Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, men, women, and girls, adhereand are aggregated almost like a mineral formation in this mistypromiscuity of sexes, relations, ages, infamies, and innocencies.Leaning against each other, they crouch in a species of den of destiny,and look at each other lamentably. Oh, the unfortunates! how pale theyare! how cold they are! It seems as if they belong to a planet muchfarther from the sun than our own.
This girl was to Marius a sort of emissary from the darkness, and sherevealed to him a hideous side of night. Marius almost reproachedhimself for the preoccupations of reverie and passion which, up to thisday, had prevented him from taking a glance at his neighbors. To havepaid their rent was a mechanical impulse, which any one might have had;but he, Marius, ought to have done better. What, only a wall separatedhimself from these abandoned creatures, who lived groping in night,beyond the pale of other living beings! He elbowed them, he was to someextent the last link of the human race which they could touch; he heardthem living, or rather dying, by his side, and he paid no attention tothem! Every moment of the day he heard them, through the wall, coming,going, and talking--and he did not listen! and in their words weregroans, and he did not hear them! His thoughts were elsewhere,--engagedwith dreams, impossible sun-beams, loves in the air, and follies; andyet, human creatures, his brethren in Christ, his brethren in thepeople, were slowly dying by his side, dying unnecessarily! He evenformed part of their misfortune, and he aggravated it. For, if they hadhad another neighbor, a neighbor more attentive, less chimerical, anordinary and charitable man, their indigence would evidently have beennoticed, their signals of distress perceived, and they might perhapshave been picked up and saved long before. They doubtless seemed verydepraved, very corrupt, very vile, and indeed very odious; but personswho fall without being degraded are rare; besides, there is a stagewhere the unfortunate and the infamous are mingled and confounded inone word,--a fatal word, "Les Misérables," and with whom lies thefault? And then, again, should not the charity be the greater thedeeper the fall is?
While reading himself this lecture,--for there were occasions onwhich Marius was his own pedagogue, and reproached himself more thanhe deserved,--he looked at the wall which separated him from theJondrettes, as if his pitying glance could pass through the partitionand warm the unhappy beings. The wall was a thin coating of plastersupported by laths and beams, and which, as we have stated, allowedthe murmurs of words and voices to be distinctly heard. A man must bea dreamer like Marius not to have noticed the fact before. No paperwas hung on either side of the wall, and its clumsy construction wasplainly visible. Almost unconsciously Marius examined this partition;for at times reverie examines, scrutinizes, and observes much asthought does. All at once he rose, for he had just noticed near theceiling a triangular hole produced by the gap between three laths. Theplaster which once covered this hole had fallen off, and by getting onhis chest of drawers he could see through this aperture into the roomof the Jondrettes. Commiseration has, and should have, its curiosity,and it is permissible to regard misfortune traitorously when we wish torelieve it. "Let me see," thought Marius, "what these people are like,and what state they are in." He clambered on the drawers, put his eyeto the hole, and looked.
CHAPTER VI.
THE WILD-BEAST MAN IN HIS LAIR.
Cities, like forests, have their dens, in which everything that ismost wicked and formidable conceals itself. The only difference is,that what hides itself thus in cities is ferocious, unclean, andlittle, that is to say, ugly; what conceals itself in the forests isferocious, savage, and grand, that is to say, beautiful. Den for den,those of the beasts are preferable to those of men; and caverns arebetter than hiding-places. What Marius saw was a low den. Marius waspoor, and his room was indigent; but in the same way as his povertywas noble his room was clean. The garret into which he was now lookingwas abject, dirty, fetid, infectious, dark, and sordid. The furnitureonly consisted of a straw-bottomed chair, a rickety table, some oldbroken glass, and in the corners two indescribable beds. The only lightcame through a sky-light with four panes of glass and festooned withspider-webs. Through this came just sufficient light for the face of aman to seem the face of a spectre. The walls had a leprous look, andwere covered with gashes and scars, like a face disfigured by somehorrible disease, and a dim moisture oozed from them. Obscene designs,clumsily drawn in charcoal, could be distinguished on them.
