Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [432]
“Monsieur,” said Jean Valjean, “I have something to tell you. I am a former convict.”
The limit of perceptible acute sounds may be passed quite as easily for the mind as for the ear. Those words: I am a former convict, coming from M. Fauchelevent’s mouth and entering Marius’ ear, went beyond the possible. Marius did not hear. It seemed to him that something had just been said to him; but he knew not what. He stood aghast.
He then perceived that the man who was talking to him was terrible. Excited as he was, he had not until this moment noticed that frightful pallor.
Jean Valjean untied the black cravat which sustained his right arm, took off the cloth wound about his head, laid his thumb bare, and showed it to Marius.
“There is nothing the matter with my hand,” said he.
Marius looked at the thumb.
“There has never been anything the matter with it,” continued Jean Valjean.
There was, in fact, no trace of a wound.
Jean Valjean pursued:
“It was best that I should be absent from your marriage. I absented myself as much as I could. I feigned this wound so as not to commit a forgery, not to introduce a nullity into the marriage acts, to be excused from signing.”
Marius stammered out:
“What does this mean?”
“It means,” answered Jean Valjean, “that I have been in the galleys.”
“You drive me mad!” exclaimed Marius in dismay.
“Monsieur Pontmercy,” said Jean Valjean, “I was nineteen years in the galleys. For robbery. Then I was sentenced for life. For robbery. For a second offence. If they knew I was alive, there’d be a warrant out for my arrest.”
It was useless for Marius to recoil before the reality, to refuse the fact, to resist the evidence; he was compelled to yield. He began to comprehend, and as always happens in such a case, he comprehended beyond the truth. He felt the shiver of a horrible interior flash; an idea which made him shudder, crossed his mind. He caught a glimpse in the future of a hideous destiny for himself.
“Tell all, tell all!” cried he. “You are Cosette’s father!”
And he took two steps backward with an expression of unspeakable horror.
Jean Valjean raised his head with such a majesty of attitude that he seemed to rise to the ceiling.
“It is necessary that you believe me in this, monsieur; although the oath of such as I be not received.”
Here he made a pause; then, with a sort of sovereign and sepulchral authority, he added, articulating slowly and emphasising his syllables:
“——You will believe me. I, the father of Cosette! before God, no. Monsieur Baron Pontmercy, I am a peasant of Faverolles. I earned my living by pruning trees. My name is not Fauchelevent, my name is Jean Valjean. I am nothing to Cosette. Compose yourself.”
Marius faltered:
“Who proves it to me——”
“I. Since I say so.”
Marius looked at this man. He was mournful, yet self-possessed. No lie could come out of such a calmness. That which is frozen is sincere. We feel the truth in that sepulchral coldness.
“I believe you,” said Marius.
Jean Valjean inclined his head as if taking oath, and continued: “What am I to Cosette? a passer-by. Ten years ago, I did not know that she existed. I love her, it is true. A child whom one has seen when little, being himself already old, he loves. When a man is old, he feels like a grandfather towards all little children. You can, it seems to me, suppose that I have something which resembles a heart. She was an orphan. Without father or mother. She had need of me. That is why I began to love her. Children are so weak, that anybody, even a man like me, may be their protector. I performed that duty with regard to Cosette. I do not think that one could truly call so little a thing a good deed; but if it is a good deed; well, set it down that I have done it. Record that mitigating circumstance. Today Cosette