2.M.5.1. MARIUS INDIGENT
LIFE became hard for Marius. It was nothing to eat his
clothes and his watch. He ate of that terrible, inexpressible
thing that is called de la vache enrage; that is to say,
he
endured great hardships and privations. A terrible thing it is,
containing days without bread, nights without sleep, evenings
without a candle, a hearth without a fire, weeks without work,
a future without hope, a coat out at the elbows, an old hat
which evokes the laughter of young girls, a door which one
finds locked on one at night because one's rent is not paid, the
insolence of the porter and the cook-shop man, the sneers of
neighbors, humiliations, dignity trampled on, work of whatever
nature accepted, disgusts, bitterness, despondency. Marius
learned how all this is eaten, and how such are often the
only things which one has to devour. At that moment of his
existence when a man needs his pride, because he needs love, he
felt that he was jeered at because he was badly dressed, and
ridiculous because he was poor. At the age when youth swells
the heart with imperial pride, he dropped his eyes more than
once on his dilapidated boots, and he knew the unjust shame
and the poignant blushes of wretchedness. Admirable and
terrible trial from which the feeble emerge base, from which
the strong emerge sublime. A crucible into which destiny
casts a man, whenever it desires a scoundrel or a demi-god.
For many great deeds are performed in petty combats.
There are instances of bravery ignored and obstinate, which
defend themselves step by step in that fatal onslaught of
necessities
and turpitudes. Noble and mysterious triumphs
which no eye beholds, which are requited with no renown,
which are saluted with no trumpet blast. Life, misfortune,
isolation, abandonment, poverty, are the fields of battle which
have their heroes; obscure heroes, who are, sometimes, grander
than the heroes who win renown.
Firm and rare natures are thus created; misery, almost
always a step-mother, is sometimes a mother; destitution gives
birth to might of soul and spirit; distress is the nurse of
pride;
unhappiness is a good milk for the magnanimous.
There came a moment in Marius' life, when he swept his
own landing, when he bought his sou's worth of Brie cheese at
the fruiterer's, when he waited until twilight had fallen to slip
into the baker's and purchase a loaf, which he carried off
furtively
to his attic as though he had stolen it. Sometimes there
could be seen gliding into the butcher's shop on the corner, in
the midst of the bantering cooks who elbowed him, an awkward
young man, carrying big books under his arm, who had a timid
yet angry air, who, on entering, removed his hat from a brow
whereon stood drops of perspiration, made a profound bow to
the butcher's astonished wife, asked for a mutton cutlet, paid
six or seven sous for it, wrapped it up in a paper, put it under
his arm, between two books, and went away. It was Marius.
On this cutlet, which he cooked for himself, he lived for three
days.
On the first day he ate the meat, on the second he ate the
fat, on the third he gnawed the bone. Aunt Gillenormand
made repeated attempts, and sent him the sixty pistoles several
times. Marius returned them on every occasion, saying that
he needed nothing.
He was still in mourning for his father when the
revolution
which we have just described was effected within him. From
that time forth, he had not put off his black garments. But
his garments were quitting him. The day came when he had
no longer a coat. The trousers would go next. What was to
be done? Courfeyrac, to whom he had, on his side, done some
good turns, gave him an old coat. For thirty sous, Marius got
it turned by some porter or other, and it was a new coat. But
this coat was green. Then Marius ceased to go out until after
nightfall. This made his coat black. As he wished always to
appear in mourning, he clothed himself with the night.
In spite of all this, he got admitted to practice as a
lawyer.
He was supposed to live in Courfeyrac's room, which was decent,
and where a certain number of law-books backed up and
completed by several dilapidated volumes of romance, passed
as the library required by the regulations. He had his letters
addressed to Courfeyrac's quarters.
When Marius became a lawyer, he informed his grandfather
of the fact in a letter which was cold but full of submission and
respect. M. Gillenormand trembled as he took the letter, read
it, tore it in four pieces, and threw it into the waste-basket.
Two or three days later, Mademoiselle Gillenormand heard her
father, who was alone in his room, talking aloud to himself.
He always did this whenever he was greatly agitated. She
listened, and the old man was saying: "If you were not a
fool, you would know that one cannot be a baron and a lawyer
at the same time."