Part 1 Book 7 Chapter 3 A Tempest in a Skull
The reader has, no doubt, already divined that M. Madeleine is no other than Jean Valjean.
We have already gazed into the depths of this conscience; the moment has now come when we must take another look into it. We do so not without emotion and trepidation. There is nothing more terrible in existence than this sort of contemplation. The eye of the spirit can nowhere find more dazzling brilliance and more shadow than in man; it can fix itself on no other thing which is more formidable, more complicated, more mysterious, and more infinite. There is a spectacle more grand than the sea; it is heaven: there is a spectacle more grand than heaven; it is the inmost recesses of the soul.
To make the poem of the human conscience, were it only with reference to a single man, were it only in connection with the basest of men, would be to blend all epics into one superior and definitive epic. Conscience is the chaos of chimeras, of lusts, and of temptations; the furnace of dreams; the lair of ideas of which we are ashamed; it is the pandemonium of sophisms; it is the battlefield of the passions. Penetrate, at certain hours, past the livid face of a human being who is engaged in reflection, and look behind, gaze into that soul, gaze into that obscurity. There, beneath that external silence, battles of giants, like those recorded in Homer, are in progress; skirmishes of dragons and hydras and swarms of phantoms, as in Milton; visionary circles, as in Dante. What a solemn thing is this infinity which every man bears within him, and which he measures with despair against the caprices of his brain and the actions of his life!
Alighieri one day met with a sinister-looking door, before which he hesitated. Here is one before us, upon whose threshold we hesitate. Let us enter, nevertheless.
We have but little to add to what the reader already knows of what had happened to Jean Valjean after the adventure with Little Gervais. From that moment forth he was, as we have seen, a totally different man. What the Bishop had wished to make of him, that he carried out. It was more than a transformation; it was a transfiguration.
He succeeded in disappearing, sold the Bishop's silver, reserving only the candlesticks as a souvenir, crept from town to town, traversed France, came to M. sur M., conceived the idea which we have mentioned, accomplished what we have related, succeeded in rendering himself safe from seizure and inaccessible, and, thenceforth, established at M. sur M., happy in feeling his conscience saddened by the past and the first half of his existence belied by the last, he lived in peace, reassured and hopeful, having henceforth only two thoughts,--to conceal his name and to sanctify his life; to escape men and to return to God.
These two thoughts were so closely intertwined in his mind that they formed but a single one there; both were equally absorbing and imperative and ruled his slightest actions. In general, they conspired to regulate the conduct of his life; they turned him towards the gloom; they rendered him kindly and simple; they counselled him to the same things. Sometimes, however, they conflicted. In that case, as the reader will remember, the man whom all the country of M. sur M. called M. Madeleine did not hesitate to sacrifice the first to the second--his security to his virtue. Thus, in spite of all his reserve and all his prudence, he had preserved the Bishop's candlesticks, worn mourning for him, summoned and interrogated all the little Savoyards who passed that way, collected information regarding the families at Faverolles, and saved old Fauchelevent's life, despite the disquieting insinuations of Javert. It seemed, as we have already remarked, as though he thought, following the example of all those who have been wise, holy, and just, that his first duty was not towards himself.
At the same time, it must be confessed, nothing just like this had yet presented itself.
Never had the two ideas which governed the unhappy man whose sufferings we are narrating, engaged in so serious a struggle. He understood this confusedly but profoundly at the very first words pronounced by Javert, when the latter entered his study. At the moment when that name, which he had buried beneath so many layers, was so strangely articulated, he was struck with stupor, and as though intoxicated with the sinister eccentricity of his destiny; and through this stupor he felt that shudder which precedes great shocks. He bent like an oak at the approach of a storm, like a soldier at the approach of an assault. He felt shadows filled with thunders and lightnings descending upon his head. As he listened to Javert, the first thought which occurred to him was to go, to run and denounce himself, to take that Champmathieu out of prison and place himself there; this was as painful and as poignant as an incision in the living flesh. Then it passed away, and he said to himself, "We will see! We will see!" He repressed this first, generous instinct, and recoiled before heroism.
It would be beautiful, no doubt, after the Bishop's holy words, after so many years of repentance and abnegation, in the midst of a penitence admirably begun, if this man had not flinched for an instant, even in the presence of so terrible a conjecture, but had continued to walk with the same step towards this yawning precipice, at the bottom of which lay heaven; that would have been beautiful; but it was not thus. We must render an account of the things which went on in this soul, and we can only tell what there was there. He was carried away, at first, by the instinct of self-preservation; he rallied all his ideas in haste, stifled his emotions, took into consideration Javert's presence, that great danger, postponed all decision with the firmness of terror, shook off thought as to what he had to do, and resumed his calmness as a warrior picks up his buckler.
He remained in this state during the rest of the day, a whirlwind within, a profound tranquillity without. He took no "preservative measures," as they may be called. Everything was still confused, and jostling together in his brain. His trouble was so great that he could not perceive the form of a single idea distinctly, and he could have told nothing about himself, except that he had received a great blow.
He repaired to Fantine's bed of suffering, as usual, and prolonged his visit, through a kindly instinct, telling himself that he must behave thus, and recommend her well to the sisters, in case he should be obliged to be absent himself. He had a vague feeling that he might be obliged to go to Arras; and without having the least in the world made up his mind to this trip, he said to himself that being, as he was, beyond the shadow of any suspicion, there could be nothing out of the way in being a witness to what was to take place, and he engaged the tilbury from Scaufflaire in order to be prepared in any event.
He dined with a good deal of appetite.
On returning to his room, he communed with himself.
He examined the situation, and found it unprecedented; so unprecedented that in the midst of his revery he rose from his chair, moved by some inexplicable impulse of anxiety, and bolted his door. He feared lest something more should enter. He was barricading himself against possibilities.
A moment later he extinguished his light; it embarrassed him.
lt seemed to him as though he might be seen.
By whom?
Alas! That on which he desired to close the door had already entered; that which he desired to blind was staring him in the face,-- his conscience.
His conscience; that is to say, God.
Nevertheless, he deluded himself at first; he had a feeling of security and of solitude; the bolt once drawn, he thought himself impregnable; the candle extinguished, he felt himself invisible. Then he took possession of himself: he set his elbows on the table, leaned his head on his hand, and began to meditate in the dark.
"Where do I stand? Am not I dreaming? What have I heard? Is it really true that I have seen that Javert, and that he spoke to me in that manner? Who can that Champmathieu be? So he resembles me! Is it possible? When I reflect that yesterday I was so tranquil, and so far from suspecting anything! What was I doing yesterday at this hour? What is there in this incident? What will the end be? What is to be done?"
This was the torment in which he found himself. His brain had lost its power of retaining ideas; they passed like waves, and he clutched his brow in both hands to arrest them.
