Les Misérables, v. 3/5: Marius

by Victor Hugo

  What was Claquesous? He was night; and never showed himself till thesky was bedaubed with blackness. In the evening he emerged from ahole, to which he returned before daybreak. Where was this hole? No oneknew. In the greatest darkness, and when alone with his accomplices,he turned his back when he spoke to them. Was his name Claquesous? No:he said, "My name is Not-at-all." If a candle were brought in he puton a mask, and he was a ventriloquist into the bargain, and Babet usedto say, "Claquesous is a night-bird with two voices." Claquesous wasvague, wandering, and terrible: no one was sure that he had a name,for Claquesous was a nickname; no one was sure that he had a voice,for his stomach spoke more frequently than his mouth; and no one wassure that he had a face, as nothing had ever been seen but his mask. Hedisappeared like a ghost, and when he appeared he seemed to issue fromthe ground.

  Montparnasse was a sorry sight. He was a lad not yet twenty, with apretty face, lips that resembled cherries, beautiful black hair, andthe brightness of spring in his eyes: he had every vice, and aspired toevery crime, and the digestion of evil gave him an appetite for worse.He was the gamin turned pickpocket, and the pickpocket had become agarroter. He was genteel, effeminate, graceful, robust, soft, andferocious. The left-hand brim of his hat was turned up to make room forthe tuft of hair, in the style of 1829. He lived by robbery committedwith violence, and his coat was cut in the latest fashion, though wornat the seams. Montparnasse was an engraving of the fashions, in a stateof want, and committing murders. The cause of all the attacks made bythis young man was a longing to be well dressed: the first grisettewho said to him, "You are handsome," put the black spot in his heart,and made a Cain of this Abel. Finding himself good-looking, he wishedto be elegant, and the first stage of elegance is idleness: but theidleness of the poor man is crime. Few prowlers were so formidableas Montparnasse, and at the age of eighteen he had several corpsesbehind him. More than one wayfarer lay in the shadow of this villainwith outstretched arms, and with his face in a pool of blood. Curled,pomaded, with his waist pinched in, the hips of a woman, the bust of aPrussian officer, the buzz of admiration of the girls of the boulevardaround him, a carefully-tied cravat, a life-preserver in his pocket,and a flower in his buttonhole,--such was this dandy of the tomb.

  CHAPTER IV.

  COMPOSITION OF THE TROOP.

  These four bandits formed a species of Proteus, winding through thepolice ranks and striving to escape the indiscreet glances of Vidocq"under various shapes,--tree, flame, and fountain,"--borrowing oneanother's names and tricks, asylums for one another, laying asidetheir personality as a man removes a false nose at a masquerade; attimes simplifying themselves so as to be only one man, at othersmultiplying themselves to such an extent that Coco-Latour himself tookthem for a mob. These four men were not four men; they were a speciesof four-headed robber working Paris on a grand scale; the monstrouspolype of evil inhabiting the crypt of society. Owing to theirramifications and the subjacent network of their relations, Babet,Gueulemer, Claquesous, and Montparnasse had the general direction ofall the foul play in the department of the Seine. The finders of ideasin this style, the men with nocturnal imaginations, applied to themto execute them; the four villains were supplied with the canvas, andthey produced the scenery. They were always in a position to supply aproportionate and proper staff for every robbery which was sufficientlylucrative and required a stout arm. If a crime were in want of personsto carry it out, they sub-let the accomplices, and they always had aband of actors at the service of all the tragedies of the caverns.

  They generally met at nightfall, the hour when they awoke, on thesteppes that border the Salpêtrière. There they conferred, and,as they had the twelve dark hours before them, they settled theiremployment. _Patron Minette_ was the name given in the subterraneanlurking-places to the association of these four men. In the old andfantastic popular language, which is daily dying out, Patron Minettesignifies the morning, just as "between dog and wolf" signifies night.This appellation was probably derived from the hour when their workfinished, for dawn is the moment for spectres to fade away and forbandits to part. These four men were known by this title. When thePresident of the Assizes visited Lacenaire in prison, he questionedhim about a crime which the murderer denied. "Who committed it?" thePresident asked; and Lacenaire gave this answer, which was enigmaticalfor the magistrate, but clear for the police,--"It is, perhaps, PatronMinette."

