Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
CHAPTER I—THE HOUSE WITH A SECRET
1790 words | Chapter 311
About the middle of the last century, a chief justice in the Parliament
of Paris having a mistress and concealing the fact, for at that period
the grand seignors displayed their mistresses, and the bourgeois
concealed them, had “a little house” built in the Faubourg
Saint-Germain, in the deserted Rue Blomet, which is now called Rue
Plumet, not far from the spot which was then designated as _Combat des
Animaux_.
This house was composed of a single-storied pavilion; two rooms on the
ground floor, two chambers on the first floor, a kitchen downstairs, a
boudoir upstairs, an attic under the roof, the whole preceded by a
garden with a large gate opening on the street. This garden was about
an acre and a half in extent. This was all that could be seen by
passers-by; but behind the pavilion there was a narrow courtyard, and
at the end of the courtyard a low building consisting of two rooms and
a cellar, a sort of preparation destined to conceal a child and nurse
in case of need. This building communicated in the rear by a masked
door which opened by a secret spring, with a long, narrow, paved
winding corridor, open to the sky, hemmed in with two lofty walls,
which, hidden with wonderful art, and lost as it were between garden
enclosures and cultivated land, all of whose angles and detours it
followed, ended in another door, also with a secret lock which opened a
quarter of a league away, almost in another quarter, at the solitary
extremity of the Rue du Babylone.
Through this the chief justice entered, so that even those who were
spying on him and following him would merely have observed that the
justice betook himself every day in a mysterious way somewhere, and
would never have suspected that to go to the Rue de Babylone was to go
to the Rue Blomet. Thanks to clever purchasers of land, the magistrate
had been able to make a secret, sewer-like passage on his own property,
and consequently, without interference. Later on, he had sold in little
parcels, for gardens and market gardens, the lots of ground adjoining
the corridor, and the proprietors of these lots on both sides thought
they had a party wall before their eyes, and did not even suspect the
long, paved ribbon winding between two walls amid their flower-beds and
their orchards. Only the birds beheld this curiosity. It is probable
that the linnets and tomtits of the last century gossiped a great deal
about the chief justice.
The pavilion, built of stone in the taste of Mansard, wainscoted and
furnished in the Watteau style, rocaille on the inside, old-fashioned
on the outside, walled in with a triple hedge of flowers, had something
discreet, coquettish, and solemn about it, as befits a caprice of love
and magistracy.
This house and corridor, which have now disappeared, were in existence
fifteen years ago. In ’93 a coppersmith had purchased the house with
the idea of demolishing it, but had not been able to pay the price; the
nation made him bankrupt. So that it was the house which demolished the
coppersmith. After that, the house remained uninhabited, and fell
slowly to ruin, as does every dwelling to which the presence of man
does not communicate life. It had remained fitted with its old
furniture, was always for sale or to let, and the ten or a dozen people
who passed through the Rue Plumet were warned of the fact by a yellow
and illegible bit of writing which had hung on the garden wall since
1819.
Towards the end of the Restoration, these same passers-by might have
noticed that the bill had disappeared, and even that the shutters on
the first floor were open. The house was occupied, in fact. The windows
had short curtains, a sign that there was a woman about.
In the month of October, 1829, a man of a certain age had presented
himself and had hired the house just as it stood, including, of course,
the back building and the lane which ended in the Rue de Babylone. He
had had the secret openings of the two doors to this passage repaired.
The house, as we have just mentioned, was still very nearly furnished
with the justice’s old fitting; the new tenant had ordered some
repairs, had added what was lacking here and there, had replaced the
paving-stones in the yard, bricks in the floors, steps in the stairs,
missing bits in the inlaid floors and the glass in the lattice windows,
and had finally installed himself there with a young girl and an
elderly maid-servant, without commotion, rather like a person who is
slipping in than like a man who is entering his own house. The
neighbors did not gossip about him, for the reason that there were no
neighbors.
This unobtrusive tenant was Jean Valjean, the young girl was Cosette.
The servant was a woman named Toussaint, whom Jean Valjean had saved
from the hospital and from wretchedness, and who was elderly, a
stammerer, and from the provinces, three qualities which had decided
Jean Valjean to take her with him. He had hired the house under the
name of M. Fauchelevent, independent gentleman. In all that has been
related heretofore, the reader has, doubtless, been no less prompt than
Thénardier to recognize Jean Valjean.