The room which Marius occupied had a broken-brick flooring, but inthis one people walked on the old plaster of the hovel, grown blackunder the feet. Upon this uneven flooring, in which the dust was, so tospeak, incrusted, and which bad but one virginity, that of the broom,were capriciously grouped constellations of old shoes, boots, andfrightful rags; this room, however, had a chimney, and for this reasonwas let at forty francs a year. There was something of everything inthis fire-place,--a chafing-dish, a pot, some broken planks, ragshanging from nails, a bird-cage, ashes, and even a little fire,for two logs were smoking there sadly. A thing which augmented thehorror of this garret was the fact of its being large; it had angles,nooks, black holes under the roof, bays, and promontories. Hencecame frightful inscrutable corners, in which it seemed as if spiderslarge as a fist, woodlice as large as a foot, and possibly some humanmonsters, must lurk.
One of the beds was near the door, the other near the window, butthe ends of both ran down to the mantel-piece, and faced Marius. Ina corner near the hole through which Marius was peeping, a coloredengraving in a black wood frame, under which was written in largeletters, THE DREAM, hung against the wall. It represented a sleepingwoman and a sleeping child, the child lying on the woman's knees, aneagle in the clouds with a crown in its beak, and the woman removingthe crown from the child's head, without awaking it, however; inthe background Napoleon, surrounded by a glory, was leaning againsta dark blue column with a yellow capital, that bore the followinginscription:--
MARINGO AUSTERLITS IENA WAGRAMME ELOT
Below this frame a sort of wooden panel, longer than it was wide, wasplaced on the ground and leaning against the wall. It looked like apicture turned from the spectator, or some sign-board detached from awall and forgotten there while waiting to be hung again. At the table,on which Marius noticed pen, ink, and paper, a man was seated of aboutsixty years of age, short, thin, livid, haggard, with a sharp, cruel,and listless look,--a hideous scamp. If Lavater had examined this facehe would have found in it the vulture blended with the attorney'sclerk; the bird of prey and the man of trickery rendering each othermore ugly and more perfect,--the man of trickery rendering the birdof prey ignoble, and the bird of prey rendering the man of trickeryhorrible. This man had a long gray beard, and wore a woman's chemise,which allowed his hairy chest, and naked arms bristling with grayhairs, to be seen. Under this chemise might be noticed muddy trousers,and boots out of which his toes stuck. He had a pipe in his mouth, andWas smoking; there was no bread in the garret, but there was stilltobacco. He was writing, probably some letter like those which Mariushad read. On one corner of the table could be seen an old broken-backedvolume, the form of which, the old 12mo of circulating libraries,indicated a romance; on the cover figured the following title, printedin large capitals,--GOD, THE KING, HONOR, AND THE LADIES. BY DUCRAYDUMINIL, 1814. While writing, the man was talking aloud, and Mariusheard his words:--
"Only to think that there is no equality, even when a man is dead!Just look at Père Lachaise! The great ones, those who are rich, are upabove, in the Acacia Avenue which is paved, and reach it in a coach.The little folk, the poor people, the wretched,--they are put down atthe bottom where there is mud up to your knees, in holes and damp, andthey are placed there that they may rot all the sooner. You can't go tosee them without sinking into the ground."
Here he stopped, smote the table with his fist, and added, while begnashed his teeth,--
"Oh! I could eat the world!"
