Les Misérables, page 67
CHAPTER VI--SISTER SIMPLICE PUT TO THE PROOF
But at that moment Fantine was joyous.
She had passed a very bad night; her cough was frightful; her feverhad doubled in intensity; she had had dreams: in the morning, when thedoctor paid his visit, she was delirious; he assumed an alarmed look,and ordered that he should be informed as soon as M. Madeleine arrived.
All the morning she was melancholy, said but little, and laid plaitsin her sheets, murmuring the while, in a low voice, calculationswhich seemed to be calculations of distances. Her eyes were hollow andstaring. They seemed almost extinguished at intervals, then lighted upagain and shone like stars. It seems as though, at the approach of acertain dark hour, the light of heaven fills those who are quitting thelight of earth.
Each time that Sister Simplice asked her how she felt, she repliedinvariably, "Well. I should like to see M. Madeleine."
Some months before this, at the moment when Fantine had just lost herlast modesty, her last shame, and her last joy, she was the shadow ofherself; now she was the spectre of herself. Physical suffering hadcompleted the work of moral suffering. This creature of five and twentyhad a wrinkled brow, flabby cheeks, pinched nostrils, teeth from whichthe gums had receded, a leaden complexion, a bony neck, prominentshoulder-blades, frail limbs, a clayey skin, and her golden hair wasgrowing out sprinkled with gray. Alas! how illness improvises old-age!
At mid-day the physician returned, gave some directions, inquiredwhether the mayor had made his appearance at the infirmary, and shookhis head.
M. Madeleine usually came to see the invalid at three o'clock. Asexactness is kindness, he was exact.
About half-past two, Fantine began to be restless. In the course oftwenty minutes, she asked the nun more than ten times, "What time is it,sister?"
Three o'clock struck. At the third stroke, Fantine sat up in bed; shewho could, in general, hardly turn over, joined her yellow, fleshlesshands in a sort of convulsive clasp, and the nun heard her utter oneof those profound sighs which seem to throw off dejection. Then Fantineturned and looked at the door.
No one entered; the door did not open.
She remained thus for a quarter of an hour, her eyes riveted on thedoor, motionless and apparently holding her breath. The sister dared notspeak to her. The clock struck a quarter past three. Fantine fell backon her pillow.
She said nothing, but began to plait the sheets once more.
Half an hour passed, then an hour, no one came; every time the clockstruck, Fantine started up and looked towards the door, then fell backagain.
Her thought was clearly perceptible, but she uttered no name, she madeno complaint, she blamed no one. But she coughed in a melancholy way.One would have said that something dark was descending upon her. She waslivid and her lips were blue. She smiled now and then.
Five o'clock struck. Then the sister heard her say, very low and gently,"He is wrong not to come to-day, since I am going away to-morrow."
Sister Simplice herself was surprised at M. Madeleine's delay.
In the meantime, Fantine was staring at the tester of her bed. Sheseemed to be endeavoring to recall something. All at once she began tosing in a voice as feeble as a breath. The nun listened. This is whatFantine was singing:--
"Lovely things we will buy As we stroll the faubourgs through. Roses are pink, corn-flowers are blue, I love my love, corn-flowers are blue.
"Yestere'en the Virgin Mary came near my stove, in a broidered mantleclad, and said to me, 'Here, hide 'neath my veil the child whom youone day begged from me. Haste to the city, buy linen, buy a needle, buythread.'
"Lovely things we will buy As we stroll the faubourgs through.
"Dear Holy Virgin, beside my stove I have set a cradle with ribbonsdecked. God may give me his loveliest star; I prefer the child thou hastgranted me. 'Madame, what shall I do with this linen fine?'--'Make of itclothes for thy new-born babe.'
"Roses are pink and corn-flowers are blue, I love my love, and corn-flowers are blue.
"'Wash this linen.'--'Where?'--'In the stream. Make of it, soilingnot, spoiling not, a petticoat fair with its bodice fine, which I willembroider and fill with flowers.'--'Madame, the child is no longer here;what is to be done?'--'Then make of it a winding-sheet in which to buryme.'
