Part 4 Book 4 Chapter 1 A Wound without, Healing within
Thus their life clouded over by degrees.
But one diversion, which had formerly been a happiness, remained to them, which was to carry bread to those who were hungry, and clothing to those who were cold. Cosette often accompanied Jean Valjean on these visits to the poor, on which they recovered some remnants of their former free intercourse; and sometimes, when the day had been a good one, and they had assisted many in distress, and cheered and warmed many little children, Cosette was rather merry in the evening. It was at this epoch that they paid their visit to the Jondrette den.
On the day following that visit, Jean Valjean made his appearance in the pavilion in the morning, calm as was his wont, but with a large wound on his left arm which was much inflamed, and very angry, which resembled a burn, and which he explained in some way or other. This wound resulted in his being detained in the house for a month with fever. He would not call in a doctor. When Cosette urged him, "Call the dog-doctor," said he.
Cosette dressed the wound morning and evening with so divine an air and such angelic happiness at being of use to him, that Jean Valjean felt all his former joy returning, his fears and anxieties dissipating, and he gazed at Cosette, saying: "Oh! what a kindly wound! Oh! what a good misfortune!"
Cosette on perceiving that her father was ill, had deserted the pavilion and again taken a fancy to the little lodging and the back courtyard. She passed nearly all her days beside Jean Valjean and read to him the books which he desired. Generally they were books of travel. Jean Valjean was undergoing a new birth; his happiness was reviving in these ineffable rays; the Luxembourg, the prowling young stranger, Cosette's coldness,--all these clouds upon his soul were growing dim. He had reached the point where he said to himself: "I imagined all that. I am an old fool."
His happiness was so great that the horrible discovery of the Thenardiers made in the Jondrette hovel, unexpected as it was, had, after a fashion, glided over him unnoticed. He had succeeded in making his escape; all trace of him was lost--what more did he care for! he only thought of those wretched beings to pity them. "Here they are in prison, and henceforth they will be incapacitated for doing any harm," he thought, "but what a lamentable family in distress!"
As for the hideous vision of the Barriere du Maine, Cosette had not referred to it again.
Sister Sainte-Mechtilde had taught Cosette music in the convent; Cosette had the voice of a linnet with a soul, and sometimes, in the evening, in the wounded man's humble abode, she warbled melancholy songs which delighted Jean Valjean.
Spring came; the garden was so delightful at that season of the year, that Jean Valjean said to Cosette:--
"You never go there; I want you to stroll in it."
"As you like, father," said Cosette.
And for the sake of obeying her father, she resumed her walks in the garden, generally alone, for, as we have mentioned, Jean Valjean, who was probably afraid of being seen through the fence, hardly ever went there.
Jean Valjean's wound had created a diversion.
When Cosette saw that her father was suffering less, that he was convalescing, and that he appeared to be happy, she experienced a contentment which she did not even perceive, so gently and naturally had it come. Then, it was in the month of March, the days were growing longer, the winter was departing, the winter always bears away with it a portion of our sadness; then came April, that daybreak of summer, fresh as dawn always is, gay like every childhood; a little inclined to weep at times like the new-born being that it is. In that month, nature has charming gleams which pass from the sky, from the trees, from the meadows and the flowers into the heart of man.
Cosette was still too young to escape the penetrating influence of that April joy which bore so strong a resemblance to herself. Insensibly, and without her suspecting the fact, the blackness departed from her spirit. In spring, sad souls grow light, as light falls into cellars at midday. Cosette was no longer sad. However, though this was so, she did not account for it to herself. In the morning, about ten o'clock, after brea kfast, when she had succeeded in enticing her father into the garden for a quarter of an hour, and when she was pacing up and down in the sunlight in front of the steps, supporting his left arm for him, she did not perceive that she laughed every moment and that she was happy.
Jean Valjean, intoxicated, beheld her growing fresh and rosy once more.
"Oh! What a good wound!" he repeated in a whisper.
And he felt grateful to the Thenardiers.
His wound once healed, he resumed his solitary twilight strolls.
It is a mistake to suppose that a person can stroll alone in that fashion in the uninhabited regions of Paris without meeting with some adventure.
