Chapter 2 of Book 2 of Les Miserables, Volume 4, by Victor Hugo. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by May Lowe. Les Miserables, Volume 4, by Victor Hugo. Translated by Isabelle Florence Hapgood. Book 2, Eponine. Chapter 2, Embryonic Formation of Crimes in the Incubation of Prisons. Javert's triumph in the Gorbo Hovel seemed complete, but had not been so. In the first place, and this constituted the principal anxiety, Javert had not taken the prisoner-prisoner. The assassinated man who flees is more suspicious than the assassin, and is probable that this personage, who had been so precious a capture for the Ruffians, would be no less fine a prize for the authorities. And then, Mont-Panas had escaped Javert. Another opportunity of laying hands on that devil's dandy must be waited for. Mont-Panas had, in fact, encountered Eponine as she stood on the watch under the trees of the Boulevard, and led her off, preferring to play Nemorin with the daughter rather than Shindahan's with the father. It was well that he did so, he was free. As for Eponine, Javert had caused her to be seized, a mediocre consolation. Eponine had joined a Zelma at Les Madelinettes. And finally, on the way from the Gorbo House to La Force, one of the principal prisoners, Klaxu, had been lost. It was not known how this had been affected. The police agents and the sergeants could not understand it at all. He had converted himself into vapor. He had slipped through the handcuffs. He had trickled through the crevices of the carriage. The fiacro was cracked, and he had fled. All that they were able to say was that on arriving at the prison there was no Klaxu. Either the fairies or the police had had a hand in it. Had Klaxu melted into the shadows like a snowflake in water? Had there been unavoured connivance of the police agents? Did this man belong to the double enigma of order and disorder? Was he concentric with infraction and repression? Had this sphinx his forepaws in crime and his hindpaws in authority? Javert did not accept such combinations, and would have bristled up against such compromises. But his squad included other inspectors besides himself, who were more initiated than he, perhaps, although they were his subordinates in the secrets of the prefecture, and Klaxu had been such a villain that he might make a very good agent. It is an excellent thing for ruffianism and an admirable thing for the police to be on such intimate juggling terms with the night. These double-edged rascals do exist. However that may be, Klaxu had gone astray and was not found again. Javert appeared to be more irritated than amazed at this. As for Marius, that booby of a lawyer, who had probably become frightened and whose name Javert had forgotten, Javert attached very little importance to him. Moreover, a lawyer can be hunted up at any time. But was he a lawyer after all? The investigation had begun. The magistrate had thought it advisable not to put one of these men of the band of Petron Minet in close confinement in the hope that he would chatter. This man was Brugion, the long-haired man of the Rue du Petit Banquier. He had been let loose in the Charlemagne courtyard and the eyes of the watchers were fixed on him. This name of Brugion is one of the souvenirs of La Force. In that hideous courtyard called the Court of the Bâtiment Neuve, new building, which the administration called the Court St. Benard and which the robbers called the Fosseau Lyon, the lion's ditch, on that wall covered with scales and leprosy which rose to the left to a level with the roofs, near an old door of rusty iron which led to the ancient chapel of the ducal residence of La Force, then turned in dormitory for ruffians. There could still be seen, twelve years ago, a sort of fortress roughly carved in the stone with a nail, and beneath it this signature, Brugion, 1811. The Brugion of 1811 was the father of the Brugion of 1832. The latter, of whom the reader caught but a glimpse at the Gourbault House, was a very cunning and very adroit young spark with a bewildered and plaintive air. It was in consequence of this plaintive air that the magistrate had released him, thinking him more useful in the Charlemagne Yard than in close confinement. Robbers do not interrupt their profession because they are in the hands of justice. They do not let themselves be put out by such a trifle as that. To be in prison for one crime is no reason for not beginning on another crime. They are artists who have one picture in the salon and who toil, nonetheless, on a new work in their studios. Brugion seemed to be stupefied by prison.  Or he passed his time in trembling, chattering his teeth, saying that he had a fever, and inquiring whether one of the eight and twenty beds in the fever ward was vacant. All at once, towards the end of February 1832, it was discovered that Brugion, that somnolent fellow, had had three different commissions executed by the errant men of the establishment, not under his own name, but in the name of three of his comrades, and they had cost him in all fifty sews an exorbitant outlay which attracted the attention of the prison corporal. Inquiries were instituted, and on consulting the tariff of commissions posted in the convict's parlour it was learned that the fifty sews could be analysed as follows. Three commissions, one to the pantheon, ten sews, one to Valdigras, fifteen sews, and one to the barriere de granel, twenty-five sews. This last was the dearest of the whole tariff. Now at the pantheon, at the Valdigras, and at the barriere de granel, were situated the domiciles of the three very redoubtable prowlers of the barriers, Clidéniers, Ailes Pizarre, Gloriot, an ex-convict, and Bar-Carros, upon whom the attention of the police was directed by this incident. It was thought that these men were members of Pétro Minnet. Two of those leaders, Bar-Bet and Guelmer, had been captured. It was supposed that the messages, which had been addressed, not to houses but to people who were waiting for them in the street, must have contained information with regard to some crime that had been plotted. They were in possession of other indications. They laid hand on the three prowlers, and supposed that they had circumvented some one or other of Bruggen's machinations. About a week after these measures had been taken, one night, as the superintendent of the watch, who had been inspecting the lower dormitory in the Bâtiment-Neuve, was about to drop his chestnut in the box. This was the means adopted to make sure that the watchmen performed their duties punctually. Every hour, a chestnut must be dropped into all the boxes nailed to the doors of the dormitories. A watchman looked through the peephole of the dormitory and beheld Bruggen sitting on his bed and writing something by the light of the hall-lamp. The guardian entered. Bruggen was put in a solitary cell for a month, but they were not able to seize what he had written. The police learned nothing further about it. What is certain is that on the following morning a postillion was flung from the Charlemagne yard into the lion's ditch over the five-story building which separated the two courtyards. What prisoners call a postillion is a pallet of bread artistically moulded which is sent into Ireland, that is to say, over the roofs of a prison, from one courtyard to another. Etymology over England, from one land to another, into Ireland. This little pallet falls in the yard. The man who picks it up opens it and finds in it a note addressed to some prisoner in that yard. If it is a prisoner who finds the treasure, he forwards the note to its destination. If it is a keeper, or one of the prisoners secretly sold who are called sheep in prisons and foxes in the galleys, the note is taken to the office and handed over to the police. On this occasion, the postillion reached its address, although the person to whom it was addressed was, at that moment, in solitary confinement. This person was no other than Babay, one of the four heads of Petron Minet. The postillion contained a roll of paper on which only these two lines were written. Babay, there is an affair in the Rue Plumée, a gate on a garden. This is what Brujon had written the night before. In spite of male and female searches, Babay managed to pass the note on from La Force, to the Sol Petlière, to a good friend whom he had, and who was shut up there. This woman, in turn, transmitted the note to another woman of her acquaintance, a certain Manion, who was strongly suspected by the police, though not yet arrested. This Manion, whose name the reader has already seen, had relations with the Thinadiel, which will be described in detail later on. And she could, by going to see Eponine, serve as a bridge between the Sol Petlière and Les Madelonnets. It happened at precisely that moment, as proofs were wanting in the investigation directed against Thinadiel in the matter of his daughters, Eponine and Eselma were released, when Eponine came out, Manion, who was watching the gate of the Madelonnets, handed her Brujon's note to Babay, charging her to look into the matter. Eponine went to the Rue Prumay, recognised the gate and the garden, observed the house, spied, lurked, and, a few days later, brought to Manion, who delivers in the rue cloche-pels a biscuit, which Manion transmitted to Babay's mistress in the Sol Petlière. A biscuit, in the shady symbolism of prisons, signifies nothing to be done. So that in less than a week from that time, as Brujon and Babay met in the circle of La Force, the one on his way to the examination, the other on his way from it. Well, asked Brujon, the rue-pie? Biscuit, replied Babay. Thus did the fetus of crime engendered by Brujon in La Force, a miscarry. This miscarriage had its consequences, however, which were perfectly distinct from Brujon's programme. The reader will see what they were. Often when we think we are knotting one thread, we are tying quite another. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mae Lowe. Les Miserables, Vol. 4 by Victor Hugo. Translated by Isabelle Florence Havegood. Book 2, Eponine. Chapter 3. Apparition to Father Marble. Marius no longer went to see anyone, but he sometimes encountered Father Marble by chance. While Marius was slowly descending, there was melancholy steps which may be called the cellar stairs and which lead to places without light, where the happy can be heard walking overhead. Monsieur Marble was descending on his side. The flora of quarterettes no longer sold at all. The experiments on indigo had not been successful in the little garden of Outstilitz, which had a bad exposure. Monsieur Marble could cultivate there only a few plants which loved shade and dampness. Nevertheless, he did not become discouraged. He had obtained a corner in the Jaldian de Plance with a good exposure to make his trials with indigo at his own expense. For this purpose he had pawned his copper plates of the flora. He had reduced his breakfast to two eggs and he left one of these for his old servant, to whom he had paid no wages for the last fifteen months. And often his breakfast was his only meal. He no longer smiled with his infantile smile. He had grown morose and no longer received visitors. Marius did well not to dream of going thither. Sometimes, at the hour when Monsieur Marble was on his way to the Jaldian de Plante, the old man and the young man passed each other on the boulevard de l'hôpital. They did not speak and only exchanged a melancholy sign of the head. A heartbreaking thing it is that there comes a moment when misery loses bonds. Two men who have been friends become two chance passes by. Royale the bookseller was dead. Monsieur Marble no longer knew his books, his garden or his indigo. These were the three forms which happiness, pleasure and hope had assumed for him. This sufficed him for his living. He said to himself, When I shall have made my balls of bluing, I shall be rich. I will withdraw my copper plates from the pawn shop. I will put my flora in vogue again with trickery, plenty of money and advertisements in the newspapers. And I will buy, I know well where, a copy of Pierre de Medine's Art Naviguerre with woodcuts, edition of 1655. In the meantime he toiled all day over his plot of indigo and at night he returned home to water his garden and to read his books. At that epoch Monsieur Marble was nearly 80 years of age. One evening he had a singular apparition. He had returned home while it was still broad daylight. Mother Plutarch, whose health was declining, was ill and in bed. He had dined on a bone in which a little meat lingered and a bit of bread that he had found on the kitchen table and had seated himself on an overturned stone post which took the place of a bench in his garden. Near this bench there rose, after a fashion in orchid gardens, a sort of large chest of beams and planks, much dilapidated, a rabbit hutch on the ground floor, a fruit closet on the first. There was nothing in the hutch, but a few apples in the fruit closet, the remains of the winter's provision. Monsieur Marble had set himself to turning over and reading, with the aid of his glasses, two books of which he was passionately fond and in which, a serious thing at his age, he was interested. His natural timidity rendered him accessible to the acceptance of superstitions in a certain degree. The first of these books was the famous treatise of President de l'Ancre, de l'inconstance des démons. The other was a quarto, by Moutard de la Roubaudière. Ceux-les diables, de vos verres, et les goblons de la bière. This last-mentioned old volume interested him all the more because his garden had been one of the spots haunted by goblins in former times. The twilight had begun to whiten what was on high and to blacken all below. As he read over the top of the book which he held in his hand, Father Marble was surveying his plants and, among others, a magnificent rotodendron which was one of his constellations. Four days of heat, wind and sun without a drop of rain had passed. The stalks were bending, the buds drooping, the leaves falling. All this needed water. The rotodendron was particularly sad. Father Marble was one of those persons for whom plants have souls. The old man had toiled all day over his indigo plot. He was worn out with fatigue, but he rose, laid his books on the bench, and walked, all bent over and with tottering footsteps, to the well. But when he had grasped the chain he could not even draw it sufficiently to unhook it. And cast a glance of anguish towards heaven which was becoming studded with stars. The evening had that serenity which overwhelms the troubles of man beneath an indescribably mournful and eternal joy. The night promised to be as arid as the day had been. Stars everywhere, thought the old man, not the tiniest cloud, not a drop of water. And his head, which had been upraised for a moment, looked upon his breast. He raised it again and once more looked at the sky, murmuring, a tear of dew, a little pity. He tried again to unhook the chain of the well and could not. At that moment he heard a voice saying, Father mobile, would you like to have me water your garden for you? At the same time a noise as of a wild animal passing became audible in the hedge and he beheld emerging from the shrubbery a sort of tall slender girl who drew herself up in front of him and stared boldly at him. She had less the air of a human being than of a form which had just blossomed forth from the twilight. Before Father mobile, who was easily terrified and who was, as we have said, quick to take alarm, was able to reply by a single syllable, this being, whose movements had a sort of odd abruptness had unhooked the chain, plunged in and withdrawn the bucket and filled the watering pot. And the Goodman beheld this apparition which had bare feet and tattered petticoat running about among the flower beds distributing life around her. The sound of the watering pot on the leaves filled Father mobile's soul with ecstasy. It seemed to him that the rhododendron was happy now. The first bucketful emptied, the girl drew a second, then a third. She watered the whole garden. There was something about her as she thus ran about among paths where her outline appeared perfectly black, waving her angular arms and with her fissue all in rags that resembled a bat. When she had finished Father mobile approached her with tears in his eyes and laid his hand on her brow.  No, she replied. I am the devil but that's all the same to me. The old man exclaimed without either waiting for or hearing her response.  You can do something, said she. What? Tell me where Monsieur Marius lives. The old man did not understand. What Monsieur Marius? He raised his glassy eyes and seemed to be seeking something that had vanished. A young man who used to come here. In the meantime Monsieur mobile had searched his memory. Ah, yes, he exclaimed. I know what you mean. Wait, Monsieur Marius, the Baron Marius Pontmercy, par bleu. He lives, or rather he no longer lives. Ah, well, I don't know. As he spoke he had bent over to train a branch of Rotodendron and he continued, hold, I know now. He very often passes along the boulevard and goes in the direction of the glacierre ru crue le barbe the meadow of the lark go there, it is not hard to meet him. When Monsieur Marbeau straightened himself up there was no longer anyone there. The girl had disappeared. He was decidedly terrified. Really, he thought, if my garden had not been watered I should think that she was a spirit. An hour later, when he was in bed, it came back to him. And as he fell asleep at that confused moment when thought like that fabulous bird which changes itself into a fish little by little assumes the form of a dream in order to traverse slumber. He said to himself in a bewildered way, in sooth that greatly resembles what Rue Baudier narrates of the goblins. Could it have been a goblin? Chapter 4 An Apparition to Marius Some days after this visit of a spirit to Father Mboul one morning it was on a Monday, the day when Marius borrowed the Hundred Sioux Peace from Corphedac, for Thanadier. Marius had put this coin in his pocket and before carrying it to the clerk's office he had gone to take a little stroll in the hope that this would make him work on his return. It was always thus however as soon as he rose he seated himself before a book and a sheet of paper in order to scribble some translation. His task at that epoch consisted in turning into French a celebrated quarrel between Germans the Garnes and Savignee controversy. He took Savignee he took Garnes read four lines tried to write one, could not saw a star between him and his paper and rose from his chair saying, I shall go out that will put me in spirits and off he went to the lark's meadow. There he beheld more than ever the star and less than ever Savignee and Garnes. He returned home tried to take up his work again and did not succeed. There was no means of re-knotting a single one of the threads which were broken in his brain. Then he said to himself I will not go out tomorrow it prevents my working and he went out every day. He lived in the lark's meadow more than in Corferac's lodgings. That was his real address Boulevard de la Sainte at the seventh tree from the grue Crue Le Barre. That morning he had quitted the seventh tree and had seated himself on the parapet of the river des Gobelons. A cheerful sunlight penetrated the freshly unfolded and luminous leaves. He was dreaming of her and his meditation turning to a reproach fell back upon himself. He reflected dolefully on his idleness his paralysis of soul on him and of that night which was growing more dense every moment before him to such a point that he no longer even saw the sun. Nevertheless a thwart this painful extrication of indistinct ideas which was not even a monologue so feeble had action become in him that he had no longer the force to care to despair. A thwart this melancholy absorption sensations from without did reach him. He heard behind him, beneath him on both banks of the river the lawndressers of the Gobelons beating their linen and above his head the birds chattering and singing in the elm trees. On the one hand the sound of liberty the careless happiness of the leisure which has wings. On the other the sound of toil. What caused him to meditate deeply and almost reflect were two cheerful sounds. All at once in the midst of his dejected ecstasy he heard a familiar voice saying come, here he is. He raised his eyes and recognized that wretched child who had come to him one morning the elder of the Thanadia daughters Eponine. He knew her name now. Strange to say she had grown poorer and prettier two steps which she did not seem to have the power to take. She had accomplished a double progress towards the light and towards distress. She was barefooted and in rags as on the day when she had so resolutely entered his chamber only her rags were two months older now the holes were larger the tatters more sorted. It was the same harsh voice the same brow dimmed and wrinkled with tan the same free, wild and vacillating glance. She had besides more than formally in her face that indescribably terrified and lamentable something which sojourn in a prison adds to wretchedness. She had bits of straw and hay in her hair not like Ophelia through having gone mad from the contagion of Hamlet's madness but because she had slept in the loft of some stable. And in spite of it all she was beautiful.  