Nothing but anguish extricated itself from this tumult which overwhelmed his will and his reason, and from which he sought to draw proof and resolution.
His head was burning. He went to the window and threw it wide open. There were no stars in the sky. He returned and seated himself at the table.
The first hour passed in this manner.
Gradually, however, vague outlines began to take form and to fix themselves in his meditation, and he was able to catch a glimpse with precision of the reality,--not the whole situation, but some of the details. He began by recognizing the fact that, critical and extraordinary as was this situation, he was completely master of it.
This only caused an increase of his stupor.
Independently of the severe and religious aim which he had assigned to his actions, all that he had made up to that day had been nothing but a hole in which to bury his name. That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and--who knows?-- perhaps even his new soul within him, also. He shuddered at the very thought that this was possible. Assuredly, if any one had said to him at such moments that the hour would come when that name would ring in his ears, when the hideous words, Jean Valjean, would suddenly emerge from the darkness and rise in front of him, when that formidable light, capable of dissipating the mystery in which he had enveloped himself, would suddenly blaze forth above his head, and that that name would not menace him, that that light would but produce an obscurity more dense, that this rent veil would but increase the mystery, that this earthquake would solidify his edifice, that this prodigious incident would have no other result, so far as he was concerned, if so it seemed good to him, than that of rendering his existence at once clearer and more impenetrable, and that, out of his confrontation with the phantom of Jean Valjean, the good and worthy citizen Monsieur Madeleine would emerge more honored, more peaceful, and more respected than ever--if any one had told him that, he would have tossed his head and regarded the words as those of a madman. Well, all this was precisely what had just come to pass; all that accumulation of impossibilities was a fact, and God had permitted these wild fancies to become real things!
His revery continued to grow clearer. He came more and more to an understanding of his position.
It seemed to him that he had but just waked up from some inexplicable dream, and that he found himself slipping down a declivity in the middle of the night, erect, shivering, holding back all in vain, on the very brink of the abyss. He distinctly perceived in the darkness a stranger, a man unknown to him, whom destiny had mistaken for him, and whom she was thrusting into the gulf in his stead; in order that the gulf might close once more, it was necessary that some one, himself or that other man, should fall into it: he had only let things take their course.
The light became complete, and he acknowledged this to himself: That his place was empty in the galleys; that do what he would, it was still awaiting him; that the theft from little Gervais had led him back to it; that this vacant place would await him, and draw him on until he filled it; that this was inevitable and fatal; and then he said to himself, "that, at this moment, be had a substitute; that it appeared that a certain Champmathieu had that ill luck, and that, as regards himself, being present in the galleys in the person of that Champmathieu, present in society under the name of M. Madeleine, he had nothing more to fear, provided that he did not prevent men from sealing over the head of that Champmathieu this stone of infamy which, like the stone of the sepulchre, falls once, never to rise again."
All this was so strange and so violent, that there suddenly took place in him that indescribable movement, which no man feels more than two or three times in the course of his life, a sort of convulsion of the conscience which stirs up all that there is doubtful in the heart, which is composed of irony, of joy, and of despair, and which may be called an outburst of inward laughter.
He hastily relighted his candle.
"Well, what then?" he said to himself; "what am I afraid of? What is there in all that for me to think about? I am safe; all is over. I had but one partly open door through which my past might invade my life, and behold that door is walled up forever! That Javert, who has been annoying me so long; that terrible instinct which seemed to have divined me, which had divined me-- good God! and which followed me everywhere; that frightful hunting-dog, always making a point at me, is thrown off the scent, engaged elsewhere, absolutely turned from the trail: henceforth he is satisfied; he will leave me in peace; he has his Jean Valjean. Who knows? it is even probable that he will wish to leave town! And all this has been brought about without any aid from me, and I count for nothing in it! Ah! but where is the misfortune in this? Upon my honor, people would think, to see me, that some catastrophe had happened to me! After all, if it does bring harm to some one, that is not my fault in the least: it is Providence which has done it all; it is because it wishes it so to be, evidently. Have I the right to disarrange what it has arranged? What do I ask now? Why should I meddle? It does not concern me; what! I am not satisfied: but what more do I want? The goal to which I have aspired for so many years, the dream of my nights, the object of my prayers to Heaven,--security,--I have now attained; it is God who wills it; I can do nothing against the will of God, and why does God will it? In order that I may continue what I have begun, that I may do good, that I may one day be a grand and encouraging example, that it may be said at last, that a little happiness has been attached to the penance which I have undergone, and to that virtue to which I have returned. Really, I do not understand why I was afraid, a little while ago, to enter the house of that good cure, and to ask his advice; this is evidently what he would have said to me: It is settled; let things take their course; let the good God do as he likes!"
Thus did he address himself in the depths of his own conscience, bending over what may be called his own abyss; he rose from his chair, and began to pace the room: "Come," said he, "let us think no more about it; my resolve is taken!" but he felt no joy.
Quite the reverse.
One can no more prevent thought from recurring to an idea than one can the sea from returning to the shore: the sailor calls it the tide; the guilty man calls it remorse; God upheaves the soul as he does the ocean.
After the expiration of a few moments, do what he would, he resumed the gloomy dialogue in which it was he who spoke and he who listened, saying that which he would have preferred to ignore, and listened to that which he would have preferred not to hear, yielding to that mysterious power which said to him: "Think!" as it said to another condemned man, two thousand years ago, "March on!"
Before proceeding further, and in order to make ourselves fully understood, let us insist upon one necessary observation.
It is certain that people do talk to themselves; there is no living being who has not done it. It may even be said that the word is never a more magnificent mystery than when it goes from thought to conscience within a man, and when it returns from conscience to thought; it is in this sense only that the words so often employed in this chapter, he said, he exclaimed, must be understood; one speaks to one's self, talks to one's self, exclaims to one's self without breaking the external silence; there is a great tumult; everything about us talks except the mouth. The realities of the soul are none the less realities because they are not visible and palpable.
So he asked himself where he stood. He interrogated himself upon that "settled resolve." He confessed to himself that all that he had just arranged in his mind was monstrous, that "to let things take their course, to let the good God do as he liked," was simply horrible; to allow this error of fate and of men to be carried out, not to hinder it, to lend himself to it through his silence, to do nothing, in short, was to do everything! that this was hypocritical baseness in the last degree! that it was a base, cowardly, sneaking, abject, hideous crime!
For the first time in eight years, the wretched man had just tasted the bitter savor of an evil thought and of an evil action.
He spit it out with disgust.
