CHAPTER IV.
CHEESEMAKING AT PONTARLIER.
And now, in order to give an idea of what took place at table, wecannot do better than transcribe a passage of a letter writtenby Mademoiselle Baptistine to Madame Boischevron, in which theconversation between the convict and the Bishop is recorded with simpleminuteness.
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"The man paid no attention to any one; he ate with frightful voracity,but after supper he said,--
"Monsieur le Cur?, all this is much too good for me; but I am bound tosay that the carriers who would not let me sup with them have bettercheer than you."
"Between ourselves, this remark slightly offended me, but my brotheranswered,--
"They are harder worked than I am."
"No," the man continued, "they have more money. You are poor, as I canplainly see; perhaps you are not even cur?. Ah, if Heaven were just youought to be a cur?."
"Heaven is more than just," said my brother. A moment after he added,--
"Monsieur Jean Valjean, I think you said you were going to Pontarlier?"
"I am compelled to go there." Then he continued, "I must be off bysunrise to-morrow morning; it is a tough journey, for if the nights arecold the days are hot."
"You are going to an excellent part of the country," my brotherresumed. "When the Revolution ruined my family I sought shelter firstin Franche Comt?, and lived there for some time by the labor of myarms. I had a good will, and found plenty to do, as I need only choose.There are paper-mills, tanneries, distilleries, oil-mills, wholesalemanufactories of clocks, steel works, copper works, and at least twentyiron foundries, of which the four at Lods, Chatillon, Audincourt, andBeure are very large."
"I am pretty sure I am not mistaken, and that they are the names mybrother mentioned; then he broke off and addressed me.
"My dear sister, have we not some relatives in those parts?"
"My answer was, 'We used to have some; among others Monsieur deLucinet, who was Captain of the gates at Pontarlier, under the ancientr?gime."
"Yes," my brother continued, "but in '93 people had no relatives, butonly their arms, and so I worked. In the country to which you aregoing, Monsieur Valjean, there is a truly patriarchal and pleasingtrade. My dear sister, I mean their cheese manufactures, which theycall _fruiti?res_."
"Then my brother, while pressing this man to eat, explained in theirfullest details the _fruiti?res_ of Pontarlier, which were divided intotwo classes--the large farms which belong to the rich, and where thereare forty or fifty cows, which produce seven to eight thousand cheesesin the summer, and the partnership _fruiti?res_, which belong to thepoor. The peasants of the central mountain district keep their cows incommon and divide the produce. They have a cheese-maker, who is calledthe _grurin_; he receives the milk from the partners thrice a day, andenters the quantities in a book. The cheese-making begins about themiddle of April, and the dairy farmers lead their cows to the mountainstoward midsummer.
"The man grew animated while eating, and my brother made him drink thatexcellent Mauves wine, which he does not drink himself because he saysthat it is expensive. My brother gave him all these details with thateasy gayety of his which you know, mingling his remarks with gracefulappeals to myself. He dwelt a good deal on the comfortable position ofthe _grurin_, as if wishful that this man should understand, withoutadvising him directly and harshly, that it would be a refuge for him.One thing struck me: the man was as I have described him to you; well,my brother, during the whole of supper, and indeed of the evening, didnot utter a word which could remind this man of what he was, or tellhim who my brother was. It was apparently a good opportunity to givehim a little lecture, and let the Bishop produce a permanent effecton the galley-slave. It might have seemed to any one else that havingthis wretched man in hand it would be right to feed his mind at thesame time as his body, and address to him some reproaches seasonedwith morality and advice, or at any rate a little commiseration, withan exhortation to behave better in future. My brother did not even askhim where he came from, or his history, for his fault is containedin his history, and my brother appeared to avoid everything whichmight call it to his mind. This was carried to such a point that at acertain moment, when my brother was talking about the mountaineers ofPontarlier, 'who had a pleasant task near heaven,' and who, he added,'are happy because they are innocent,' he stopped short, fearing lestthere might be in the remark something which might unpleasantly affectthis man. After considerable reflection, I believe I can understandwhat was going on in my brother's heart: he doubtless thought that thisJean Valjean had his misery ever present to his mind, that the bestthing was to distract his attention, and make him believe, were it onlymomentarily, that he was a man like the rest, by behaving to him as hewould to others. Was not this really charity? Is there not, my dearlady, something truly evangelical in this delicacy, which abstains fromall lecturing and allusions, and is it not the best pity, when a manhas a sore point, not to touch it at all? It seemed to me that thismight be my brother's innermost thought: in any case, what I can safelysay is, that if he had all these ideas, he did not let any of them bevisible, even to me; he was from beginning to end the same man he isevery night, and he supped with Jean Valjean with the same air and inthe same way as if he had been supping with M. Gedeon le Prevost, orwith the parish curate.
"Toward the end, when we had come to the figs, there was a knock atthe door. It was Mother Gerbaud with her little baby in her arms. Mybrother kissed the child's forehead, and borrowed from me 15 sous whichI happened to have about me, to give them to the mother. The man,while this was going on, did not seem to pay great attention: he saidnothing, and seemed very tired. When poor old Mother Gerbaud left, mybrother said grace, and then said to this man: 'You must need yourbed.' Madame Magloire hastily removed the plate. I understood that wemust retire in order to let this traveller sleep, and we both wentup-stairs. I, however, sent Madame Magloire to lay on the man's bed aroebuck's hide from the Black Forest, which was in my room, for thenights are very cold, and that keeps you wann. It is a pity that thisskin is old and the hair is wearing off. My brother bought it when hewas in Germany, at Tottlingen, near the source of the Danube, as wellas the small ivory-handled knife which I use at meals.
"Madame Magloire came up again almost immediately. We said our prayersin the room where the clothes are hung up to dry, and then retired toour bed-rooms without saying a word to each other."