1.C.8.1. WHICH TREATS OF THE MANNER OF ENTERING A CONVENT
IT was into this house that Jean Valjean had, as Fauchelevent
expressed it, "fallen from the sky."
He had scaled the wall of the garden which formed the
angle of the Rue Polonceau. That hymn of the angels which
he had heard in the middle of the night, was the nuns chanting
matins; that hall, of which he had caught a glimpse in the
gloom, was the chapel. That phantom which he had seen
stretched on the ground was the sister who was making reparation;
that bell, the sound of which had so strangely surprised
him, was the gardener's bell attached to the knee of
Father Fauchelevent.
Cosette once put to bed, Jean Valjean and Fauchelevent
had, as we have already seen, supped on a glass of wine and a
bit of cheese before a good, crackling fire; then, the only bed
in the hut being occupied by Cosette, each threw himself on a
truss of straw.
Before he shut his eyes, Jean Valjean said: "I must remain
here henceforth." This remark trotted through Fauchelevent's
head all night long.
To tell the truth, neither of them slept.
Jean Valjean, feeling that he was discovered and that
Javert was on his scent, understood that he and Cosette were
lost if they returned to Paris. Then the new storm which had
just burst upon him had stranded him in this cloister. Jean
Valjean had, henceforth, but one thought,— to remain there.
Now, for an unfortunate man in his position, this convent was
both the safest and the most dangerous of places; the most
dangerous, because, as no men might enter there, if he were
discovered, it was a flagrant offence, and Jean Valjean would
find but one step intervening between the convent and prison;
the safest, because, if he could manage to get himself accepted
there and remain there, who would ever seek him in such a
place? To dwell in an impossible place was safety.
On his side, Fauchelevent was cudgelling his brains. He
began by declaring to himself that he understood nothing of
the matter. How had M. Madeleine got there, when the walls
were what they were? Cloister walls are not to be stepped
over. How did he get there with a child? One cannot scale a
perpendicular wall with a child in one's arms. Who was that
child? Where did they both come from? Since Fauchelevent
had lived in the convent, he had heard nothing of M. sur M.,
and he knew nothing of what had taken place there. Father
Madeleine had an air which discouraged questions; and besides,
Fauchelevent said to himself: "One does not question
a saint." M. Madeleine had preserved all his prestige in
Fauchelevent's eyes. Only, from some words which Jean Valjean
had let fall, the gardener thought he could draw the
inference that M. Madeleine had probably become bankrupt
through the hard times, and that he was pursued by his creditors;
or that he had compromised himself in some political
affair, and was in hiding; which last did not displease Fauchelevent,
who, like many of our peasants of the North, had an
old fund of Bonapartism about him. While in hiding, M.
Madeleine had selected the convent as a refuge, and it was
quite simple that he should wish to remain there. But the
inexplicable point, to which Fauchelevent returned constantly
and over which he wearied his brain, was that M. Madeleine
should be there, and that he should have that little girl with
him. Fauchelevent saw them, touched them, spoke to them,
and still did not believe it possible. The incomprehensible
had just made its entrance into Fauchelevent's hut. Fauchelevent
groped about amid conjectures, and could see nothing
clearly but this: "M. Madeleine saved my life." This certainty
alone was sufficient and decided his course. He said to
himself: "It is my turn now." He added in his conscience:
"M. Madeleine did not stop to deliberate when it was a question
of thrusting himself under the cart for the purpose of
dragging me out." He made up his mind to save M.
Madeleine.
Nevertheless, he put many questions to himself and made
himself divers replies: "After what he did for me, would I
save him if he were a thief? Just the same. If he were an
assassin, would I save him? Just the same. Since he is a
saint, shall I save him? Just the same."
But what a problem it was to manage to have him remain
in the convent! Fauchelevent did not recoil in the face of this
almost chimerical undertaking; this poor peasant of Picardy
without any other ladder than his self-devotion, his good will,
and a little of that old rustic cunning, on this occasion enlisted
in the service of a generous enterprise, undertook to scale the
difficulties of the cloister, and the steep escarpments of the
rule of Saint-Benoit. Father Fauchelevent was an old man
who had been an egoist all his life, and who, towards the end
of his days, halt, infirm, with no interest left to him in the
world, found it sweet to be grateful, and perceiving a generous
action to be performed, flung himself upon it like a man, who
at the moment when he is dying, should find close to his hand
a glass of good wine which he had never tasted, and should
swallow it with avidity. We may add, that the air which he
had breathed for many years in this convent had destroyed
all personality in him, and had ended by rendering a good
action of some kind absolutely necessary to him.
So he took his resolve: to devote himself to M. Madeleine.