In the meantime she had halted in front of Marius with a trace of joy in her livid countenance and something which resembled a smile. She stood for several moments as though incapable of speech. So I have met you at last she said at length Father Mobile was right it was on this boulevard how I have hunted for you only knew do you know I have been in the jug a fortnight they let me out seeing that there was nothing against me and that moreover I had not reached years of discretion I lack two months of it oh how I have hunted for you these six weeks so you don't live down there anymore no said Marius ah I understand because of that affair those takedowns are disagreeable you cleared out come now why do you wear old hats like this a young man like you ought to have fine clothes do you know Monsieur Marius Father Mobile calls you Baron Marius I don't know what it isn't true that you are a baron barons are old fellows they go to the Luxembourg in front of the chateau where there is the most sun and they read the quotidien for a sue I once carried a letter to a baron of that sort he was over a hundred years old say where do you live now Marius made no reply ah she went on you have a hole in your shirt I must sew it up for you she resumed with an expression which gradually clouded over you don't seem glad to see me Marius held his peace she remained silent for a moment then exclaimed but if I choose nevertheless I could force you to look glad what demanded Marius what do you mean ah you used to call me thou she retorted well then what dost thou mean she bit her lips she seemed to hesitate as though a prey to some sort of inward conflict at last she appeared to come to a decision so much the worse I don't care you have a melancholy air I want you to be pleased only promise me that you will smile I want to see you smile and hear you say ah well that's good poor Mr. Marius you know you promised me that you would give me anything I like yes only speak she looked Marius full in the eye and said I have the address Marius turned pale all the blood flowed back to his heart what address the address that you asked me to get she added as though with an effort the address you know very well yes stammered Marius off that young lady this word uttered she sighed deeply Marius sprang from the parapet on which he had been sitting and seized her hand distractedly oh well lead me thither tell me ask of me anything you wish where is it come with me she responded I don't know the street or number very well it is in quite the other direction from here but I know the house well I will take you to it she withdrew her hand and went on in a tone which could have rent the heart of an observer but which did not even graze Marius in his intoxicated and ecstatic state oh how glad you are a cloud swept across Marius' brow he seized Eponine by the arm swear one thing to me swear said she what does that mean come you want me to swear and she laughed your father promised me Eponine swear to me that you will not give this address to your father she turned to him with a stupefied air Eponine how do you know that my name is Eponine promise what I tell you but she did not seem to hear him that's nice you have called me Eponine Marius grasped both her arms at once but answer me in the name of heaven pay attention to what I am saying to you swear to me that you will not tell your father this address that you know my father ah yes my father be at ease besides what do I care for my father but you do not promise me exclaimed Marius let go of me she said bursting into a laugh how you do shake me yes yes I promise that I swear that to you what is that to me I will not tell my father the address there is that right is that it nor to anyone said Marius not to anyone now resumed Marius take me there immediately immediately come along ah how pleased he is said she after a few steps she halted you were following me too closely Monsieur Marius let me go on ahead and follow me so without seeming to do it a nice young man like you no tongue can express all that lay in that word woman thus pronounced by that child she proceeded a dozen paces and then halted once more Marius joined her she addressed him sideways and without turning towards him by the way you know that you promised me something Marius fumbled in his pocket all that he owned in the world was the five francs intended for Thanadia the father he took them and laid them in Eponine's hand she opened her fingers and let the coin fall to the ground and gazed at him with a gloomy air I don't want your money said she end of book two chapters three and four chapters one and two of book three of Les Miserables volume four by Victor Hugo this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Algy Pug Les Miserables volume four by Victor Hugo translated by Isabelle Florence Hapgood book three The House in the Rue Plume chapters one and two chapter one The House with a Secret about the middle of the last century achieved justice in the parliament of Paris having a mistress and concealing the fact for at that period the grand-signores displayed their mistresses and the bourgeois concealed them had a little house built in the Fort Bois Saint-Germain in the deserted Rue Blomé which is now called Rue Plume not far from the spot which was then designated as combat is any more 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 bourgeois upstairs an attic under the roof the whole proceeded by a garden with a larger 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 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 in the solitary extremity of the Rue de Babylon 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 but took himself every day in a mysterious way somewhere and would never have suspected that to go to the Rue de Babylon was to go to the Rue Blomé. Thanks to clever purchases 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 Linux and Tom Tits of the last century gossiped a great deal about the chief justice the pavilion built of stone in the taste of Monsard wainscoated and furnished in a Watteau style rockire 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 the caprice of love and magistracy this house and corridor which have now disappeared were in existence 15 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 Plumais 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 passes by might have noticed that the bill had disappeared and that even 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 Babylon 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 was slipping in than like a man who was 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 who 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. Fochelavon independent gentleman in all that has been related here to four the reader has doubtless been no less prompt than to Nadier to recognize Jean Valjean why had Jean Valjean quitted the convent of the Petit Picpoux 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 with 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 there too gently incited every day that thus the convent would henceforth the universe for her as it was for him that he should grow old there and that she should 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 being of its nature and to lie to God and who knows if when she came to be aware of all this someday and found herself a nun to her sorrow cos it would not come to hate him alas almost selfish thought unless heroic than the rest but which was intolerable to him he resolved on this he recognized with anguish the fact that it was necessary as for objections there were none five years sojourned between these four walls 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 it's the termination once taken he waited an opportunity it was not long in presenting itself old Fauchelavent died Jean Valjean demanded an audience with the revered prioresse and told her that having come into a little inheritance of 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 revered prioresse 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 into 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 is inseparable saying I am jealous of it Jean Valjean did not reappear in the open air without profound anxiety he discovered the house in the rue Plumais and hid himself from sight there henceforth he was in a possession of the name Ultime Fort Levant at the same time he hired two other apartments in Paris in order that he might attract less attention than if he would remain always in the same quarter and so that he could, at need take himself off the slightest disquietude which should assail him and in short so that he might not again be caught unprovided as in 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 he went from time to time now to the rue de l'Homme now to the rue de l'Ouest to pass a month or six weeks without taking too long 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 Chapter 2 Jean Valjean as a National Guard