  The plot of a play may be at times divined from the list of names; anda party of bandits may perhaps be appreciated in the same way. Here arethe names to which the principal members of Patron Minette answered,exactly as they survive in special memoirs.

  Panchaud called Spring, _alias_ Bigrenaille, Brujon (there was adynasty of Brujons, about whom we may still say a word); Boulatruelle,the road-mender, of whom we have caught a glimpse; Laveuve; Finistère;Homer-Hogu, a negro; Tuesday night; Make haste; Fauntleroy, _alias_Flower-girl; Glorious, a liberated convict; Stop the coach, _alias_Monsieur Dupont; The Southern Esplanade; Poussagrive; Carmagnolet;Kruideniers, _alias_ Bizarro; Lace-eater; Feet in the air; Halffarthing, _alias_ Two Milliards, etc. etc.

  These names have faces, and express not merely beings but species. Eachof these names responds to a variety of the poisonous fungi which growbeneath human civilization. These beings, very careful about showingtheir faces, were not of those whom we may see passing by day, for atthat period, weary of their night wanderings, they went to sleep in thelime-kilns, the deserted quarries of Montmartre or Montrouge, or evenin the snow. They ran to earth.

  What has become of these men? They still exist, and have ever existed.Horace alludes to them in his _Ambubaiarum collegia, pharmacopolœ,mendici, mimœ_, and so as long as society is what it is they will bewhat they are. Under the obscure vault of their cellar they are evenborn again from the social leakage; they return as spectres, but everidentical. The only difference is that they no longer bear the samenames and are no longer in the same skins; though the individuals areextirpated, the tribe exists. They have always the same qualities,and from vagrant to prowler, the race ever remains pure. They guesspurses in pockets and scent watches in fobs; and gold and silver havea peculiar smell for them. There are simple cits of whom we might saythat they have a robbable look, and these men patiently follow thesecits. When a foreigner or a countryman passes, they quiver like thespider in its web.

  These men, when we catch a glimpse of them upon a deserted boulevardat midnight, are frightful; they do not seem to be men, but forms madeof living fog; we might say that they are habitually a portion of thedarkness, that they are not distinct, that they have no other soul butshadow, and that they have become detached from night momentarily, andin order to live a monstrous life for a few moments. What is requiredto make these phantoms vanish? light, floods of light. Not a single batcan resist the dawn. Light up the lower strata of society.

  BOOK VIII.

  THE EVIL POOR.

  CHAPTER I.

  MARIUS LOOKING FOR A GIRL'S BONNET MEETS A MAN'S CAP.

  Summer passed away, then autumn and winter arrived. Neither M. Leblancnor the young lady had set foot again in the Luxembourg, while Mariushad but one thought, that of seeing again this sweet and adorable face.He sought it ever, he sought it everywhere, but found nothing. He wasno longer Marius the enthusiastic dreamer, the resolute, ardent, andfirm man, the bold challenger of destiny, the brain that built upfuture upon future, the young mind encumbered with plans, projects,pride, ideas, and resolves,--he was a lost dog. He fell into a darksorrow, and it was all over with him; work was repulsive, walkingfatigued him, and solitude wearied him. Mighty nature, once so fullof forms, brightness, voices, counsel, perspectives, horizons, andinstruction, was now a vacuum before him; and he felt as if everythinghad disappeared. He still thought, for he could not do otherwise, butno longer took pleasure in his thoughts. To all that they incessantlyproposed to him in whispers, he answered in the shadow, "What use isit?" He made himself a hundred reproaches. "Why did I follow her? Iwas so happy merely in seeing her! She
looked at me, and was not thatimmense? She looked as if she loved me, and was not that everything? Iwanted to have what? There is nothing beyond that, and I was absurd. Itis my fault," etc. etc. Courfeyrac, to whom he confided nothing, as washis nature, but who guessed pretty nearly all, for that was his naturetoo, had begun by congratulating him on being in love, and made sundrybad jokes about it. Then, on seeing Marius in this melancholy state, heended by saying to him, "I see that you have simply been a fool; cometo the Chaumière."

