雨果 悲惨世界 英文版2-第103章

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ealities　than　with　their　harsh　and　direct　light。　A　useful　and　graciously　austere　half…light　which　dissipates　puerile　fears　and　obviates　falls。
　　There　is　nothing　but　the　maternal　instinct；　that　admirable　intuition　posed　of　the　memories　of　the　virgin　and　the　experience　of　the　woman；　which　knows　how　this　half…light　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　and　he　knew　nothing　at　all。
　　
Now；　in　this　work　of　education；　in　this　grave　matter　of　preparing　a　woman　for　life；　what　science　is　required　to　bat　that　vast　ignorance　which　is　called　innocence！
　　Nothing　prepares　a　young　girl　for　passions　like　the　convent。　The　convent　turns　the　thoughts　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；　sombre　and　secret　abodes　where　the　passions　immediately　find　a　lodgement　as　soon　as　the　open　gate　permits　them　to　enter。
　　The　convent　is　a　pression　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　Plumet。　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　to　her。
　　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　amid　the　grass；　while　awaiting　the　day　when　she　would　love　it　for　the　stars　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　goodman　a　beloved　and　charming　panion　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　e　to　converse　well；　he　possessed　the　secret　riches　and　the　eloquence　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　their　conversations　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　sufficed　for　Cosette's　thought；　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　goodman。
　　She　was　always　at　his　heels。　Where　Jean　Valjean　was；　there　happiness　was。
　　Jean　Valjean　lived　neither　in　the　pavilion　nor　the　garden；　she　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　little！〃
　　She　gave　him　those　charming　and　tender　scoldings　which　are　so　graceful　when　they　e　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。〃
　　〃Bah！　must　men　be　cold　and　feel　unfortable？〃
　　〃Certain　men。〃
　　〃That　is　good；　I　shall　e　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　but　a　confused　recollection　of　her　childhood。
　　She　prayed　morning　and　evening　for　her　mother　whom　she　had　never　known。　The　Thenardiers　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　when　there　had　been　nothing　around　her　but　millepeds；　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　e　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　Fantine　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　Fantine？
　　He　felt　a　certain　religious　horror　at　letting　that　shadow　enter　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　Fantine；　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　Fantine；　and　which　had　violently　quitted　her　during　her　lifetime；　returned　to　rest　upon　her　after　her　death；　to　watch　in　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；　that　name　of　Fantine。
　　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。
　　When　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　within　him　with　delight；　at　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　depths　of　his　soul；　for　having　permitted　him　to　be　loved　thus；　he；　a　wretch；　by　that　innocent　being。


BOOK　THIRD。THE　HOUSE　IN　THE　RUE　PLUMET
CHAPTER　V　
　　THE　ROSE　PERCEIVES　THAT　IT　IS　AN　ENGINE　OF　WAR
　　　One　day；　Cosette　chanced　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　thou