however properly speaking he lived in the rue Plumais and he had arranged his existence there in the following fashion Cozette and the servant occupied the pavilion she had the big sleeping room with the painted pier glasses the bourgeois with the gilded fillets the justices drawing room furnished with tapestries and vast armchairs she had the garden the canopy bed of antique damask in three colours and a beautiful Persian rug purchased in the rue de Figuer-Sompeau at Mother Gauchers put into Cozette's chamber and in order to redeem the severity of these magnificent old things he had amalgamated with his bric-a-brac all the gay and graceful little pieces of furniture suitable to young girls An attage à ré a bookcase filled with guilt-edge books an ink stand a paper a work table encrusted with mother of pearl a silver-gilt dressing case a toilet service in Japanese porcelain long damaced curtains with a red foundation and three colours like those on the bed hung at the windows of the first floor on the ground floor the curtains were of tapestry all winter long Cozette's little house was heated from top to bottom Jean Valjean inhabited the sort of porters lodge which was situated at the end of the back courtyard with a mattress on a folding bed a white wood table two straw chairs an earthenware water jug a few old volumes on a shelf his beloved valise in one corner and never any fire he dined with Cozette and he had a loaf of black bread on the table for his own use When Toussaint came he had said to her I am ready you as mistress of this house and you monsieur Toussaint replied in amazement I am a much better thing than a master I am the father Cozette had been taught housekeeping in the convent and she regulated their expenditure which was very modest every day Jean Valjean put his arm through Cozette's and took her for a walk he led her to the Luxembourg to the least frequented walk and took her to Mass at Saint-Jacques-de-Haupar because that was a long way off as was a very poor quarter he bestowed arms largely there and the poor people surrounded him in church which had drawn upon him to Nadier's epistle to the benevolent gentleman of the church of Saint-Jacques-de-Haupar he was fond of taking Cozette to visit the poor and the sick no stranger ever entered the house in the Rue Plumais brought their provisions and Jean Valjean went himself for water to a fountain nearby on the Boulevard their wood and wine were put into a half subterranean hollow lined with rockwork which lay near the Rue de Babilon and which had formally served the Chief Justice as a grotto for at the epoch of follies and little houses no love was without a grotto in the door opening on the Rue de Babilon there was a box destined for the reception of the papers only as the three inhabitants of the pavilion in Rue Plumais received neither papers nor letters the entire usefulness of that box formally the go-between of a love affair and the confidant of a love-lorn lawyer was now limited to the tax collector's notices and the summons of the guard for M. Fourchelivant independent gentleman belonged to the National Guard he had not been able to escape through the fine meshes of the census of 1831 the municipal information collected at the time had even reached the convent of the Petit Picpoux a sort of impenetrable and holy cloud when Jean Valjean had emerged in venerable guise and consequently worthy of mounting guard in the eyes of the town hall three or four times a year Jean Valjean donned his uniform and mounted guard he did this willingly however it was a correct disguise which mixed him with everyone and yet left him solitary Jean Valjean had just attained his 60th birthday the age of legal exemption but he did not appear to be over 50 moreover he had no desire to escape his sergeant major nor to quibble with the comp de la ball he possessed no civil status he was concealing his name he was concealing his identity so he concealed his age he concealed everything and as we have just said he willingly did his duty as a national guard the sum of his ambition lay in resembling any other man who paid his taxes this man had for his ideal within the angel without the bourgeois let us note one detail however when Jean Valjean went out with cosette he dressed as the reader has already seen the air of a retired officer when he went out alone which is generally at night he was always dressed in a working man's trousers and blouse and wore a cap which concealed his face was this precaution or humility both cosette was accustomed to the enigmatic side of her destiny and hardly noticed her father's peculiarities as for Toussaint she venerated Jean Valjean for everything he did right one day her butcher who had caught a glimpse of Jean Valjean said to her she replied he's a saint neither Jean Valjean nor cosette nor Toussaint ever entered or emerged except by the door on the rue de Babbillon unless seen through the garden gate it would have been difficult to guess that they lived in a rue plumeil that gate was always closed Jean Valjean had left the garden uncultivated in order not to attract the tension in this possibly he made a mistake End of Book 3 Chapters 1 and 2 Recording by LGPug Perth Western Australia Chapters 3 and 4 A Book 3 of Les Miserables Volume 4 by Victor Hugo This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in a public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by LGPug Les Miserables Volume 4 by Victor Hugo Translated by Isabelle Florence Hapgood Book 3 The House in the Rue Plumeil Chapters 3 and 4 Chapter 3 Folies Ac Frondibus The garden thus left to itself for more than half a century had become extraordinary and charming The passes by 40 years ago halted to gaze at it without a suspicion of the secrets which it hid in its fresh and verdant depths More than one dreamer of that epoch often allowed his thoughts and his eyes to penetrate indiscreetly between the bars of that ancient padlocked gate Twisted, tottering fastened to two green and moss-covered pillars an oddly crowned with a pediment of undecipherable arabesque There was a stone bench in one corner one or two moldy statues several lattices which had lost their nails with time were rotting on the wall and there were no walks nor turf but there was enough grass everywhere Gardening had taken its departure and nature had returned weeds abounded of luck for a poor corner of land The festival of ghillie flowers was something splendid Nothing in this garden obstructed the sacred effort of thinking towards life Venerable growth reigned there among them The trees had bent over towards the nettles The plant had sprung upward The branch had inclined That which crawls on the earth had gone in search of that which expands in the air That which floats on the wind That which trails in the moss Trunks, boughs, leaves fibers, clusters tendrils, shoots spines, thorns had mingled, crossed married, confounded themselves in each other Vegetation in a deep enclosed embrace had celebrated and accomplished there Under the well-pleased eye of the creator in that enclosure 300 feet square the holy mystery of fraternity symbol of the human fraternity This garden was no longer a garden It was a colossal thicket That is to say, something as impenetrable as a forest as peopled as a city quivering like a nest somber like a cathedral fragrant like a burkei solitary as a tomb living as a throne In Florio this enormous thicket free behind its gate and within its four walls entered upon the secret labour of germination quivered in the rising sun almost like an animal which drinks in the breaths of cosmic love and which feels the sap of apple rising and boiling in its veins and shakes to the wind its enormous wonderful green locks sprinkled on the damp earth on the defaced statues on the crumbling steps of the pavilion and even on the pavement of the deserted street flowers like stars dew like pearls fricundity beauty, life, joy perfumes At midday a thousand white butterflies took refuge there and it was a divine spectacle to see that living summer snow whirling about there in flakes amid the shade There in those gay shadows of verger a throng of innocent voices spoke sweetly to the soul and what the twittering forgot to say was being completed In the evening a dreamy vapour exhaled from the garden and enveloped it a shroud of mist a calm and celestial sadness covered it the intoxicating perfume of the honey suckles and the convolvulus poured out from every part of it like an exquisite and subtle poison The last appeals of the woodpeckers and the wag tails were audible as they dozed among the branches One felt the sacred intimacy of the birds and the trees By day the wings rejoiced the leaves By night the leaves protect the wings In winter the thicket was black gripping, bristling, shivering and allowed some glimpse of the house Instead of flowers on the branches and dew in the flowers the long silvery tracks of the snails were visible on the cold thick carpet of yellow leaves But in any fashion the aspect at all seasons spring, winter, summer, autumn this tiny enclosure breathes forth melancholy contemplation solitude, liberty the absence of man the presence of God and the rusty old gate had the air of saying this garden belongs to me It was of no avail the pavements of Paris were there on every side the classic and splendid hotels the Rue de Varin a couple of paces away the Dome of the Invalides close at hand the Chamber of Deputies not far off the Carriages of the Rue de Borgogne and the Rue de Saint Dominique rumbled luxuriously in vain in the vicinity in vain did the yellow, brown white and red omnibuses cross each other's course at the neighbouring crossroads The Rue Plumais was the desert and the death of the former proprietors the revolution which had passed over it the crumbling away of ancient fortunes absence forgetfulness 40 years of abandonment and widowhood had suffice to restore to this privileged spot ferns, mullions hem block, the arrow tall weeds great crimped plants with large leaves of pale green cloth lizards, beetles uneasy and rapid insects forced to spring forth from the depths of the earth