He continued to question himself. He asked himself severely what he had meant by this, "My object is attained!" He declared to himself that his life really had an object; but what object? To conceal his name? To deceive the police? Was it for so petty a thing that he had done all that he had done? Had he not another and a grand object, which was the true one--to save, not his person, but his soul; to become honest and good once more; to be a just man? Was it not that above all, that alone, which he had always desired, which the Bishop had enjoined upon him--to shut the door on his past? But he was not shutting it! great God! he was re-opening it by committing an infamous action! He was becoming a thief once more, and the most odious of thieves! He was robbing another of his existence, his life, his peace, his place in the sunshine. He was becoming an assassin. He was murdering, morally murdering, a wretched man. He was inflicting on him that frightful living death, that death beneath the open sky, which is called the galleys. On the other hand, to surrender himself to save that man, struck down with so melancholy an error, to resume his own name, to become once more, out of duty, the convict Jean Valjean, that was, in truth, to achieve his resurrection, and to close forever that hell whence he had just emerged; to fall back there in appearance was to escape from it in reality. This must be done! He had done nothing if he did not do all this; his whole life was useless; all his penitence was wasted. There was no longer any need of saying, "What is the use?" He felt that the Bishop was there, that the Bishop was present all the more because he was dead, that the Bishop was gazing fixedly at him, that henceforth Mayor Madeleine, with all his virtues, would be abominable to him, and that the convict Jean Valjean would be pure and admirable in his sight; that men beheld his mask, but that the Bishop saw his face; that men saw his life, but that the Bishop beheld his conscience. So he must go to Arras, deliver the false Jean Valjean, and denounce the real one. Alas! that was the greatest of sacrifices, the most poignant of victories, the last step to take; but it must be done. Sad fate! he would enter into sanctity only in the eyes of God when he returned to infamy in the eyes of men.
"Well, said he, "let us decide upon this; let us do our duty; let us save this man." He uttered these words aloud, without perceiving that he was speaking aloud.
He took his books, verified them, and put them in order. He flung in the fire a bundle of bills which he had against petty and embarrassed tradesmen. He wrote and sealed a letter, and on the envelope it might have been read, had there been any one in his chamber at the moment, To Monsieur Laffitte, Banker, Rue d'Artois, Paris. He drew from his secretary a pocket-book which contained several bank-notes and the passport of which he had made use that same year when he went to the elections.
Any one who had seen him during the execution of these various acts, into which there entered such grave thought, would have had no suspicion of what was going on within him. Only occasionally did his lips move; at other times he raised his head and fixed his gaze upon some point of the wall, as though there existed at that point something which he wished to elucidate or interrogate.
When he had finished the letter to M. Laffitte, he put it into his pocket, together with the pocket-book, and began his walk once more.
His revery had not swerved from its course. He continued to see his duty clearly, written in luminous letters, which flamed before his eyes and changed its place as he altered the direction of his glance:--
"Go! Tell your name! Denounce yourself!"
In the same way he beheld, as though they had passed before him in visible forms, the two ideas which had, up to that time, formed the double rule of his soul,--the concealment of his name, the sanctification of his life. For the first time they appeared to him as absolutely distinct, and he perceived the distance which separated them. He recognized the fact that one of these ideas was, necessarily, good, while the other might become bad; that the first was self-devotion, and that the other was personality; that the one said, my neighbor, and that the other said, myself; that one emanated from the light, and the other from darkness.
They were antagonistic. He saw them in conflict. In proportion as he meditated, they grew before the eyes of his spirit. They had now attained colossal statures, and it seemed to him that he beheld within himself, in that infinity of which we were recently speaking, in the midst of the darkness and the lights, a goddess and a giant contending.
He was filled with terror; but it seemed to him that the good thought was getting the upper hand.
He felt that he was on the brink of the second decisive crisis of his conscience and of his destiny; that the Bishop had marked the first phase of his new life, and that Champmathieu marked the second. After the grand crisis, the grand test.
But the fever, allayed for an instant, gradually resumed possession of him. A thousand thoughts traversed his mind, but they continued to fortify him in his resolution.
One moment he said to himself that he was, perhaps, taking the matter too keenly; that, after all, this Champmathieu was not interesting, and that he had actually been guilty of theft.
He answered himself: "If this man has, indeed, stolen a few apples, that means a month in prison. It is a long way from that to the galleys. And who knows? Did he steal? Has it been proved? The name of Jean Valjean overwhelms him, and seems to dispense with proofs. Do not the attorneys for the Crown always proceed in this manner? He is supposed to be a thief because he is known to be a convict."
In another instant the thought had occurred to him that, when he denounced himself, the heroism of his deed might, perhaps, be taken into consideration, and his honest life for the last seven years, and what he had done for the district, and that they would have mercy on him.
But this supposition vanished very quickly, and he smiled bitterly as he remembered that the theft of the forty sous from little Gervais put him in the position of a man guilty of a second offence after conviction, that this affair would certainly come up, and, according to the precise terms of the law, would render him liable to penal servitude for life.
He turned aside from all illusions, detached himself more and more from earth, and sought strength and consolation elsewhere. He told himself that he must do his duty; that perhaps he should not be more unhappy after doing his duty than after having avoided it; that if he allowed things to take their own course, if he remained at M. sur M., his consideration, his good name, his good works, the deference and veneration paid to him, his charity, his wealth, his popularity, his virtue, would be seasoned with a crime. And what would be the taste of all these holy things when bound up with this hideous thing? while, if he accomplished his sacrifice, a celestial idea would be mingled with the galleys, the post, the iron necklet, the green cap, unceasing toil, and pitiless shame.
At length he told himself that it must be so, that his destiny was thus allotted, that he had not authority to alter the arrangements made on high, that, in any case, he must make his choice: virtue without and abomination within, or holiness within and infamy without.
The stirring up of these lugubrious ideas did not cause his courage to fail, but his brain grow weary. He began to think of other things, of indifferent matters, in spite of himself.
The veins in his temples throbbed violently; he still paced to and fro; midnight sounded first from the parish church, then from the town-hall; he counted the twelve strokes of the two clocks, and compared the sounds of the two bells; he recalled in this connection the fact that, a few days previously, he had seen in an ironmonger's shop an ancient clock for sale, upon which was written the name, Antoine-Albin de Romainville.
He was cold; he lighted a small fire; it did not occur to him to close the window.
In the meantime he had relapsed into his stupor; he was obliged to make a tolerably vigorous effort to recall what had been the subject of his thoughts before midnight had struck; he finally succeeded in doing this.
"Ah! yes," he said to himself, "I had resolved to inform against myself."
And then, all of a sudden, he thought of Fantine.
"Hold!" said he, "and what about that poor woman?"
Here a fresh crisis declared itself.