"Lovely things we will buy As we stroll the faubourgs through, Roses are pink, corn-flowers are blue, I love my love, corn-flowers are blue."
This song was an old cradle romance with which she had, in former days,lulled her little Cosette to sleep, and which had never recurred to hermind in all the five years during which she had been parted from herchild. She sang it in so sad a voice, and to so sweet an air, that itwas enough to make any one, even a nun, weep. The sister, accustomed asshe was to austerities, felt a tear spring to her eyes.
The clock struck six. Fantine did not seem to hear it. She no longerseemed to pay attention to anything about her.
Sister Simplice sent a serving-maid to inquire of the portress of thefactory, whether the mayor had returned, and if he would not come to theinfirmary soon. The girl returned in a few minutes.
Fantine was still motionless and seemed absorbed in her own thoughts.
The servant informed Sister Simplice in a very low tone, that themayor had set out that morning before six o'clock, in a little tilburyharnessed to a white horse, cold as the weather was; that he had gonealone, without even a driver; that no one knew what road he had taken;that people said he had been seen to turn into the road to Arras; thatothers asserted that they had met him on the road to Paris. That when hewent away he had been very gentle, as usual, and that he had merely toldthe portress not to expect him that night.
While the two women were whispering together, with their backs turnedto Fantine's bed, the sister interrogating, the servant conjecturing,Fantine, with the feverish vivacity of certain organic maladies, whichunite the free movements of health with the frightful emaciation ofdeath, had raised herself to her knees in bed, with her shrivelled handsresting on the bolster, and her head thrust through the opening of thecurtains, and was listening. All at once she cried:--
"You are speaking of M. Madeleine! Why are you talking so low? What ishe doing? Why does he not come?"
Her voice was so abrupt and hoarse that the two women thought they heardthe voice of a man; they wheeled round in affright.
"Answer me!" cried Fantine.
The servant stammered:--
"The portress told me that he could not come to-day."
"Be calm, my child," said the sister; "lie down again."
Fantine, without changing her attitude, continued in a loud voice, andwith an accent that was both imperious and heart-rending:--
"He cannot come? Why not? You know the reason. You are whispering it toeach other there. I want to know it."
The servant-maid hastened to say in the nun's ear, "Say that he is busywith the city council."
Sister Simplice blushed faintly, for it was a lie that the maid hadproposed to her.
On the other hand, it seemed to her that the mere communication of thetruth to the invalid would, without doubt, deal her a terrible blow, andthat this was a serious matter in Fantine's present state. Her flushdid not last long; the sister raised her calm, sad eyes to Fantine, andsaid, "Monsieur le Maire has gone away."
Fantine raised herself and crouched on her heels in the bed: her eyessparkled; indescribable joy beamed from that melancholy face.
"Gone!" she cried; "he has gone to get Cosette."
Then she raised her arms to heaven, and her white face became ineffable;her lips moved; she was praying in a low voice.
When her prayer was finished, "Sister," she said, "I am willing to liedown again; I will do anything you wish; I was naughty just now; I begyour pardon for having spoken so loud; it is very wrong to talk loudly;I know that well, my good sister, but, you see, I am very happy: thegood God is good; M. Madeleine is good; just think! he has gone toMontfermeil to get my little Cosette."
She lay down again, with the nun's assistance, helped the nun to arrangeher pillow, and kissed the little silver cross which she wore on herneck, and which Sister Simplice had given her.
"My child," said the sister, "try to rest now, and do not talk anymore."
Fantine took the sister's hand in her moist hands, and the latter waspained to feel that perspiration.
