CHAPTER IX.
SUCCESS OF MADAME VICTURNIEN.
The monk's widow, then, was good for something. M. Madeleine, however,knew nothing of all this; and they were combinations of events of whichthe world is fall. M. Madeleine made it a rule hardly, ever to enterthe female work-room; he had placed at its head an old maid, whom thecur? had given him, and he had entire confidence in her. She was reallya respectable, firm, equitable, and just person, fall of that charitywhich consists in giving, but not possessing to the same extent thecharity which comprehends and pardons. M. Madeleine trusted to herin everything, for the best men are often forced to delegate theirauthority, and it was with this fall power, and in the conviction shewas acting rightly, that the forewoman tried, condemned, and executedFantine. As for the 50 francs, she had given them out of a sum M.Madeleine had given her for alms and helping the workwomen, and whichshe did not account for.
Fantine tried to get a servant's place in the town, and went fromhouse to house, but no one would have anything to do with her. Shecould not leave the town, for the broker to whom she was in debt forher furniture--what furniture!--said to her, "If you go away, I willhave you arrested as a thief." The landlord to whom she owed her rent,said to her, "You are young and pretty, you can pay." She dividedthe 50 francs between the landlord and the broker, gave back to thelatter three-fourths of the goods, only retaining what was absolutelynecessary, and found herself without work, without a trade, withonly a bed, and still owing about 100 francs. She set to work makingcoarse shirts for the troops, and earned at this sixpence a day, herdaughter costing her fourpence. It was at this moment she began to fallin arrears with the Th?nardiers. An old woman, however, who lit hercandle for her when she came in at nights, taught her the way to livein wretchedness. Behind living on little, there is living on nothing:there are two chambers,--the first is obscure, the second quite dark.
Fantine learned how she could do entirely without fire in winter,how she must get rid of a bird that cost her a halfpenny every twodays, how she could make a petticoat of her blanket and a blanket ofher petticoat, and how candle can be saved by taking your meals bythe light of the window opposite. We do not know all that certainweak beings, who have grown old in want and honesty, can get out of ahalfpenny, and in the end it becomes a talent. Fantine acquired thissublime talent, and regained a little courage. At this period she saidto a neighbor, "Nonsense, I say to myself; by only sleeping for fivehours and working all the others at my needle, I shall always manageto earn bread, at any rate. And then, when you are sad, you eat less.Well! suffering, anxiety, a little bread on one side and sorrow on theother, all will support me."
In this distress, it would have been a strange happiness to have hadher daughter with her, and she thought of sending for her. But, what!make her share her poverty? And then she owed money to the Th?nardiers!how was she to pay it and the travelling expenses? The old woman whohad given her lessons in what may be called indigent life, was a piouscreature, poor, and charitable to the poor and even to the rich, whocould just write her name, "Marguerite," and believed in God, which isknowledge. There are many such virtues down here, and one day they willbe up above, for this life has a morrow.
At the beginning Fantine had been so ashamed that she did not dare goout. When she was in the streets, she perceived that people turnedround to look at her and pointed to her. Every one stared at her, andno one bowed to her; the cold bitter contempt of the passers-by passedthrough her flesh and her mind like an east wind. In small towns anunhappy girl seems to be naked beneath the sarcasm and curiosity ofall. In Paris, at least no one knows you, and that obscurity is agarment. Oh! how glad she would have been to be back in Paris. She mustgrow accustomed to disrespect, as she had done to poverty. Graduallyshe made up her mind, and after two or three months shook off hershame, and went as if nothing had occurred. "It is no matter to me,"she said. She came and went, with head erect and with a bitter smile,and felt that she was growing impudent. Madame Victurnien sometimes sawher pass from her window; she noticed the distress of "the creaturewhom she had made know her place," and congratulated herself. Thewicked have a black happiness. Excessive labor fatigued Fantine, andthe little dry cough she had grew worse. She sometimes said to herneighbor, "Marguerite, just feel how hot my hands are!" Still, in themorning, when she passed an old broken comb through her glorious hair,which shone like floss silk, she had a minute of happy coquettishness.