by Victor Hugo
In the troubled state of his conscience he did not think at all ofcertain serious sides of existence; but the realities of life will notallow themselves to be forgotten, and so they suddenly came to jog hismemory. One morning the landlord came into Marius's room, and said tohim,--
"Monsieur Courfeyrac recommended you?"
"Yes."
"But I want my money."
"Ask Courfeyrac to come and speak to me," said. Marius.
When Courfeyrac arrived the landlord left them, and Marius told hisfriend what he had not dreamed of telling him yet,--that he was, so tospeak, alone in the world, and had no relations.
"What will become of you?" said Courfeyrac.
"I do not know," Marius answered.
"What do you intend doing?"
"I do not know."
"Have you any money?"
"Fifteen francs."
"Are you willing to borrow from me?"
"Never."
"Have you clothes?"
"There they are."
"Any jewelry?"
"A gold watch."
"I know a second-hand clothesman who will take your overcoat and a pairof trousers."
"Very good."
"You will only have a pair of trousers, a waistcoat, a hat, and coatleft."
"And my boots."
"What? You will not go barefoot? What opulence!"
"That will be enough."
"I know a jeweller who will buy your watch."
"All right."
"No, it is not all right; what will you do after?"
"Anything I can that is honest."
"Do you know English?"
"No."
"Or German?"
"No."
"All the worse."
"Why so?"
"Because a friend of mine, a publisher, is preparing a sort ofEncyclopædia, for which you could have translated English or Germanarticles. The pay is bad, but it is possible to live on it."
"I will learn English and German."
"And in the mean while?"
"I will eat my clothes and my watch."
"The clothes-dealer was sent for, and gave twenty francs for the coatand trousers; next they went to the jeweller's, who bought the watchfor forty-five francs.
"That's not so bad," said Marius to Courfeyrac, on returning to thehotel; "with my fifteen francs that makes eighty."
"And your bill here?" Courfeyrac observed.
"Oh, I forgot that," said Marius.
The landlord presented his bill, which Marius was bound to pay at once;it amounted to seventy francs.
"I have ten francs left," said Marius.
"The deuce!" Courfeyrac replied; "you will spend five francs whilelearning English, and five while learning German. That will beswallowing a language very quickly, or a five-franc piece very slowly."
In the mean time Aunt Gillenormand, who was a good soul in the mainupon sad occasions, discovered her nephew's abode, and one morning,when Marius returned from college, he found a letter from his aunt andthe "sixty pistoles," that is to say, six hundred francs in gold, ina sealed-up box. Marius sent the thirty louis back to his aunt with arespectful note, in which he stated that he would be able in futureto take care of himself--at that moment he had just three francsleft. The aunt did not tell grandpapa of this refusal, through fearof raising his exasperation to the highest pitch; besides, had he notsaid, "Never mention that blood-drinker's name in my presence"? Mariusquitted the Hôtel of the Porte St. Jacques, as he did not wish to runinto debt.
BOOK V.
THE GOOD OF MISFORTUNE.
CHAPTER I.
MARIUS IS INDIGENT.
Life became severe for Marius: eating his clothes and his watch wasnothing, but he also went through that indescribable course which iscalled "roughing it." This is a horrible thing, which contains dayswithout bread, nights without sleep, evenings without candle, a housewithout fire, weeks without work, a future without hope, a threadbarecoat, an old hat at which the girls laugh, the door which you findlocked at night because you have not paid your rent, the insolenceof the porter and the eating-house keeper, the grins of neighbors,humiliations, dignity trampled under foot, any sort of Work accepted,disgust, bitterness, and desperation. Marius learned how all this isdevoured, and how it is often the only thing which a man has to eat. Atthat moment of life when a man requires pride because he requires love,he felt himself derided because he was meanly dressed, and ridiculousbecause he was poor. At the age when youth swells the heart with animperial pride, he looked down more than once at his worn-out boots,and knew the unjust shame and burning blushes of wretchedness. It is anadmirable and terrible trial, from which the weak come forth infamousand the strong sublime. It is the crucible into which destiny throws aman whenever it wishes to have a scoundrel or a demigod.
For man's great actions are performed in minor struggles. There areobstinate and unknown braves who defend themselves inch by inchin the shadows against the fatal invasion of want and turpitude.They are noble and mysterious triumphs which no eye sees, no renownrewards, and no flourish of trumpets salutes. Life, misfortune,isolation, abandonment, and poverty are battle-fields which have theirheroes,--obscure heroes who are at times greater than illustriousheroes. Firm and exceptional natures are thus created: misery, whichis nearly always a step-mother, is at times a mother: want bringsforth the power of soul and mind: distress is the nurse of pride, andmisfortune is an excellent milk for the magnanimous.
