Les Misérables
denounced himself, the heroism of his deed might, perhaps, be taken
into consideration, and his honest life for the last seven years, and
what he had done for the district, and that they would have mercy on
him.
But this supposition vanished very quickly, and he smiled bitterly as
he remembered that the theft of the forty sous from little Gervais put
him in the position of a man guilty of a second offence after
conviction, that this affair would certainly come up, and, according to
the precise terms of the law, would render him liable to penal
servitude for life.
He turned aside from all illusions, detached himself more and more from
earth, and sought strength and consolation elsewhere. He told himself
that he must do his duty; that perhaps he should not be more unhappy
after doing his duty than after having avoided it; that if he _allowed
things to take their own course_, if he remained at M. sur M., his
consideration, his good name, his good works, the deference and
veneration paid to him, his charity, his wealth, his popularity, his
virtue, would be seasoned with a crime. And what would be the taste of
all these holy things when bound up with this hideous thing? while, if
he accomplished his sacrifice, a celestial idea would be mingled with
the galleys, the post, the iron necklet, the green cap, unceasing toil,
and pitiless shame.
At length he told himself that it must be so, that his destiny was thus
allotted, that he had not authority to alter the arrangements made on
high, that, in any case, he must make his choice: virtue without and
abomination within, or holiness within and infamy without.
The stirring up of these lugubrious ideas did not cause his courage to
fail, but his brain grow weary. He began to think of other things, of
indifferent matters, in spite of himself.
The veins in his temples throbbed violently; he still paced to and fro;
midnight sounded first from the parish church, then from the town-hall;
he counted the twelve strokes of the two clocks, and compared the
sounds of the two bells; he recalled in this connection the fact that,
a few days previously, he had seen in an ironmonger’s shop an ancient
clock for sale, upon which was written the name, _Antoine-Albin de
Romainville_.
He was cold; he lighted a small fire; it did not occur to him to close
the window.
In the meantime he had relapsed into his stupor; he was obliged to make
a tolerably vigorous effort to recall what had been the subject of his
thoughts before midnight had struck; he finally succeeded in doing
this.
“Ah! yes,” he said to himself, “I had resolved to inform against
myself.”
And then, all of a sudden, he thought of Fantine.
“Hold!” said he, “and what about that poor woman?”
Here a fresh crisis declared itself.
Fantine, by appearing thus abruptly in his reverie, produced the effect
of an unexpected ray of light; it seemed to him as though everything
about him were undergoing a change of aspect: he exclaimed:—
“Ah! but I have hitherto considered no one but myself; it is proper for
me to hold my tongue or to denounce myself, to conceal my person or to
save my soul, to be a despicable and respected magistrate, or an
infamous and venerable convict; it is I, it is always I and nothing but
I: but, good God! all this is egotism; these are diverse forms of
egotism, but it is egotism all the same. What if I were to think a
little about others? The highest holiness is to think of others; come,
let us examine the matter. The _I_ excepted, the _I_ effaced, the _I_
forgotten, what would be the result of all this? What if I denounce
myself? I am arrested; this Champmathieu is released; I am put back in
the galleys; that is well—and what then? What is going on here? Ah!
here is a country, a town, here are factories, an industry, workers,
both men and women, aged grandsires, children, poor people! All this I
have created; all these I provide with their living; everywhere where
there is a smoking chimney, it is I who have placed the brand on the
hearth and meat in the pot; I have created ease, circulation, credit;
before me there was nothing; I have elevated, vivified, informed with
life, fecundated, stimulated, enriched the whole country-side; lacking
me, the soul is lacking; I take myself off, everything dies: and this
woman, who has suffered so much, who possesses so many merits in spite
of her fall; the cause of all whose misery I have unwittingly been! And
that child whom I meant to go in search of, whom I have promised to her
mother; do I not also owe something to this woman, in reparation for
the evil which I have done her? If I disappear, what happens? The
mother dies; the child becomes what it can; that is what will take
place, if I denounce myself. If I do not denounce myself? come, let us
see how it will be if I do not denounce myself.”
