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Full Online Book HomeLong StoriesLes Miserables - Volume IV - BOOK THIRD - THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET - Chapter V. The Rose perceives that it is an Engine of War
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Les Miserables - Volume IV - BOOK THIRD - THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET - Chapter V. The Rose perceives that it is an Engine of War Post by :ianb4info Category :Long Stories Author :Victor Hugo Date :March 2011 Read :3135

Click below to download : Les Miserables - Volume IV - BOOK THIRD - THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET - Chapter V. The Rose perceives that it is an Engine of War (Format : PDF)

Les Miserables - Volume IV - 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 thought herself homely, and had
grown up in that belief with the easy resignation of childhood.
And here, all at once, was her mirror saying to her, as Jean Valjean
had said: "No indeed!" That night, she did not sleep. "What if I
were pretty!" she thought. "How odd it would be if I were pretty!"
And she recalled those of her companions whose beauty had produced
a sensation in the convent, and she said to herself: "What! Am I to
be like Mademoiselle So-and-So?"

The next morning she looked at herself again, not by accident this time,
and she was assailed with doubts: "Where did I get such an idea?"
said she; "no, I am ugly." She had not slept well, that was all,
her eyes were sunken and she was pale. She had not felt very joyous
on the preceding evening in the belief that she was beautiful,
but it made her very sad not to be able to believe in it any longer.
She did not look at herself again, and for more than a fortnight she
tried to dress her hair with her back turned to the mirror.

In the evening, after dinner, she generally embroidered in wool
or did some convent needlework in the drawing-room, and Jean
Valjean read beside her. Once she raised her eyes from her work,
and was rendered quite uneasy by the manner in which her father
was gazing at her.

On another occasion, she was passing along the street,
and it seemed to her that some one behind her, whom she
did not see, said: "A pretty woman! but badly dressed."
"Bah!" she thought, "he does not mean me. I am well dressed
and ugly." She was then wearing a plush hat and her merino gown.

At last, one day when she was in the garden, she heard poor old
Toussaint saying: "Do you notice how pretty Cosette is growing, sir?"
Cosette did not hear her father's reply, but Toussaint's words
caused a sort of commotion within her. She fled from the garden,
ran up to her room, flew to the looking-glass,--it was three
months since she had looked at herself,--and gave vent to a cry.
She had just dazzled herself.

She was beautiful and lovely; she could not help agreeing with
Toussaint and her mirror. Her figure was formed, her skin had
grown white, her hair was lustrous, an unaccustomed splendor had
been lighted in her blue eyes. The consciousness of her beauty
burst upon her in an instant, like the sudden advent of daylight;
other people noticed it also, Toussaint had said so, it was
evidently she of whom the passer-by had spoken, there could no
longer be any doubt of that; she descended to the garden again,
thinking herself a queen, imagining that she heard the birds singing,
though it was winter, seeing the sky gilded, the sun among the trees,
flowers in the thickets, distracted, wild, in inexpressible delight.

Jean Valjean, on his side, experienced a deep and undefinable
oppression at heart.

In fact, he had, for some time past, been contemplating with terror
that beauty which seemed to grow more radiant every day on Cosette's
sweet face. The dawn that was smiling for all was gloomy for him.

Cosette had been beautiful for a tolerably long time before she
became aware of it herself. But, from the very first day,
that unexpected light which was rising slowly and enveloping the whole
of the young girl's person, wounded Jean Valjean's sombre eye.
He felt that it was a change in a happy life, a life so happy
that he did not dare to move for fear of disarranging something.
This man, who had passed through all manner of distresses,
who was still all bleeding from the bruises of fate, who had been
almost wicked and who had become almost a saint, who, after having
dragged the chain of the galleys, was now dragging the invisible
but heavy chain of indefinite misery, this man whom the law had
not released from its grasp and who could be seized at any moment
and brought back from the obscurity of his virtue to the broad
daylight of public opprobrium, this man accepted all, excused all,
pardoned all, and merely asked of Providence, of man, of the law,
of society, of nature, of the world, one thing, that Cosette might
love him!

That Cosette might continue to love him! That God would not prevent
the heart of the child from coming to him, and from remaining with him!
Beloved by Cosette, he felt that he was healed, rested, appeased,
loaded with benefits, recompensed, crowned. Beloved by Cosette,
it was well with him! He asked nothing more! Had any one said
to him: "Do you want anything better?" he would have answered:
"No." God might have said to him: "Do you desire heaven?" and he
would have replied: "I should lose by it."

Everything which could affect this situation, if only on the surface,
made him shudder like the beginning of something new. He had never
known very distinctly himself what the beauty of a woman means;
but he understood instinctively, that it was something terrible.

He gazed with terror on this beauty, which was blossoming out ever
more triumphant and superb beside him, beneath his very eyes,
on the innocent and formidable brow of that child, from the depths
of her homeliness, of his old age, of his misery, of his reprobation.

He said to himself: "How beautiful she is! What is to become
of me?"

