Les Misérables, page 146
CHAPTER I--WHICH TREATS OF THE MANNER OF ENTERING A CONVENT
It was into this house that Jean Valjean had, as Fauchelevent expressedit, "fallen from the sky."
He had scaled the wall of the garden which formed the angle of the RuePolonceau. That hymn of the angels which he had heard in the middleof the night, was the nuns chanting matins; that hall, of which he hadcaught a glimpse in the gloom, was the chapel. That phantom which he hadseen stretched on the ground was the sister who was making reparation;that bell, the sound of which had so strangely surprised him, was thegardener's bell attached to the knee of Father Fauchelevent.
Cosette once put to bed, Jean Valjean and Fauchelevent had, as we havealready seen, supped on a glass of wine and a bit of cheese before agood, crackling fire; then, the only bed in the hut being occupied byCosette, each threw himself on a truss of straw.
Before he shut his eyes, Jean Valjean said: "I must remain herehenceforth." This remark trotted through Fauchelevent's head all nightlong.
To tell the truth, neither of them slept.
Jean Valjean, feeling that he was discovered and that Javert was onhis scent, understood that he and Cosette were lost if they returned toParis. Then the new storm which had just burst upon him had strandedhim in this cloister. Jean Valjean had, henceforth, but one thought,--toremain there. Now, for an unfortunate man in his position, thisconvent was both the safest and the most dangerous of places; the mostdangerous, because, as no men might enter there, if he were discovered,it was a flagrant offence, and Jean Valjean would find but one stepintervening between the convent and prison; the safest, because, if hecould manage to get himself accepted there and remain there, who wouldever seek him in such a place? To dwell in an impossible place wassafety.
On his side, Fauchelevent was cudgelling his brains. He began bydeclaring to himself that he understood nothing of the matter. How hadM. Madeleine got there, when the walls were what they were? Cloisterwalls are not to be stepped over. How did he get there with a child? Onecannot scale a perpendicular wall with a child in one's arms. Who wasthat child? Where did they both come from? Since Fauchelevent had livedin the convent, he had heard nothing of M. sur M., and he knew nothingof what had taken place there. Father Madeleine had an air whichdiscouraged questions; and besides, Fauchelevent said to himself: "Onedoes not question a saint." M. Madeleine had preserved all his prestigein Fauchelevent's eyes. Only, from some words which Jean Valjean had letfall, the gardener thought he could draw the inference that M. Madeleinehad probably become bankrupt through the hard times, and that he waspursued by his creditors; or that he had compromised himself in somepolitical affair, and was in hiding; which last did not displeaseFauchelevent, who, like many of our peasants of the North, had anold fund of Bonapartism about him. While in hiding, M. Madeleine hadselected the convent as a refuge, and it was quite simple that he shouldwish to remain there. But the inexplicable point, to which Faucheleventreturned constantly and over which he wearied his brain, was that M.Madeleine should be there, and that he should have that little girl withhim. Fauchelevent saw them, touched them, spoke to them, and still didnot believe it possible. The incomprehensible had just made its entranceinto Fauchelevent's hut. Fauchelevent groped about amid conjectures, andcould see nothing clearly but this: "M. Madeleine saved my life."This certainty alone was sufficient and decided his course. He said tohimself: "It is my turn now." He added in his conscience: "M. Madeleinedid not stop to deliberate when it was a question of thrusting himselfunder the cart for the purpose of dragging me out." He made up his mindto save M. Madeleine.
Nevertheless, he put many questions to himself and made himself diversreplies: "After what he did for me, would I save him if he were a thief?Just the same. If he were an assassin, would I save him? Just the same.Since he is a saint, shall I save him? Just the same."
But what a problem it was to manage to have him remain in the convent!Fauchelevent did not recoil in the face of this almost chimericalundertaking; this poor peasant of Picardy without any other ladderthan his self-devotion, his good will, and a little of that oldrustic cunning, on this occasion enlisted in the service of a generousenterprise, undertook to scale the difficulties of the cloister, and thesteep escarpments of the rule of Saint-Benoît. Father Fauchelevent wasan old man who had been an egoist all his life, and who, towards the endof his days, halt, infirm, with no interest left to him in the world,found it sweet to be grateful, and perceiving a generous action to beperformed, flung himself upon it like a man, who at the moment when heis dying, should find close to his hand a glass of good wine which hehad never tasted, and should swallow it with avidity. We may add,that the air which he had breathed for many years in this convent haddestroyed all personality in him, and had ended by rendering a goodaction of some kind absolutely necessary to him.
So he took his resolve: to devote himself to M. Madeleine.