There was a time in Marius's life when he swept his own landing, whenhe bought a halfpenny-worth of Brie cheese of the fruiterer, when hewaited till nightfall to go into the baker's and buy a loaf, whichhe carried stealthily to his garret as if he had stolen it. At timesthere might have been seen slipping into the butcher's shop at thecorner, among the gossiping cooks who elbowed him, a young awkwardman with books under his arm, who had a timid and impetuous air, whoon entering removed his hat from his dripping forehead, made a deepbow to the astonished butcher's wife, another to the foreman, askedfor a mutton-chop, paid three or four pence, wrapped the chop inpaper, placed it between two books under his arm, and went away. Itwas Marius; and on this chop, which he cooked himself, he lived forthree days. On the first day he ate the lean, on the second he atethe fat, and on the third he gnawed the bone. Several times did AuntGillenormand make tentatives and send him the sixty pistoles, butMarius always returned them, saying that he wanted for nothing.
He was still in mourning for his father when the revolution we havedescribed took place within him, and since then he had not left offblack clothes, but the clothes left him. A day arrived when he had nocoat, though his trousers would still pass muster. What was he to do?Courfeyrac, to whom he on his side rendered several services, gave himan old coat. For thirty sous Marius had it turned by some porter, andit became a new coat. But it was green, and Marius henceforth did notgo out till nightfall, which caused his coat to appear black. As hestill wished to be in mourning, he wrapped himself in the night.
Through all this he contrived to pass his examination. He was supposedto inhabit Courfeyrac's rooms, which were decent, and where a certainnumber of legal tomes, supported by broken-backed volumes of novels,represented the library prescribed by the regulations. He had hisletters addressed to Courfeyrac's lodgings. When Marius was called tothe bar, he informed his grandfather of the fact in a cold letter,which, however, was full of submission and respect, M. Gillenormandtook the letter with a trembling hand, read it, tore it in fourparts, and threw them into the basket. Two or three days later Mlle.Gillenormand heard her father, who was alone in his room, talkingaloud, which always happened when he was agitated. She listened andheard the old gentleman say, "If you were not an ass, you would knowthat you cannot be at the same time a Baron and a lawyer."
CHAPTER II.
MARIUS POOR.
It is the same with misery as with everything else,--in the end itbecomes possible, it assumes a shape. A man vegetates, that is to say,is developed in a certain poor way,
which is, however, sufficient forlife. This is the sort of existence which Marius Pontmercy had secured.
He had got out of the narrowest part, and the defile had grown slightlywider before him. By labor, courage, perseverance, and his will, hecontrived to earn about seven hundred francs a year by his work. Hehad taught himself English and German, and, thanks to Courfeyrac, whointroduced him to his friend the publisher, he filled the modest postof hack in his office. He wrote prospectuses, translated newspapers,annotated editions, compiled biographies, and one year with another hisnet receipts were seven hundred francs. He lived upon them,--how? Notbadly, as we shall show.
Marius occupied at No. 50-52, for the annual rent of thirty francs, agarret without a fire-place, which was called a "cabinet," and onlycontained the indispensable articles of furniture, and this furniturewas his own. He paid three francs a month to the old principal lodgerfor sweeping out his room, and bringing him every morning a littlehot water, a new-laid egg, and a sou roll. On this roll and egg hebreakfasted, and the outlay varied from two to four sous, according aseggs were dear or cheap. At six in the evening he went to the line St.Jacques to dine at Rousseau's, exactly opposite Bassets, the print-shopat the corner of the Rue des Mathurins. He did not eat soup, but heordered a plate of meat for six sous, half a plate of vegetables forthree sous, and dessert three sous. For three sous he had as muchbread as he liked, and for wine he drank water. On paying at the bar,where Madame Rousseau, at that period a fat and good-looking dame,was majestically enthroned, he gave a sou for the waiter and MadameRousseau gave him a smile. Then he went away; for sixteen sous he hada smile and a dinner. This Rousseau restaurant, where so few bottlesand so many water-jugs were emptied, was rather a sedative than arestorer. It no longer exists, but the master used to have a wonderfulnickname,--he was called Rousseau the aquatic.