Fantine, by appearing thus abruptly in his revery, produced the effect of an unexpected ray of light; it seemed to him as though everything about him were undergoing a change of aspect: he exclaimed:--
"Ah! but I have hitherto considered no one but myself; it is proper for me to hold my tongue or to denounce myself, to conceal my person or to save my soul, to be a despicable and respected magistrate, or an infamous and venerable convict; it is I, it is always I and nothing but I: but, good God! all this is egotism; these are diverse forms of egotism, but it is egotism all the same. What if I were to think a little about others? The highest holiness is to think of others; come, let us examine the matter. The _I_ excepted, the _I_ effaced, the _I_ forgotten, what would be the result of all this? What if I denounce myself? I am arrested; this Champmathieu is released; I am put back in the galleys; that is well-- and what then? What is going on here? Ah! here is a country, a town, here are factories, an industry, workers, both men and women, aged grandsires, children, poor people! All this I have created; all these I provide with their living; everywhere where there is a smoking chimney, it is I who have placed the brand on the hearth and meat in the pot; I have created ease, circulation, credit; before me there was nothing; I have elevated, vivified, informed with life, fecundated, stimulated, enriched the whole country-side; lacking me, the soul is lacking; I take myself off, everything dies: and this woman, who has suffered so much, who possesses so many merits in spite of her fall; the cause of all whose misery I have unwittingly been! And that child whom I meant to go in search of, whom I have promised to her mother; do I not also owe something to this woman, in reparation for the evil which I have done her? If I disappear, what happens? The mother dies; the child becomes what it can; that is what will take place, if I denounce myself. If I do not denounce myself? come, let us see how it will be if I do not denounce myself."
After putting this question to himself, he paused; he seemed to undergo a momentary hesitation and trepidation; but it did not last long, and he answered himself calmly:--
"Well, this man is going to the galleys; it is true, but what the deuce! he has stolen! There is no use in my saying that he has not been guilty of theft, for he has! I remain here; I go on: in ten years I shall have made ten millions; I scatter them over the country; I have nothing of my own; what is that to me? It is not for myself that I am doing it; the prosperity of all goes on augmenting; industries are aroused and animated; factories and shops are multiplied; families, a hundred families, a thousand families, are happy; the district becomes populated; villages spring up where there were only farms before; farms rise where there was nothing; wretchedness disappears, and with wretchedness debauchery, prostitution, theft, murder; all vices disappear, all crimes: and this poor mother rears her child; and behold a whole country rich and honest! Ah! I was a fool! I was absurd! what was that I was saying about denouncing myself? I really must pay attention and not be precipitate about anything. What! because it would have pleased me to play the grand and generous; this is melodrama, after all; because I should have thought of no one but myself, the idea! for the sake of saving from a punishment, a trifle exaggerated, perhaps, but just at bottom, no one knows whom, a thief, a good-for-nothing, evidently, a whole country-side must perish! a poor woman must die in the hospital! a poor little girl must die in the street! like dogs; ah, this is abominable! And without the mother even having seen her child once more, almost without the child's having known her mother; and all that for the sake of an old wretch of an apple-thief who, most assuredly, has deserved the galleys for something else, if not for that; fine scruples, indeed, which save a guilty man and sacrifice the innocent, which save an old vagabond who has only a few years to live at most, and who will not be more unhappy in the galleys than in his hovel, and which sacrifice a whole population, mothers, wives, children. This poor little Cosette who has no one in the world but me, and who is, no doubt, blue with cold at this moment in the den of those Thenardiers; those peoples are rascals; and I was going to neglect my duty towards all these poor creatures; and I was going off to denounce myself; and I was about to commit that unspeakable folly! Let us put it at the worst: suppose that there is a wrong action on my part in this, and that my conscience will reproach me for it some day, to accept, for the good of others, these reproaches which weigh only on myself; this evil action which compromises my soul alone; in that lies self-sacrifice; in that alone there is virtue."
He rose and resumed his march; this time, he seemed to be content. Diamonds are found only in the dark places of the earth; truths are found only in the depths of thought. It seemed to him, that, after having descended into these depths, after having long groped among the darkest of these shadows, he had at last found one of these diamonds, one of these truths, and that he now held it in his hand, and he was dazzled as he gazed upon it.
"Yes," he thought, "this is right; I am on the right road; I have the solution; I must end by holding fast to something; my resolve is taken; let things take their course; let us no longer vacillate; let us no longer hang back; this is for the interest of all, not for my own; I am Madeleine, and Madeleine I remain. Woe to the man who is Jean Valjean! I am no longer he; I do not know that man; I no longer know anything; it turns out that some one is Jean Valjean at the present moment; let him look out for himself; that does not concern me; it is a fatal name which was floating abroad in the night; if it halts and descends on a head, so much the worse for that head."
He looked into the little mirror which hung above his chimney-piece, and said:--
"Hold! it has relieved me to come to a decision; I am quite another man now."
He proceeded a few paces further, then he stopped short.
"Come!" he said, "I must not flinch before any of the consequences of the resolution which I have once adopted; there are still threads which attach me to that Jean Valjean; they must be broken; in this very room there are objects which would betray me, dumb things which would bear witness against me; it is settled; all these things must disappear."
He fumbled in his pocket, drew out his purse, opened it, and took out a small key; he inserted the key in a lock whose aperture could hardly be seen, so hidden was it in the most sombre tones of the design which covered the wall-paper; a secret receptacle opened, a sort of false cupboard constructed in the angle between the wall and the chimney-piece; in this hiding-place there were some rags-- a blue linen blouse, an old pair of trousers, an old knapsack, and a huge thorn cudgel shod with iron at both ends. Those who had seen Jean Valjean at the epoch when he passed through D---- in October, 1815, could easily have recognized all the pieces of this miserable outfit.
He had preserved them as he had preserved the silver candlesticks, in order to remind himself continually of his starting-point, but he had concealed all that came from the galleys, and he had allowed the candlesticks which came from the Bishop to be seen.
He cast a furtive glance towards the door, as though he feared that it would open in spite of the bolt which fastened it; then, with a quick and abrupt movement, he took the whole in his arms at once, without bestowing so much as a glance on the things which he had so religiously and so perilously preserved for so many years, and flung them all, rags, cudgel, knapsack, into the fire.
He closed the false cupboard again, and with redoubled precautions, henceforth unnecessary, since it was now empty, he concealed the door behind a heavy piece of furniture, which he pushed in front of it.
After the lapse of a few seconds, the room and the opposite wall were lighted up with a fierce, red, tremulous glow. Everything was on fire; the thorn cudgel snapped and threw out sparks to the middle of the chamber.
As the knapsack was consumed, together with the hideous rags which it contained, it revealed something which sparkled in the ashes. By bending over, one could have readily recognized a coin,--no doubt the forty-sou piece stolen from the little Savoyard.