We have just called him a _poor peasant of Picardy_. That descriptionis just, but incomplete. At the point of this story which we have nowreached, a little of Father Fauchelevent's physiology becomes useful.He was a peasant, but he had been a notary, which added trickery to hiscunning, and penetration to his ingenuousness. Having, through variouscauses, failed in his business, he had descended to the calling of acarter and a laborer. But, in spite of oaths and lashings, which horsesseem to require, something of the notary had lingered in him. He hadsome natural wit; he talked good grammar; he conversed, which is a rarething in a village; and the other peasants said of him: "He talks almostlike a gentleman with a hat." Fauchelevent belonged, in fact, to thatspecies, which the impertinent and flippant vocabulary of the lastcentury qualified as _demi-bourgeois, demi-lout_, and which themetaphors showered by the château upon the thatched cottage ticketed inthe pigeon-hole of the plebeian: _rather rustic, rather citified; pepperand salt_. Fauchelevent, though sorely tried and harshly used by fate,worn out, a sort of poor, threadbare old soul, was, nevertheless, animpulsive man, and extremely spontaneous in his actions; a preciousquality which prevents one from ever being wicked. His defects and hisvices, for he had some, were all superficial; in short, his physiognomywas of the kind which succeeds with an observer. His aged face had noneof those disagreeable wrinkles at the top of the forehead, which signifymalice or stupidity.
At daybreak, Father Fauchelevent opened his eyes, after having done anenormous deal of thinking, and beheld M. Madeleine seated on his trussof straw, and watching Cosette's slumbers. Fauchelevent sat up andsaid:--
"Now that you are here, how are you going to contrive to enter?"
This remark summed up the situation and aroused Jean Valjean from hisrevery.
The two men took counsel together.
"In the first place," said Fauchelevent, "you will begin by not settingfoot outside of this chamber, either you or the child. One step in thegarden and we are done for."
"That is true."
"Monsieur Madeleine," resumed Fauchelevent, "you have arrived at a veryauspicious moment, I mean to say a very inauspicious moment; one ofthe ladies is very ill. This will prevent them from looking much in ourdirection. It seems that she is dying. The prayers of the forty hoursare being said. The whole community is in confusion. That occupies them.The one who is on the point of departure is a saint. In fact, we areall saints here; all the difference between them and me is that they say'our cell,' and that I say 'my cabin.' The prayers for the dying are tobe said, and then the prayers for the dead. We shall be at peace herefor to-day; but I will not answer for to-morrow."
"Still," observed Jean Valjean, "this cottage is in the niche of thewall, it is hidden by a sort of ruin, there are trees, it is not visiblefrom the convent."
"And I add that the nuns never come near it."
"Well?" said Jean Valjean.
The interrogation mark which accentuated this "well" signified:"it seems to me that one may remain concealed here?" It was to thisinterrogation point that Fauchelevent responded:--
"There are the little girls."
"What little girls?" asked Jean Valjean.
Just as Fauchelevent opened his mouth to explain the words which he haduttered, a bell emitted one stroke.
"The nun is dead," said he. "There is the knell."
And he made a sign to Jean Valjean to listen.
The bell struck a second time.
"It is the knell, Monsieur Madeleine. The bell will continue to strikeonce a minute for twenty-four hours, until the body is taken from thechurch.--You see, they play. At recreation hours it suffices to have aball roll aside, to send them all hither, in spite of prohibitions, tohunt and rummage for it all about here. Those cherubs are devils."
"Who?" asked Jean Valjean.
"The little girls. You would be very quickly discovered. They wouldshriek: 'Oh! a man!' There is no danger to-day. There will be norecreation hour. The day will be entirely devoted to prayers. You hearthe bell. As I told you, a stroke each minute. It is the death knell."
"I understand, Father Fauchelevent. There are pupils."
And Jean Valjean thought to himself:--
"Here is Cosette's education already provided."
Fauchelevent exclaimed:--
"Pardine! There are little girls indeed! And they would bawl around you!And they would rush off! To be a man here is to have the plague. You seehow they fasten a bell to my paw as though I were a wild beast."
Jean Valjean fell into more and more profound thought.--"This conventwould be our salvation," he murmured.
Then he raised his voice:--
"Yes, the difficulty is to remain here."
"No," said Fauchelevent, "the difficulty is to get out."
Jean Valjean felt the blood rush back to his heart.
"To get out!"
"Yes, Monsieur Madeleine. In order to return here it is first necessaryto get out."
And after waiting until another stroke of the knell had sounded,Fauchelevent went on:--
"You must not be found here in this fashion. Whence come you? For me,you fall from heaven, because I know you; but the nuns require one toenter by the door."
All at once they heard a rather complicated pealing from another bell.
"Ah!" said Fauchelevent, "they are ringing up the vocal mothers. Theyare going to the chapter. They always hold a chapter when any one dies.She died at daybreak. People generally do die at daybreak. But cannotyou get out by the way in which you entered? Come, I do not ask for thesake of questioning you, but how did you get in?"
