[size=13]V
NIGHT BEHIND WHICH IS DAWN[/h]
At the knock at he heard at his door, Jean Valjean turned his head.
"Come in", he said feebly.
The door opened. Cosette and Marius appeared.
Cosette rushed into the room.
Marius remained at the threshold, leaning against the casing of the door.
"Cosette!" said Jean Valjean, and he rose in his chair, his arms outstretched and trembling, haggard, livid, terrible, with immense joy in his eyes.
Cosette, stifled with emotion, fell on Jean Valjean's breast.
"Father!" she said.
Jean Valjean, beside himself, stammered, "Cosette! She? You, madame? Is it you, Cosette? Oh, my God!" And, clasped in Cosette's arms, he exclaimed, "It is you, Cosette? You are here? You've forgiven me then!"
Marius, dropping his eyelids so the tears would not fall, stepped forward and murmured between his lips which were reacted convusively to check the sobs, "Father!"
"And you too, you forgive me!" said Jean Valjean.
Marius could not utter a word, and Jean Valjean added, "Thank You."
Cosette took off her shawl and threw her hat on the bed.
"They are in my way," she said.
And sitting on the old man's knees, she stroked his white hair with a tender grace, and kissed his forehead.
Jean Valjean, bewildered, offered no resistance.
Cosette, who had only a very confused understanding of all this, redoubled her caresses, as if she wanted to pay Marius' debt.
Jean Valjean faltered, "How foolish we are! I thought I would never see her again. Only think, Monsieur Pontmercy, that at the moment you came in, I was saying to myself: It is all over. There is her little dress, I am a miserable man, I will never see Cosette again, I was saying that at the very moment you were coming up the stairs. Wasn't I silly? I was silly as that! But we reckon without God. God said: You think you are going to be abandoned, idiot? No. No, it shall not come to pass like that. Come, here is a poor man who is in need of an angel. And the angel comes: and I see my Cosette again! And I see my darling Cosette again! Oh! I was very miserable!"
For a moment he could not speak, then he continued, "I really needed to see Cosette a little while from time to time. A heart does want a bone to gnaw. Still, I plainly felt I was in the way. I gave myself reasons: they do not need you, stay in your corner, you have no right to go on forever. Oh! Bless God, I am seeing her again! Do you know, Cosette, your husband is very handsome? Ah, you have a pretty embroidered collar, yes, yes, I like that pattern. Your husband chose it, didn't he? And then, Cosette, you must have cashmeres. Monsieur Pontmercy, let me call her Cosette. It will not be long."
And Cosette interrupted, "How naughty to have left us this way! Where have you been? Why have you been away for so long? Your trips did not used to last more than three to four days. I send Nicolette, the answer always was: He is away. How long have you been back? Why didn't you let us know? Do you know you are very much changed? Oh! The naughty father! He has been sick and we did not know it! Here, Marius, feel his hand, how cold it is!"
"So you are here, Monsieur Pontmercy, you forgive me!" repeated Jean Valjean.
At these words, which Jean Valjean was now saying for the second time, all that was welling up in Marius' heart found and outlet and broke out:
"Cosette, do you hear? That is the way with him! He asks for my pardon, and do you know what he has done for me, Cosette? He saved my life. He has done more. He has given you to me. And, after having saved me, and after having given you to me, Cosette, what did he do with himself? He sacrificed himself. There is the man. And, to me the ungrateful, to me the forgetful, to me the pitiless, to me the guilty, he says: Thank you! Cosette, my whole life spent at the feet of this man would be too little. That barricade, that sewer, that inferno, that cloaca, he went through everything for me, for you, Cosette! He carried me through death in every form, which he kept away from me, and which he accepted for himself. Every courage, every virtue, every heroism, every sanctity, he has it all, Cosette. This man is an angel!"
"Hush! Hush!" said Jean Valjean in a whisper. "Why tell all that?"
"But you!" exclaimed Marius, in a passion which veneration was mingled, "why have you not told it? It is your fault too. You save people's lives, and you hide it from them! You do more, under pretense of unmasking yourself, you slander yourself. It is frightful."
"I told the truth", answered Jean Valjean.
"No," replied Marius, "the truth is the whole truth; and you did not tell it. You were Monsieur Madeleine, why not have said so? You saved Javert, why not have said so? I owe my life to you, why not have said so?"