We
have just called him a poor peasant of Picardy. That
description is just, but incomplete. At the point of this story
which we have now reached, a little of Father Fauchelevent's
physiology becomes useful. He was a peasant, but he had
been a notary, which added trickery to his cunning, and penetration
to his ingenuousness. Having, through various causes,
failed in his business, he had descended to the calling of a
carter and a laborer. But, in spite of oaths and lashings,
which horses seem to require, something of the notary had
lingered in him. He had some natural wit; he talked good
grammar; he conversed, which is a rare thing in a village;
and the other peasants said of him: "He talks almost like a
gentleman with a hat." Fauchelevent belonged, in fact, to
that species, which the impertinent and flippant vocabulary
of the last century qualified as
demi-bourgeois, demi-lout, and
which the metaphors showered by the chateau upon the
thatched cottage ticketed in the pigeon-hole of the plebeian:
rather rustic, rather citified; pepper and salt. Fauchelevent,
though sorely tried and harshly used by fate, worn out, a sort
of poor, threadbare old soul, was, nevertheless, an impulsive
man, and extremely spontaneous in his actions; a precious
quality which prevents one from ever being wicked. His
defects and his vices, for he had some, were all superficial;
in short, his physiognomy was of the kind which succeeds with
an observer. His aged face had none of those disagreeable
wrinkles at the top of the forehead, which signify malice or
stupidity.
At daybreak, Father Fauchelevent opened his eyes, after
having done an enormous deal of thinking, and beheld M.
Madeleine seated on his truss of straw, and watching Cosette's
slumbers. Fauchelevent sat up and said:—
"Now that you are here, how are you going to contrive to
enter?"
This remark summed up the situation and aroused Jean
Valjean from his revery.
The two men took counsel together.
"In the first place,"' said Fauchelevent, "you will begin by
not setting foot outside of this chamber, either you or the
child. One step in the garden and we are done for."
"That is true."
"Monsieur Madeleine," resumed Fauchelevent, "you have
arrived at a very auspicious moment, I mean to say a very
inauspicious moment; one of the ladies is very ill. This will
CEMETERIES TAKE WHAT IS GIVEN 261
prevent them from looking much in our direction. It seems
that she is dying. The prayers of the forty hours are being
said. The whole community is in confusion. That occupies
them. The one who is on the point of departure is a saint.
In fact, we are all saints here; all the difference between them
and me is that they say 'our cell,' and that I say 'my cabin.'
The prayers for the dying are to be said, and then the prayers
for the dead. We shall be at peace here for to-day; but I will
not answer for to-morrow."
"Still," observed Jean Valjean, "this cottage is in the niche
of the wall, it is hidden by a sort of ruin, there are trees, it is
not visible from the convent."
"And I add that the nuns never come near it."
"Well?" said Jean Valjean.
The interrogation mark which accentuated this "well" signified:
"it seems to me that one may remain concealed here?"
It was to this interrogation point that Fauchelevent responded:—
"There are the little girls."
"What little girls?" asked Jean Valjean.
Just as Fauchelevent opened his mouth to explain the words
which he had uttered, a bell emitted one stroke.
"The nun is dead," said he. "There is the knell."
And he made a sign to Jean Valjean to listen.
The bell struck a second time.
"It is the knell, Monsieur Madeleine. The bell will continue
to strike once a minute for twenty-four hours, until the
body is taken from the church.— You see, they play. At
recreation hours it suffices to have a ball roll aside, to send
them all hither, in spite of prohibitions, to hunt and rummage
for it all about here. Those cherubs are devils."
"Who?" asked Jean Valjean.
"The little girls. You would be very quickly discovered.
They would shriek: 'Oh! a man!' There is no danger to-day.
There will be no recreation hour. The day will be entirely
devoted to prayers. You hear the bell. As I told you, a
stroke each minute. It is the death knell."
"I understand, Father Fauchelevent. There are pupils."
And Jean Valjean thought to himself:—
"Here is Cosette's education already provided."
Fauchelevent exclaimed:—
"Pardine! There are little girls indeed! And they would
bawl around you! And they would rush off! To be a man
here is to have the plague. You see how they fasten a bell to
my paw as though I were a wild beast."
Jean Valjean fell into more and more profound thought.—
"This convent would be our salvation," he murmured.
Then he raised his voice:—
"Yes, the difficulty is to remain here."
"No," said Fauchelevent, "the difficulty is to get out."
Jean Valjean felt the blood rush back to his heart.
"To get out!"
"Yes, Monsieur Madeleine. In order to return here it is
first necessary to get out."
And after waiting until another stroke of the knell had
sounded, Fauchelevent went on:—
"You must not be found here in this fashion. Whence come
you? For me, you fall from heaven, because I know you; but
the nuns require one to enter by the door."
All at once they heard a rather complicated pealing from
another bell.
"Ah!" said Fauchelevent, "they are ringing up the vocal
mothers. They are going to the chapter. They always hold a
chapter when any one dies. She died at daybreak. People
generally do die at daybreak. But cannot you get out by the
way in which you entered? Come, I do not ask for the sake
of questioning you, but how did you get in?"