/> A stout woman, who might be forty or one hundred, was crouched up nearthe chimney-piece on her naked heels. She too was only dressed in achemise and a cotton petticoat, pieced with patches of old cloth, andan apron of coarse canvas concealed one half of the petticoat. Thoughthis woman was sitting all of a heap, you could see that she wasvery tall, and a species of giantess by her husband's side. She hadfrightful hair, of a reddish auburn, beginning to turn gray, which shethrust back every now and then with the enormous strong hands withflat nails. By her side, on the ground, was lying an open volume, ofthe same form as the other, probably part of the same romance. On oneof the beds Marius caught a glimpse of a long, ghastly young girl,sitting up almost naked, and with hanging feet, who did not seem tohear, see, or live; she was, doubtless, the younger sister of the onewho had come to him. She appeared to be eleven or twelve years of age,but on examining her attentively it could be seen that she was at leastfourteen; it was the girl who said on the boulevard the previous night,"I bolted, bolted, bolted." She was of that sickly class who keep downfor a long time and then shoot up quickly and suddenly. It is indigencewhich produces these human plants, and these creatures have neitherinfancy nor adolescence. At fifteen they seem twelve, and at sixteenthey appear twenty: to-day it is a little girl, to-morrow a woman; wemight almost say that they stride through life in order to reach theend more rapidly; at this moment, however, she had the look of a child.
In this lodging there was not the slightest sign of work; not a loom,a spinning-wheel, or a single tool, but in one corner were some ironimplements of dubious appearance. It was that dull indolence whichfollows despair and precedes death. Marius gazed for some time atthis mournful interior, which was more terrifying than the interiorof a tomb, for the human soul could be seen stirring in it and lifepalpitating. The garret, the cellar, the hole in which some indigentpeople crawl in the lowest part of the social edifice, is not exactlythe sepulchre, but it is the antechamber to it; but like those richmen who display their greatest magnificence at the entrance to theirpalace, it seems that death, which is close at hand, places all itsgreatest wretchedness in this vestibule. The man was silent, the womandid not speak, and the girl did not seem to breathe; the pen could beheard moving across the paper. The man growled, without ceasing towrite, "Scoundrels, scoundrels, all are scoundrels!"
The variation upon Solomon's exclamation drew a sigh from the wife.
"Calm yourself, my love," she said, "do not hurt yourself, darling. Youare too good to write to all those people, dear husband."
In misery bodies draw more closely together, as in cold weather, buthearts are estranged. This woman, to all appearance, must have lovedthis man with the amount of love within her, but probably this hadbeen extinguished in the daily and mutual reproaches of the frightfuldistress that pressed upon the whole family, and she now had onlythe ashes of affection for her husband within her. Still, caressingappellations, as frequently happens, had survived: she called him_darling, pet, husband_, with her lips, but her heart was silent. Theman continued to write.
CHAPTER VII.
STRATEGY AND TACTICS.
Marius, with an aching heart, was just going to descend from thespecies of observatory which he had improvised, when a noise attractedhis attention and made him remain at his post. The door of the garretwas suddenly opened, and the elder daughter appeared on the threshold.She had on her feet clumsy men's shoes covered with mud, which had evenplashed her red ankles, and she was covered with an old ragged cloak,which Marius had not noticed an hour previously, and which she hadprobably left at his door in order to inspire greater sympathy, andput on again when she went out. She came in, shut the door after her,stopped to catch breath, for she was panting, and then cried, with anexpression of triumph and joy,--
"He is coming!"
The father turned his eyes to her, the mother turned her head, and thelittle girl did not move.
"Who?" the father asked.
"The gentleman."
"The philanthropist?"
"Yes."
"From the church of St. Jacques?"
"Yes. He is following me."
"Are you sure?"
"He is coming in a hackney coach, I tell you."
"A hackney coach! Why, it is Rothschild!"
The father rose.
"Why are you sure? If he is coming in a coach, how is it that you gothere before him? Did you give him the address, and are you certain youtold him the last door on the right in the passage? I only hope he willnot make a mistake. Did you find him at church? Did he read my letter,and what did he say to you?"
