1.C.5.4. THE GROPINGS OF FLIGHT
IN order to understand what follows, it is requisite to form
an exact idea of the Droit-Mur lane, and, in particular, of the
angle which one leaves on the left when one emerges from the
Rue Polonceau into this lane. Droit-Mur lane was almost
entirely bordered on the right, as far as the Rue Petit-Picpus,
by houses of mean aspect; on the left by a solitary building of
severe outlines, composed of numerous parts which grew gradually
higher by a story or two as they approached the Rue
Petit-Picpus side; so that this building, which was very lofty
on the Rue Petit-Picpus side, was tolerably low on the side
adjoining the Rue Polonceau. There, at the angle of which
we have spoken, it descended to such a degree that it consisted
of merely a wall. This wall did not abut directly on the
Street; it formed a deeply retreating niche, concealed by its
two corners from two observers who might have been, one in
the Rue Polonceau, the other in the Rue Droit-Mur.
Beginning with these angles of the niche, the wall extended
along the Rue Polonceau as far as a house which bore the
number 49, and along the Rue Droit-Mur, where the fragment
was much shorter, as far as the gloomy building which we have
mentioned and whose gable it intersected, thus forming
another retreating angle in the street. This gable was sombre
of aspect; only one window was visible, or, to speak more
correctly, two shutters covered with a sheet of zinc and kept
constantly closed.
The state of the places of which we are here giving a
description is rigorously exact, and will certainly awaken a
very precise memory in the mind of old inhabitants of the
quarter.
The niche was entirely filled by a thing which resembled a
colossal and wretched door; it was a vast, formless assemblage
of perpendicular planks, the upper ones being broader than
the lower, bound together by long transverse strips of iron.
At one side there was a carriage gate of the ordinary dimensions,
and which had evidently not been cut more than fifty
years previously.
A linden-tree showed its crest above the niche, and the
wall was covered with ivy on the side of the Rue Polonceau.
In
the imminent peril in which Jean Valjean found himself,
this sombre building had about it a solitary and uninhabited
look which tempted him. He ran his eyes rapidly
over it; he said to himself, that if he could contrive to get
inside it, he might save himself. First he conceived an idea,
then a hope.
In the central portion of the front of this building, on the
Rue Droit-Mur side, there were at all the windows of the
different stories ancient cistern pipes of lead. The various
branches of the pipes which led from one central pipe to all
these little basins sketched out a sort of tree on the front.
These ramifications of pipes with their hundred elbows imitated
those old leafless vine-stocks which writhe over the
fronts of old farm-houses.
This odd espalier, with its branches of lead and iron, was
the first thing that struck Jean Valjean. He seated Cosette
with her back against a stone post, with an injunction to be
silent, and ran to the spot where the conduit touched the
pavement. Perhaps there was some way of climbing up by
it and entering the house. But the pipe was dilapidated and
past service, and hardly hung to its fastenings. Moreover,
all the windows of this silent dwelling were grated with heavy
iron bars, even the attic windows in the roof. And then, the
moon fell full upon that facade, and the man who was watching
at the corner of the street would have seen Jean Valjean
in the act of climbing. And finally, what was to be done
with Cosette? How was she to be drawn up to the top of
a three-story house?
He gave up all idea of climbing by means of the drain-pipe,
and crawled along the wall to get back into the Rue Polonceau.
When he reached the slant of the wall where he had left
Cosette, he noticed that no one could see him there. As we
have just explained, he was concealed from all eyes, no matter
from which direction they were approaching; besides this, he
was in the shadow. Finally, there were two doors; perhaps
they might be forced. The wall above which he saw the
linden-tree and the ivy evidently abutted on a garden where
he could, at least, hide himself, although there were as yet
no leaves on the trees, and spend the remainder of the night.
Time was passing; he must act quickly.
He felt over the carriage door, and immediately recognized
the fact that it was impracticable outside and in.
He approached the other door with more hope; it was
frightfully decrepit; its very immensity rendered it less solid;
the planks were rotten; the iron bands— there were only three
of them— were rusted. It seemed as though it might be
possible to pierce this worm-eaten barrier.
On examining it he found that the door was not a door;
it had neither hinges, cross-bars, lock, nor fissure in the
middle; the iron bands traversed it from side to side without
any break. Through the crevices in the planks he caught
a view of unhewn slabs and blocks of stone roughly cemented
together, which passersby might still have seen there ten
years ago. He was forced to acknowledge with consternation
that this apparent door was simply the wooden decoration
of a building against which it was placed. It was easy to tear
off a plank; but then, one found one's self face to face with
a wall.