the door opened.
it opened wide with a rapid movement, as though some one had given it an energetic and resolute push.
a man entered.
we already know the man. it was the wayfarer whom we have seen wandering about in search of shelter.
he entered, advanced a step, and halted, leaving the door open behind him. he had his knapsack on his shoulders, his cudgel in his hand, a rough, audacious, weary, and violent expression in his eyes. the fire on the hearth lighted him up. he was hideous. it was a sinister apparition.
madame magloire had not even the strength to utter a cry. she trembled, and stood with her mouth wide open.
mademoiselle baptistine turned round, beheld the man entering, and half started up in terror; then, turning her head by degrees towards the fireplace again, she began to observe her brother, and her face became once more profoundly calm and serene.
the bishop fixed a tranquil eye on the man.
as he opened his mouth, doubtless to ask the new-comer what he desired, the man rested both hands on his staff, directed his gaze at the old man and the two women, and without waiting for the bishop to speak, he said, in a loud voice:--
"see here. my name is jean valjean. i am a convict from the galleys. i have passed nineteen years in the galleys. i was liberated four days ago, and am on my way to pontarlier, which is my destination. i have been walking for four days since i left toulon. i have travelled a dozen leagues to-day on foot. this evening, when i arrived in these parts, i went to an inn, and they turned me out, because of my yellow passport, which i had shown at the town-hall. i had to do it. i went to an inn. they said to me, `be off,' at both places. no one would take me. i went to the prison; the jailer would not admit me. i went into a dog's kennel; the dog bit me and chased me off, as though he had been a man. one would have said that he knew who i was. i went into the fields, intending to sleep in the open air, beneath the stars. there were no stars. i thought it was going to rain, and i re-entered the town, to seek the recess of a doorway. yonder, in the square, i meant to sleep on a stone bench. a good woman pointed out your house to me, and said to me, `knock there!' i have knocked. what is this place? do you keep an inn? i have money--savings. one hundred and nine francs fifteen sous, which i earned in the galleys by my labor, in the course of nineteen years. i will pay. what is that to me? i have money. i am very weary; twelve leagues on foot; i am very hungry. are you willing that i should remain?"
"madame magloire," said the bishop, "you will set another place."
the man advanced three paces, and approached the lamp which was on the table. "stop," he resumed, as though he had not quite understood; "that's not it. did you hear? i am a galley-slave; a convict. i come from the galleys." he drew from his pocket a large sheet of yellow paper, which he unfolded. "here's my passport. yellow, as you see. this serves to expel me from every place where i go. will you read it? i know how to read. i learned in the galleys. there is a school there for those who choose to learn. hold, this is what they put on this passport: `jean valjean, discharged convict, native of'--that is nothing to you--`has been nineteen years in the galleys: five years for house-breaking and burglary; fourteen years for having attempted to escape on four occasions. he is a very dangerous man.' there! every one has cast me out. are you willing to receive me? is this an inn? will you give me something to eat and a bed? have you a stable?"
"madame magloire," said the bishop, "you will put white sheets on the bed in the alcove." we have already explained the character of the two women's obedience.
madame magloire retired to execute these orders.
the bishop turned to the man.
"sit down, sir, and warm yourself. we are going to sup in a few moments, and your bed will be prepared while you are supping."
at this point the man suddenly comprehended. the expression of his face, up to that time sombre and harsh, bore the imprint of stupefaction, of doubt, of joy, and became extraordinary. he began stammering like a crazy man:--
"really? what! you will keep me? you do not drive me forth? a convict! you call me sir! you do not address me as thou? `get out of here, you dog!' is what people always say to me. i felt sure that you would expel me, so i told you at once who i am. oh, what a good woman that was who directed me hither! i am going to sup! a bed with a mattress and sheets, like the rest of the world! a bed! it is nineteen years since i have slept in a bed! you actually do not want me to go! you are good people. besides, i have money. i will pay well. pardon me, monsieur the inn-keeper, but what is your name? i will pay anything you ask. you are a fine man. you are an inn-keeper, are you not?"
"i am," replied the bishop, "a priest who lives here."
"a priest!" said the man. "oh, what a fine priest! then you are not going to demand any money of me? you are the cure, are you not? the cure of this big church? well! i am a fool, truly! i had not perceived your skull-cap."
as he spoke, he deposited his knapsack and his cudgel in a corner, replaced his passport in his pocket, and seated himself. mademoiselle baptistine gazed mildly at him. he continued: "you are humane, monsieur le cure; you have not scorned me. a good priest is a very good thing. then you do not require me to pay?"
"no," said the bishop; "keep your money. how much have you? did you not tell me one hundred and nine francs?"
"and fifteen sous," added the man.
"one hundred and nine francs fifteen sous. and how long did it take you to earn that?"