  Once, putting confidence in a splendid September sun, Marius allowedhimself to be taken to the ball of Sceaux by Courfeyrac, Bossuet, andGrantaire, hoping--what a dream!--that he might find her there. Ofcourse he did not see the lady whom he sought; "and yet this is theplace where all the lost women can be found," Grantaire growled aside.Marius left his friends at the ball, and returned afoot, alone, tired,feverish, with eyes troubled and sad, in the night, stunned with noiseand dust by the many vehicles full of singing beings who were returningfrom the holiday, and who passed him. He was discouraged, and in orderto relieve his aching head, inhaled the sharp smell of the walnut-treeson the road-side. He began living again more than ever in solitude,crushed, giving way to his internal agony, walking up and down likea wolf caught in a trap, everywhere seeking the absent one, andbrutalized by love.

  Another time he had a meeting which produced a strange effect uponhim. In the little streets adjoining the Boulevard des Invalides hepassed a man dressed like a workman, and wearing a deep-peaked cap,under which white locks peered out. Marius was struck by the beauty ofthis white hair, and looked at the man, who was walking slowly, and asif absorbed in painful meditation. Strange to say, he fancied that hecould recognize M. Leblanc,--it was the same hair, the same profile, asfar as the peak allowed him to see, and the same gait, though somewhatmore melancholy. But why this work-man's clothing? What was the meaningof this disguise? Marius was greatly surprised, and when he came tohimself again his first impulse was to follow this man, for he might,perhaps, hold the clew which he had so long been seeking. At any rate,he must have a close look at the man, and clear up the enigma; but hehit on this idea too late, for the man was no longer there. He hadturned into some side street, and Marius was unable to find him again.This meeting troubled him for some days, and then faded away. "Afterall," he said to himself, "it is probably only a resemblance."

  CHAPTER II.

  MARIUS FINDS SOMETHING.

  Marius still lived at the Gorbeau house, but he paid no attention tohis fellow-lodgers. At this, period, in truth, there were no othertenants in the house but himself and those Jondrettes whose rent he hadonce paid, without ever having spoken to father, mother, or daughters.The other lodgers had removed, were dead, or turned out for not payingtheir rent. On one day of this winter the sun had shown itself a littleduring the afternoon, but it was Feb. 2, that old Candlemas day, whosetreacherous sun, the precursor of a six weeks' frost, inspired MatthewLaensberg with these two lines, which have justly become classical,--

  "Qu'il luise oil qu'il luiserne L'ours rentre en sa caverne."

  Marius had just left his cavern, for night was falling. It was the hourto go and dine, for he had been obliged to revert to that practice,such is the infirmity of ideal passions. He had just crossed thethreshold of his door, which Mame Bougon was sweeping at this verymoment, while uttering the memorable soliloquy,--

  "What is there cheap at present? Everything is dear. There is onlytrouble which is cheap, and it may be had for nothing."

  Marius slowly walked along the boulevard, in the direction of the RueSt. Jacques. He walked thoughtfully with hanging head. All at once hefelt himself elbowed in the fog. He turned and saw two girls in rags,one tall and thin, the other not quite so tall, who passed hurriedly,panting, frightened, and as if running away; they were coming towardhim, and ran against him as they passed. Marius noticed in the twilighttheir livid faces, uncovered heads, dishevelled hair, their raggedpetticoats, and bare feet. While running they talked together, and theelder said,--

  "The slops came, and nearly caught me."

  And the other answered, "I saw them, and so I bolted, bolted, bolted."

  Marius understood, from this sinister slang, that the police had nearlycaught the two girls, and that they had managed to escape. They buriedthemselves beneath the trees behind him, and for a few minutes produceda sort of vague whiteness in the obscurity. Marius had stopped for amoment, and was just going on, when he noticed a small gray packetlying at his feet. He stooped down and picked it up; it was a sort ofenvelope, apparently containing papers.

  "Why," he said, "these poor girls must have let it fall."

  He turned back and called to them, but could not find them. He thoughtthey must be some distance off, so he thrust the parcel into hispocket and went to dinner. On his way he saw in a lane turning outof the Rue Mouffetard, a child's coffin, covered with a black pall,laid on three chairs, and illumined by a candle. The two girls in thetwilight reverted to his thoughts.

  "Poor mothers!" he thought, "there is something even more sad than tosee one's children die,--it is to see them live badly."

