CHAPTER VI.
THE BATTLE BEGINS.
Cosette was in her shadow, as Marius was in his, all ready to bekindled. Destiny, with its mysterious and fatal patience, broughtslowly together these two beings, all charged with, and pining in, thestormy electricity of passion,--these two souls which bore love as theclouds bore thunder, and were destined to come together and be blendedin a glance like the clouds in a storm. The power of a glance has beenso abused in love-romances that it has been discredited in the end,and a writer dares hardly assert nowadays that two beings fell in lovebecause they looked at each other. And yet, that is the way, and thesole way, in which people fall in love; the rest is merely the rest,and comes afterwards. Nothing is more real than the mighty shocks whichtwo souls give each other by exchanging this spark. At the hour whenCosette unconsciously gave that glance which troubled Marius, Mariusdid not suspect that he too gave a glance which troubled Cosette. Fora long time she had seen and examined him in the way girls see andexamine, while looking elsewhere. Marius was still thinking Cosetteugly, when Cosette had already considered Marius handsome, but as theyoung man paid no attention to her he was an object of indifference.Still she could not refrain from saying to herself that he had silkyhair, fine eyes, regular teeth, an agreeable voice, when she heard himtalking with his companions; that he perhaps walked badly, but with agrace of his own, that he did not appear at all silly, that his wholeperson was noble, gentle, simple, and proud; and, lastly, that thoughhe seemed poor, he had the bearing of a gentleman.
On the day when their eyes met, and at length suddenly said to eachother the first obscure and ineffable things which the eye stammers,Cosette did not understand it at first. She returned pensively to thehouse in the Rue de l'Ouest, where Jean Valjean was spending six weeks,according to his wont. When she awoke the next morning she thought ofthe young stranger, so long indifferent and cold, who now seemed to payattention to her, and this attention did not appear at all agreeableto her; on the contrary, she felt a little angry with the handsomedisdainful man. A warlike feeling was aroused, and she felt a verychildish joy at the thought that she was at length about to be avenged;knowing herself to be lovely, she felt, though in an indistinct way,that she had a weapon. Women play with their beauty as lads do withtheir knife, and cut themselves with it. Our readers will rememberMarius's hesitations, palpitations, and terrors; he remained on hisbench, and did not approach, and this vexed Cosette. One day she saidto Jean Valjean, "Father, suppose we take a walk in that direction?"Seeing that Marius did not come to her, she went to him, for in suchcases, every woman resembles Mahomet. And then, strange it is, thefirst symptom of true love in a young man is timidity; in a girl it isboldness. This will surprise, and yet nothing is more simple; the twosexes have a tendency to approach, and each assumes the qualities ofthe other. On this day Cosette's glance drove Marius mad, while hisglance made Cosette tremble. Marius went away confiding, and Cosetterestless. Now they adored each other. The first thing that Cosetteexperienced was a confused and deep sorrow; it seemed to her that hersoul had become black in one day, and she no longer recognized herself.The whiteness of the soul of maidens, which is composed of coldness andgayety, resembles snow; it melts before love, which is its sun.
Cosette knew not what love was, and she had never heard the worduttered in its earthly sense. In the books of profane music whichentered the convent, _tambour_ or _pandour_ was substituted for_amour_. This produced enigmas, which exercised the imagination of thebig girls, such as: "Ah! how agreeable the drummer is!" or, "Pity isnot a pandour!" But Cosette left the convent at too early an age totrouble herself much about the "drummer," and hence did not know whatname to give to that which now troubled her. But are we the less illthrough being ignorant of the name of our disease? She loved with themore passion, because she loved in ignorance; she did not know whetherit was good or bad, useful or dangerous, necessary or mortal, eternalor transient, permitted or prohibited,--she loved. She would have beengreatly surprised had any one said to her, "You do not sleep? that isforbidden. You do not eat? that is very wrong. You have an oppressionand beating of the heart? that cannot be tolerated. You blush andturn pale when a certain person dressed in black appears at the endof a certain green walk? why, that is abominable!" She would not haveunderstood, and would have replied, "How can I be to blame in a matterin which I can do nothing, and of which I know nothing?"
It happened that the love which presented itself was the one most inharmony with the state of her soul; it was a sort of distant adoration,a dumb contemplation, the deification of an unknown man. It was theapparition of youth to youth, the dream of nights become a romanceand remaining a dream, the wished-for phantom at length realized andincarnated, but as yet having no name, or wrong, or flaw, or claim, ordefect; in a word, the distant lover who remained idealized, a chimerawhich assumed a shape. Any more palpable and nearer meeting would atthis first stage have startled Cosette, who was still half plunged inthe magnifying fog of the cloister. She had all the fears of childrenand all the fears of nuns blended together, and the essence of theconvent, with which she had been impregnated for five years, was stillslowly evaporating from her whole person, and making everything tremblearound her. In this situation, it was not a lover she wanted, not evenan admirer, but a vision, and she began adoring Marius as somethingcharming, luminous, and impossible.
As extreme simplicity trenches on extreme coquetry, she smiled upon himmost frankly. She daily awaited impatiently the hour for the walk; shesaw Marius, she felt indescribably happy, and sincerely believed thatshe was expressing her entire thoughts when she said to Jean Valjean,"What a delicious garden the Luxembourg is!" Marius and Cosette existedfor one another in the night: they did not speak, they did not bow,they did not know each other, but they met; and like the stars in theheavens, which are millions of leagues separate, they lived by lookingat each other. It is thus that Cosette gradually became a woman, andwas developed into a beautiful and loving woman, conscious of herbeauty and ignorant of her love. She was a coquette into the bargain,through her innocence.