Les Misérables, page 24
CHAPTER III--THE HEROISM OF PASSIVE OBEDIENCE.
The door opened.
It opened wide with a rapid movement, as though some one had given it anenergetic and resolute push.
A man entered.
We already know the man. It was the wayfarer whom we have seen wanderingabout in search of shelter.
He entered, advanced a step, and halted, leaving the door open behindhim. He had his knapsack on his shoulders, his cudgel in his hand, arough, audacious, weary, and violent expression in his eyes. The fire onthe hearth lighted him up. He was hideous. It was a sinister apparition.
Madame Magloire had not even the strength to utter a cry. She trembled,and stood with her mouth wide open.
Mademoiselle Baptistine turned round, beheld the man entering, and halfstarted up in terror; then, turning her head by degrees towards thefireplace again, she began to observe her brother, and her face becameonce more profoundly calm and serene.
The Bishop fixed a tranquil eye on the man.
As he opened his mouth, doubtless to ask the new-comer what he desired,the man rested both hands on his staff, directed his gaze at the old manand the two women, and without waiting for the Bishop to speak, he said,in a loud voice:--
"See here. My name is Jean Valjean. I am a convict from the galleys.I have passed nineteen years in the galleys. I was liberated four daysago, and am on my way to Pontarlier, which is my destination. I havebeen walking for four days since I left Toulon. I have travelled a dozenleagues to-day on foot. This evening, when I arrived in these parts, Iwent to an inn, and they turned me out, because of my yellow passport,which I had shown at the town-hall. I had to do it. I went to an inn.They said to me, 'Be off,' at both places. No one would take me. Iwent to the prison; the jailer would not admit me. I went into a dog'skennel; the dog bit me and chased me off, as though he had been a man.One would have said that he knew who I was. I went into the fields,intending to sleep in the open air, beneath the stars. There were nostars. I thought it was going to rain, and I re-entered the town, toseek the recess of a doorway. Yonder, in the square, I meant to sleepon a stone bench. A good woman pointed out your house to me, and saidto me, 'Knock there!' I have knocked. What is this place? Do you keepan inn? I have money--savings. One hundred and nine francs fifteen sous,which I earned in the galleys by my labor, in the course of nineteenyears. I will pay. What is that to me? I have money. I am very weary;twelve leagues on foot; I am very hungry. Are you willing that I shouldremain?"
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop, "you will set another place."
The man advanced three paces, and approached the lamp which was onthe table. "Stop," he resumed, as though he had not quite understood;"that's not it. Did you hear? I am a galley-slave; a convict. I comefrom the galleys." He drew from his pocket a large sheet of yellowpaper, which he unfolded. "Here's my passport. Yellow, as you see. Thisserves to expel me from every place where I go. Will you read it? I knowhow to read. I learned in the galleys. There is a school there for thosewho choose to learn. Hold, this is what they put on this passport: 'JeanValjean, discharged convict, native of'--that is nothing to you--'hasbeen nineteen years in the galleys: five years for house-breakingand burglary; fourteen years for having attempted to escape on fouroccasions. He is a very dangerous man.' There! Every one has cast meout. Are you willing to receive me? Is this an inn? Will you give mesomething to eat and a bed? Have you a stable?"
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop, "you will put white sheets on thebed in the alcove." We have already explained the character of the twowomen's obedience.
Madame Magloire retired to execute these orders.
The Bishop turned to the man.
"Sit down, sir, and warm yourself. We are going to sup in a few moments,and your bed will be prepared while you are supping."
At this point the man suddenly comprehended. The expression of his face,up to that time sombre and harsh, bore the imprint of stupefaction,of doubt, of joy, and became extraordinary. He began stammering like acrazy man:--
"Really? What! You will keep me? You do not drive me forth? A convict!You call me _sir!_ You do not address me as _thou?_ 'Get out of here,you dog!' is what people always say to me. I felt sure that you wouldexpel me, so I told you at once who I am. Oh, what a good woman thatwas who directed me hither! I am going to sup! A bed with a mattress andsheets, like the rest of the world! a bed! It is nineteen years sinceI have slept in a bed! You actually do not want me to go! You are goodpeople. Besides, I have money. I will pay well. Pardon me, monsieur theinn-keeper, but what is your name? I will pay anything you ask. You area fine man. You are an inn-keeper, are you not?"
"I am," replied the Bishop, "a priest who lives here."
"A priest!" said the man. "Oh, what a fine priest! Then you are notgoing to demand any money of me? You are the curé, are you not? the curéof this big church? Well! I am a fool, truly! I had not perceived yourskull-cap."
As he spoke, he deposited his knapsack and his cudgel in a corner,replaced his passport in his pocket, and seated himself. MademoiselleBaptistine gazed mildly at him. He continued:
"You are humane, Monsieur le Curé; you have not scorned me. A goodpriest is a very good thing. Then you do not require me to pay?"
