THINGS OF THE NIGHT.
After the departure of the bandits the Rue Plumet resumed its calm, nocturnal aspect. What had just taken place in this street would not have astonished a forest, for the thickets, the coppices, the heather, the interlaced branches, and the tall grass, exist in a sombre way; the savage crowd catches glimpses there of the sudden apparitions of the invisible world; what there is below man distinguishes there through the mist what is beyond man, and things unknown to us living beings confront each other there in the night. Bristling and savage nature is startled by certain approaches, in which it seems to feel the supernatural; the forces of the shadow know each other and maintain a mysterious equilibrium between themselves. Teeth and claws fear that which is unseizable, and blood-drinking bestiality, voracious, starving appetites in search of prey, the instincts armed with nails and jaws, which have for their source and object the stomach, look at and sniff anxiously the impassive spectral lineaments prowling about in a winding-sheet or standing erect in this vaguely-rustling robe, and which seems to them to live a dead and terrible life. These brutalities, which are only matter, have a confused fear at having to deal with the immense condensed obscurity in an unknown being. A black figure barring the passage stops the wild beast short; what comes from the cemetery intimidates and disconcerts what comes from the den; ferocious things are afraid of sinister things, and wolves recoil on coming across a ghoul.
CHAPTER VI.
MARIUS ACTUALLY GIVES COSETTE HIS ADDRESS.
While this sort of human-faced dog was mounting guard against the railing, and six bandits fled before a girl, Marius was by Cosette's side. The sky had never been more star-spangled and more charming, the trees more rustling, or the smell of the grass more penetrating; never had the birds fallen asleep beneath the frondage with a softer noise; never had the universal harmonies of serenity responded better to the internal music of the soul; never had Marius been more enamoured, happier, or in greater ecstasy. But he had found Cosette sad, she had been crying, and her eyes were red. It was the first cloud in this admirable dream. Marius's first remark was,—
"What is the matter with you?"
And she replied,—
"I will tell you."
Then she sat down on the bench near the house, and while he took his seat, all trembling, by her side, she continued,—
"My father told me this morning to hold myself in readiness, for he had business to attend to, and we were probably going away."
Marius shuddered from head to foot. When we reach the end of life, death signifies a departure, but at the beginning, departure means death. For six weeks past Marius had slowly and gradually taken possession of Cosette; it was a perfectly ideal but profound possession. As we have explained, in first love men take the soul long before the body; at a later date they take the body before the soul, and at times they do not take the soul at all,—the Faublas and Prudhommes add, because there is no such thing, but the sarcasm is fortunately a blasphemy. Marius, then, possessed Cosette in the way that minds possess; but he enveloped her with his entire soul, and jealously seized her with an incredible conviction. He possessed her touch, her breath, her perfume, the deep flash of her blue eyes, the softness of her skin when he touched her hand, the charming mark which she had on her neck, and all her thoughts. They had agreed never to sleep without dreaming of each other, and had kept their word. He, therefore, possessed all Cosette's dreams. He looked at her incessantly, and sometimes breathed on the short hairs which she had on the back of her neck, and said to himself that there was not one of those hairs which did not belong to him. He contemplated and adored the things she wore, her bows,—her cuffs, her gloves, and slippers,—like sacred objects of which he was the master. He thought that he was the lord of the small tortoise-shell combs which she had in her hair; and he said to himself, in the confused stammering of delight that came on, that there was not a seam of her dress, not a mesh of her stockings, not a wrinkle in her bodice, which was not his. By the side of Cosette felt close to his property, near his creature, who was at once his despot and his slave. It seemed that they had so blended their souls that if they had wished to take them back it would have been impossible for them to recognize them. This is mine—no, it is mine—I assure you that you are mistaken. This is really I—what you take for yourself is myself; Marius was something which formed part of Cosette, and Cosette was something that formed part of Marius. Marius felt Cosette live in him; to have Cosette, to possess Cosette, was to him not very different from breathing. It was in the midst of this faith, this intoxication, this virgin, extraordinary, and absolute possession, and this sovereignty, that the words "We are going away" suddenly fell on him, and the stern voice of reality shouted to him, "Cosette is not thine." Marius awoke. For six weeks, as we said, he had been living out of life, and the word "depart" made him roughly re-enter it. He could not find a word to say, and Cosette merely noticed that his hand was very cold. She said to him in her turn,—
"What is the matter with you?"
He answered, in so low a voice that Cosette could scarce hear him,—
"I do not understand what you said."
She continued,—
"This morning my father told me to prepare my clothes and hold myself ready; that he would give me his linen to put in a portmanteau; that he was obliged to make a journey; that we were going away; that we must have a large trunk for myself and a small one for him; to get all this ready within a week, and that we should probably go to England."
"Why, it is monstrous!" Marius exclaimed.
It is certain that at this moment, in Marius's mind, no abuse of power, no violence, no abomination of the most prodigious tyrants, no deed of Busiris, Tiberius, or Henry VIII., equalled in ferocity this one,—M. Fauchelevent taking his daughter to England because he had business to attend to. He asked, in a faint voice,—
"And when will you start?"
"He did not say when."
"And when will you return?"
"He did not tell me."
