Les Miserables (3 page)

“Monsieur Mayor, what has happened to you?” said the nurse. A look of shock was on her face. “Your hair is completely white.”

I looked in a mirror. It was true. My hair was white. The courtroom had been hard on me. But I had a more pressing concern: Fantine.

“How is Fantine? May I see her?”

I was led to Fantine's bedside. She was
sinking fast. Her eyes opened and she greeted me warmly.

“I knew you were here,” she said. “I could see you in my sleep. And where is my Cosette? Why isn't she sitting on the bed waiting for me?”

“You must keep calm, my child,” I said. “Your little girl is here.”

I was lying. But I wanted her to keep calm.

“Oh, please,” she cried. Her eyes were bright and her hands were clasped. “Won't someone bring her in?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“You have to rest first,” said the doctor. He had come in to check on her. “You still have a fever. Such excitement wouldn't be good for you.”

“First you must get well,” I agreed. “Then you can see your girl.”

I hoped my words would comfort her. I
wanted her to sleep. Then I could go and get Cosette.

But my words made her more upset.

“I want to see my baby! How can you be so foolish? Let me see my Cosette!” she begged.

“You see how quickly you get upset,” said the doctor. “As long as you are like this, I can't let you see your child. It's not enough to see her. You have to live for her.”

I held Fantine's hand. She seemed to be in another world. Her eyes were looking upward.

“I can hear her!” she cried. “It's my darling Cosette. I can hear her.”

She pointed over my shoulder. “It's him. It's him. He's come to get me!”

I turned to see who she pointed at. It was Javert. He had entered the room silently and was waiting for me.

Fantine sat up in bed. “Monsieur
Madeleine, save me!” Then she fell back against the pillow. Her head hit the headboard. It sank limply against her shoulder. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were sightless. She was dead.

“You have killed this woman,” I said to Javert.

“Let's go!” he ordered. “We've wasted enough time. March! Or I'll put the handcuffs on you.”

I set Fantine's head gently on the pillow. I tucked her hair in her cap and closed her eyes. I kissed the hand that hung over the bed and laid it on top of the other one.

I rose to my feet.

“I am at your service,” I said.

Javert put me in the town lockup. He intended to take me to Toulon in the morning. But I had other plans. I broke a window bar and dropped down from the roof.

I ran home and found my metal savings
box. It had all my money in it. I wrapped the silver candlesticks in an old shirt. I buried both in the woods nearby.

Then I fled to Paris, hoping to disappear in the great city. But the Paris police searched for me. They asked Javert to help them locate me. He was relentless. I was caught.

My new number was 9,430. Would I wear it as long as my first number? Was I doomed to labor in shackles in the prison at Toulon until my death? I had no answers to these questions.

But there came a day when my life took another turn. This is how it happened.

The warship
Orion
came to Toulon harbor to be repaired. I was one of a crew of prisoners who was sent to help clean her hull. She was a big ship, and the crowds came out to watch.

Suddenly one of the seamen of the
Orion
fell from a topsail. During his fall, his hands got tangled on one of the sail's ropes. He was hundreds of feet above the sea. He hung like a stone in a sling.

No one came to his rescue. He was wriggling and weakening. I knew he would soon drop into the sea. I made up my mind. I would try to rescue the seaman.

I asked the officer on duty if he would break my ankle chain. I grabbed a rope and dashed up the rigging. As everybody watched, I raced across the outer part of the sail.

I tied the rope to the sail and lowered myself to the seaman's level.

Now two of us hung above the sea.

The seaman was getting tired. He would soon let go. Quickly, I tied the rope around his middle and climbed back up. I pulled the seaman up. He was carried to safety.

But I was weak from the rescue. I
staggered on the outer part of the sail. Then I fell into the sea. I would not go back to the ship or to prison. I would take my chances in the water.

As I fell, I heard the cry of the crowd. The next day the paper reported my death:

Cosette

But drowning was not my fate. I had made a promise, and I meant to keep it.

I dug up my money and the candlesticks. I dressed as a poor man. No one would have known that the man walking the road to Montfermeil was once Monsieur Madeleine, the mayor.

The Thénardiers' inn was called The Sergeant of Waterloo. The sign over the
door showed a soldier carrying another soldier on his back.

I was nearing the inn when I saw a little girl. She was you, my dear Cosette. You were carrying a big bucket of water. You were only eight. But the Thénardiers worked you like a horse.

The bucket of water was heavy. The small girl put it down every few steps and rested.

“Oh, God help me! Please, dear God!” she sobbed.

I came up from behind and reached down for the handle. I didn't say a word. The girl looked up, unafraid. She trusted me.

“Have you carried this far?” I asked her.

“From the spring back there,” she replied.

“Haven't you a mother?” I asked.

“I don't think I've ever had one,” the
child replied. “The others have a mother. But I have not.”

“What others?” I asked.

“Madame Thénardier's children,” she said. “She has two girls. Their names are Eponine and Azelma.”

“And what do they do?” I asked.