"Because I thought as you did. I felt that you were right. It was necessary for me to go away. If you had known that affair of the sewer, you would have made me stay with you. I would then have had to keep silent. If I had spoken, it would have embarrassed everyone."
"Embarrassed what? Embarrassed whom?" replied Marius. "Do you suppose you are going to stay here? We are going to take you back. Oh! My God! when I think it was by accident that I learned it all! We are going to take you back! You are a part of us. You are her father and mine. You will not spend another day in this awful house. Do not imagine you will be here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," replied Jean Valjean, "I will not be here, but I will not be at your house."
"What do you mean?" replied Marius. "Ah, now, we won't allow anymore trips. You will never leave us again. You belong to us. We will not let you go."
"This time it is for good." added Cosette. "We have a carriage downstairs. I am going to carry you off, if necessary, I will use force."
And laughing, she made as though to lift the old man in her arms.
"Your room is still in our house," she continued. "If knew you how pretty the garden is now. The azaleas are growing beautifully. The paths are sanded with river sand; there are some little violet shells. You will eat some of my strawberries. I water them myself. And no more madame, and no more Monsieur Jean, we're in a republic, aren't we, Marius? The program is changed. If only you knew, Father, I've had some trouble, there was a robin that made her nest in a hole in the wall, a horrid cat ate her up for me. My poor little robin who put her head out her window and looked at me! I cried over it. I would have killed the cat! But now, nobody cries anymore. Everybody laughs, everybody is happy. You are coming with us. How glad grandfather will be! You will have your garden bed, you will tend it, and we will see if your strawberries are as fine as mine. And then, I will do whatever you want, and then, you will obey me."
Jean Valjean listened to her without hearing her. He heard the music of her voice rather than the meaning of her words; one of those big tears which are the gloomy pearls of the soul gathered slowly in his eye. He murmured, "The proof that God is good is that she is here."
"Father!" cried Cosette.
Jean Valjean continued, "It is very true it would be charming to live together. They have their trees full of birds. I could walk with Cosette. To be with people who live, who bid each other good morning, who call each other into the garden, would be sweet. We would see each other as soon it was morning. We would each cultivate our little corner. She would have me eat her strawberries. I would have her pick my roses. Only-"
He paused and said mildly, "It is a pity."
The tear did not fall, it receded, and Jean Valjean replaced it with a smile.
Cosette took both the old man's hands in her own.
"My God!" she said, "Your hands are still colder. Are you sick? Are you suffering?"
"No," answered Jean Valjean, "I am very well. Only-"
He stopped.
"Only what?"
"I will die in a little while."
Cosette and Marius both shuddered.
"Die!" exclaimed Marius.
"Yes, but that is nothing," said Jean Valjean.
He breathed, smiled, and continued.
"Cosette, you are speaking to me, go on, speak again, so your little robin is dead, speak, let me hear your voice!"
Marius, petrified, gazed at the old man.
Cosette, uttered a piercing cry: "Father! My father! You will live. You are going to live. I will have you live, do you hear!"
Jean Valjean raised his head toward her with adoration.
"Oh yes, forbid me to die. Who knows? Perhaps I will obey. I was just dying when you came. That stopped me, it seemed to me I was born again."
"You are full of strength and life," exclaimed Marius. "Do you think people die just like that? You have had trouble, you shall have no more. I am the one to ask your pardon now, and on my knees! You shall live, and live with us, and live for a long time. We will take you back. Both of us here will have only one thought from now on, your happiness!"
"You see," added Cosette in tears, "Marius says you will not die."
Jean Valjean continued to smile.
"If you were to take me back, Monsieur Pontmercy, would that make me different from what I am? No; God thought as you and I, and he has not changed his mind: it is best that I should go away. Death is a good arrangement. God knows better than we do what we need. That you are happy, that Monsieur Pontmercy has Cosette, that youth espouses morning, that there are about you, my children, there are lilacs and nightingales, that your life is a beautiful lawn in the sunshine, that all the enchantments in heaven fill your souls, and now, that I who am good for nothing, that I should die; surely this is all good. Look, be reasonable, nothing else is possible, I am sure it is all over. An hour ago I had a fainting fit. And then, last night, I drank that pitcher full of water. How good your husband is, Cosette! You are much better off than with me."