and reappear between those four walls a certain indescribable and savage grandeur and for nature which disconcerts the petty arrangements of man and which sheds herself always thoroughly where she diffuses herself at all in the ant as well as in the eagle to blossom out in a petty Parisian garden with as much rude force and majesty as in a virgin forest of the new world nothing is small in fact anyone who is subject to the profound and penetrating influence of nature knows this although no absolute satisfaction is given to philosophy either to circumscribe the cause or to limit the effect the contemplative falls into those unfathomable ecstasies caused by these decompositions of force terminating in unity everything toils at everything algebra is applied to the cloud the radiation of the star profits the rose no thinker would venture to affirm that the perfume of the hawthorn is useless to the constellations who then can calculate the course of a molecule how do we know that the creation of worlds is not determined by the fall of grains of sand who knows the reciprocal ebb and flow of the infinitely great and the infinitely little equations of causes in the precipices of being and the avalanches of creation the tiniest worm is of importance the great is little the little is great everything is balanced in necessity alarming vision for the mind there are wonderful relations between beings and things in that inexhaustible hole from the sun to the grub nothing despises the other all have need of each other the light does not bear a way to rest your perfumes into the Asia depths without knowing what it is doing the night distributes stellar essences to the sleeping flowers all birds that fly have round their leg the thread of the infinite germination is complicated with the bursting forth of a meteor and with the peck of a swallow cracking its egg and it places on one level the birth of an earthworm and the advent of Socrates where the telescope ends the microscope begins which of the two possesses the larger field of vision chews a bit of mould is a pliade of flowers a nebula is an anthill of stars the same promiscuousness and yet more unprecedented exists between the things of the intelligence and the facts of substance elements and principles mingle combined, wed, multiply to such a point that material and the moral world are brought eventually to the same clearness the phenomenon is perpetually returning upon itself in the vast cosmic exchanges the universal life goes and comes in unknown quantities rolling entirely in invisible mystery over fluvia employing everything not losing a single dream not a single slumber sowing an animal cure here crumbling to bits a planet there oscillating and winding making of light a force and of thought an element disseminated and invisible dissolving all except that geometrical point the eye bringing everything back to the soul atom expanding everything in God entangling all activity from summit to base in the obscurity of a dizzy mechanism attaching the flight of an insect the movement of the earth subordinating who knows were it only by the identity of the law the evolution of the comet in affirmament to the whirling of the infusoria in the drop of water a machine is made of mind enormous gearing the prime motor of which is the nat and whose final wheel is the zodiac chapter 4 change of gate it seems that this garden created in olden days to conceal wanton mysteries had been transformed and become fitted to shelter chased mysteries there were no longer either arbors or bowling greens or tunnels or grottoes there was a magnificent disheveled obscurity falling like a veil over all pathos had been made over into Eden it is impossible to say what element of repentance had rendered this retreat wholesome this flower girl now offered her blossom to the soul this coquettish garden formally decidedly compromised had returned to virginity and modesty a justice assisted by a gardener a good man who thought that it was a continuation of la moignonne and another good man who thought that it was a continuation of the nautre had turned it about cut ruffled decked molded it to gallantry nature had taken possession of it once more filled it with shade and had arranged it for love there was also in the solitude a heart which was quite ready love had only to show himself he had here a temple composed of verdure, grass, moss the sight of birds tender shadows, agitated branches and the soul made of sweetness, of faith of candour, of hope of aspiration and of illusion she left the convent when she was still almost a child she was a little more than 14 and she was at the ungrateful age we've already said that with the exception of her eyes she was homely rather than pretty she had no ungraceful feature but she was awkward, thin timid and bold at once a grown up little girl in short her education was finished that is to say she had been taught religion and above all devotion then history that is to say the thing that bears that name in conference geography, grammar, the participle the kings of France a little music, a little drawing etc but in all other respects she was utterly ignorant which is a great charm and a great peril the soul of a young girl should not be left in the dark, later on mirages that are too abrupt to be performed there as in a dark chamber she should be gently indiscreetly enlightened rather with the reflection of realities than with their harsh and direct light a useful and graciously austere half-light which dissipates purile fears and obviates falls there is nothing but the maternal instinct that admirable intuition composed of the memories of the virgin in the experience of the woman which knows how this half-flight is to be created and of what it should consist nothing supplies the place of this instinct all the nuns in the world are not worth as much as one mother in the formation of a young girl's soul Cosette had had no mother she had only had many mothers in the plural as for Jean Valjean he was indeed all tenderness all solicitude but he was only an old man nothing at all now in this work of education in this grave matter of preparing a woman for life what science is required to combat that vast ignorance which is called innocence nothing prepares a young girl for passions like the convent the convent turns the thought in the direction of the unknown the heart thus thrown back upon itself works downward within itself since it cannot overflow and grows deep since it cannot expand hence visions suppositions conjectures outlines of romances a desire for adventures fantastic constructions edifices built wholly in the inner obscurity of the mind somber and secret abodes where the passions immediately find a lodgment as soon as the open gate permits them to enter the convent is a compression which in order to triumph over the human heart should last during the whole life on quitting the convent Cosette could have found nothing more sweet and more dangerous than the house in the Rue Plumais it was the continuation of solitude with the beginning of liberty a garden that was closed but a nature that was acrid rich voluptuous and fragrant the same dreams as in the convent but with glimpses of young men a grating but one that opened on the street still when she arrived there we repeat she was only a child Jean Valjean gave this neglected garden over to her do what you like with it he said this amused Cosette she turned over all the clumps and all the stones she hunted for beasts she played in it while awaiting the time when she would dream in it she loved this garden for the insects that she found beneath her feet while awaiting the day that she would see through the boughs above her head and then she loved her father that is to say Jean Valjean with all her soul with an innocent filial passion which made the good man a beloved and charming companion to her it will be remembered that M. Madeleine had been in the habit of reading a great deal Jean Valjean had continued this practice he had come to converse well he possessed the secret riches of a true and humble mind which has spontaneously cultivated itself he retained just enough sharpness to season his kindness his mind was rough and his heart was soft during a conversation in the Luxembourg he gave her explanations of everything drawing on what he had read and also on what he had suffered as she listened to him Cosette's eyes wandered vaguely about this simple man and asked for Cosette's thoughts the same as the wild garden sufficed for her eyes when she had had a good chase after the butterflies she came panting up to him and said ah, how I have run he kissed her brow Cosette adored the good man she was always at his heels where Jean Valjean was their happiness was Jean Valjean lived neither in the pavilion nor the garden he took greater pleasure in the paved back courtyard than in the enclosure filled with flowers and in his little lodge furnished with straw-seated chairs than in the great drawing room hung with tapestry against which stood tufted easy chairs Jean Valjean sometimes said to her smiling at his happiness in being importuned do go to your own quarters leave me alone a while she gave him those charming and tender flowers which are so graceful when they come from a daughter to her father father I am very cold in your rooms why don't you have a carpet here and a stove dear child, there are so many people who are better than I and who have not even a roof over their heads then why is there a fire in my rooms and everything that is needed because you are a woman and a child but must men be cold and feel uncomfortable certain men that is good, I shall come here so often that you will be obliged to have a fire and again she said to him father, why do you eat horrible bread like that because my daughter well if you eat it, I will eat it too then in order to prevent Cosette eating black bread Jean Valjean ate white bread Cosette had about a confused recollection of her childhood she prayed morning and evening for the mother whom she had never known the Tarnades had remained with her as two hideous figures in a dream she remembered that she had