He did not look at the fire, but paced back and forth with the same step.
All at once his eye fell on the two silver candlesticks, which shone vaguely on the chimney-piece, through the glow.
"Hold!" he thought; "the whole of Jean Valjean is still in them. They must be destroyed also."
He seized the two candlesticks.
There was still fire enough to allow of their being put out of shape, and converted into a sort of unrecognizable bar of metal.
He bent over the hearth and warmed himself for a moment. He felt a sense of real comfort. "How good warmth is!" said he.
He stirred the live coals with one of the candlesticks.
A minute more, and they were both in the fire.
At that moment it seemed to him that he heard a voice within him shouting: "Jean Valjean! Jean Valjean!"
His hair rose upright: he became like a man who is listening to some terrible thing.
"Yes, that's it! finish!" said the voice. "Complete what you are about! Destroy these candlesticks! Annihilate this souvenir! Forget the Bishop! Forget everything! Destroy this Champmathieu, do! That is right! Applaud yourself! So it is settled, resolved, fixed, agreed: here is an old man who does not know what is wanted of him, who has, perhaps, done nothing, an innocent man, whose whole misfortune lies in your name, upon whom your name weighs like a crime, who is about to be taken for you, who will be condemned, who will finish his days in abjectness and horror. That is good! Be an honest man yourself; remain Monsieur le Maire; remain honorable and honored; enrich the town; nourish the indigent; rear the orphan; live happy, virtuous, and admired; and, during this time, while you are here in the midst of joy and light, there will be a man who will wear your red blouse, who will bear your name in ignominy, and who will drag your chain in the galleys. Yes, it is well arranged thus. Ah, wretch!"
The perspiration streamed from his brow. He fixed a haggard eye on the candlesticks. But that within him which had spoken had not finished. The voice continued:--
"Jean Valjean, there will be around you many voices, which will make a great noise, which will talk very loud, and which will bless you, and only one which no one will hear, and which will curse you in the dark. Well! listen, infamous man! All those benedictions will fall back before they reach heaven, and only the malediction will ascend to God."
This voice, feeble at first, and which had proceeded from the most obscure depths of his conscience, had gradually become startling and formidable, and he now heard it in his very ear. It seemed to him that it had detached itself from him, and that it was now speaking outside of him. He thought that he heard the last words so distinctly, that he glanced around the room in a sort of terror.
"Is there any one here?" he demanded aloud, in utter bewilderment.
Then he resumed, with a laugh which resembled that of an idiot:--
"How stupid I am! There can be no one!"
There was some one; but the person who was there was of those whom the human eye cannot see.
He placed the candlesticks on the chimney-piece.
Then he resumed his monotonous and lugubrious tramp, which troubled the dreams of the sleeping man beneath him, and awoke him with a start.
This tramping to and fro soothed and at the same time intoxicated him. It sometimes seems, on supreme occasions, as though people moved about for the purpose of asking advice of everything that they may encounter by change of place. After the lapse of a few minutes he no longer knew his position.
He now recoiled in equal terror before both the resolutions at which he had arrived in turn. The two ideas which counselled him appeared to him equally fatal. What a fatality! What conjunction that that Champmathieu should have been taken for him; to be overwhelmed by precisely the means which Providence seemed to have employed, at first, to strengthen his position!
There was a moment when he reflected on the future. Denounce himself, great God! Deliver himself up! With immense despair he faced all that he should be obliged to leave, all that he should be obliged to take up once more. He should have to bid farewell to that existence which was so good, so pure, so radiant, to the respect of all, to honor, to liberty. He should never more stroll in the fields; he should never more hear the birds sing in the month of May; he should never more bestow alms on the little children; he should never more experience the sweetness of having glances of gratitude and love fixed upon him; he should quit that house which he had built, that little chamber! Everything seemed charming to him at that moment. Never again should he read those books; never more should he write on that little table of white wood; his old portress, the only servant whom he kept, would never more bring him his coffee in the morning. Great God! instead of that, the convict gang, the iron necklet, the red waistcoat, the chain on his ankle, fatigue, the cell, the camp bed all those horrors which he knew so well! At his age, after having been what he was! If he were only young again! but to be addressed in his old age as "thou" by any one who pleased; to be searched by the convict-guard; to receive the galley-sergeant's cudgellings; to wear iron-bound shoes on his bare feet; to have to stretch out his leg night and morning to the hammer of the roundsman who visits the gang; to submit to the curiosity of strangers, who would be told: "That man yonder is the famous Jean Valjean, who was mayor of M. sur M."; and at night, dripping with perspiration, overwhelmed with lassitude, their green caps drawn over their eyes, to remount, two by two, the ladder staircase of the galleys beneath the sergeant's whip. Oh, what misery! Can destiny, then, be as malicious as an intelligent being, and become as monstrous as the human heart?
And do what he would, he always fell back upon the heartrending dilemma which lay at the foundation of his revery: "Should he remain in paradise and become a demon? Should he return to hell and become an angel?"
What was to be done? Great God! what was to be done?
The torment from which he had escaped with so much difficulty was unchained afresh within him. His ideas began to grow confused once more; they assumed a kind of stupefied and mechanical quality which is peculiar to despair. The name of Romainville recurred incessantly to his mind, with the two verses of a song which he had heard in the past. He thought that Romainville was a little grove near Paris, where young lovers go to pluck lilacs in the month of April.
He wavered outwardly as well as inwardly. He walked like a little child who is permitted to toddle alone.
At intervals, as he combated his lassitude, he made an effort to recover the mastery of his mind. He tried to put to himself, for the last time, and definitely, the problem over which he had, in a manner, fallen prostrate with fatigue: Ought he to denounce himself? Ought he to hold his peace? He could not manage to see anything distinctly. The vague aspects of all the courses of reasoning which had been sketched out by his meditations quivered and vanished, one after the other, into smoke. He only felt that, to whatever course of action he made up his mind, something in him must die, and that of necessity, and without his being able to escape the fact; that he was entering a sepulchre on the right hand as much as on the left; that he was passing through a death agony,-- the agony of his happiness, or the agony of his virtue.
Alas! all his resolution had again taken possession of him. He was no further advanced than at the beginning.
Thus did this unhappy soul struggle in its anguish. Eighteen hundred years before this unfortunate man, the mysterious Being in whom are summed up all the sanctities and all the sufferings of humanity had also long thrust aside with his hand, while the olive-trees quivered in the wild wind of the infinite, the terrible cup which appeared to Him dripping with darkness and overflowing with shadows in the depths all studded with stars.