他们的生活便这样一天一天地暗淡下去了。
他们只剩下一种消遣方法，也就是从前的那种快乐事儿：把面包送给挨饿的人，把衣服送给挨冻的人。珂赛特时常陪着冉阿让去访贫问苦，他们在这些行动中，还能找到一点从前遗留下来的共同语言，有时，当一天的活动进行顺利，帮助了不少穷人，使不少小孩得到温饱后又活跃起来，到了点灯时，珂赛特便显得欢快一些。正是在这些日子里，他们去访问了容德雷特的破屋。
就在那次访问的第二天早晨，冉阿让来到楼房里，和平时一样镇静，只是左臂上带着一条大伤口，相当红肿，相当恶毒，象是火烫的伤口，他随便解释了一下。这次的伤使他发了一个多月的高烧，不曾出门。他不愿请任何医生。当珂赛特坚持要请一个的时候，他便说：“找个给狗看病的医生吧。”
珂赛特替他包扎，她的神气无比庄严，并以能为他尽力而感到莫大的安慰，冉阿让也感到旧时的欢乐又回到他心头了，他的恐惧和忧虑烟消云散了，他常望着珂赛特说：“呵！多美好的创伤！呵！多美好的痛苦！”
珂赛特看见她父亲害病，便背叛了那座楼房，重新跟小屋子和后院亲热起来。她几乎整天整天地待在冉阿让身边，把他要看的书念给他听，主要是些游记。冉阿让再生了，他的幸福也以无可形容的光辉焕然再现了，卢森堡公园，那个不相识的浪荡少年，珂赛特的冷淡，他心灵上的一切乌云全已消逝。因而他常对自己说：“那一切全是我无中生有想出来的。我是一个老疯子。
他感到非常宽慰，好象德纳第的新发现棗在容德雷特破屋里的意外遭遇棗在他身上已经消失了，他已胜利脱身，线索已经中断，其余的事，都无关重要。当他想到那次遭遇时，他只觉得那一伙歹徒可怜。他想，他们已进监牢，今后不能再去害人，可是这穷愁绝望的一家人也未免太悲惨了。
至于上次在梅恩便门遇见的那种奇丑绝恶的景象，珂赛特没有再提起过。
在修院时，珂赛特曾向圣梅克蒂尔德嬷嬷学习音乐。珂赛特的歌喉就象一只通灵的黄莺，有时，天黑以后，她在老人养病的那间简陋的小屋里，唱一两首忧郁的歌曲，冉阿让听了，心里大为喜悦。
春天来了，每年这个季节，园子总是非常美丽的，冉阿让对珂赛特说：“你从不去园子里，我要你到那里去走走。”我听您的吩咐就是了，爹。”珂赛特这样说。
为了听她父亲的话，她又常到她的园里去散步了，多半是独自一个人去，因为，我们已指出过，冉阿让几乎从不去那园子，大概是怕别人从铁栏门口看见他。
冉阿让的创伤成了一种改变情况的力量。
珂赛特看见她父亲的痛苦减轻了，伤口慢慢好了，心境也好象宽了些，她便也有了安慰，但是她自己并没有感到，因为它是一点一点、自然而然来到的。随后，便是三月，日子渐渐长了，冬天已经过去，冬天总是要把我们的伤感带走一部分的，随后又到了四月，这是夏季的黎明，象晓色一样新鲜，象童年一样欢快，也象初生的婴儿一样，间或要哭哭啼啼。大自然在这一月里具有多种感人的光泽，从天上、云端、林木、原野、花枝各方面映入人心。
珂赛特还太年轻，不能不让那种和她本人相似的四月天的欢乐透进她的心。伤感已在不知不觉中从她心里无影无踪地消逝了。灵魂在春天是明朗的，正如地窨子在中午是明亮的一样。珂赛特甚至已不怎么忧郁了。总之，情况就是这样，她自己并没有感觉到。早晨，将近十点，早餐过后，当她扶着她父亲负伤的手臂，搀他到园里台阶前散散步，晒上一刻来钟的太阳时，她一点也不觉得她自己随时都在笑，并且是快快活活的。
冉阿让满腔欢慰，看到她又变得红润光艳了。
“呵！美好的创伤！”他低声反复这样说。
他并对德纳第怀着感激的心情。
伤口好了以后，他又恢复了夜间独自散步的习惯。
如果认为独自一人在巴黎的那些荒凉地段散步不会遇到什么意外，那将是错误的设想。