There, moreover, lay the difference between his tenderness
and the tenderness of a mother. What he beheld with anguish,
a mother would have gazed upon with joy.

The first symptoms were not long in making their appearance.

On the very morrow of the day on which she had said to herself:
"Decidedly I am beautiful!" Cosette began to pay attention to
her toilet. She recalled the remark of that passer-by: "Pretty,
but badly dressed," the breath of an oracle which had passed
beside her and had vanished, after depositing in her heart one
of the two germs which are destined, later on, to fill the whole
life of woman, coquetry. Love is the other.

With faith in her beauty, the whole feminine soul expanded within her.
She conceived a horror for her merinos, and shame for her plush hat.
Her father had never refused her anything. She at once acquired
the whole science of the bonnet, the gown, the mantle, the boot,
the cuff, the stuff which is in fashion, the color which is becoming,
that science which makes of the Parisian woman something so charming,
so deep, and so dangerous. The words heady woman were invented for
the Parisienne.

In less than a month, little Cosette, in that Thebaid of the Rue
de Babylone, was not only one of the prettiest, but one of the
"best dressed" women in Paris, which means a great deal more.

She would have liked to encounter her "passer-by," to see
what he would say, and to "teach him a lesson!" The truth is,
that she was ravishing in every respect, and that she distinguished
the difference between a bonnet from Gerard and one from Herbaut
in the most marvellous way.

Jean Valjean watched these ravages with anxiety. He who felt
that he could never do anything but crawl, walk at the most,
beheld wings sprouting on Cosette.

Moreover, from the mere inspection of Cosette's toilet,
a woman would have recognized the fact that she had no mother.
Certain little proprieties, certain special conventionalities,
were not observed by Cosette. A mother, for instance, would have
told her that a young girl does not dress in damask.

The first day that Cosette went out in her black damask gown
and mantle, and her white crape bonnet, she took Jean Valjean's arm,
gay, radiant, rosy, proud, dazzling. "Father," she said, "how do
you like me in this guise?" Jean Valjean replied in a voice which
resembled the bitter voice of an envious man: "Charming!" He was the
same as usual during their walk. On their return home, he asked Cosette:--

"Won't you put on that other gown and bonnet again,--you know
the ones I mean?"

This took place in Cosette's chamber. Cosette turned towards
the wardrobe where her cast-off schoolgirl's clothes were hanging.

"That disguise!" said she. "Father, what do you want me to do with it?
Oh no, the idea! I shall never put on those horrors again.
With that machine on my head, I have the air of Madame Mad-dog."

Jean Valjean heaved a deep sigh.

From that moment forth, he noticed that Cosette, who had always
heretofore asked to remain at home, saying: "Father, I enjoy myself
more here with you," now was always asking to go out. In fact,
what is the use of having a handsome face and a delicious costume
if one does not display them?

He also noticed that Cosette had no longer the same taste for the
back garden. Now she preferred the garden, and did not dislike
to promenade back and forth in front of the railed fence.
Jean Valjean, who was shy, never set foot in the garden.
He kept to his back yard, like a dog.

Cosette, in gaining the knowledge that she was beautiful, lost the
grace of ignoring it. An exquisite grace, for beauty enhanced by
ingenuousness is ineffable, and nothing is so adorable as a dazzling
and innocent creature who walks along, holding in her hand the key
to paradise without being conscious of it. But what she had lost
in ingenuous grace, she gained in pensive and serious charm.
Her whole person, permeated with the joy of youth, of innocence,
and of beauty, breathed forth a splendid melancholy.

It was at this epoch that Marius, after the lapse of six months,
saw her once more at the Luxembourg.

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Les Miserables - Volume IV - BOOK THIRD - THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET - Chapter VI. The Battle Begun
Cosette in her shadow, like Marius in his, was all ready to take fire. Destiny, with its mysterious and fatal patience, slowly drew togetherthese two beings, all charged and all languishing with the stormyelectricity of passion, these two souls which were laden with loveas two clouds are laden with lightning, and which were boundto overflow and mingle in a look like the clouds in a flash of fire.The glance has been so much abused in love romances that it hasfinally fallen into disrepute. One hardly dares to say, nowadays,that two beings fell in love because they looked at each other.

Les Miserables - Volume IV - BOOK THIRD - THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET - Chapter IV. Change of Gate Les Miserables - Volume IV - BOOK THIRD - THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET - Chapter IV. Change of Gate

Les Miserables - Volume IV - BOOK THIRD - THE HOUSE IN THE RUE PLUMET - Chapter IV. Change of Gate
It seemed that this garden, created in olden days to concealwanton mysteries, had been transformed and become fitted to shelterchaste mysteries. There were no longer either arbors, or bowling greens,or tunnels, or grottos; there was a magnificent, dishevelled obscurityfalling like a veil over all. Paphos had been made over into Eden. It is impossible to say what element of repentance had renderedthis retreat wholesome. This flower-girl now offered her blossomto the soul. This coquettish garden, formerly decidedly compromised,had returned to virginity and modesty. A justice assisted by a gardener,a goodman who thought that he was a