读者一定已经猜到马德兰先生便是冉阿让。
我们已向那颗良心的深处探望过，现在是再探望的时刻了。我们这样做，不能不受感动，也不能没有恐惧，因为这种探望比任何事情都更加触目惊心。精神的眼睛，除了在人的心里，再没有旁的地方可以见到更多的异彩、更多的黑暗；再没有比那更可怕、更复杂、更神秘、更变化无穷的东西。世间有一种比海洋更大的景象，那便是天空；还有一种比天空更大的景象，那便是内心活动。
赞美人心，纵使只涉及一个人，只涉及人群中最微贱的一个，也得熔冶一切歌颂英雄的诗文于一炉，赋成一首优越成熟的英雄颂。人心是妄念、贪欲和阴谋的污池，梦想的舞台，丑恶意念的渊薮，诡诈的都会，欲望的战场。在某些时候你不妨从一个运用心思的人的阴沉面容深入到他的皮里去，探索他的心情，穷究他的思绪。在那种外表的寂静下就有荷马史诗中那种巨灵的搏斗，密尔顿①诗中那种龙蛇的混战，但丁诗中那种幻象的萦绕。人心是广漠寥廓的天地，人在面对良心、省察胸中抱负和日常行动时往往黯然神伤！
①密尔顿（Milton，1608一1674），英国著名诗人。
但丁有一天曾经谈到过一扇险恶的门，他在那门前犹豫过。现在在我们的面前也有那么一扇门，我们也在它门口迟延不进。我们还是进去吧。
读者已经知道冉阿让从小瑞尔威那次事件发生后的情形，除此以外，我们要补述的事已经不多。从那时起，我们知道，他已是另外一个人了。那位主教所期望于他的，他都已躬行实践了。那不仅是种转变，而是再生。
他居然做到销声匿迹，他变卖了主教的银器，只留了那两个烛台作为纪念，从这城溜到那城，穿过法兰西，来到滨海蒙特勒伊，发明了我们说过的那种新方法，造就了我们谈过的那种事业，做到自己使人无可捉摸，无可接近，卜居在滨海蒙特勒伊，一面追念那些伤怀的往事，一面庆幸自己难得的余生，可以弥补前半生的缺憾；他生活安逸，有保障，有希望，他只有两种心愿：埋名，立德；远避人世，皈依上帝。
这两种心愿在他的精神上已紧密结合成为一种心愿了。两种心愿不相上下，全是他念念不忘、行之惟恐不力的；他一切行动，无论大小，都受这两种心愿的支配。平时，在指导他日常行动时，这两种心愿是并行不悖的；使他深藏不露，使他乐于为善，质朴无华；这两种心愿所起的作用完全一致。可是有时也不免发生矛盾。在不能两全时，我们记得，整个滨海蒙特勒伊称为马德兰先生的那个人，决不为后者牺牲前者，决不为自己的安全牺牲品德，他在取舍之间毫不犹豫。因此，他能不顾危险，毅然决然保存了主教的烛台，并且为他服丧，把所有过路的通烟囱孩子唤来询问，调查法维洛勒的家庭情况，并且甘心忍受沙威的那种难堪的隐语，救了割风老头的生命。我们已注意到，他的思想，仿佛取法于一切圣贤忠恕之士，认为自己首要的天职并不在于为己。
可是，必须指出，类似的情形还从来没有发生。这个不幸的人的种种痛苦，我们虽然谈了一些，但是支配着他的那两种心愿，还从来不曾有过这样严重的矛盾。沙威走进他的办公室，刚说了最初那几句话，他已模糊然而深切地认识了这一事件的严重性。当他那深埋密隐的名字被人那样突然提到时，他大为惊骇，好象被他那离奇的恶运冲昏了似的；并且在惊骇的过程中，起了一阵大震动前的小颤抖；他埋头曲项，好象暴风雨中的一株栎树，冲锋以前的一个士兵。他感到他头上来了满天乌云，雷电即将交作。听着沙威说话，他最初的意念便是要去，要跑去，去自首，把那商马第从牢狱里救出来，而自受监禁；那样想是和椎心刺骨一样苦楚创痛的；随后，那种念头过去了，他对自己说：“想想吧！想想吧！”他抑制了最初的那种慷慨心情，在英雄主义面前退缩了。
他久已奉行那主教的圣言，经过了多年的忏悔和忍辱，他修身自赎，也有了值得乐观的开端，到现在，他在面临那咄咄逼人的逆境时，如果仍能立即下定决心，直赴天国所在的深渊，毫不反顾，那又是多么豪放的一件事；那样做，固然豪放，但他并没有那样做。我们必须认清楚他心中的种种活动，我们能说的也只是那里的实际情况。最初支配他的是自卫的本能；他连忙把自己的多种思想集中起来，抑制冲动，注意眼前的大祸害沙威，恐怖的心情使他决定暂时不作任何决定，胡乱地想着他应当采取的办法，力持镇定，好象一个武士拾起他的盾一样。
那一天余下的时间，他便是这种样子，内心思潮起伏，外表恬静自如；他只采取一种所谓的“自全方法”。一切还是混乱的，并且在他的脑子里互相冲突，心情的骚乱使他看不清任何思想的形态；对自己他什么也说不上来，只知道刚刚受到了猛烈的打击。他照常到芳汀的病榻旁边去，延长了晤谈的时间，那也只是出自为善的本性，觉得应当如此而已。他又把她好好托付给姆姆们，以防万一。他胡乱猜想，也许非到阿拉斯去走一趟不可了，其实他对那种远行，还完全没有决定，他心想他绝没有遭到别人怀疑的危险，倒不妨亲自去看看那件事的经过，因此他订下了斯戈弗莱尔的车子，以备不时之需。
他用了晚餐，胃口还很好。
他回到自己房里，开始考虑。
他研究当时的处境，觉得真是离奇，闻所未闻。离奇到使他在心思紊乱之中起了一种几乎不可言喻的急躁情绪，他从椅子上跳起来，去把房门闩上。他恐怕还会有什么东西进来。
他严阵以待可能发生的事。
过了一会，他吹熄了烛。烛光使他烦懑。
他仿佛觉得有人看见他。
有人，谁呢？
咳！他想要摒诸门外的东西终于进来了，他要使它看不见，它却偏望着他。这就是他的良心。
他的良心，就是上帝。
可是，起初，他还欺骗自己；他自以为身边没有旁人，不会发生意外；既然已经闩上门，便不会有人能动他；熄了烛，便不会有人能看见他。那么他是属于自己的了；他把双肘放在桌子上，头靠在手里，在黑暗里思索起来。
“我怎么啦？”“我不是在作梦吧？”“他对我说了些什么？”
“难道我真看见了那沙威，他真向我说了那样一番话吗？”“那个商马第究竟是什么人呢？”“他真象我吗？”“那是可能的吗？”