"He set out this morning for Paris; in fact, he need not even go throughParis; Montfermeil is a little to the left as you come thence. Do youremember how he said to me yesterday, when I spoke to him of Cosette,_Soon, soon?_ He wants to give me a surprise, you know! he made me signa letter so that she could be taken from the Thénardiers; they cannotsay anything, can they? they will give back Cosette, for they have beenpaid; the authorities will not allow them to keep the child since theyhave received their pay. Do not make signs to me that I must not talk,sister! I am extremely happy; I am doing well; I am not ill at all anymore; I am going to see Cosette again; I am even quite hungry; it isnearly five years since I saw her last; you cannot imagine how muchattached one gets to children, and then, she will be so pretty; you willsee! If you only knew what pretty little rosy fingers she had! In thefirst place, she will have very beautiful hands; she had ridiculoushands when she was only a year old; like this! she must be a big girlnow; she is seven years old; she is quite a young lady; I call herCosette, but her name is really Euphrasie. Stop! this morning I waslooking at the dust on the chimney-piece, and I had a sort of idea comeacross me, like that, that I should see Cosette again soon. Mon Dieu!how wrong it is not to see one's children for years! One ought toreflect that life is not eternal. Oh, how good M. le Maire is to go! itis very cold! it is true; he had on his cloak, at least? he will behere to-morrow, will he not? to-morrow will be a festival day; to-morrowmorning, sister, you must remind me to put on my little cap that haslace on it. What a place that Montfermeil is! I took that journey onfoot once; it was very long for me, but the diligences go very quickly!he will be here to-morrow with Cosette: how far is it from here toMontfermeil?"
The sister, who had no idea of distances, replied, "Oh, I think that hewill be here to-morrow."
"To-morrow! to-morrow!" said Fantine, "I shall see Cosette to-morrow!you see, good sister of the good God, that I am no longer ill; I am mad;I could dance if any one wished it."
A person who had seen her a quarter of an hour previously would not haveunderstood the change; she was all rosy now; she spoke in a lively andnatural voice; her whole face was one smile; now and then she talked,she laughed softly; the joy of a mother is almost infantile.
"Well," resumed the nun, "now that you are happy, mind me, and do nottalk any more."
Fantine laid her head on her pillow and said in a low voice: "Yes,lie down again; be good, for you are going to have your child; SisterSimplice is right; every one here is right."
And then, without stirring, without even moving her head, she began tostare all about her with wide-open eyes and a joyous air, and she saidnothing more.
The sister drew the curtains together again, hoping that she wouldfall into a doze. Between seven and eight o'clock the doctor came; nothearing any sound, he thought Fantine was asleep, entered softly, andapproached the bed on tiptoe; he opened the curtains a little, and, bythe light of the taper, he saw Fantine's big eyes gazing at him.
She said to him, "She will be allowed to sleep beside me in a littlebed, will she not, sir?"
The doctor thought that she was delirious. She added:--
"See! there is just room."
The doctor took Sister Simplice aside, and she explained matters to him;that M. Madeleine was absent for a day or two, and that in their doubtthey had not thought it well to undeceive the invalid, who believed thatthe mayor had gone to Montfermeil; that it was possible, after all, thather guess was correct: the doctor approved.
He returned to Fantine's bed, and she went on:--
"You see, when she wakes up in the morning, I shall be able to say goodmorning to her, poor kitten, and when I cannot sleep at night, I canhear her asleep; her little gentle breathing will do me good."
"Give me your hand," said the doctor.
She stretched out her arm, and exclaimed with a laugh:--
"Ah, hold! in truth, you did not know it; I am cured; Cosette willarrive to-morrow."
The doctor was surprised; she was better; the pressure on her chesthad decreased; her pulse had regained its strength; a sort of life hadsuddenly supervened and reanimated this poor, worn-out creature.
"Doctor," she went on, "did the sister tell you that M. le Maire hasgone to get that mite of a child?"
The doctor recommended silence, and that all painful emotions should beavoided; he prescribed an infusion of pure chinchona, and, in case thefever should increase again during the night, a calming potion. As hetook his departure, he said to the sister:--
"She is doing better; if good luck willed that the mayor shouldactually arrive to-morrow with the child, who knows? there are crisesso astounding; great joy has been known to arrest maladies; I know wellthat this is an organic disease, and in an advanced state, but all thosethings are such mysteries: we may be able to save her."
