraordinary sketch! St Simon, Owen, and Founder arealso there in the side-passages.
Assuredly, although a divine and invisible chain connects togetherwithout their cognizance all these subterranean miners, who nearlyalways fancy themselves isolated but are not so, their labors varygreatly, and the light of the one contrasts with the dazzle of theother: some are celestial and others tragical. Still, however greatthe contrast may be, all these laborers, from the highest to the mostnocturnal, from the wisest down to the maddest, have a similitudein their disinterestedness: they leave themselves on one side, omitthemselves, do not think of themselves, and see something differentfrom themselves. They have a glance, and that glance seeks theabsolute; the first has heaven in his eyes, and the last, howeverenigmatical he may be, has beneath Ids eyebrow the pale brightness ofinfinity. Venerate every man, no matter what he may be doing,--anyman who has the sign, a starry eyeball. The dark eyeball is the othersign, and with it evil begins. Before the man who has this look, thinkand tremble. Social order has its black miners. There is a point whereprofundity is burial and where light is extinguished. Below all thesemines which we have indicated,--below all these galleries, below allthis immense subterranean arterial system of progress and Utopia, fardeeper in the ground, below Marat, below Babeuf, much, much lower,there is the last passage, which has no connection with the upperdrifts. It is a formidable spot, and what we termed the _troisièmedessous_. It is the grave of darkness and the cave of the blind,_Inferi_, and communicates with the abysses.
CHAPTER II.
THE BOTTOM.
Here disinterestedness fades away, and the dream is vaguely sketched.Every one for himself. The eyeless I yells, seeks, gropes, andgroans: the social Ugolino is in this gulf. The ferocious shadowswhich prowl about this grave, almost brutes, almost phantoms, donot trouble themselves about human progress; they are ignorant ofideas and language, and thus they care for nought beyond individualgratification. They are almost unconscious, and there is within thema species of frightful obliteration. They have two mothers, bothstep-mothers,--ignorance and wretchedness. They have for their guidewant, and for all power of satisfaction appetite; they are brutallyvoracious, that is to say, ferocious,--not after the fashion of thetyrant, but that of the tiger. From suffering these grubs pass tocrime,--it is a fetal affiliation, a ghastly propagation, the logic ofdarkness; what crawls in the lowest passage is no longer the stifleddemand of the absolute, but the protest of matter. Man becomes a dragonthen; his starting-point is to be hungry and thirsty, and his terminusis to be Satan. Lacenaire issued from this cave.
We have just seen one of the compartments of the upper mine, the greatpolitical, revolutionary, and philosophic sap. There, as we said, allis noble, pure, worthy, and honest: men may be mistaken in it, and aremistaken, but the error must be revered, because it implies so muchheroism, and the work performed there has a name,--Progress. The momenthas now arrived to take a glance at other and hideous depths. There isbeneath society, and there ever will be, till the day when ignoranceis dissipated, the great cavern of evil. This cavern is below all therest, and the enemy of all; it is hatred without exception. This cavernknows no philosophers, and its dagger never made a pen, while itsblackness bears no relation with the sublime blackness of the inkstand.The fingers of night, which clench beneath this asphyxiating roof,never opened a book or unfolded a newspaper. Babeuf is to Cartouche aperson who takes advantage of his knowledge, and Marat an aristocratin the sight of Schinderhannes, and the object of this cavern is theoverthrow of everything.
Of everything,--including the upper levels, which it execrates. It notonly undermines in its hideous labor the existing social order, but itundermines philosophy, science, the law, human thought, civilization,revolution, and progress, and it calls itself most simply, robbery,prostitution, murder, and assassination. It is darkness, and desireschaos, and its roof is composed of ignorance. All the other minesabove it have only one object, to suppress it; and philosophy andprogress strive for this with all their organs simultaneously, by theamelioration of the real, as well as the contemplation of the ideal.Destroy the cave, Ignorance, and you destroy the mole, Crime. Let uscondense in a few words a portion of what we have just written. Thesole social evil is darkness; humanity is identity, for all men areof the same clay, and in this nether world, at least, there is nodifference in predestination; we are the same shadow before, the sameflesh during, and the same ashes afterwards: but ignorance, mixed withthe human paste, blackens it, and this incurable blackness enters manand becomes Evil there.
CHAPTER III.
BABET, GUEULEMER, CLAQUESOUS, AND MONTPARNASSE.
A quartette of bandits, Babet, Gueulemer, Claquesous, and Montparnasse,governed, from 1830 to 1835, the lowest depths of Paris. Gueulemer wasa Hercules out of place, and his den was the Arche-Marion sewer. He wassix feet high, had lungs of marble, muscles of bronze, the respirationof a cavern, the bust of a colossus, and a bird's skull. You fanciedyou saw the Farnèse Hercules, attired in ticking trousers and acotton-velvet jacket. Gueulemer built in this mould might have subduedmonsters, but he had found it shorter to be one. A low forehead, widetemples, under forty years of age, but with crow's-feet, rough shorthair, and a bushy beard,--you can see the man. His muscles demandedwork, and his stupidity would not accept it: he was a great slothfulstrength, and an assassin through nonchalance. People believed him tobe a Creole, and he had probably laid his hands upon Marshal Brune whenmassacred, as he was a porter at Avignon in 1815. From that stage hehad become a bandit.
Babet's transparency contrasted with the meat of Gueulemer; h
e wasthin and learned,--transparent but impenetrable: you might see thelight through his bones, but not through his eyes. He called himself achemist, had been a clown with Bobêche and a harlequin with Bobino, andhad played in the vaudeville at St. Mihiel. He was a man of intentions,and a fine speaker, who underlined his smiles and placed his gesturesbetween inverted commas. His trade was to sell in the open air plasterbusts and portraits of the "chief of the State," and, in addition, hepulled teeth out. He had shown phenomena at fairs, and possessed abooth with a trumpet and the following show-board,--"Babet, dentist,and member of the academies, performs physical experiments on metalsand metalloids, extirpates teeth, and undertakes stumps given up bythe profession. Terms: one tooth, one franc fifty centimes; two teeth,two francs; three teeth, two francs fifty centimes. Take advantage ofthe opportunity." (The last sentence meant, Have as many teeth pulledout as possible.) He was married and had children, but did not knowwhat had become of wife or children: he had lost them, just as anotherman loses his handkerchief. Babet was a high exception in the obscureworld to which he belonged, for he read the newspapers. One day, at thetime when he still had his family with him in his caravan, he read inthe _Moniteur_ that a woman had just been delivered of a child with acalf's snout, and exclaimed, "There's a fortune! My wife would not havethe sense to produce me a child like that!" Since then he had given upeverything to "undertake Paris:" the expression is his own.