After putting this question to himself, he paused; he seemed to undergo
a momentary hesitation and trepidation; but it did not last long, and
he answered himself calmly:—
“Well, this man is going to the galleys; it is true, but what the
deuce! he has stolen! There is no use in my saying that he has not been
guilty of theft, for he has! I remain here; I go on: in ten years I
shall have made ten millions; I scatter them over the country; I have
nothing of my own; what is that to me? It is not for myself that I am
doing it; the prosperity of all goes on augmenting; industries are
aroused and animated; factories and shops are multiplied; families, a
hundred families, a thousand families, are happy; the district becomes
populated; villages spring up where there were only farms before; farms
rise where there was nothing; wretchedness disappears, and with
wretchedness debauchery, prostitution, theft, murder; all vices
disappear, all crimes: and this poor mother rears her child; and behold
a whole country rich and honest! Ah! I was a fool! I was absurd! what
was that I was saying about denouncing myself? I really must pay
attention and not be precipitate about anything. What! because it would
have pleased me to play the grand and generous; this is melodrama,
after all; because I should have thought of no one but myself, the
idea! for the sake of saving from a punishment, a trifle exaggerated,
perhaps, but just at bottom, no one knows whom, a thief, a
good-for-nothing, evidently, a whole country-side must perish! a poor
woman must die in the hospital! a poor little girl must die in the
street! like dogs; ah, this is abominable! And without the mother even
having seen her child once more, almost without the child’s having
known her mother; and all that for the sake of an old wretch of an
apple-thief who, most assuredly, has deserved the galleys for something
else, if not for that; fine scruples, indeed, which save a guilty man
and sacrifice the innocent, which save an old vagabond who has only a
few years to live at most, and who will not be more unhappy in the
galleys than in his hovel, and which sacrifice a whole population,
mothers, wives, children. This poor little Cosette who has no one in
the world but me, and who is, no doubt, blue with cold at this moment
in the den of those Thénardiers; those peoples are rascals; and I was
going to neglect my duty towards all these poor creatures; and I was
going off to denounce myself; and I was about to commit that
unspeakable folly! Let us put it at the worst: suppose that there is a
wrong action on my part in this, and that my conscience will reproach
me for it some day, to accept, for the good of others, these reproaches
which weigh only on myself; this evil action which compromises my soul
alone; in that lies self-sacrifice; in that alone there is virtue.”
He rose and resumed his march; this time, he seemed to be content.
Diamonds are found only in the dark places of the earth; truths are
found only in the depths of thought. It seemed to him, that, after
having descended into these depths, after having long groped among the
darkest of these shadows, he had at last found one of these diamonds,
one of these truths, and that he now held it in his hand, and he was
dazzled as he gazed upon it.
“Yes,” he thought, “this is right; I am on the right road; I have the
solution; I must end by holding fast to something; my resolve is taken;
let things take their course; let us no longer vacillate; let us no
longer hang back; this is for the interest of all, not for my own; I am
Madeleine, and Madeleine I remain. Woe to the man who is Jean Valjean!
I am no longer he; I do not know that man; I no longer know anything;
it turns out that some one is Jean Valjean at the present moment; let
him look out for himself; that does not concern me; it is a fatal name
which was floating abroad in the night; if it halts and descends on a
head, so much the worse for that head.”
He looked into the little mirror which hung above his chimney-piece,
and said:—
“Hold! it has relieved me to come to a decision; I am quite another man
now.”
He proceeded a few paces further, then he stopped short.
“Come!” he said, “I must not flinch before any of the consequences of
the resolution which I have once adopted; there are still threads which
attach me to that Jean Valjean; they must be broken; in this very room
there are objects which would betray me, dumb things which would bear
witness against me; it is settled; all these things must disappear.”
He fumbled in his pocket, drew out his purse, opened it, and took out a
small key; he inserted the key in a lock whose aperture could hardly be
seen, so hidden was it in the most sombre tones of the design which
covered the wall-paper; a secret receptacle opened, a sort of false
cupboard constructed in the angle between the wall and the
chimney-piece; in this hiding-place there were some rags—a blue linen
blouse, an old pair of trousers, an old knapsack, and a huge thorn
cudgel shod with iron at both ends. Those who had seen Jean Valjean at
the epoch when he passed through D—— in October, 1815, could easily
have recognized all the pieces of this miserable outfit.
He had preserved them as he had preserved the silver candlesticks, in
order to remind himself continually of his starting-point, but he had
concealed all that came from the galleys, and he had allowed the
candlesticks which came from the Bishop to be seen.
He cast a furtive glance towards the door, as though he feared that it
would open in spite of the bolt which fastened it; then, with a quick
and abrupt movement, he took the whole in his arms at once, without
bestowing so much as a glance on the things which he had so religiously
and so perilously preserved for so many years, and flung them all,
rags, cudgel, knapsack, into the fire.
He closed the false cupboard again, and with redoubled precautions,
henceforth unnecessary, since it was now empty, he concealed the door
behind a heavy piece of furniture, which he pushed in front of it.
After the lapse of a few seconds, the room and the opposite wall were
lighted up with a fierce, red, tremulous glow. Everything was on fire;
the thorn cudgel snapped and threw out sparks to the middle of the
chamber.
As the knapsack was consumed, together with the hideous rags which it
contained, it revealed something which sparkled in the ashes. By
bending over, one could have readily recognized a coin,—no doubt the
forty-sou piece stolen from the little Savoyard.
He did not look at the fire, but paced back and forth with the same
step.
All at once his eye fell on the two silver candlesticks, which shone
vaguely on the chimney-piece, through the glow.
“Hold!” he thought; “the whole of Jean Valjean is still in them. They
must be destroyed also.”
He seized the two candlesticks.