Thus, with breakfast four sous, dinner sixteen, his food cost him threehundred and sixty-five francs a year. Add thirty francs for rent andthe thirty-six francs for the old woman, and a few minor expenses,and for four hundred and fifty francs Marius was boarded, lodged, andserved. His clothes cost him a hundred francs, his linen fifty, hiswashing fifty, but the whole did not exceed six hundred and fiftyfrancs. He had fifty left, and was rich: at times he would lend tenfrancs to a friend, and Courfeyrac once actually borrowed sixty francsof him. As for heating, as Marius had no chimney, he "simplified" it.Marius always had two complete suits; one old, for every-day wear,and the other new, for occasions, and both were black. He had butthree shirts,--one on, one in the drawer, and one at the wash,--and herenewed them as they became worn out. As they were usually torn, he hada fashion of buttoning up his coat to the chin.
It had taken Marius years to reach this flourishing condition,--rudeand difficult years, in which he underwent great struggles; but he hadnot failed to himself a single day. As regarded want, he had sufferedeverything and he had done everything except run into debt. He gavehimself the credit of never having owed a farthing to any one, forto him debt was the beginning of slavery. He said to himself that acreditor is worse than a master; for a master only holds your person,while a creditor holds your dignity and may insult it. Sooner thanborrow he did not eat, and he had known many days of fasting. Knowingthat unless a man is careful, reduction of fortune may lead to basenessof soul, he jealously watched over his pride: many a remark or actionwhich, under other circumstances, he would have regarded as deference,now seemed to him platitudes, and he refrained from them. He venturednothing, as he did not wish to fall back; he had on his face a sternblush, and he was timid almost to rudeness. In all his trials he feltencouraged, and to some extent supported, by a secret force withinhim; for the soul helps the body and at times raises it, and is theonly bird that upholds its cage.
By the side of his father's name, another name was engraved on Marius'sheart, that of Thénardier. Marius, in his grave and enthusiasticnature, enveloped in a species of glory the man to whom he owed hisfather's life, that intrepid sergeant who saved his colonel among theballs and bullets of Waterloo. He never separated the memory of thisroan from that of his father, and he associated them in his veneration:it was a species of shrine with two steps,--the high altar for theColonel, the low one for Thénardier. What doubled the tenderness ofhis gratitude was the thought of the misfortune into which he knewthat Thénardier had fallen and was swallowed up. Marius had learned atMontfermeil the ruin and bankruptcy of the unfortunate landlord, andsince then had made extraordinary efforts to find his trail, and try toreach him in the frightful abyss of misery through which Thénardier haddisappeared. Marius went everywhere: he visited Chelles, Bondy, GournayNogent, and Lagny; and obstinately continued his search for threeyears, spending in these explorations the little money he saved. No onewas able to give him the slightest information of Thénardier, and itwas supposed he had gone to a foreign country. His creditors had soughthim too, with less love, but quite as much perseverance, as Marius,and had been unable to lay hands on him. Marius accused and felt angrywith himself for not succeeding in his search; it was the only debtthe Colonel left him, and he felt bound in honor to pay it. "What!"he thought, "when my father lay dying on the battle-field, Thénardiercontrived to find him in the midst of the smoke and grape-shot, andcarried him off on his shoulders, although he owed him nothing; whileI, who owe so much to Thénardier, am unable to come up with him in theshadow where he is dying of want, and in my turn bring him back fromdeath to life. Oh, I will find him!" In fact, Marius would have givenone of his arms to find Thénardier, and his last drop of blood to savehim from want; and his sweetest and most magnificent dream was to seeThénardier, do him some service, and say to him,--"You do not know me,but I know you: I am here, dispose of me as you please."
CHAPTER III.
MARIUS GROWS.
At this period Marius was twenty years of age, and he had left hisgrandfather's house for three. They remained on the same terms, withoutattempting a reconciliation or trying to meet. What good would it havebeen to meet,--to come into collision again? Which of them would havegot the better? Marius was the bronze vessel, but Father Gillenormandwas the iron pot.
We are bound to say that Marius was mistaken as to his grandfather'sheart; he imagined that M. Gillenormand had never loved him, andthat this sharp, harsh, laughing old gentleman, who cursed, shouted,stormed, and raised his cane, only felt for him at the most that lightand severe affection of the Gerontes in the play. Marius was mistaken;there are fathers who do not love their children; but there is not agrandfather who does not adore his grandson. In his heart, as we said,M. Gillenormand idolized Marius: he idolized him, it is true, after hisfashion, with an accompaniment of abuse and even of blows, but when thelad had disappeared he felt a black gap in his heart; he insisted uponhis name not being mentioned, but regretted that he was so strictlyobeyed. At the outset he hoped that this Buonapartist, this Jacobin,this terrorist, this Septembrist would return; but weeks passed, monthspassed, years passed, and, to the great despair of M. Gillenormand,the blood-drinker did not reappear. "I could not do otherwise, though,than turn him out," the grandfather said; and asked himself, "If itwere to be done again, would I do it?" His pride at once answered Yes;but his old head, which he silently shook, sorrowfully answered, No. Hehad his hours of depression, for he missed Marius, and old men requireaffection as much as they do the sun to warm them. However strong hemight naturally be, the absence of Marius had changed something in him;for no consideration in the world would he have taken a step towardsthe "little scamp," but he suffered. He lived in greater retirementthan ever at the Marais; he was still gay and violent as of yore, buthis gayety had a convulsive harshness, as if it contained grief andpassion, and his violence generally terminated with a sort of gentleand sombre depression. He would say to himself at times,--"Oh, if hewere to come back, what a hearty box of the ears I would give him!"