gone one day at night to fetch water in a forest she thought that it had been very far from Paris it seemed to her that she had begun to live in an abyss and that it was Jean Valjean who had rescued her from it her childhood produced upon her the effect of a time there had been nothing around her but millipeds spiders and serpents when she meditated in the evening before falling asleep as she had not a very clear idea that she was Jean Valjean's daughter and that he was her father she fancied that the soul of her mother had passed into that good man and had come to dwell near her when he was seated she leaned her cheek against his white hair and dropped a silent tear saying to herself perhaps this man is my mother Cosette although this is a strange statement to make in the profound ignorance of a girl brought up in a convent maternity being also absolutely unintelligible to virginity had ended by fancying that she had had as little mother as possible she did not even know her mother's name whenever she asked Jean Valjean Jean Valjean remained silent if she repeated her question he responded with a smile once she insisted the smile ended in a tear this silence on the part of Jean Valjean covered fontine with darkness was it prudence was it respect was it a fear that he should deliver this name to the hazards of another memory than his own so long as Cosette had been small Jean Valjean had been willing to talk to her of her mother when she became a young girl it was impossible for him to do so it seemed to him that he no longer dared was it because of Cosette was it because of fontine he felt a certain religious horror at letting that shadow into Cosette's thought and of placing a third in their destiny the more sacred this shade was to him the more did it seem that it was to be feared he thought of fontine and felt himself overwhelmed with silence through the darkness he vaguely perceived something which appeared to have its finger on its lips had all the modesty which had been in fontine and which had violently quitted her during her lifetime returned to rest upon her after her death to watch an indignation over the peace of that dead woman and in its shyness to keep her in her grave was Jean Valjean unconsciously submitting to the pressure we who believe in death are not among the number who will reject this mysterious explanation hence the impossibility of uttering even for Cosette the name of fontine one day Cosette said to him father I saw my mother in a dream last night she had two big wings my mother must have been almost a saint during her life through martyrdom replied Jean Valjean however Jean Valjean was happy Cosette went out with him she leaned on his arm proud and happy in the plenitude of her heart Jean Valjean felt his heart melt with him with the light had all these sparks of a tenderness so exclusive so wholly satisfied with himself alone the poor man trembled inundated with angelic joy he declared to himself ecstatically that this would last all their lives he told himself that he really had not suffered sufficiently to merit so radiant a bliss and he thanked God in the depth of his soul for having permitted him to be loved thus he a wretch by that innocent being End of Book 3 Chapters 3 and 4 Recording by Algie Pug Perth, Western Australia Chapters 5 and 6 of Book 3 of Les Miserables Volume 4 by Victor Hugo This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Dave Dwight Les Miserables Volume 4 by Victor Hugo Translated by Isabel Florence Hapgood Book 3 The House in the Rue Pleumé Chapter 5 The Rose perceives that it is an engine of war One day Cosette chants to look at herself in her mirror and she said to herself Really? It seemed to her almost that she was pretty This threw her in a singularly troubled state of mind Up to that moment she had never thought of her face She saw herself in her mirror but she did not look at herself and then she had so often been told that she was homely Jean Valjean alone said gently No indeed No indeed At all events, Cosette had always thought of herself homely and had grown up in that belief with the easy resignation of childhood and here all at once was her mirror saying to her as Jean Valjean had said No indeed That night she did not sleep What if I were pretty she thought How odd it would be if I were pretty and she recalled those of her companions whose beauty had produced a sensation in the convent and she said to herself what Amazelle so and so The next morning she looked at herself again, not by accident this time and she was assailed with doubts Where did I get such an idea said she No, I am ugly She had not slept well, that was all Her eyes were sunken and she was pale She had not felt very joyous on the preceding evening in the belief that she was beautiful but it made her very sad that she could not be in it any longer She did not look at herself again and for more than a fortnight she tried to dress her hair with a back turned to the mirror In the evening after dinner she generally embroidered in wool or did some convent needlework in the drawing room and Jean Valjean read beside her Once she raised her eyes from her work and she was rendered quite uneasy by the manner in which her father was gazing at her Then she was passing along the street and it seemed to her that someone behind her whom she did not see said a pretty woman but badly dressed by she thought He does not mean me, I am well dressed and ugly She was then wearing a plush hat and her marino gown At last one day when she was in the garden she heard poor old Toussaint saying Do you notice how pretty Cosette is growing sir Cosette did not hear her father's reply But Toussaint's words caused a sort of commotion within her She fled from the garden ran up to her room flew to the looking glass It was three months since she had looked at herself and gave vent to a cry She had just dazzled herself She was beautiful and lovely She could not help agreeing with Toussaint in her mirror Her figure was formed and grown white Her hair was lustrous An unaccustomed splendor had been lighted in her blue eyes The consciousness of her beauty burst upon her in an instant like the sudden advent of daylight Other people noticed it also Toussaint had said so It was evidently she of whom the passerby had spoken There could no longer be any doubt of that She descended to the garden again imagining that she heard the birds singing though it was winter Seeing the guy gilded the sun among the trees flowers in the thickets distracted, wild and inexpressible delight Jean Valjean on his side experienced a deep and undefinable oppression at heart In fact, he had for some time passed been contemplating with terror to grow more radiant every day on Cossette's sweet face The dawn that was smiling for all was gloomy for him Cossette had been beautiful for a tolerably long time before she became aware of it herself But from the very first day that unexpected light which was rising slowly and enveloping the whole of the young girl's person wounded Jean Valjean's sombre eye was a change in a happy life a life so happy that he did not dare to move for fear of disarranging something This man who had passed through all manner of distresses who was still all bleeding from the bruises of fate who had been almost wicked and who had become almost a saint who, after having dragged the chains of the galleys was now dragging the invisible but heavy chain of indefinite misery This man whom the law had not reached from its grasp and who could be seized at any moment and brought back from the obscurity of his virtue to the broad daylight of public opprobrium This man accepted all, excused all pardoned all and merely asked of providence of man, of the law of society, of nature of the world one thing that Cossette might love him that Cossette might continue to love him love the child from coming to him and from remaining with him Beloved by Cossette he felt that he was healed, rested appeased, loaded with benefits recompensed, crowned Beloved by Cossette it was well with him he asked nothing more had anyone said to him do you want anything better he would have answered, no God might have said to him do you desire heaven everything which could affect this situation if only on the surface made him shudder like the beginning of something new he had never known very distinctly himself what the beauty of a woman means but he understood instinctively that it was something terrible he gaze with terror on this beauty which was blossoming out ever more triumphant and superb beside him the innocent and formidable brow of that child from the depths of her holiness of his old age of his misery of his reprobation he said to himself how beautiful she is what is to become of me there moreover lay the difference between his tenderness and the tenderness of a mother what he beheld with anguish a mother would have gazed upon with joy the first symptoms were not long parents on the very moral of the day on which she had said to herself decidedly I am beautiful cosette began to pay attention to her toilet she recalled the remark of that passer by pretty but badly dressed the breath of an oracle which had passed beside her and had vanished after depositing in her heart one of the two gems which are destined later on to fill the whole life of woman, coquetry love is the other faith in her beauty the whole feminine soul expanded within her she conceived a horror for her marinos and shame for her plush hat her father had never refused her anything she had once acquired the whole science of the bonnet the gown, the mantle, the boot the cuff, the stuff which is in fashion the color which is becoming that science which makes of the Parisian woman something so charming so deep and so dangerous the words heady woman were invented by the Parisian in less than a month little cosette and that taboe of the Rue de Babylon was not only one of the prettiest but one of the best dressed women in Paris which means a great deal more she would have liked to encounter her passer by to see what he would say and to teach him a lesson the truth is that she was ravishing in every respect and that she