Les Misérables, page 251
CHAPTER I--A WOUND WITHOUT, HEALING WITHIN
Thus their life clouded over by degrees.
But one diversion, which had formerly been a happiness, remained tothem, which was to carry bread to those who were hungry, and clothingto those who were cold. Cosette often accompanied Jean Valjean on thesevisits to the poor, on which they recovered some remnants of theirformer free intercourse; and sometimes, when the day had been a goodone, and they had assisted many in distress, and cheered and warmed manylittle children, Cosette was rather merry in the evening. It was at thisepoch that they paid their visit to the Jondrette den.
On the day following that visit, Jean Valjean made his appearance in thepavilion in the morning, calm as was his wont, but with a large wound onhis left arm which was much inflamed, and very angry, which resembled aburn, and which he explained in some way or other. This wound resultedin his being detained in the house for a month with fever. He would notcall in a doctor. When Cosette urged him, "Call the dog-doctor," saidhe.
Cosette dressed the wound morning and evening with so divine an air andsuch angelic happiness at being of use to him, that Jean Valjean feltall his former joy returning, his fears and anxieties dissipating, andhe gazed at Cosette, saying: "Oh! what a kindly wound! Oh! what a goodmisfortune!"
Cosette on perceiving that her father was ill, had deserted the pavilionand again taken a fancy to the little lodging and the back courtyard.She passed nearly all her days beside Jean Valjean and read to himthe books which he desired. Generally they were books of travel. JeanValjean was undergoing a new birth; his happiness was reviving in theseineffable rays; the Luxembourg, the prowling young stranger, Cosette'scoldness,--all these clouds upon his soul were growing dim. He hadreached the point where he said to himself: "I imagined all that. I aman old fool."
His happiness was so great that the horrible discovery of theThénardiers made in the Jondrette hovel, unexpected as it was, had,after a fashion, glided over him unnoticed. He had succeeded in makinghis escape; all trace of him was lost--what more did he care for! heonly thought of those wretched beings to pity them. "Here they are inprison, and henceforth they will be incapacitated for doing any harm,"he thought, "but what a lamentable family in distress!"
As for the hideous vision of the Barrière du Maine, Cosette had notreferred to it again.
Sister Sainte-Mechtilde had taught Cosette music in the convent; Cosettehad the voice of a linnet with a soul, and sometimes, in the evening,in the wounded man's humble abode, she warbled melancholy songs whichdelighted Jean Valjean.
Spring came; the garden was so delightful at that season of the year,that Jean Valjean said to Cosette:--
"You never go there; I want you to stroll in it."
"As you like, father," said Cosette.
And for the sake of obeying her father, she resumed her walks in thegarden, generally alone, for, as we have mentioned, Jean Valjean, whowas probably afraid of being seen through the fence, hardly ever wentthere.
Jean Valjean's wound had created a diversion.
When Cosette saw that her father was suffering less, that he wasconvalescing, and that he appeared to be happy, she experienced acontentment which she did not even perceive, so gently and naturallyhad it come. Then, it was in the month of March, the days were growinglonger, the winter was departing, the winter always bears away with it aportion of our sadness; then came April, that daybreak of summer, freshas dawn always is, gay like every childhood; a little inclined to weepat times like the new-born being that it is. In that month, naturehas charming gleams which pass from the sky, from the trees, from themeadows and the flowers into the heart of man.
Cosette was still too young to escape the penetrating influence of thatApril joy which bore so strong a resemblance to herself. Insensibly, andwithout her suspecting the fact, the blackness departed from her spirit.In spring, sad souls grow light, as light falls into cellars at midday.Cosette was no longer sad. However, though this was so, she did notaccount for it to herself. In the morning, about ten o'clock, afterbreakfast, when she had succeeded in enticing her father into the gardenfor a quarter of an hour, and when she was pacing up and down in thesunlight in front of the steps, supporting his left arm for him, she didnot perceive that she laughed every moment and that she was happy.
Jean Valjean, intoxicated, beheld her growing fresh and rosy once more.
"Oh! What a good wound!" he repeated in a whisper.
And he felt grateful to the Thénardiers.
His wound once healed, he resumed his solitary twilight strolls.
It is a mistake to suppose that a person can stroll alone in thatfashion in the uninhabited regions of Paris without meeting with someadventure.