As for the aunt, she thought too little to love much; to her Mariuswas only a black and vague profile, and in the end she paid much lessattention to him than
to the cat or the parrot which it is probable shepossessed. What added to Father Gillenormand's secret suffering wasthat he shut it up within himself, and did not allow it to be divined.His chagrin was like one of those newly-invented furnaces whichconsume their own smoke. At times it happened that officious friendswould speak to him about Marius, and ask, "How is your grandson, andwhat is he doing?" The old bourgeois would answer, with a sigh if hewere sad, or with a flip to his frill if he wished to appear gay,"Monsieur le Baron Pontmercy practises law in some corner."
While the old gentleman regretted, Marius applauded himself. As is thecase with all good hearts, misfortune had freed him from bitterness;he thought of M. Gillenormand gently, but he was resolved never toaccept anything from a man _who had been unjust to his father_. Thiswas the mitigated translation of his first indignation. Moreover, hewas glad that he had suffered, and was still suffering, for he did sofor his father. The hardness of his life satisfied and pleased him,and he said to himself with a sort of joy that _it was the least he_could do, and that it was an expiation; that, were it not so, he wouldhave been punished more hereafter for his impious indifference towardhis father, and such a father,--that it would not have been just forhis father to have all the suffering and he none; and, besides, whatwere his toil and want when compared with the Colonel's heroic life?Lastly, that his only way of approaching his father, and resemblinghim, was to be valiant against indigence, as he had been brave againstthe enemy, and that this was doubtless what the Colonel meant by thewords, _He will be worthy of it_,--words which Marius continued tobear, not on his chest, as the Colonel's letter had disappeared, butin his heart. And then, again, on the day when his grandfather turnedhim out he was only a boy, while now he was a man and felt he was so.Misery--we lay a stress on the fact--had been kind to him; for povertyin youth, when it succeeds, has the magnificent result of turning thewhole will to effort and the whole soul to aspiration. Poverty atonce lays bare material life and renders it hideous; and hence comeindescribable soarings toward the ideal life. The rich young man hasa thousand brilliant and coarse amusements,--races, shooting, dogs,tobacco, gambling, good dinners, and so on, which are occupationsof the lower part of the mind at the expense of the higher and moredelicate part. The poor young man has to work for his bread, andwhen he has eaten, he has only reverie left him. He goes to the freespectacles which God gives; he looks at the sky, space, the stars,the flowers, the children, the humanity in which he is suffering,and the creation in which he radiates. He looks so much at humanitythat he sees the soul, and so much at creation that he sees God. Hedreams, and feels himself great; he dreams again, and feels himselftender. From the egotism of the man who suffers, he passes to thecompassion of the man who contemplates, and an admirable feeling isaroused in him,--forgetfulness of self and pity for all. On thinkingof the numberless enjoyments which nature offers, gives, and lavisheson open minds, and refuses to closed minds, he, the millionnaire ofintellect, learns to pity the millionnaire of money. Hatred departsfrom his heart in proportion as brightness enters his mind. Moreover,was he unhappy? No, for the wretchedness of a young man is neverwretched. Take the first lad who passes, however poor he may be, withhis health, his strength, his quick step, his sparkling eyes, hisblood circulating warmly, his black hair, his ruddy cheeks, his corallips, his white teeth, and his pure breath, and he will ever be anobject of envy to an old Emperor. And then, each morning he goes toearn his livelihood, and while his hands earn bread, his spine gainspride, and his brain ideas. When his work is ended, he returns toineffable ecstasy, to contemplation, and joy; he lives with his feet inaffliction, in obstacles, on the pavement, in the brambles, or at timesin the mud, but his head is in the light He is firm, serene, gentle,peaceful, attentive, serious, satisfied with a little, and benevolent;and he blesses God for having given him two riches which rich men oftenwant,--labor which makes him free, and thought that renders him worthy.