"nineteen years."
"nineteen years!"
the bishop sighed deeply.
the man continued: "i have still the whole of my money. in four days i have spent only twenty-five sous, which i earned by helping unload some wagons at grasse. since you are an abbe, i will tell you that we had a chaplain in the galleys. and one day i saw a bishop there. monseigneur is what they call him. he was the bishop of majore at marseilles. he is the cure who rules over the other cures, you understand. pardon me, i say that very badly; but it is such a far-off thing to me! you understand what we are! he said mass in the middle of the galleys, on an altar. he had a pointed thing, made of gold, on his head; it glittered in the bright light of midday. we were all ranged in lines on the three sides, with cannons with lighted matches facing us. we could not see very well. he spoke; but he was too far off, and we did not hear. that is what a bishop is like."
while he was speaking, the bishop had gone and shut the door, which had remained wide open.
madame magloire returned. she brought a silver fork and spoon, which she placed on the table.
"madame magloire," said the bishop, "place those things as near the fire as possible." and turning to his guest: "the night wind is harsh on the alps. you must be cold, sir."
each time that he uttered the word sir, in his voice which was so gently grave and polished, the man's face lighted up. monsieur to a convict is like a glass of water to one of the shipwrecked of the medusa. ignominy thirsts for consideration.
"this lamp gives a very bad light," said the bishop.
madame magloire understood him, and went to get the two silver candlesticks from the chimney-piece in monseigneur's bed-chamber, and placed them, lighted, on the table.
"monsieur le cure," said the man, "you are good; you do not despise me. you receive me into your house. you light your candles for me. yet i have not concealed from you whence i come and that i am an unfortunate man."
the bishop, who was sitting close to him, gently touched his hand. "you could not help telling me who you were. this is not my house; it is the house of jesus christ. this door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. you suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. and do not thank me; do not say that i receive you in my house. no one is at home here, except the man who needs a refuge. i say to you, who are passing by, that you are much more at home here than i am myself. everything here is yours. what need have i to know your name? besides, before you told me you had one which i knew."
the man opened his eyes in astonishment.
"really? you knew what i was called?"
"yes," replied the bishop, "you are called my brother."
"stop, monsieur le cure," exclaimed the man. "i was very hungry when i entered here; but you are so good, that i no longer know what has happened to me."
the bishop looked at him, and said,--
"you have suffered much?"
"oh, the red coat, the ball on the ankle, a plank to sleep on, heat, cold, toil, the convicts, the thrashings, the double chain for nothing, the cell for one word; even sick and in bed, still the chain! dogs, dogs are happier! nineteen years! i am forty-six. now there is the yellow passport. that is what it is like."
"yes," resumed the bishop, "you have come from a very sad place. listen. there will be more joy in heaven over the tear-bathed face of a repentant sinner than over the white robes of a hundred just men. if you emerge from that sad place with thoughts of hatred and of wrath against mankind, you are deserving of pity; if you emerge with thoughts of good-will and of peace, you are more worthy than any one of us."
in the meantime, madame magloire had served supper: soup, made with water, oil, bread, and salt; a little bacon, a bit of mutton, figs, a fresh cheese, and a large loaf of rye bread. she had, of her own accord, added to the bishop's ordinary fare a bottle of his old mauves wine.
the bishop's face at once assumed that expression of gayety which is peculiar to hospitable natures. "to table!" he cried vivaciously. as was his custom when a stranger supped with him, he made the man sit on his right. mademoiselle baptistine, perfectly peaceable and natural, took her seat at his left.
the bishop asked a blessing; then helped the soup himself, according to his custom. the man began to eat with avidity.
all at once the bishop said: "it strikes me there is something missing on this table."
madame magloire had, in fact, only placed the three sets of forks and spoons which were absolutely necessary. now, it was the usage of the house, when the bishop had any one to supper, to lay out the whole six sets of silver on the table-cloth--an innocent ostentation.
this graceful semblance of luxury was a kind of child's play, which was full of charm in that gentle and severe household, which raised poverty into dignity.
madame magloire understood the remark, went out without saying a word, and a moment later the three sets of silver forks and spoons demanded by the bishop were glittering upon the cloth, symmetrically arranged before the three persons seated at the table.