distinguished the difference between a bonnet from Gérard in the most marvelous way Jean Valjean watched these ravages with anxiety he who felt that he could never do anything but crawl, walk at the most beheld wings sprouting on cosette moreover from the mere inspection of cosette's tolle a woman would have recognized the fact that she had no mother certain little proprieties certain special conventionalities were not observed by cosette and she told her that a young girl does not dress in the mask the first day that cosette went out in her black damask gown and mantle and her white crape bonnet she took Jean Valjean's gay radiant rosy proud dazzling father she said how do you like me in this guys Jean Valjean replied in a voice which resembled the bitter voice of an envious man charming he was the same as usual during their walk on their return home he asked cosette won't you put on the other gown and bonnet again? you know the ones I mean this took place in cosette's chamber cosette turned towards the wardrobe where her cast off school girls clothes were hanging that disguise said she father what do you want me to do with it oh no the idea I shall never put on those horrors again with that machine on my head the air of madam mad dog Jean Valjean heaved a deep sigh from that moment forth he noticed the cosette who had always here to for asked to remain at home saying father I enjoy myself more here with you now was always asking to go out in fact what is the use of having a handsome face in a delicious costume if one does not display them he also noticed that cosette had no longer the same taste for the back garden now she preferred the garden and did not dislike to promenade back and forth in front of the railed fence Jean Valjean who was shy never set foot in the garden he kept to his back yard like a dog cosette in getting the knowledge that she was beautiful lost the grace of ignoring it an exquisite grace for beauty enhanced by ingenuousness is ineffable everything is so adorable as a dazzling and innocent creature who walks along holding in her hand the key to paradise without being conscious of it but what she had lost in an ingenuous grace she gained in pensive and serious charm her whole person permeated with the joy of youth of innocence and of beauty breathed forth a splendid melancholy it was at this epoch that Marius after the lapse of six months saw her once more at the Luxembourg Chapter 6 the battle begun cosette in her shadow, like Marius in his was all ready to take fire destiny with its mysterious and fatal patience slowly drew together these two beings all charged in all languishing with the stormy electricity of passion these two souls which were laden with love as two clouds are laden with lightning they were bound to overflow and mingle in a look like the clouds in a flash of fire the glance had been so much abused in love romances that it has finally fallen into disrepute one hardly dares to say nowadays that two beings fell in love because they looked at each other that is the way people do fall in love nevertheless and the only way the rest is nothing but the rest comes afterwards nothing is more real than these great shocks which two souls convey to each other by the exchange of that spark at that particular hour when cosette unconsciously darted that glance which troubled Marius Marius had no suspicion that he had also launched a look which disturbed cosette he caused her the same good and the same evil she had been in the habit of seeing him for a long time and she had scrutinized him as girls scrutinize and see while looking elsewhere Marius still considered cosette ugly when she had already began to think Marius handsome but as he paid no attention to her the young man was nothing to her still she could not refrain from saying to herself that he had beautiful hair beautiful eyes, handsome teeth a charming tone of voice when she heard him conversing with his comrades that he held himself badly when he walked if you lie the grace that was all his own that he did not appear to be at all stupid that his whole person was noble gentle, simple, proud and that in short though he seemed to be poor yet his error was fine on the day when her eyes met at last and said to each other those first obscure and ineffable things which the glance lifts cosette did not immediately understand she returned thoughtfully to the house on the Rue de l'Oeil where Jean-Varjean according to his custom had come to spend six weeks the next morning on waking she thought of that strange young man so long, indifferent and icy who now seemed to pay attention to her and it did not appear to her that his attention was the least in the world agreeable to her she was on the contrary somewhat incensed at this handsome and disdainful individual this stratum of war stirred within her it struck her and the idea caused her a holy childish joy that she was going to take her revenge at last knowing that she was beautiful she was thoroughly conscious though in an indistinct fashion that she possessed a weapon women play with their beauty as children do with a knife they wound themselves the reader will recall Marius's hesitations, his palpitations his terrors he remained on his bench and did not approach this vexed cossette one day she said to Jean-Varjean father let us stroll about a little in that direction seeing that Marius did not come to her she went to him in such cases all women resemble mahemen and then strange to say the first symptom of true love in a young man is timidity in a young girl it is boldness this is surprising and yet nothing is more simple it is the two sexes tending to approach each other and assuming each the other's qualities that day Cossette's glance drove Marius beside himself and Marius's glance set Cossette to tremble it Marius went away confident and Cossette uneasy they adored each other the first thing that Cossette felt was a confused and profound melancholy it seemed to her that her soul had become black since the day before she no longer recognized it the whiteness of soul in young girls which is composed of coldness and gaiety resembles snow it melts in love which is its son Cossette did not know what love was she had never heard the word uttered in its terrestrial sense on the books of profane music which entered the convent amor love was replaced by timbre drum or pandora this created enigmas which exercised the imaginations of the big girls such as ah how delightful is the drum or idiot is not a pandora but Cossette had left the convent too early by herself much with the drum therefore she did not know what name to give to what she now felt is anyone the less ill because one does not know the name of one's malady she loved with all the more passion because she loved ignorantly she did not know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing useful or dangerous eternal or temporary allowable or prohibited she loved but anyone said to her you do not sleep but that is forbidden you do not eat why that is very bad you have oppressions and palpitations of the heart that must not be you blush and turn pale when a certain being clad in black appears at the end of a certain green wall but that is abominable she would not have understood and she would have replied what fault is there of mine I have no power and of which I know nothing it turned out that the love which presented itself was exactly suited to the state of her soul it was a sort of admiration at a distance a mute contemplation the deification of a stranger it was the apparition of youth to youth the dream of knights become a reality yet remaining a dream the longed for phantom realized the flesh at last but having as yet neither name nor fault nor spot nor exigence nor defect in a word the distant lover who lingered in the ideal a shimmera but with a form any nearer and more palpable meeting would have alarmed cosette at this first stage when she was still half immersed in the exaggerated mists of the cloister she had all the fears of children and all the fears of nuns combined the spirit of the convent with which she had been permeated for the space of 5 years was still in the process of slow evaporation from her person and made everything tremble around her in this situation he was not a lover he was not even an admirer he was a vision she set herself to adoring marias as something charming, luminous and impossible as extreme innocence borders extreme coquetry she smiled at him with all frankness every day she looked forward to the hour for their walk with impatience she found marias there she felt herself unspeakably happy and thought in all sincerity that she was expressing her whole thought when she said d'Agent Vorgeant what a delicious garden the luxembourg is marias and cosette were in the dark as to one another they did not address each other they salute each other they did not know each other they saw each other and like the stars of heaven which are separated by millions of leagues they lived by gazing at each other it was thus that cosette gradually became a woman and developed beautiful and loving with a consciousness of her beauty and in ignorance of her love she was a coquette to boot through her ignorance Chapter 7 of Book 3 of Leme Zerab Volume 4 by Victor Hugo This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Dave DeWythe Leme Zerab Volume 4 by Victor Hugo This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Leme Zerab Volume 4 by Victor Hugo Translated by Isabel Florence Havegood Book 3 The House in the Rue Plumet Chapter 7 To One Sadness Oppose a Sadness and a Half All situations have their instincts Old and eternal mother nature warned Jean Valjean in a dimway of the presence of Marius Jean Valjean shuttered to the very bottom of his soul Jean Valjean saw nothing knew nothing and yet he scanned with obstinate attention the darkness in which he walked as though he felt on one side of him something in the process of construction and on the other something which was crumbling away Marius also warned and in accordance with the deep law of God by that same mother nature did all he could to keep out of sight of the father