Kabanata Kabanata 235 · JEAN VALJEAN AS A NATIONAL GUARD

However, properly speaking, he lived in the Rue Plumet, and he had

arranged his existence there in the following fashion:—

Cosette and the servant occupied the pavilion; she had the big

sleeping-room with the painted pier-glasses, the boudoir with the

gilded fillets, the justice’s drawing-room furnished with tapestries

and vast armchairs; she had the garden. Jean Valjean had a canopied bed

of antique damask in three colors and a beautiful Persian rug purchased

in the Rue du Figuier-Saint-Paul at Mother Gaucher’s, put into

Cosette’s chamber, and, in order to redeem the severity of these

magnificent old things, he had amalgamated with this bric-à-brac all

the gay and graceful little pieces of furniture suitable to young

girls, an étagère, a bookcase filled with gilt-edged books, an

inkstand, a blotting-book, paper, a work-table incrusted with mother of

pearl, a silver-gilt dressing-case, a toilet service in Japanese

porcelain. Long damask curtains with a red foundation and three colors,

like those on the bed, hung at the windows of the first floor. On the

ground floor, the curtains were of tapestry. All winter long, Cosette’s

little house was heated from top to bottom. Jean Valjean inhabited the

sort of porter’s lodge which was situated at the end of the back

courtyard, with a mattress on a folding-bed, a white wood table, two

straw chairs, an earthenware water-jug, a few old volumes on a shelf,

his beloved valise in one corner, and never any fire. He dined with

Cosette, and he had a loaf of black bread on the table for his own use.

When Toussaint came, he had said to her: “It is the young lady who is

the mistress of this house.”—“And you, monsieur?” Toussaint replied in

amazement.—“I am a much better thing than the master, I am the father.”

Cosette had been taught housekeeping in the convent, and she regulated

their expenditure, which was very modest. Every day, Jean Valjean put

his arm through Cosette’s and took her for a walk. He led her to the

Luxembourg, to the least frequented walk, and every Sunday he took her

to mass at Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas, because that was a long way off.

As it was a very poor quarter, he bestowed alms largely there, and the

poor people surrounded him in church, which had drawn down upon him

Thénardier’s epistle: “To the benevolent gentleman of the church of

Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas.” He was fond of taking Cosette to visit the

poor and the sick. No stranger ever entered the house in the Rue

Plumet. Toussaint brought their provisions, and Jean Valjean went

himself for water to a fountain nearby on the boulevard. Their wood and

wine were put into a half-subterranean hollow lined with rock-work

which lay near the Rue de Babylone and which had formerly served the

chief-justice as a grotto; for at the epoch of follies and “Little

Houses” no love was without a grotto.

In the door opening on the Rue de Babylone, there was a box destined

for the reception of letters and papers; only, as the three inhabitants

of the pavilion in the Rue Plumet received neither papers nor letters,

the entire usefulness of that box, formerly the go-between of a love

affair, and the confidant of a love-lorn lawyer, was now limited to the

tax-collector’s notices, and the summons of the guard. For M.

Fauchelevent, independent gentleman, belonged to the national guard; he

had not been able to escape through the fine meshes of the census of

1831. The municipal information collected at that time had even reached

the convent of the Petit-Picpus, a sort of impenetrable and holy cloud,

whence Jean Valjean had emerged in venerable guise, and, consequently,

worthy of mounting guard in the eyes of the town-hall.

Three or four times a year, Jean Valjean donned his uniform and mounted

guard; he did this willingly, however; it was a correct disguise which

mixed him with every one, and yet left him solitary. Jean Valjean had

just attained his sixtieth birthday, the age of legal exemption; but he

did not appear to be over fifty; moreover, he had no desire to escape

his sergeant-major nor to quibble with Comte de Lobau; he possessed no

civil status, he was concealing his name, he was concealing his

identity, so he concealed his age, he concealed everything; and, as we

have just said, he willingly did his duty as a national guard; the sum

of his ambition lay in resembling any other man who paid his taxes.

This man had for his ideal, within, the angel, without, the bourgeois.

Let us note one detail, however; when Jean Valjean went out with

Cosette, he dressed as the reader has already seen, and had the air of

a retired officer. When he went out alone, which was generally at

night, he was always dressed in a workingman’s trousers and blouse, and

wore a cap which concealed his face. Was this precaution or humility?

Both. Cosette was accustomed to the enigmatical side of her destiny,

and hardly noticed her father’s peculiarities. As for Toussaint, she

venerated Jean Valjean, and thought everything he did right.

One day, her butcher, who had caught a glimpse of Jean Valjean, said to

her: “That’s a queer fish.” She replied: “He’s a saint.”

Neither Jean Valjean nor Cosette nor Toussaint ever entered or emerged

except by the door on the Rue de Babylone. Unless seen through the

garden gate it would have been difficult to guess that they lived in

the Rue Plumet. That gate was always closed. Jean Valjean had left the

garden uncultivated, in order not to attract attention.

In this, possibly, he made a mistake.