“昨天我还那样安静，也绝没有想到有什么事要发生！”“昨天这个时候我在干些什么？”“这件事里有些什么问题？”“将怎样解决呢？”“怎么办？”
他的心因有着那样的烦恼而感到困惑。他的脑子也已失去了记忆的能力，他的思想，波涛似的，起伏翻腾。他双手捧着头，想使思潮停留下来。
那种纷乱使他的意志和理智都不得安宁，他想从中理出一种明确的见解和一定的办法，但是他获得的，除苦恼外一无所有。
他的头热极了。他走到窗前，把窗子整个推开。天上没有星。他又回来坐在桌子旁边。
第一个钟头便这样过去了。
渐渐地，这时一些模糊的线索在他的沉思中开始形成固定下来了，他还不能看清整个问题的全貌，但已能望见一些局部的情况，并且，如同观察实际事物似的，相当清晰了。
他开始认清了这样一点，尽管当时情况是那样离奇紧急，他自己还完全能居于主动地位。
他的惊恐越来越大了。
直到目前为止，他所作所为仅仅是在掘一个窟窿，以便掩藏他的名字，这和他行动所向往的严正虔诚的标准并不相干。当他扪心自问时，当他黑夜思量时，他发现他向来最怕的，便是有一天听见别人提到那个名字；他时常想到，那样就是他一切的终结；那个名字一旦重行出现，他的新生命就在他的四周毁灭，并且，谁知道？也许他的新灵魂也在他的心里毁灭。每当他想到那样的事是完全可能发生时，他就会颤抖起来。假使当时有人向他说将来有一天，那个名字会在他耳边轰鸣，冉阿让那几个丑恶不堪的字会忽然从黑暗中跳出来，直立在他前面；那种揭穿他秘密的强烈的光会突然在他头上闪耀；不过那人同时又说，这个名字不会威胁他，那种光还可能使他的隐情更加深密，那条撕开了的面纱也可能增加此中的神秘，那种地震可能巩固他的屋宇，那种非常的变故得出的结果，假使他本人觉得那样不坏的话，便会使他的生存更加光明，同时也更难被人识破，并且这位仁厚高尚的士绅马德兰先生，由于那个伪冉阿让的出现，相形之下，反会比以前任何时候显得更加崇高，更加平静，也更加受人尊敬……假使当时有人向他说了这一类的话，他一定摇头，认为是无稽之谈。可是！这一切刚才恰巧发生了，这一大堆不可能的事竟成为事实了，上帝已允许把那些等于痴人说梦的事变成了真正的事！
他的梦想继续明朗起来。他对自己的地位越看越清楚了。
他仿佛觉得他刚从一场莫名其妙的梦里醒过来，又看见自己正在黑夜之中，从一个斜坡滑向一道绝壁的最边上；他站着发抖，处于一种进退两难的地位。他清清楚楚地看见一个不相识的人，一个陌生人的黑影，命运把那人当作他自己，要把他推下那深坑。为了填塞那深坑，就必须有一个人落下去，他自己也许就是那个人。
他只好听其自然。
事情已经完全明白了，他这样认识：他在监牢里的位子还是空着的，躲也无用，那位子始终在那里等着他，抢小瑞尔威的事又要把他送到那里去，那个空位子一直在等着他，拖他，直到他进去的那一天，这是无法避免、命中注定的。随后，他又向自己说，这时他已有了个替身，那个叫商马第的活该倒霉，至于他，从今以后，可以让那商马第的身体去坐监，自己则冒马德兰先生的名生存于社会，只要他不阻止别人把那个和墓石一样、一落永不再起的罪犯的烙印印在那商马第的头上，他再也没有什么可以害怕的事了。
这一切都是那样强烈，那样奇特，致使他心中忽然起了一种不可言喻的冲动，那种冲动，是没有一个人能在一生中感到两三次以上的，那是良心的一种激发，把心中的暖昧全部激发起来，其中含有讥刺、欢乐和失望，我们可以称之为内心的一种狂笑。
他又连忙点起了他的蜡烛。
“什么！”他向自己说道，“我怕什么？我何必那样去想呢？我已经得救了。一切都安排好了。我原来只剩下一扇半开的门，从那门里，我的过去随时可以混到我的生命里来，现在那扇门已经堵塞了！永远堵塞了！沙威那个生来可怕的东西，那头凶恶的猎狗，多少年来，时时使我心慌，他好象已识破了我，确实识破了我，天呵！并且无处不尾随着我，随时都窥伺着我，现在却被击退了，到别处忙去了，绝对走入歧途了！他从此心满意足，让我逍遥自在了，他逮住了他的冉阿让！谁知道，也许他还要离开这座城市呢！况且这一经过与我无关！我丝毫不曾过问！呀，不过这里有些什么不妥的呢！等会儿看见我的人，说老实话，还以为我碰到了什么倒霉事呢！总而言之，假使有人遭殃，那完全不是我的过错。主持一切的是上天。显然是天意如此！我有什么权利扰乱上天的安排呢？我现在还要求什么？我还要管什么闲事？那和我不相干。怎么！我不满意！我究竟需要什么？多年来我要达到的目的，我在黑夜里的梦想，我向上天祷祝的愿望棗安全棗我已经得到了。要这样办的是上帝。我绝不应当反抗上帝的意旨。并且上天为什么要这样呢？为了要使我能继续我已开始了的工作，使我能够行善，使我将来成为一个能起鼓舞作用的伟大模范，使我能说我那种茹苦含辛、改邪归正的美德到底得了一点善果！我实在不懂，我刚才为什么不敢到那个诚实的神甫家里去，认他做一个听忏悔的教士，把一切情形都告诉他，请求他的意见，他说的当然会是同样的一些话。决定了，听其自然！接受慈悲上帝的安排！”
他在他心灵深处那样自言自语，我们可以说他在俯视他自己的深渊。他从椅子上立起身来，在房间里走来走去。“不必再想了，”他说。“决计这么办！”但是他丝毫不感到快乐。
他反而感到不安。
人不能阻止自己回头再想自己的见解，正如不能阻止海水流回海岸。对海员说，那叫做潮流；对罪人说，那叫做侮恨。
上帝使人心神不定，正如起伏的海洋。
过了一会，他白费了劲，又回到那种沉闷的对答里去自说自听，说他所不愿说，听他所不愿听的话，屈服在一种神秘的力量下面，这一神秘力量向他说“想！”正如两千年前向另一个就刑的人说“走！”一样。
我们暂时不必谈得太远，为了全面了解，我们得先进行一种必要的观察。