There was a noise at the door. It was the physician coming in.
"Good day and good-by, doctor," said Jean Valjean. "Here are my poor children."
Marius approached the physician. He addressed this single word to him: "Monsieur?" but in his way of pronouncing it, there was a complete question.
The physician answered the question with an expressive glance.
"Because things are unpleasant," said Jean Valjean, "that there is no reason being unjust towards God."
There was a silence. Every heart was oppressed.
Jean Valjean turned toward Cosette. He began to gaze at her as if he would take a look that should endure through eternity. At the depth of shadow he had already reached, ecstasy was still possible to him while seeing Cosette. The reflection of that sweet countenance illumined his pale face. The sepulcher may have it's enchantments.
The physician felt his pulse.
"Ah! It is you he needed!" murmured he, looking at Cosette and Marius.
And bending toward Marius' ear he added very low,
"Too late."
Almost without ceasing to gaze at Cosette, Jean Valjean turned toward Marius and the physician a look of serenity. They heard these almost inaudible words from his lips:
"It is nothing to die; it is horrible not to live."
Suddenly he stood up. These returns of strength are sometimes a sign of approaching death. He walked with a firm step to the wall, brushed aside Marius and the physician, who offered to await him, took down from the wall the little copper crucifix that hung there, came back, and sat down with all the freedom of motion of perfect health, and said in a loud voice, laying the crucifix on the table, "Behold, the great martyr."
Then his chest sank, his head wavered, as I'd the dizziness of the tomb seized him, and his hands, resting on his knees, began to clutch his trousers.
Cosette supported his shoulders, and sobbed, and attempted to speak to him but could not. Among the words mingled with the bitter saliva that comes with tears, were phrases repeated over and over, "Father! Do not leave us. Is it possible that we have found you only to lose you again?"
The agony of death may be said to meander. It comes and goes, moves on towards the grave, and turns back towards life. There is a groping in the act of dying.
After this semi-stupor, Jean Valjean gathered strength, shook his head as though to throw off the darkness, and became almost completely lucid once more. He took a fold of Cosette's sleeve and kissed it.
"He is reviving! Doctor, he is reviving!" cried Marius.
"You are both kind," said Jean Valjean. "I will tell you what has given me pain. What has given me pain, Monsieur Pontmercy, was that you have been unwilling to touch that money. That money really belongs to your wife. I will explain it, my children; that is one reason I am glad to see you. The black jet comes from England, the white jet comes from Norway. All this is in the paper you see there, which you will read. For bracelets, I invented the substitution for clasps by bending the metal. They are handsomer, better, and cheaper. You understand how much money can be made. So Cosette"s fortune is really her own. I am giving you these details so your minds be at rest."
The concierge had come and was looking through the half-open door. The physician motioned her away, but he could not prevent that good, zealous woman from crying to the dying man before she went, "Do you want a priest?"
"I have one," answered Jean Valjean.
And, with his finger, he seemed to designate a point above his head, where, you would have said, he saw someone.
It was probable that the bishop was indeed a witness of this death.
Cosette gently slipped a pillow gently under his back.
Jean Valjean resumed: "Monsieur Pontmercy have no fear, I beg you. The six hundred thousand francs are really Cosette's. I will have wasted my life if you do not enjoy it! We succeeded very well with the glasswork. We rivaled what is called Berlin jewelry. Indeed, the German black glass cannot be compared with. A gross, which contains twelve hundred grains very well cut, only costs three francs."
When a being who is dear to us is about to die, we look at him with a look that clings to him, and which would like to hold him back. Both of them, dumb with anguish, not knowing what to say to death, despairing and trembling, stood before him, Marius holding Cosette's hand.
From moment to moment, Jean Valjean grew weaker. He was sinking; he was approaching the dark horizon. His breathing had become intermittent, interrupted by slight gasps. He had difficulty moving his arms, his feet had lost all motion, and, at the same time that the distress of all the limbs and the failure of the body increased, all the majesty of the soul rose and showed on his forehead. The light of the unknown world was already visible in his eye.
His face grew pale, and at the same time smiled. Life was no longer present, there was something else. His breath died away, his eyes drew wider. It was a corpse on which you could sense the wings.
