by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER IV.
M. MADELEINE GOES INTO MOURNING.
At the beginning of 1821, the papers announced the decease of M.Myriel, Bishop of D----, "surnamed Monseigneur Welcome," who had diedin the odor of sanctity at the age of eighty-two. The Bishop of D----,to add here a detail omitted by the papers, had been blind for severalyears, and was satisfied to be blind as his sister was by his side.
Let us say parenthetically that to be blind and to be loved is oneof the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness upon this earth,where nothing is perfect. To have continually at your side a wife, asister, a daughter, a charming being, who is there because you haveneed of her, and because she cannot do without you; to know yourselfindispensable to a woman who is necessary to you; to be able constantlyto gauge her affection by the amount of her presence which she givesyou, and to say to yourself: "She devotes all her time to me because Ipossess her entire heart;" to see her thoughts in default of her face;to prove the fidelity of a being in the eclipse of the world; to catchthe rustling of a dress like the sound of wings; to hear her come andgo, leave the room, return, talk, sing, and then to dream that youare the centre of those steps, those words, those songs; to manifestat every moment your own attraction, and feel yourself powerful inproportion to your weakness; to become in darkness and through darknessthe planet round which this angel gravitates,--but few felicities equalthis. The supreme happiness of life is the conviction of being lovedfor yourself, or, more correctly speaking, loved in spite of yourself;and this conviction the blind man has. In this distress to be served isto be caressed. Does he want for anything? No. When you possess love,you have not lost the light. And what a love! a love entirely made ofvirtues. There is no blindness where there is certainty: the gropingsoul seeks a soul and finds it, and this found and tried soul is awoman. A hand supports you, it is hers; a mouth touches your forehead,it is hers; you hear a breathing close to you, it is she.
To have everything she has, from her worship to her pity, to be neverleft, to have this gentle weakness to succor you, to lean on thisunbending reed, to touch providence with her hands, and be able totake her in your arms: oh! what heavenly rapture is this! The heart,that obscure celestial flower, begins to expand mysteriously, and youwould not exchange this shadow for all the light! The angel soul isthus necessarily there; if she go away, it is to return; she disappearslike a dream, and reappears like reality. You feel heat approachingyou, it is she. You overflow with serenity, ecstasy, and gayety; youare a sunbeam in the night. And then the thousand little attentions,the nothings which are so enormous in this vacuum! The most ineffableaccents of the human voice employed to lull you, and taking the placeof the vanished universe. You are caressed with the soul: you seenothing, but you feel yourself adored; it is a paradise of darkness.
It was from this paradise that Monseigneur Welcome had passed to theother. The announcement of his death was copied by the local paperof M----, and on the next day Monsieur Madeleine appeared dressedin black, with crape on his hat. The mourning was noticed in thetown, and people gossiped about it, for it seemed to throw a gleam,over M. Madeleine's origin. It was concluded that he was somehowconnected with the Bishop. "He is in mourning for the Bishop," wassaid in drawing-rooms; this added inches to M. Madeleine's stature,and suddenly gave him a certain consideration in the noble world ofM----. The microscopic Faubourg St. Germain of the town thought aboutputting an end to the Coventry of M. Madeleine, the probable relationof a bishop, and M. Madeleine remarked the promotion he had obtained inthe increased love of the old ladies, and the greater amount of smilesfrom the young. One evening a lady belonging to this little greatworld, curious by right of seniority, ventured to say, "M. le Maire isdoubtless a cousin of the late Bishop of D----?"
He answered, "No, Madame."
"But," the dowager went on, "you wear mourning for him."
"In my youth I was a footman in his family," was the answer.
Another thing noticed was, that when a young Savoyard passed throughthe town, looking for chimneys to sweep, the Mayor sent for him, askedhis name, and gave him money. The Savoyard boys told each other ofthis, and a great many passed through M----.