nevertheless it came to pass that Jean Valjean sometimes despised him Marius's manners were no longer in the least natural he exhibited ambiguous prudence and awkward daring he no longer came quite close to them as formerly he seated himself at a distance and pretended to be reading why did he pretend that formerly he had come in his old coat now he wore his new one every day Jean Valjean was not sure that he did not have his hair curled his eyes were very queer he wore gloves in short Jean Valjean cordially detested this young man Cossette allowed nothing to be divined without knowing just what was the matter with her she was convinced that there was something in it and that it must be concealed there was a coincidence between the taste for toilette which had recently come to Cossette and the habit of new clothes developed by that stranger which was very repugnant to Jean Valjean it might be accidental no doubt certainly but it was a menacing accident he never opened his mouth to Cossette about this stranger one day however he could not refrain from so doing and with that vague despair which suddenly cast the lead into the depths of its despair he said to her what a very pedantic air that young man has Cossette but a year before only an indifferent little girl would have replied why no he is charming ten years later curious in her heart she would have answered a pedant and insufferable to the sight you are right the moment in life and the heart which she had then attained she contented herself with the replying with supreme calmness that young man as though she now beheld him for the first time in her life how stupid I am thought Jean Valjean she had not noticed him it is I who have pointed him out to her oh the simplicity of the old oh the depth of children it is one of the laws of those fresh years of suffering and trouble of those vivacious conflicts between a first love and the first obstacles that the young girl does not allow herself to be caught in any trap whatever and that the young man falls into every one Jean Valjean had instituted an undeclared war against Marius which Marius with the sublime stupidity of his passion and his age did not divine Jean Valjean laid a host of ambushes for him he changed his hour he changed his bench he forgot his handkerchief he came alone to the Luxembourg Marius dashed headlong and to all the interrogation marks planted by Jean Valjean in his pathway he ingenuously answered yes but Cossette remained immured in her apparent unconcern and her imperturbable tranquility so that Jean Valjean arrived at the following conclusion that Ninny is madly in love with Cossette but Cossette does not even know that he exists nonetheless did he bear in his heart a mournful tremor the minute when Cossette would love might strike at any moment does not everything begin with indifference only once did Cossette make a mistake and alarm him he rose from his seat to depart after a stay of three hours and she said what already Jean Valjean had not discontinued his hopes to the Luxembourg as he did not wish to do anything out of the way and as above all things he feared to arouse Cossette but during the hours which were so sweet to the lovers while Cossette was sending her smile to the intoxicated Marius who perceived nothing else now and who saw nothing in all the world but an adored and radiant face Jean Valjean was fixing on Marius flashing in terrible eyes he who had finally come to believe himself incapable of a malevolent feeling experienced moments when Marius was present in which he thought he was becoming savage and ferocious once more and he felt the old depths of his soul which had formally contained so much wrath opening once more and rising up against that young man it almost seemed to him that unknown craters were forming in his bosom what? he was there that creature what was he there for? he came creeping about smelling out, examining trying he came saying hey why not he came to prowl about his Jean Valjean's life to prowl about his happiness with the purpose of seizing it and burying it away Jean Valjean added yes, that's it what is he in search of? an adventure what does he want? a love affair and I? what? I have been first the most wretched of men and then the most unhappy and I have traversed 60 years of life on my knees I have suffered everything that a man can suffer I have grown old without having been young I have lived without a family without relatives without friends without life without children I have left my blood on every stone on every bramble on every milepost along every wall I have been gentle though others have been hard to me and kind although others have been malicious I have become an honest man once more in spite of everything evil that I have done and have forgiven the evil that has been done to me and at the moment when I receive my recompense at the moment when it is all over at the moment when I am just touching the goal at the moment when I have what I desire it is well, it is good I have paid, I have earned it all this is to take flight this will vanish and I shall lose Cosette and I shall lose my life my joy, my soul because it was his pleased a great booby to come and lounge at the Luxembourg then his eyes filled with a sad and extraordinary gleam it was no longer a man gazing at a man it was no longer an enemy it was a dog scanning a thief the reader knows the rest Marius pursued his senseless course one day he followed Cosette to the Rue de Lé another day he spoke to the porter the porter on his side spoke inside the Jean Valjean Monsieur who is that curious young man who is asking for you on the morrow he spoke to Marius that glance which Marius at last perceived a week later Jean Valjean had taken his departure he swore to himself that he would never again set foot either in the Luxembourg or in the Rue de Lé Cosette did not complain she said nothing she asked no questions she did not seek to learn his reasons she had already reached the point where she was afraid of being divine and of betraying herself Jean Valjean had no experience of these miseries the only miseries which are charming the only ones with which he was not acquainted the consequence was that he did not understand the grave significance of Cosette's silence he merely noticed that she had grown sad and he grew gloomy on his side and on hers inexperience had joined issue once he made a trial he asked Cosette would you like to come to the Luxembourg a ray illuminated Cosette's pale face yes said she they went further three months had elapsed Marius no longer went there Marius was not there on the following day Jean Valjean asked Cosette again would you like to come to the Luxembourg she replied sadly and gently no Jean Valjean was hurt by this sadness and heartbroken at this gentleness what was going on in that mind which was so young and yet already so impenetrable what was on its way there within what was taking place in Cosette's soul sometimes instead of going to bed Jean Valjean remained seated on his pallet with his head in his hands and he passed whole nights asking himself what has Cosette in her mind and in thinking of the things that she might be thinking about oh at such moments what mournful glances did he cast towards that cloister that chaste peak that abode of angels that inaccessible glacier of virtue how he contemplated with despairing ecstasy that convent garden full of ignored flowers and cloistered virgins where all perfumes and souls mount straight to heaven how he adored that Eden forever closed against him whence he had voluntarily and madly emerged how he regretted his abnegation and his folly and having brought Cosette back into the world poor hero of sacrifice seized and hurled to the earth by his very self devotion how he said to himself what have I done however nothing of all this was perceptible to Cosette no ill temper, no harshness his face was always serene and kind Jean Valjean's manners were more tender and more paternal than ever if anything could have betrayed his lack of joy it was his increased suavity on her side Cosette languished she suffered from the absence of Marius as she had rejoiced in his presence peculiarly without exactly being conscious of it when Jean Valjean ceased to take her on their customary strolls a feminine instinct murmured confusedly at the bottom of her heart that she must not seem to set store on the Luxembourg garden and that if this proved to be a matter of indifference to her her father would take her thither once more but days, weeks months elapsed Jean Valjean had tacitly accepted Cosette's tacit consent she regretted it it was too late so Marius had disappeared all was over the day on which she returned to the Luxembourg Marius was no longer there what was to be done should she ever find him again she felt an anguish at her heart which nothing relieved and which augmented everyday she no longer knew whether it was winter or summer whether it was raining or shining whether the birds were singing whether it was the season for dahlias or daisies whether the Luxembourg was now more charming than the Tuileries whether the linen which the laundress brought home would starched too much or not enough whether Tassan had done her marketing well or ill and she remained dejected absorbed her eyes vague and staring as when one gazes by night at a black and fathomless spot where an apparition has vanished however she did not allow Jean Valjean to perceive anything of this except her pallor she still wore her sweet face for him the pallor sufficed but too thoroughly to trouble Jean Valjean sometimes he asked her what is the matter with you she replied there is nothing the matter with me and after a silence when she divined that he was sad also she would add and you father is there anything wrong with you with me nothing said he these two beings who had loved each other so exclusively and with so touching and affection and who had lived so long now suffered side by side each on the other's account without acknowledging it to each other without anger toward each other and with a smile End of Book 3 Chapter 7 Recording by Dave DeWight Southern Illinois