Jean Valjean turned pale; the very thought of descending
again into that terrible street made him shudder. You make
your way out of a forest filled with tigers, and once out of it,
imagine a friendly counsel that shall advise you to return
thither! Jean Valjean pictured to himself the whole police
force still engaged in swarming in that quarter, agents on the
watch, sentinels everywhere, frightful fists extended towards
his collar, Javert at the corner of the intersection of the
streets perhaps.
"Impossible!" said he. "Father Fauchelevent, say that I
fell from the sky."
"But I believe it, I believe it," retorted Fauchelevent.
"You have no need to tell me that. The good God must have
taken you in his hand for the purpose of getting a good look
at you close to, and then dropped you. Only, he meant to
place you in a man's convent; he made a mistake. Come,
there goes another peal, that is to order the porter to go and
inform the municipality that the dead-doctor is to come here
and view a corpse. All that is the ceremony of dying. These
good ladies are not at all fond of that visit. A doctor is a
man who does not believe in anything. He lifts the veil.
Sometimes he lifts something else too. How quickly they
have had the doctor summoned this time! What is the
matter? Your little one is still asleep. What is her name?"
"Cosette."
"She is your daughter?
You are her grandfather, that is?"
"Yes."
"It will be easy enough for her to get out of here. I have
my service door which opens on the courtyard. I knock. The
porter opens; I have my vintage basket on my back, the child
is in it, I go out. Father Fauchelevent goes out with his
basket— that is perfectly natural. You will tell the child to
keep very quiet. She will be under the cover. I will leave
her for whatever time is required with a good old friend, a
fruit-seller whom I know in the Rue Chemin-Vert, who is
deaf, and who has a little bed. I will shout in the fruit-seller's
ear, that she is a niece of mine, and that she is to keep her for
me until to-morrow. Then the little one will re-enter with
you; for I will contrive to have you re-enter. It must be
done. But how will you manage to get out?"
Jean Valjean shook his head.
"No one must see me, the whole point lies there, Father
Fauchelevent. Find some means of getting me out in a
basket, under cover, like Cosette."
Fauchelevent scratched the lobe of his ear with the middle
finger of his left hand, a sign of serious embarrassment.
A third peal created a diversion.
"That is the dead-doctor taking his departure," said
Fauchelevent. "He has taken a look and said: 'She is dead,
that is well.' When the doctor has signed the passport for
paradise, the undertaker's company sends a coffin. If it is a
mother, the mothers lay her out; if she is a sister, the sisters
lay her out. After which, I nail her up. That forms a part
of my gardener's duty. A gardener is a bit of a grave-digger.
She is placed in a lower hall of the church which communicates
with the street, and into which no man may enter save
the doctor of the dead. I don't count the undertaker's men
and myself as men. It is in that hall that I nail up the coffin.
The undertaker's men come and get it, and whip up, coachman!
that's the way one goes to heaven. They fetch a box
with nothing in it, they take it away again with something in
it. That's what a burial is like. De profundis."
A horizontal ray of sunshine lightly touched the face of the
sleeping Cosette, who lay with her mouth vaguely open, and
had the air of an angel drinking in the light. Jean Valjean
had fallen to gazing at her. He was no longer listening to
Fauchelevent.
That one is not listened to is no reason for preserving
silence. The good old gardener went on tranquilly with his
babble:—
"The grave is dug in the Vaugirard cemetery. They declare
that they are going to suppress that Vaugirard cemetery.
It is an ancient cemetery which is outside the regulations,
which has no uniform, and which is going to retire. It is a
shame, for it is convenient. I have a friend there, Father
Mestienne, the grave-digger. The nuns here possess one
privilege, it is to be taken to that cemetery at nightfall.
There is a special permission from the Prefecture on their
behalf. But how many events have happened since yesterday!
Mother Crucifixion is dead, and Father Madeleine— "
"Is buried," said Jean Valjean, smiling sadly.
Fauchelevent caught the word.
"Goodness! if you were here for good, it would be a real
burial."
A fourth peal burst out. Fauchelevent hastily detached the
belled knee-cap from its nail and buckled it on his knee again.
"This time it is for me. The Mother Prioress wants me.
Good, now I am pricking myself on the tongue of my
buckle. Monsieur Madeleine, don't stir from here, and wait
for me. Something new has come up. If you are hungry,
there is wine, bread and cheese."
And he hastened out of the hut, crying: "Coming!
coming!"
Jean Valjean watched him hurrying across the garden as
fast as his crooked leg would permit, casting a sidelong glance
by the way on his melon patch.
Less than ten minutes later, Father Fauchelevent, whose
bell put the nuns in his road to flight, tapped gently at a door,
and a gentle voice replied: "Forever! Forever!" that is to
say: "Enter."
The door was the one leading to the parlor reserved for
seeing the gardener on business. This parlor adjoined the
chapter hall. The prioress, seated on the only chair in the
parlor, was waiting for Fauchelevent.