He motioned to Cosette to approach, then to Marius; it is evidently the last minute of the hour, and he began to speak to them in a voice so faint it seemed to come from far away, and you would have said that there was a wall already between them and him.
"Come closer, come closer, both of you. I love you dearly. Oh! It is good to die like this! You too, you love me, Cosette. I knew very well you still had some affection for your good old father. How kind are you to put this cushion under my back! You will weep for me a little, won't you! Not too much, I do not wish for you to have any deep grief. You must live very happily, my children. I forgot to tell you that on buckles without tongues more is earned than on anything else. A gross, twelve dozen, costs ten francs, and sells for sixty. That is really good business. So you should not be surprised at six hundred thousand francs, Monsieur Pontmercy. It is honest money. You can be rich without concern. You should have a carriage, from time to time a box at the theater, beautiful ball dresses, my Cosette, and then give good dinners to your friends, be very happy.
I was writing to Cosette just now. She will find my letter. To her I bequeath the two candlesticks on the mantel, they are silver; but to me they are gold, they are diamonds; they change the candles that are put in them into consecrated tapers. I do not know whether the one who gave them to me is satisfied in heaven. I have done what I could. My children, you will not forget that I am a poor man, you will have me buried in the most convenient plot of ground under a stone to mark the spot. That is my wish. No name on the stone. If Cosette will come for a little while sometimes, it will give me pleasure.
You too, Monsieur Pontmercy. I must confess to you that I have not always loved you; I ask your pardon. Now, she and you are one to me. I am so grateful to you. I feel that you make Cosette happy. If you knew, Monsieur Pontmercy, how her beautiful rosy cheeks were my joy; when I saw her a little pale, I was sad. There is a five-hundred-franc bill in the bureau. I have not touched it. It is for the poor.
Cosette, do you see your little dress?, there on the bed? Do you recognize it? Yet it was only ten years ago. How time passes! We have been very happy. It is all over. My children, do not cry, I am not going very far, I will see you from there. You will only have to look at night, you will see me smile. Cosette. Do you remember Montfermeil? You were in the woods, you were very frightened; do you remember when I took the handle of the water bucket? That was the first time I touched your poor little hand. It was so cold! Ah! You had red hands in those days, mademoiselle, your hands are very white now. And the big doll! Do you remember? You called her Catherine. You were sorry you did not carry her to the convent. How you made me laugh sometimes, my sweet angel! When it had rained you launched bits of straw in the gutters and you would watch them. One day, I gave you a willow racket, and a shuttlecock, with yellow, blue, and green feathers. You have forgotten it. You were so sweet when you were little! You played. You hung cherries on your ears. Those are things of the past. The forests through which we have passed with our child, the trees under which we have walked, the convents which we have hidden, the games, the free laughter of childhood, everything is in shadow. I imagined that all belonged to me. There was my folly. Those Thénadiers were wicked. We must forgive them.
Cosette, the time has come to tell you the name of your mother. Her name was Fantine. Remember that name: Fantine. Fall on your knees whenever you pronounce it. She suffered a great deal. And loved you very much. Her measure of unhappiness was as full as your's of happiness. Such are the distributions of God. He is in high, He sees us all, and He knows what He does in the midst of His great stars. So I am going away, my children. Love each other dearly always. There is scarcely anything else in the world but that: to love one another. Sometimes you will think of the poor old man who died here. O my Cosette! It is not my fault, indeed, if I have not seen you all this time, it broke my heart; I went as far as the corner of the street, I must have seemed strange to people who saw me go by, I looked like a crazy man, once I went out with no hat.
My children, I cannot see very clearly now, I had some more things to say, but it makes no difference. Think of me a little. You are blessed creatures. I do not know what is the matter with me, I see a light. Come nearer, I am dying happy. Let me put my hands on your dear beloved heads."
Cosette and Marius fell upon their knees, overwhelmed and choked with tears, each one of them grasping Jean Valjean's hands. Those noble hands moved no more.
He had fallen back, the light from the candlesticks fell across him; his white face looked up toward heaven, he let Cosette and Marius cover his hands with kisses; he was dead.
The night was starless and very dark. Without and doubt, in the gloom, some mighty angel, with outstretched wings, was waiting for the soul.
