Les Misérables, page 50
CHAPTER IV--M. MADELEINE IN MOURNING
At the beginning of 1820 the newspapers announced the death of M.Myriel, Bishop of D----, surnamed "Monseigneur Bienvenu," who had diedin the odor of sanctity at the age of eighty-two.
The Bishop of D---- to supply here a detail which the papersomitted--had been blind for many years before his death, and content tobe blind, as his sister was beside him.
Let us remark by the way, that to be blind and to be loved, is, in fact,one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness upon this earth,where nothing is complete. To have continually at one's side a woman, adaughter, a sister, a charming being, who is there because you need herand because she cannot do without you; to know that we are indispensableto a person who is necessary to us; to be able to incessantly measureone's affection by the amount of her presence which she bestows on us,and to say to ourselves, "Since she consecrates the whole of her timeto me, it is because I possess the whole of her heart"; to behold herthought in lieu of her face; to be able to verify the fidelity of onebeing amid the eclipse of the world; to regard the rustle of a gownas the sound of wings; to hear her come and go, retire, speak, return,sing, and to think that one is the centre of these steps, of thisspeech; to manifest at each instant one's personal attraction; to feelone's self all the more powerful because of one's infirmity; to becomein one's obscurity, and through one's obscurity, the star around whichthis angel gravitates,--few felicities equal this. The supreme happinessof life consists in the conviction that one is loved; loved forone's own sake--let us say rather, loved in spite of one's self; thisconviction the blind man possesses. To be served in distress is to becaressed. Does he lack anything? No. One does not lose the sight whenone has love. And what love! A love wholly constituted of virtue! Thereis no blindness where there is certainty. Soul seeks soul, gropingly,and finds it. And this soul, found and tested, is a woman. A handsustains you; it is hers: a mouth lightly touches your brow; it is hermouth: you hear a breath very near you; it is hers. To have everythingof her, from her worship to her pity, never to be left, to have thatsweet weakness aiding you, to lean upon that immovable reed, totouch Providence with one's hands, and to be able to take it inone's arms,--God made tangible,--what bliss! The heart, that obscure,celestial flower, undergoes a mysterious blossoming. One would notexchange that shadow for all brightness! The angel soul is there,uninterruptedly there; if she departs, it is but to return again; shevanishes like a dream, and reappears like reality. One feels warmthapproaching, and behold! she is there. One overflows with serenity, withgayety, with ecstasy; one is a radiance amid the night. And there area thousand little cares. Nothings, which are enormous in that void. Themost ineffable accents of the feminine voice employed to lull you, andsupplying the vanished universe to you. One is caressed with the soul.One sees nothing, but one feels that one is adored. It is a paradise ofshadows.
It was from this paradise that Monseigneur Welcome had passed to theother.
The announcement of his death was reprinted by the local journal of M.sur M. On the following day, M. Madeleine appeared clad wholly in black,and with crape on his hat.
This mourning was noticed in the town, and commented on. It seemedto throw a light on M. Madeleine's origin. It was concluded that somerelationship existed between him and the venerable Bishop. _"He has goneinto mourning for the Bishop of D----"_ said the drawing-rooms; thisraised M. Madeleine's credit greatly, and procured for him, instantlyand at one blow, a certain consideration in the noble world of M. surM. The microscopic Faubourg Saint-Germain of the place meditated raisingthe quarantine against M. Madeleine, the probable relative of a bishop.M. Madeleine perceived the advancement which he had obtained, by themore numerous courtesies of the old women and the more plentiful smilesof the young ones. One evening, a ruler in that petty great world, whowas curious by right of seniority, ventured to ask him, "M. le Maire isdoubtless a cousin of the late Bishop of D----?"
He said, "No, Madame."
"But," resumed the dowager, "you are wearing mourning for him."
He replied, "It is because I was a servant in his family in my youth."
Another thing which was remarked, was, that every time that heencountered in the town a young Savoyard who was roaming about thecountry and seeking chimneys to sweep, the mayor had him summoned,inquired his name, and gave him money. The little Savoyards told eachother about it: a great many of them passed that way.