"Ta, ta, ta," said the girl, "how you gallop, my good man! I went intothe church, he was at his usual place; I made a courtesy and handedhim the letter; he read it, and said to me, 'Where do you live, mychild?' I said, I will show you the way, sir;' he said, 'No, give meyour address, for my daughter has some purchases to make. I will takea hackney coach, and be at your abode as soon as you.' I gave himthe address, and when I mentioned the house he seemed surprised, andhesitated for a moment, but then said, 'No matter, I will go.' WhenMass was over I saw him leave the church and get into a coach with hisdaughter. And I carefully told him the last door on the right at theend of the passage."
"And what tells you that he will come?"
"I have just seen the coach turn into the Rue du Petit Banquier, andthat is why I ran."
"How do you know it is the same coach?"
"Because I noticed the number, of course."
"What was it?"
"Four hundred and forty."
"Good I you are a clever girl."
The girl looked boldly at her father, and said, as she pointed to theshoes on her feet,--
"It is possible that I am a clever girl; but I say that I will not puton those shoes again; in the first place, on account of my health, andsecondly, for the sake of decency. I know nothing more annoying thanshoes which are too big for you, and go ghi, ghi, ghi, along the road.I would sooner be barefooted."
"You are right," the father replied, in a gentle voice, whichcontrasted with the girl's rudeness; "but the poor are not admittedinto churches unless they wear shoes; God's presence must not beentered barefoot," he added bitterly. Then he returned to the objectthat occupied him.
"And so you are sure that he will come?"
"He is at my heels," she replied.
The man drew himself up, and there was a species of illumination on hisface.
"Wife," he cried, "you hear! Here is the philanthropist; put out thefire."
The stupefied mother did not stir, but the father, with the agility ofa mountebank, seized the cracked pot, which stood on the chimney-piece,and threw water on the logs. Then he said to his elder daughter,--
"Pull the straw out of the chair."
As his daughter did not understand him, he seized the chair and kickedthe seat out; his leg passed through it, and while drawing it out, heasked the girl,--
"Is it cold?"
"Very cold; it is snowing."
The father turned to the younger girl, who was on the bed near thewindow, and shouted in a thundering voice,--
"Come off the bed directly, idler; you never will do anything: break apane of glass!"
The little girl jumped off the bed, shivering.
"Break a pane!" he continued.
The girl was quite stunned, and did not move.
"Do you hear me?" the father repeated; "I tell you to break a pane."
The child, with a sort of terrified obedience, stood on tip-toe andbroke a pane with her fist; the glass fell with a great crash.
"All right!" said the father.
He was serious and active, and his eye rapidly surveyed every cornerof the garret; he was like a general who makes his final preparationsat the moment when an action is about to begin. The mother, who hadnot yet said a word, rose and asked in a slow, dull voice, the wordsseeming to issue as if frozen,--
"Darling, what do you intend to do?"
"Go to bed!" the man replied.
/> The tone admitted of no deliberation, the mother obeyed, and threwherself heavily on one of the beds. A sobbing was now audible in acorner.
"What is that?" the father cried.
The younger girl, without leaving the gloom in which she was crouching,showed her bleeding hand. In breaking the glass she had cut herself;she had crawled close to her mother's bed, and was now cryingsilently. It was the mother's turn to draw herself up and cry:--
"You see what nonsensical acts you commit! She has cut herself inbreaking the window."
"All the better," said the man; "I expected it."
"How all the better?" the woman continued.
"Silence!" the father replied. "I suppress the liberty of the press."
Then, tearing the chemise which he wore, he made a bandage, with whichhe quickly wrapped up the girl's bleeding hand; this done, his eyesettled on the torn shirt with satisfaction.
"And the shirt too!" he said; "all this looks well."
An icy blast blew through the pane and entered the room. The externalfog penetrated it, and dilated like a white wadding pulled open byinvisible fingers. The snow could be seen falling through the brokenpane, and the cold promised by the Candlemas sun had really arrived.The father took a look around him, as if to make sure that he hadforgotten nothing, then he fetched an old shovel and strewed the ashesover the wet logs so as to conceal them entirely. Then getting up andleaning against the chimney-piece, he said,--