Jean Valjean turned pale; the very thought of descending again intothat terrible street made him shudder. You make your way out of a forestfilled with tigers, and once out of it, imagine a friendly counsel thatshall advise you to return thither! Jean Valjean pictured to himself thewhole police force still engaged in swarming in that quarter, agents onthe watch, sentinels everywhere, frightful fists extended towards hiscollar, Javert at the corner of the intersection of the streets perhaps.
"Impossible!" said he. "Father Fauchelevent, say that I fell from thesky."
"But I believe it, I believe it," retorted Fauchelevent. "You have noneed to tell me that. The good God must have taken you in his hand forthe purpose of getting a good look at you close to, and then droppedyou. Only, he meant to place you in a man's convent; he made a mistake.Come, there goes another peal, that is to order the porter to go andinform the municipality that the dead-doctor is to come here and view acorpse. All that is the ceremony of dying. These good ladies are notat all fond of that visit. A doctor is a man who does not believe inanything. He lifts the veil. Sometimes he lifts something else too. Howquickly they have had the doctor summoned this time! What is the matter?Your little one is still asleep. What is her name?"
"Cosette."
"She is your daughter? You are her grandfather, that is?"
"Yes."
"It will be easy enough for her to get out of here. I have my servicedoor which opens on the courtyard. I knock. The porter opens; I havemy vintage basket on my back, the child is in it, I go out. FatherFauchelevent goes out with his basket--that is perfectly natural. Youwill tell the child to keep very quiet. She will be under the cover. Iwill leave her for whatever time is required with a good old friend, afruit-seller whom I know in the Rue Chemin-Vert, who is deaf, and whohas a little bed. I will shout in the fruit-seller's ear, that she is aniece of mine, and that she is to keep her for me until to-morrow. Thenthe little one will re-enter with you; for I will contrive to have youre-enter. It must be done. But how will you manage to get out?"
Jean Valjean shook his head.
"No one must see me, the whole point lies there, Father Fauchelevent.Find some means of getting me out in a basket, under cover, likeCosette."
Fauchelevent scratched the lobe of his ear with the middle finger of hisleft hand, a sign of serious embarrassment.
A third peal created a diversion.
"That is the dead-doctor taking his departure," said Fauchelevent. "Hehas taken a look and said: 'She is dead, that is well.' When the doctorhas signed the passport for paradise, the undertaker's company sends acoffin. If it is a mother, the mothers lay her out; if she is a sister,the sisters lay her out. After which, I nail her up. That forms a partof my gardener's duty. A gardener is a bit of a grave-digger. She isplaced in a lower hall of the church which communicates with the street,and into which no man may enter save the doctor of the dead. I don'tcount the undertaker's men and myself as men. It is in that hall that Inail up the coffin. The undertaker's men come and get it, and whipup, coachman! that's the way one goes to heaven. They fetch a box withnothing in it, they take it away again with something in it. That's whata burial is like. _De profundis_."
A horizontal ray of sunshine lightly touched the face of the sleepingCosette, who lay with her mouth vaguely open, and had the air of anangel drinking in the light. Jean Valjean had fallen to gazing at her.He was no longer listening to Fauchelevent.
That one is not listened to is no reason for preserving silence. Thegood old gardener went on tranquilly with his babble:--
"The grave is dug in the Vaugirard cemetery. They declare that they aregoing to suppress that Vaugirard cemetery. It is an ancient cemeterywhich is outside the regulations, which has no uniform, and which isgoing to retire. It is a shame, for it is convenient. I have a friendthere, Father Mestienne, the grave-digger. The nuns here possess oneprivilege, it is to be taken to that cemetery at nightfall. There isa special permission from the Prefecture on their behalf. But how manyevents have happened since yesterday! Mother Crucifixion is dead, andFather Madeleine--"
"Is buried," said Jean Valjean, smiling sadly.
Fauchelevent caught the word.
"Goodness! if you were here for good, it would be a real burial."
A fourth peal burst out. Fauchelevent hastily detached the belledknee-cap from its nail and buckled it on his knee again.
"This time it is for me. The Mother Prioress wants me. Good, now I ampricking myself on the tongue of my buckle. Monsieur Madeleine, don'tstir from here, and wait for me. Something new has come up. If you arehungry, there is wine, bread and cheese."
And he hastened out of the hut, crying: "Coming! coming!"
Jean Valjean watched him hurrying across the garden as fast as hiscrooked leg would permit, casting a sidelong glance by the way on hismelon patch.
Less than ten minutes later, Father Fauchelevent, whose bell put thenuns in his road to flight, tapped gently at a door, and a gentle voicereplied: _"Forever! Forever!" _ that is to say: _"Enter." _
The door was the one leading to the parlor reserved for seeing thegardener on business. This parlor adjoined the chapter hall. Theprioress, seated on the only chair in the parlor, was waiting forFauchelevent.