门开了。
门一下子便大大地开了，好象有人使了大劲和决心推它似的。
有个人进来了。
这人我们已经认识，便是我们刚才见过，往来求宿的那个过路人。
他走进来，向前踏上一步，停住，让门在他背后敞着。他的肩上有个布袋，手里有根木棍，眼睛里有种粗鲁、放肆、困惫和强暴的神情。壁炉里的火正照着他，他那样子真是凶恶可怕，简直是恶魔的化身。
马格洛大娘连叫喊的力气都没有了。她大吃一惊，变得目瞪口呆。
巴狄斯丁姑娘回头瞧见那人朝门里走，吓得站不直身子，过了一会才慢慢地转过头去，对着壁炉，望着她哥，她的面色又转成深沉恬静的了。
主教用镇静的目光瞧着那人。
他正要开口问那新来的人需要什么，那人双手靠在他的棍上，把老人和两个妇人来回地看着，不等主教开口，便大声说：
“请听我说。我叫冉阿让。我是个苦役犯。在监牢里过了十九年。出狱四天了，现在我要去蓬塔利埃，那是我的目的地。我从土伦走来，已经走了四天了，我今天一天就走了十二法里。天黑时才到这地方，我到过一家客店，只因为我在市政厅请验了黄护照，就被人赶了出来。那又是非请验不可的。我又走到另外一家客店。他们对我说：‘滚！’这家不要我。那家也不要我。我又到了监狱，看门的人也不肯开门。我也到过狗窝。那狗咬了我，也把我撵了出来，好象它也是人似的，好象它也知道我是谁似的。我就跑到田里，打算露天过一宵。可是天上没有星。我想天要下雨了，又没有好天主阻挡下雨，我再回到城里，想找个门洞。那边，在那空地里，有一块石板，我正躺下去，一个婆婆把您这房子指给我瞧，对我说：‘您去敲敲那扇门。’我已经敲过了。这是什么地方？是客店吗？我有钱。我有积蓄。一百○九个法郎十五个苏，我在监牢里用十九年的工夫作工赚来的。可以付账。那有什么关系？我有钱。我困极了，走了十二法里，我饿得很。您肯让我歇下吗？”
“马格洛大娘，”主教说，“加一副刀叉。”
那人走了三步，靠近台上的那盏灯。“不是，”他说，仿佛他没有听懂似的，“不是这个意思。您听见了没有？我是一个苦役犯，一个罚作苦役的罪犯。我是刚从牢里出来的。”他从衣袋里抽出一张大黄纸，展开说：“这就是我的护照。黄的，您瞧。这东西害我处处受人撵。您要念吗？我能念，我，我在牢里念过书。那里有个学校，愿意读书的人都可以进去。您听吧，这就是写在纸上的话：‘冉阿让，苦役犯，刑满释放，原籍……’您不一定要知道我是什么地方人，‘处狱中凡十九年。计穿墙行窃，五年。四次企图越狱，十四年。为人异常险狠。’就这样！大家都把我撵出来，您肯收留我吗？您这是客店吗？您肯给我吃，给我睡吗？您有一间马房没有？”
“马格洛大娘，”主教说，“您在壁厢里的床上铺上一条白床单。”
我们已解释过那两个妇人的服从性是怎样的。
马格洛大娘即刻出去执行命令。
主教转过身来，朝着那人。
“先生，请坐，烤烤火。等一会儿，我们就吃晚饭，您吃着的时候，您的床也就会预备好的。”
到这时，那人才完全懂了。他的那副一向阴沉严肃的面孔显出惊讶、疑惑和欢乐，变得很奇特，他好象一个疯子，低声慢气地说：
“真的吗？怎么？您留我吗？您不撵我走！一个苦役犯！您叫我做‘先生’！和我说话，您不用‘你’字。‘滚！狗东西！’人家总那样叫我。我还以为您一定会撵我走呢。并且我一上来就说明我是谁。呵！那个好婆婆，她把这地方告诉了我。我有晚饭吃了！有床睡了！一张有褥子、垫单的床！和旁人一样！十九年我没有睡在床上了，您当真不要我走！您是有天良的人！并且我有钱。我自然要付账的。对不起，客店老板先生，您贵姓？随便您要多少，我都照付。您是个好人。您是客店老板，不是吗？”
“我是一个住在此地的神甫。”主教说。
“一个神甫！”那人说。“呵，好一个神甫！那么您不要我的钱吗？本堂神甫，是吗？那个大教堂里的本堂神甫。对呀！真是，我多么蠢，我刚才还没有注意看您的小帽子！”
他一面说，一面把布袋和棍子放在屋角里，随后又把护照插进衣袋，然后坐下去，巴狄斯丁姑娘和蔼地瞧着他。他继续说：
“您是有人道的，本堂神甫先生。您没有瞧不起人的心。一个好神甫真是好。那么您不要我付账吗？”“不用付账，”主教说，“留着您的钱吧。您有多少？您没有说过一百○九个法郎吗？”
“还得加上十五个苏。”那人说。