人向自己说话，那是确有其事，有思想活动的人都有过这种经验。并且我们可以说，语言在人的心里，从思想到良心，又从良心回到思想是一种灿烂无比的神秘。在这一章里，时常提到“他说，他喊道”这样的字眼，我们只应从上面所说的那种意义去理解它们。人向自己述说，向自己讲解，向自己叫喊，身外的寂静却依然如故。有一种大声的喧哗，除口以外一切都在我们的心里说话。心灵的存在并不因其完全无形无体而减少其真实性。
于是他问自己究竟是怎么回事。他从那“既定办法”上进行问答。他向自己供认，刚才他在心里作出的那种计划是荒谬的。“听其自然，接受慈悲上帝的安排”，纯粹是丑恶可耻的。让那天定的和人为的乖误进行到底，而不加以阻止，噤口不言，毫无表示，那样正是积极参与了一切乖误的活动，那是最卑鄙、丧失人格的伪善行为！是卑污、怯懦、阴险、无耻、丑恶的罪行！
八年来，那个不幸的人初次尝到一种坏思想和坏行为的苦味。
他心中作恶，一口吐了出来。
他继续反躬自问。他严厉地责问自己，所谓“我的目的已经达到！”那究竟是什么意思。他承认自己生在人间，确有一种目的。但是什么目的呢？隐藏自己的名字吗？蒙蔽警察吗？难道他所做的一切事业，仅仅是为了那一点点小事吗？难道他没有另外一个远大的、真正的目的吗？救他的灵魂，而不是救他的躯体。重做诚实仁善的人。做一个有天良的人！难道那不是对他一生的抱负和主教对他的期望的唯一重要的事情吗？斩断已往的历史？但是他并不是在斩断，伟大的上帝，而是在做一件丑事并把它延续下去！他又在作贼了，并且是最丑恶的贼！他偷盗另一个人的生活、性命、安宁和在阳光下的位子！他正在做杀人的勾当！他杀人，从精神方面杀害一个可怜的人！他害他受那种惨酷的活死刑，大家叫做苦牢的那种过露天生活的死刑。从反面着想，去自首，救出那个蒙不白之冤的人，恢复自己的真面目，尽自己的责任，重做苦役犯冉阿让，那才真正是洗心革面、永远关上自己所由出的那扇地狱之门！外表是重入地狱，实际上却是出地狱！他必须那样做！他如果不那样做，便是什么也没有做！他活着也是枉然，他的忏悔也全是白费，他以后只能说：“活着有什么意义？”他觉得那主教和他在一道，主教死了，但却更在眼前，主教的眼睛盯着他不动，从今以后，那个德高望重的马德兰市长在他的眼里将成为一个面目可憎的人，而那个苦役犯冉阿让却成了纯洁可亲的人。人们只看见他的外表，主教却看见他的真面目。人们只看见他的生活，主教却看见他的良心，因此他必须去阿拉斯，救出那个假冉阿让，揭发这个真冉阿让！多么悲惨的命运！这是最伟大的牺牲，最惨痛的胜利，最后的难关；但是非这样不可。悲惨的身世！在世人眼中他只有重蒙羞辱，才能够达到上帝眼中的圣洁！
“那么，”他说，“走这条路吧，尽我的天职！救出那个人！”
他大声地说了那些话，自己并不觉得。
他拿起他的那些书，检查以后，又把它们摆整齐。他把一些告急的小商人写给他的债券，整扎的一齐丢在火里。他写了一封信，盖了章，假使当时有人在他房里，便可以看见信封上写的是“巴黎 阿图瓦街 银行经理拉菲特先生”。
他从一张书桌里取出一个皮夹，里面有几张钞票和他那年参加选举用的身份证。
看见他这样一面沉痛地思考一面完成那些杂事的人，一定可以想见他心里的打算。不过有时他的嘴唇频频启闭，另外一些时候他抬头望着墙上随便哪一点，好象恰巧在那一点上他有需要了解或询问的东西。
他写完了给拉菲特先生的那封信以后，便把信和那皮夹一同插在衣袋里，又开始走起来。
他的萦想一点没有转变方向。他清清楚楚地看见他应做的事已用几个有光的字写出来了，这些字在他眼前发出火焰，持久不灭，并且随着他的视线移动：“去！说出你的姓名！自首！”
同时他又看见自己一向认为处世原则的那两种心愿“埋名”“立德”，好象有了显著的形状，在他眼前飘动。他生平第一次感到那两种愿望是绝不相容的，同时他看出了划分它们的界线。他认识到那两种愿望中的一种是好的，另外一种却可以成为坏事；前者济世，后者谋己；一个说“为人”，一个说“为我”；一个来自光明，一个来自黑暗。
它们互相斗争，他看着它们斗争。他一面想，它们也一面在他智慧的眼前扩大起来；现在它们有了巨大的身材；他仿佛看见在他自己心里，在我们先前提到的那种广漠辽阔的天地里，在黑暗和微光中，有一个女神和一个女魔，正在酣战。
他异常恐惧，但是他觉得善的思想胜利了。
他觉得他接近了自己良心和命运的另一次具有决定性的时刻；主教标志他新生命的第一阶段，商马第标志它的第二阶段。严重的危机之后，又继以严重的考验。
到这时，他胸中平息了一会的烦懑又渐渐起来了。万千思绪穿过他的脑海，但是更加巩固了他的决心。
他一时曾对自己说过：“他对这件事也许应付得太草率了，究其实，商马第也并不在乎他这样作的，总而言之，他曾偷过东西。”
他回答自己说：“假使那个人果真偷过几个苹果，那也不过是一个月的监禁问题。这和苦役大不相同。并且谁知道他偷了没有？证实了没有？冉阿让这个名字压在他头上，好象就可以不需要证据了。钦命检察官岂不常常那样做吗？大家以为他是盗贼，只是因为知道他做过苦役犯。”
在另一刹那，他又想到，在他自首以后，人家也许会重视他在这一行动中表现的英勇，考虑到他七年来的诚实生活和他在地方上起过的作用因而赦免他。
但是那种假想很快就消失了，他一面苦笑，一面想到他既抢过小瑞尔威的四十个苏，人家就可以加他以累犯的罪名，那件案子一定会发作，并且依据法律明白规定的条文，可以使他服终身苦役。
他丢开一切幻想，逐渐放弃了他对这个世界的留恋，想到别处去找安慰和力量。他向自己说他应当尽他的天职；他在尽了天职以后，也许并不见得会比逃避天职更痛苦些；假使他“听其自然”，假使他待在滨海蒙特勒伊不动，他的尊荣、他的好名誉、他的善政、他受到的敬重尊崇、他的慈善事业、他的财富、他的名望、他的德行都会被一种罪恶所污染；那一切圣洁的东西和那种丑恶的东西搀杂在一起，还有什么意义！反之，假使他完成自我牺牲，入狱，受木柱上的捶楚，背枷，戴绿帽，做没有休息的苦工，受无情的羞辱，倒还