And Marius rose and said coldly,—
"Will you go, Cosette?"
Cosette turned to him, her beautiful eyes full of agony, and answered, with a species of wildness,—
"Where?"
"To England; will you go?"
"What can I do?" she said, clasping her hands.
"Then you will go?"
"If my father goes."
"So you are determined to go?"
Cosette seized Marius's hand and pressed it as sole reply.
"Very well," said Marius; "in that case I shall go elsewhere."
Cosette felt the meaning of this remark even more than she comprehended it; she turned so pale that her face became white in the darkness, and stammered,—
"What do you mean?"
Marius looked at her, then slowly raised his eyes to heaven, and replied,—
"Nothing."
When he looked down again he saw Cosette smiling at him; the smile of the woman whom we love has a brilliancy which is visible at night.
"How foolish we are! Marius, I have an idea."
"What is it?"
"Follow us if we go away! I will tell you whither, and you can join me where I am."
Marius was now a thoroughly wide-awake man, and had fallen back into reality; hence he cried to Cosette,—
"Go with you! Are you mad? Why, it would require money, and I have none! Go to England! Why, I already owe more than ten louis to Courfeyrac, one of my friends, whom you do not know! I have an old hat, which is not worth three francs, a coat with buttons missing in front, my shirt is all torn, my boots let in water, I am out at elbows, but I have not thought of it for six weeks, and did not tell you. Cosette, I am a wretch; you only see me at night and give me your love: were you to see me by day you would give me a sou. Go to England! Why, I have not enough to pay for the passport!"
He threw himself against a tree, with his arms over his head and his forehead pressed to the bark, neither feeling the wood that grazed his skin nor the fever which spotted his temples, motionless and ready to fall, like the statue of despair. He remained for a long time in this state—people would remain for an eternity in such abysses. At length he turned and heard behind a little stifled, soft, and sad sound; it was Cosette sobbing; she had been crying for more than two hours by the side of Marius, who was reflecting. He went up to her, fell on his knees, seized her foot, which peeped out from under her skirt, and kissed it. She let him do so in silence, for there are moments when a woman accepts, like a sombre and resigned duty, the worship of love.
"Do not weep," he said.
She continued,—
"But I am perhaps going away, and you are not able to come with me."
He said, "Do you love me?"
She replied by sobbing that Paradisaic word, which is never more charming than through tears, "I adore you."
He pursued, with an accent which was an inexpressible caress,—
"Do not weep. Will you do so much for me as to check your tears?"
"Do you love me?" she said.
He took her hand.
"Cosette, I have never pledged my word of honor to any one, because it frightens me, and I feel that my father is by the side of it. Well, I pledge you my most sacred word of honor that if you go away I shall die."
There was in the accent with which he uttered these words such a solemn and calm melancholy that Cosette trembled, and she felt that chill which is produced by the passing of a sombre and true thing. In her terror she ceased to weep.
"Now listen to me," he said; "do not expect me to-morrow."
"Why not?"
"Do not expect me till the day after."
"Oh, why?"
"You will see."
"A day without your coming!—oh, it is impossible!"
"Let us sacrifice a day, to have, perhaps, one whole life."
And Marius added in a low voice and aside,—"He is a man who makes no change in his habits, and he never received anybody before the evening."
"What man are you talking about?" Cosette asked.
"I? I did not say anything."
"What do you hope for, then?"
"Wait till the day after to-morrow."
"Do you desire it?"
"Yes, Cosette."
He took her head between his two hands, as she stood on tiptoe to reach him and tried to see his hopes in his eyes. Marius added,—
"By the bye, you must know my address, for something might happen; I live with my friend Courfeyrac, at No. 16, Rue de la Verrerie."
He felt in his pockets, took out a knife, and scratched the address on the plaster of the wall. In the mean while Cosette had begun looking in his eyes again.
"Tell me your thought, Marius, for you have one. Tell it to me. Oh, tell it to me, so that I may pass a good night!"
"My thought is this: it is impossible that God can wish to separate us. Expect me the day after to-morrow."
"What shall I do till then?" Cosette said. "You are in the world, and come and go; how happy men are! but I shall remain all alone. Oh, I shall be so sad! What will you do to-morrow night, tell me?"
"I shall try something."
"In that case I shall pray to Heaven, and think of you, so that you may succeed. I will not question you any more, as you do not wish it, and you are my master. I will spend my evening in singing the song from 'Euryanthe,' of which you are so fond, and which you heard one night under my shutters. But you will come early the next evening, and I shall expect you at nine o'clock exactly. I warn you. Oh, good Heaven! how sad it is that the days are so long! You hear; I shall be in the garden as it is striking nine."
"And I too."
And without saying a word, moved by the same thought, carried away by those electric currents which place two lovers in continual communication, both intoxicated with voluptuousness, even in their grief, fell into each other's arms without noticing that their lips were joined together, while their upraised eyes, overflowing with ecstasy and full of tears, contemplated the stars. When Marius left, the street was deserted, for it was the moment when Éponine followed the bandits into the boulevard. While Marius dreamed with his head leaning against a tree an idea had crossed his mind,—an idea, alas! which himself considered mad and impossible. He had formed a violent resolution.