“一百○九个法郎十五个苏。您花了多少时间赚来的？”
“十九年。”
“十九年！”
主教深深地叹了一口气。
那人接着说：
“我的钱，全都在。这四天里我只用了二十五个苏，那二十五个苏是我在格拉斯地方帮着卸车上的货物赚来的。您既是神甫，我就得和您说，从前在我们牢里有个布道神甫。一天，我又看见一个主教。大家都称他做‘主教大人’。那是马赛马若尔教堂的主教。他是一些神甫头上的神甫。请您原谅，您知道，我不会说话；对我来说，实在说不好！您知道，象我们这种人！他在监狱里一个祭台上做过弥撒，头上有个尖的金玩意儿。在中午的阳光里，那玩意几照得多么亮。我们一行行排着，三面围着。在我们的前面，有许多大炮，引火绳子也点着了。我们看不大清楚。他对我们讲话，但是他站得太靠里了，我们听不见。那样就是一个主教。”
他谈着，主教走去关上那扇敞着的门。
马格洛大娘又进来，拿着一套餐具，摆在桌子上。“马格洛大娘，”主教说，“您把这套餐具摆在靠近火的地方。”他又转过去朝着他的客人：
“阿尔卑斯山里的夜风是够受的。先生，您大约很冷吧？”
每次他用他那种柔和严肃、诚意待客的声音说出“先生”那两个字时，那人总是喜形于色。“先生”对于罪犯，正象一杯水对于墨杜萨1的遭难音。蒙羞的人都渴望别人的尊重。
“这盏灯，”主教说，“太不亮了。”
1墨杜萨（méduse），船名，一八一六年七月二日在距非洲西岸四十海里地方遇险。一百四十九个旅客改乘木排，在海上飘了十二天，旅客多因饥渴死去。得救者十五人。
马格洛大娘会意，走到主教的卧室里，从壁炉上拿了那两个银烛台，点好放在桌上。
“神甫先生，”那人说，“您真好。您并不瞧不起我。您让我住在您的家里，您为我点起蜡烛。我并没有瞒您我是从什么地方来的，也没有瞒您我是一个倒霉蛋。”
主教坐在他身旁，轻轻按着他的手。
“您不用向我说您是谁。这并不是我的房子，这是耶稣基督的房子。这扇门并不问走进来的人有没有名字，但是要问他是否有痛苦。您有痛苦，您又饿又渴，您安心待下吧。并且不应当谢我，不应当说我把您留在我的家里。除非是需要住处的人，谁也不是在自己家里。您是过路的人，我告诉您，与其说我是在我的家里，倒不如说您是在您的家里。这儿所有的东西都是您的。我为什么要知道您的名字呢？并且在您把您的名字告诉我以前，您已经有了一个名字，是我早知道了的。”
那个人睁圆了眼，有些莫名其妙。
“真的吗？您早已知道我的名字吗？”
“对，”主教回答说，“您的名字叫‘我的兄弟’。”
“真怪，神甫先生，”那人叫着说，“我进来时肚子是真饿，但是您这么好，我已经不知道饿了，我已经不饿了。”
主教望着他，向他说：
“您很吃过一些苦吧？”
“穿红衣，脚上拖铁球，睡觉只有一块木板，受热，受冷，做苦工，编到苦囚队里，挨棍子！没有一点事也得拖上夹链条。说错一个字就关黑屋子。病在床上也得拖着链子，狗，狗还快乐些呢！十九年！我已经四十六岁了。现在还得带张黄护照，就这样。”
“是呀，”主教说，“您是从苦地方出来的。您听吧。一个流着泪忏悔的罪人在天上所得的快乐，比一百个穿白衣的善人还更能获得上天的喜爱呢。您从那个苦地方出来，如果还有愤怒憎恨别人的心，那您真是值得可怜的；如果您怀着善心、仁爱、和平的思想，那您就比我们中的任何人都还高贵些。”
马格洛大娘把晚餐开出来了。一盆用白开水、植物油、面包和盐做的汤，还有一点咸肉、一块羊肉、无花果、新鲜乳酪和一大块黑麦面包。她在主教先生的日常食物之外，主动加了一瓶陈年母福酒。
主教的脸上忽然起了好客的人所特有的那种愉快神情。
“请坐。”他连忙说。如同平日留客晚餐一样，他请那人坐在他的右边，巴狄斯丁姑娘，完全宁静自如，坐在他的左边。
主教依照他的习惯，先做祷告，再亲手分汤。那人贪婪地吃起来。
主教忽然说：“桌上好象少了一件东西。”
马格洛大娘的确没有摆上那三副绝不可少的餐具。照这一家人的习惯，主教留客晚餐时，总得在台布上陈设上那六份银器，这其实是一种可有可无的陈设。那种温雅的假奢华是这一家人的一种饶有情趣的稚气，把清寒的景象提高到富华的气派。
马格洛大娘领会到他的意思，一声不响，走了出去，不大一会，主教要的那三副食具，在三位进餐人的面前齐齐整整地摆出来了，在台布上面闪闪发光。