"No," said the Bishop; "keep your money. How much have you? Did you nottell me one hundred and nine francs?"
"And fifteen sous," added the man.
"One hundred and nine francs fifteen sous. And how long did it take youto earn that?"
"Nineteen years."
"Nineteen years!"
The Bishop sighed deeply.
The man continued: "I have still the whole of my money. In four days Ihave spent only twenty-five sous, which I earned by helping unload somewagons at Grasse. Since you are an abbé, I will tell you that we had achaplain in the galleys. And one day I saw a bishop there. Monseigneuris what they call him. He was the Bishop of Majore at Marseilles. He isthe curé who rules over the other curés, you understand. Pardon me,I say that very badly; but it is such a far-off thing to me! Youunderstand what we are! He said mass in the middle of the galleys, on analtar. He had a pointed thing, made of gold, on his head; it glitteredin the bright light of midday. We were all ranged in lines on the threesides, with cannons with lighted matches facing us. We could not seevery well. He spoke; but he was too far off, and we did not hear. Thatis what a bishop is like."
While he was speaking, the Bishop had gone and shut the door, which hadremained wide open.
Madame Magloire returned. She brought a silver fork and spoon, which sheplaced on the table.
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop, "place those things as near the fireas possible." And turning to his guest: "The night wind is harsh on theAlps. You must be cold, sir."
Each time that he uttered the word _sir_, in his voice which was sogently grave and polished, the man's face lighted up. _Monsieur_ toa convict is like a glass of water to one of the shipwrecked of the_Medusa_. Ignominy thirsts for consideration.
"This lamp gives a very bad light," said the Bishop.
Madame Magloire understood him, and went to get the two silvercandlesticks from the chimney-piece in Monseigneur's bed-chamber, andplaced them, lighted, on the table.
"Monsieur le Curé," said the man, "you are good; you do not despise me.You receive me into your house. You light your candles for me. Yet Ihave not concealed from you whence I come and that I am an unfortunateman."
The Bishop, who was sitting close to him, gently touched his hand. "Youcould not help telling me who you were. This is not my house; it isthe house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enterswhether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you arehungry and thirsty; you are welcome. And do not thank me; do not saythat I receive you in my house. No one is at home here, except the manwho needs a refuge. I say to you, who are passing by, that you are muchmore at home here than I am myself. Everything here is yours. What needhave I to know your name? Besides, before you told me you had one whichI knew."
The man opened his eyes in astonishment.
"Really? You knew what I was called?"
"Yes," replied the Bishop, "you are called my brother."
"Stop, Monsieur le Curé," exclaimed the man. "I was very hungry whenI entered here; but you are so good, that I no longer know what hashappened to me."
The Bishop looked at him, and said,--
"You have suffered much?"
"Oh, the red coat, the ball on the ankle, a plank to sleep on, heat,cold, toil, the convicts, the thrashings, the double chain for nothing,the cell for one word; even sick and in bed, still the chain! Dogs, dogsare happier! Nineteen years! I am forty-six. Now there is the yellowpassport. That is what it is like."
"Yes," resumed the Bishop, "you have come from a very sad place.Listen. There will be more joy in heaven over the tear-bathed face of arepentant sinner than over the white robes of a hundred just men. If youemerge from that sad place with thoughts of hatred and of wrath againstmankind, you are deserving of pity; if you emerge with thoughts ofgood-will and of peace, you are more worthy than any one of us."
In the meantime, Madame Magloire had served supper: soup, made withwater, oil, bread, and salt; a little bacon, a bit of mutton, figs, afresh cheese, and a large loaf of rye bread. She had, of her own accord,added to the Bishop's ordinary fare a bottle of his old Mauves wine.
The Bishop's face at once assumed that expression of gayety which ispeculiar to hospitable natures. "To table!" he cried vivaciously. As washis custom when a stranger supped with him, he made the man sit on hisright. Mademoiselle Baptistine, perfectly peaceable and natural, tookher seat at his left.
The Bishop asked a blessing; then helped the soup himself, according tohis custom. The man began to eat with avidity.
All at once the Bishop said: "It strikes me there is something missingon this table."
Madame Magloire had, in fact, only placed the three sets of forks andspoons which were absolutely necessary. Now, it was the usage of thehouse, when the Bishop had any one to supper, to lay out the wholesix sets of silver on the table-cloth--an innocent ostentation. Thisgraceful semblance of luxury was a kind of child's play, which was fullof charm in that gentle and severe household, which raised poverty intodignity.
Madame Magloire understood the remark, went out without saying a word,and a moment later the three sets of silver forks and spoons demanded bythe Bishop were glittering upon the cloth, symmetrically arranged beforethe three persons seated at the table.