  Then these shadows, which varied his melancholy, left his thoughts, andhe fell back into his usual reflections. He began thinking of his sixmonths of love and happiness in the open air and broad daylight underthe glorious Luxembourg trees.

  "How sad my life has become!" he said to himself; "girls constantlyappear to me, but formerly they were angels, and now they are ghouls."

  CHAPTER III.

  FOUR LETTERS.

  At night, as he undressed to go to bed, his hand felt in his coatpocket the parcel which he had picked up in the boulevard andforgotten. He thought that it would be as well to open it, as thepacket might contain the girls' address, if it belonged to them, orin any case the necessary information to restore it to the person towhom it belonged. He opened the envelope, which was not sealed, andcontained four letters, also unsealed. The addresses were on all four,and they exhaled a frightful perfume of tobacco. The first letter wasaddressed,--"To Madame, Madame la Marquise de Grucheray, on the Squareopposite the Chamber of Deputies." Marius said to himself that hewould probably find the information he wanted, and as the letter wasnot sealed he could read it without impropriety. It was drawn up asfollows:--

  "MADAME LA MARQUISE,--The virtue of clemency and piety is that whichunites sosiety most closely. Move your Christian feelings, and dain aglance of compasion at this unfortunate Spaniard, and victim to hisloyalty and atachment to the sacred cause of legitimacy, who shed hisblood, devoted the whole of his fortune to defend this cause, and isnow in the greatest missery. He does not doubt that you, honnored lady,will grant some asistence to preserve an existence entirely painfulfor a soldier of honor and edducation, who is covered with wounds, andhe reckons before hand on the humanity which annimates you, and theinterest which your ladyship takes in so unhapy a nacion. Their prayerwill not be in vain, and His gratitude will retain her charming memory.

  "With the most respectful feelings, I have the honor to be, madame,

  "DON ALVARES,

  _Spanish captain of cavvalry, a Royalist refugee in France, who istravelling for his country, and who wants the means to continue hisjurney."_

  No address was attached to the signature, but Marius hoped to find itin the second letter, of which the superscription was,--"To Madame,Madame la Comtesse de Montvernet, Rue Cassette, No. 9. This is whatMarius read:--

  "MADAME LA COMTESSE,--It is a unhapy mother of a familly of sixchildren, of which the yungest is only eight months old; I ill since mylast confinement, deserted by my husband, and hawing no ressourse inthe world, living in the most frightful indijance.

  "Trusting in your ladyship, she has the honor to be, madame, withprofound respect,

  "FEMME BALIZARD."

  Marius passed to the third letter, which was, like the preceding, apetition, and he read in it:--

  "MONSIEUR PABOURGEOT, _Elector, wholesale dealer in caps, Rue St.Denis, at the corner of
the Rue Aux-Fers:_

  "I venture to adress this letter to you, to ask you to grant me thepretious favor of your sympathies, and to interest you in a litteraryman, who has just sent a drama to the Théâtre Français. The subject ishistorical, and the scene takes place in Auvergne in the time of theEmpire; the style, I believe, is natural, laconic, and may posess somemerit. There are couplets for singing at four places. The comic, theserious, and the unexpected elements are blended in it with a varietyof characters, and a tinge of romance is lightly spread through thewhole plot, which moves misteriously, and the finale takes place amidseveral brilliant tableaux. My principal desire is to satisfy thedesire which progressively animates sosiety, that is to say, fashion,that capritious and vague whirligig which changes with nearly everywind.

  "In spite of these quallities, I have reason to fear that jealousy andthe selfishness of privileged authors may obtain my exclusion fromthe stage, for I am not unaware of the vexation which is caused tonew-comers.

  "Monsieur Pabourgeot, your just reputation as the enlightened protectorof litterary men, emboldens me to send to you my daughter, who willexplain to you our indijant situation, wanting for bread and firein this winter season. To tell you that I wish you to accept thehomage which I desire to make to you of my drama, and all those thatmay succeed it, is to prove to you how much I desire the honor ofsheltering myself under your ægis, and adorning my writings with yourname. If you dain to honor me with the most modest offering, I will atonce set to work writing a coppy of verses, by which to pay you my debtof grattitude. These verses, which I will try to render as perfect aspossible, will be sent to you before they are insirted in the beginningof the drama, and produced on the stage.