Why had Jean Valjean quitted the convent of the Petit-Picpus? What had
happened?
Nothing had happened.
It will be remembered that Jean Valjean was happy in the convent, so
happy that his conscience finally took the alarm. He saw Cosette every
day, he felt paternity spring up and develop within him more and more,
he brooded over the soul of that child, he said to himself that she was
his, that nothing could take her from him, that this would last
indefinitely, that she would certainly become a nun, being thereto
gently incited every day, that thus the convent was henceforth the
universe for her as it was for him, that he should grow old there, and
that she would grow up there, that she would grow old there, and that
he should die there; that, in short, delightful hope, no separation was
possible. On reflecting upon this, he fell into perplexity. He
interrogated himself. He asked himself if all that happiness were
really his, if it were not composed of the happiness of another, of the
happiness of that child which he, an old man, was confiscating and
stealing; if that were not theft? He said to himself, that this child
had a right to know life before renouncing it, that to deprive her in
advance, and in some sort without consulting her, of all joys, under
the pretext of saving her from all trials, to take advantage of her
ignorance of her isolation, in order to make an artificial vocation
germinate in her, was to rob a human creature of its nature and to lie
to God. And who knows if, when she came to be aware of all this some
day, and found herself a nun to her sorrow, Cosette would not come to
hate him? A last, almost selfish thought, and less heroic than the
rest, but which was intolerable to him. He resolved to quit the
convent.
He resolved on this; he recognized with anguish, the fact that it was
necessary. As for objections, there were none. Five years’ sojourn
between these four walls and of disappearance had necessarily destroyed
or dispersed the elements of fear. He could return tranquilly among
men. He had grown old, and all had undergone a change. Who would
recognize him now? And then, to face the worst, there was danger only
for himself, and he had no right to condemn Cosette to the cloister for
the reason that he had been condemned to the galleys. Besides, what is
danger in comparison with the right? Finally, nothing prevented his
being prudent and taking his precautions.
As for Cosette’s education, it was almost finished and complete.
His determination once taken, he awaited an opportunity. It was not
long in presenting itself. Old Fauchelevent died.
Jean Valjean demanded an audience with the revered prioress and told
her that, having come into a little inheritance at the death of his
brother, which permitted him henceforth to live without working, he
should leave the service of the convent and take his daughter with him;
but that, as it was not just that Cosette, since she had not taken the
vows, should have received her education gratuitously, he humbly begged
the Reverend Prioress to see fit that he should offer to the community,
as indemnity, for the five years which Cosette had spent there, the sum
of five thousand francs.
It was thus that Jean Valjean quitted the convent of the Perpetual
Adoration.
On leaving the convent, he took in his own arms the little valise the
key to which he still wore on his person, and would permit no porter to
touch it. This puzzled Cosette, because of the odor of embalming which
proceeded from it.
Let us state at once, that this trunk never quitted him more. He always
had it in his chamber. It was the first and only thing sometimes, that
he carried off in his moving when he moved about. Cosette laughed at
it, and called this valise his _inseparable_, saying: “I am jealous of
it.”
Nevertheless, Jean Valjean did not reappear in the open air without
profound anxiety.
He discovered the house in the Rue Plumet, and hid himself from sight
there. Henceforth he was in the possession of the name:—Ultime
Fauchelevent.
At the same time he hired two other apartments in Paris, in order that
he might attract less attention than if he were to remain always in the
same quarter, and so that he could, at need, take himself off at the
slightest disquietude which should assail him, and in short, so that he
might not again be caught unprovided as on the night when he had so
miraculously escaped from Javert. These two apartments were very
pitiable, poor in appearance, and in two quarters which were far remote
from each other, the one in the Rue de l’Ouest, the other in the Rue de
l’Homme Armé.
He went from time to time, now to the Rue de l’Homme Armé, now to the
Rue de l’Ouest, to pass a month or six weeks, without taking Toussaint.
He had himself served by the porters, and gave himself out as a
gentleman from the suburbs, living on his funds, and having a little
temporary resting-place in town. This lofty virtue had three domiciles
in Paris for the sake of escaping from the police.
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