“Oh, they have lovely dolls,” she replied. “They play games all day.”

“And what do you do?”

“I work,” she said, her eyes filled with tears. “I haven't got many toys. And Ponine and Zelma won't let me play with their dolls.”

We were almost at the inn door. Cosette asked me for the bucket.

“If Madame sees someone carrying it for me, she'll beat me.”

I gave her the bucket, and we entered the noisy inn.

Madame Thénardier came to the door
carrying a candle. She was a big woman. Her features were coarse. She looked as though she rarely smiled.

“So there you are, you good-for-nothing,” she said to Cosette. “You've taken your time again. I guess you were fooling around as usual.”

“Madame,” said Cosette, trembling. “Here is a gentleman who wants a room for the night.”

Madame Thénardier thought I was a beggar without any money.

“The rooms are full,” she said.

“You can put me where you like,” I offered. “In the hayloft or the stable. I'll pay the same price as for a room.”

“Very well, forty francs,” she said.

The price was too high. But I agreed. I put my bundle and my walking stick on a bench and sat down. Cosette brought me wine and a glass. Then she crawled under a
table on the other side of the room.

Cosette knit and chewed her lower lip. She watched the sisters play with their dolls near the fireplace.

She was a plain child. She would have been pretty if she were happy. Too much work and too little food had made her thin and pale. Her large blue eyes had deep shadows under them.

Her dress was a rag, hardly warm enough for summer, let alone winter. She looked like a shivering, frightened rabbit.

“Cosette!” called Madame Thénardier.

Cosette had forgotten to buy bread. Madame wanted her money back. Cosette stuffed her hand into her apron pocket. Her face fell. The coin was gone. She had lost it.

“So you've lost it, have you?” said Madame Thénardier. “Or are you trying to steal it?”

Madame Thénardier reached for the strap hanging on the chimney. She raised it above Cosette's head.

“Please, Madame! Please!” cried the frightened girl.

I took a coin from my vest pocket. No one saw me put it on the floor.

“Pardon me, Madame,” I said. “The coin rolled under my table. It must have fallen from the child's pocket.”

Madame Thénardier snatched the money from my hand. She put it in her pocket and glared at Cosette. Cosette ran back under the table. She sent me a look of thanks.

I had seen a doll in a store window on my way into town. It was bigger and much more beautiful than the one the sisters were playing with. I left the inn and went to the store. I bought the doll for Cosette.

“Here, it's for you,” I said, holding it out to her.

Cosette was dazzled. The doll had a beautiful pink dress. Cosette's face was like a burst of sunshine.

Madame Thénardier, Eponine, and Azelma stared like statues. The room was silent. Madame Thénardier might have been thinking: Who
is
this man? Is he a beggar or a millionaire? Or worse, is he a criminal?

“Is it true, monsieur?” asked Cosette. “Is the lady really mine?”

This poor child brought me close to tears. I could only nod and put the doll into her hands.

“I'll call her Catherine,” she said.

Cosette played with the doll until her bedtime. She went to sleep in her torn dress to keep warm.

I was up early the next morning. Madame Thénardier handed me my bill. It was high. But I paid it without a word. I had other things on my mind.

“We have so many expenses, monsieur,” said Madame Thénardier. She had seen the look I gave the bill. “There's the child. You saw her last night. She costs a pretty penny to keep. And I have my own daughters to consider.”

“Suppose I took her off your hands?” I said.

“What—Cosette?”

“Yes.”

“Why, monsieur, my dear monsieur, take her!” Madame Thénardier's face was red with excitement. “Take her away. Take care of her, spoil her, and may you be blessed!”

But Monsieur Thénardier wasn't so pleased. He was listening from the hall. He didn't want to let the child go.

“I can't allow it,” he said, entering the room.

“It is true that she costs money and that we are not rich. I had to pay over four
hundred francs for one of her illnesses. But I love the child and so does my wife. We need to see her running about the place.”

Monsieur Thénardier took fifteen hundred francs for Cosette.

I gave the child a bundle of warm clothes that I had brought for her. She came downstairs dressed all in black. She carried her doll in one hand and took my hand with the other. We left the inn.

We hadn't gone far down the road when the innkeeper caught up with us.

“I can't let you take the child without permission from her mother,” said Thénardier. “Give her back to me.”

He wanted more money. But I had a surprise for him. I had Fantine's letter. Thénardier recognized her writing.

But still he demanded more money. I reached for Cosette with one hand and gripped my heavy walking stick with the
other. Thénardier didn't stay to see what I could do with it.

Cosette and I turned and walked toward our future.

Night Hunt

Cosette and I moved into an apartment in the poorest part of Paris. Few people lived in our run-down building. It was perfect for us. No one would ever find us here.

We lived a quiet life. For the first time in her young life, Cosette could play and forget about work.

How I came to love my Cosette! I had never loved anything or anyone before. I
had never been a father, a lover, a husband, or even a friend.

Cosette's love gave me hope. She became my daughter. And I became her father. Sometimes I thought my heart would burst with tenderness.