________________________________________________
_ The incidents the reader is about to peruse were not all known
at M. sur M. But the small portion of them which became known left
such a memory in that town that a serious gap would exist in this
book if we did not narrate them in their most minute details.
Among these details the reader will encounter two or three improbable
circumstances, which we preserve out of respect for the truth.
On the afternoon following the visit of Javert, M. Madeleine went
to see Fantine according to his wont.
Before entering Fantine's room, he had Sister Simplice summoned.
The two nuns who performed the services of nurse in the infirmary,
Lazariste ladies, like all sisters of charity, bore the names of
Sister Perpetue and Sister Simplice.
Sister Perpetue was an ordinary villager, a sister of charity
in a coarse style, who had entered the service of God as one enters
any other service. She was a nun as other women are cooks.
This type is not so very rare. The monastic orders gladly accept this
heavy peasant earthenware, which is easily fashioned into a Capuchin
or an Ursuline. These rustics are utilized for the rough work
of devotion. The transition from a drover to a Carmelite is not in
the least violent; the one turns into the other without much effort;
the fund of ignorance common to the village and the cloister is
a preparation ready at hand, and places the boor at once on the
same footing as the monk: a little more amplitude in the smock,
and it becomes a frock. Sister Perpetue was a robust nun from
Marines near Pontoise, who chattered her patois, droned, grumbled,
sugared the potion according to the bigotry or the hypocrisy of
the invalid, treated her patients abruptly, roughly, was crabbed
with the dying, almost flung God in their faces, stoned their
death agony with prayers mumbled in a rage; was bold, honest, and ruddy.
Sister Simplice was white, with a waxen pallor. Beside Sister Perpetue,
she was the taper beside the candle. Vincent de Paul has divinely
traced the features of the Sister of Charity in these admirable words,
in which he mingles as much freedom as servitude: "They shall have for
their convent only the house of the sick; for cell only a hired room;
for chapel only their parish church; for cloister only the streets of
the town and the wards of the hospitals; for enclosure only obedience;
for gratings only the fear of God; for veil only modesty." This ideal
was realized in the living person of Sister Simplice: she had never
been young, and it seemed as though she would never grow old.
No one could have told Sister Simplice's age. She was a person--
we dare not say a woman--who was gentle, austere, well-bred, cold,
and who had never lied. She was so gentle that she appeared fragile;
but she was more solid than granite. She touched the unhappy
with fingers that were charmingly pure and fine. There was,
so to speak, silence in her speech; she said just what was necessary,
and she possessed a tone of voice which would have equally edified
a confessional or enchanted a drawing-room. This delicacy accommodated
itself to the serge gown, finding in this harsh contact a continual
reminder of heaven and of God. Let us emphasize one detail.
Never to have lied, never to have said, for any interest whatever,
even in indifference, any single thing which was not the truth,
the sacred truth, was Sister Simplice's distinctive trait;
it was the accent of her virtue. She was almost renowned in the
congregation for this imperturbable veracity. The Abbe Sicard
speaks of Sister Simplice in a letter to the deaf-mute Massieu.
However pure and sincere we may be, we all bear upon our candor
the crack of the little, innocent lie. She did not. Little lie,
innocent lie--does such a thing exist? To lie is the absolute
form of evil. To lie a little is not possible: he who lies,
lies the whole lie. To lie is the very face of the demon. Satan has
two names; he is called Satan and Lying. That is what she thought;
and as she thought, so she did. The result was the whiteness which
we have mentioned--a whiteness which covered even her lips and her
eyes with radiance. Her smile was white, her glance was white.
There was not a single spider's web, not a grain of dust, on the glass
window of that conscience. On entering the order of Saint Vincent
de Paul, she had taken the name of Simplice by special choice.
Simplice of Sicily, as we know, is the saint who preferred to
allow both her breasts to be torn off rather than to say that she
had been born at Segesta when she had been born at Syracuse--
a lie which would have saved her. This patron saint suited
this soul.
Sister Simplice, on her entrance into the order, had had two
faults which she had gradually corrected: she had a taste
for dainties, and she liked to receive letters. She never read
anything but a book of prayers printed in Latin, in coarse type.
She did not understand Latin, but she understood the book.
This pious woman had conceived an affection for Fantine,
probably feeling a latent virtue there, and she had devoted
herself almost exclusively to her care.
M. Madeleine took Sister Simplice apart and recommended Fantine
to her in a singular tone, which the sister recalled later on.
On leaving the sister, he approached Fantine.
Fantine awaited M. Madeleine's appearance every day as one awaits
a ray of warmth and joy. She said to the sisters, "I only live
when Monsieur le Maire is here."
She had a great deal of fever that day. As soon as she saw
M. Madeleine she asked him:--
"And Cosette?"
He replied with a smile:--
"Soon."
M. Madeleine was the same as usual with Fantine. Only he remained
an hour instead of half an hour, to Fantine's great delight.
He urged every one repeatedly not to allow the invalid to want
for anything. It was noticed that there was a moment when his
countenance became very sombre. But this was explained when it became
known that the doctor had bent down to his ear and said to him,
"She is losing ground fast."
Then he returned to the town-hall, and the clerk observed him
attentively examining a road map of France which hung in his study.
He wrote a few figures on a bit of paper with a pencil. _
Read next: VOLUME I - FANTINE: BOOK SEVENTH - THE CHAMPMATHIEU AFFAIR: CHAPTER II. The Perspicacity of Master Scaufflaire
Read previous: VOLUME I - FANTINE: BOOK SIXTH - JAVERT: CHAPTER II. How Jean may become Champ
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