Part 5 Book 5 Chapter 2 Marius, Emerging from Civil War, Mak

For a long time, Marius was neither dead nor alive. For many weeks he lay in a fever accompanied by delirium, and by tolerably grave cerebral symptoms, caused more by the shocks of the wounds on the head than by the wounds themselves.

He repeated Cosette's name for whole nights in the melancholy loquacity of fever, and with the sombre obstinacy of agony. The extent of some of the lesions presented a serious danger, the suppuration of large wounds being always liable to become re-absorbed, and consequently, to kill the sick man, under certain atmospheric conditions; at every change of weather, at the slightest storm, the physician was uneasy.

"Above all things," he repeated, "let the wounded man be subjected to no emotion." The dressing of the wounds was complicated and difficult, the fixation of apparatus and bandages by cerecloths not having been invented as yet, at that epoch. Nicolette used up a sheet "as big as the ceiling," as she put it, for lint. It was not without difficulty that the chloruretted lotions and the nitrate of silver overcame the gangrene. As long as there was any danger, M. Gillenormand, seated in despair at his grandson's pillow, was, like Marius, neither alive nor dead.

Every day, sometimes twice a day, a very well dressed gentleman with white hair,--such was the description given by the porter,-- came to inquire about the wounded man, and left a large package of lint for the dressings.

Finally, on the 7th of September, four months to a day, after the sorrowful night when he had been brought back to his grandfather in a dying condition, the doctor declared that he would answer for Marius. Convalescence began. But Marius was forced to remain for two months more stretched out on a long chair, on account of the results called up by the fracture of his collar-bone. There always is a last wound like that which will not close, and which prolongs the dressings indefinitely, to the great annoyance of the sick person.

However, this long illness and this long convalescence saved him from all pursuit. In France, there is no wrath, not even of a public character, which six months will not extinguish. Revolts, in the present state of society, are so much the fault of every one, that they are followed by a certain necessity of shutting the eyes.

Let us add, that the inexcusable Gisquet order, which enjoined doctors to lodge information against the wounded, having outraged public opinion, and not opinion alone, but the King first of all, the wounded were covered and protected by this indignation; and, with the exception of those who had been made prisoners in the very act of combat, the councils of war did not dare to trouble any one. So Marius was left in peace.

M. Gillenormand first passed through all manner of anguish, and then through every form of ecstasy. It was found difficult to prevent his passing every night beside the wounded man; he had his big arm-chair carried to Marius' bedside; he required his daughter to take the finest linen in the house for compresses and bandages. Mademoiselle Gillenormand, like a sage and elderly person, contrived to spare the fine linen, while allowing the grandfather to think that he was obeyed. M. Gillenormand would not permit any one to explain to him, that for the preparation of lint batiste is not nearly so good as coarse linen, nor new linen as old linen. He was present at all the dressings of the wounds from which Mademoiselle Gillenormand modestly absented herself. When the dead flesh was cut away with scissors, he said: "Aie! aie!" Nothing was more touching than to see him with his gentle, senile palsy, offer the wounded man a cup of his cooling-draught. He overwhelmed the doctor with questions. He did not observe that he asked the same ones over and over again.

On the day when the doctor announced to him that Marius was out of danger, the good man was in a delirium. He made his porter a present of three louis. That evening, on his return to his own chamber, he danced a gavotte, using his thumb and forefinger as castanets, and he sang the following song:

"Jeanne est nee a Fougere "Amour, tu vis en elle; Vrai nid d'une bergere; Car c'est dans sa prunelle J'adore son jupon, Que tu mets ton carquois. Fripon. Narquois!

"Moi, je la chante, et j'aime, Plus que Diane meme, Jeanne et ses durs tetons Bretons."

"Jeanne was born at Fougere, a true shepherd's nest; I adore her petticoat, the rogue.

"Love, thou dwellest in her; For 'tis in her eyes that thou placest thy quiver, sly scamp!

"As for me, I sing her, and I love, more than Diana herself, Jeanne and her firm Breton breasts."

Then he knelt upon a chair, and Basque, who was watching him through the half-open door, made sure that he was praying.

Up to that time, he had not believed in God.

At each succeeding phase of improvement, which became more and more pronounced, the grandfather raved. He executed a multitude of mechanical actions full of joy; he ascended and descended the stairs, without knowing why. A pretty female neighbor was amazed one morning at receiving a big bouquet; it was M. Gillenormand who had sent it to her. The husband made a jealous scene. M. Gillenormand tried to draw Nicolette upon his knees. He called Marius, "M. le Baron." He shouted: "Long live the Republic!"

Every moment, he kept asking the doctor: "Is he no longer in danger?" He gazed upon Marius with the eyes of a grandmother. He brooded over him while he ate. He no longer knew himself, he no longer rendered himself an account of himself. Marius was the master of the house, there was abdication in his joy, he was the grandson of his grandson.

In the state of joy in which he then was, he was the most venerable of children. In his fear lest he might fatigue or annoy the convalescent, he stepped behind him to smile. He was content, joyous, delighted, charming, young. His white locks added a gentle majesty to the gay radiance of his visage. When grace is mingled with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an indescribable aurora in beaming old age.

As for Marius, as he allowed them to dress his wounds and care for him, he had but one fixed idea: Cosette.

After the fever and delirium had left him, he did not again pronounce her name, and it might have been supposed that he no longer thought of her. He held his peace, precisely because his soul was there.

He did not know what had become of Cosette; the whole affair of the Rue de la Chanvrerie was like a cloud in his memory; shadows that were almost indistinct, floated through his mind, Eponine, Gavroche, Mabeuf,the Thenardiers,all his friends gloomily intermingled with the smoke of the barricade; the strange passage of M. Fauchelevent through that adventure produced on him the effect of a puzzle in a tempest; he understood nothing connected with his own life, he did not know how nor by whom he had been saved, and no one of those around him knew this; all that they had been able to tell him was, that he had been brought home at night in a hackney-coach, to the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire; past, present, future were nothing more to him than the mist of a vague idea; but in that fog there was one immovable point, one clear and precise outline, something made of granite, a resolution, a will; to find Cosette once more. For him, the idea of life was not distinct from the idea of Cosette. He had decreed in his heart that he would not accept the one without the other, and he was immovably resolved to exact of any person whatever, who should desire to force him to live,--from his grandfather, from fate, from hell,--the restitution of his vanished Eden.

He did not conceal from himself the fact that obstacles existed.

Let us here emphasize one detail, he was not won over and was but little softened by all the solicitude and tenderness of his grandfather. In the first place, he was not in the secret; then, in his reveries of an invalid, which were still feverish, possibly, he distrusted this tenderness as a strange and novel thing, which had for its object his conquest. He remained cold. The grandfather absolutely wasted his poor old smile. Marius said to himself that it was all right so long as he, Marius, did not speak, and let things take their course; but that when it became a question of Cosette, he would find another face, and that his grandfather's true attitude would be unmasked. Then there would be an unpleasant scene; a recrudescence of family questions, a confrontation of positions, every sort of sarcasm and all manner of objections at one and the same time, Fauchelevent, Coupelevent, fortune, poverty, a stone about his neck, the future. Violent resistance; conclusion: a refusal. Marius stiffened himself in advance.

And then, in proportion as he regained life, the old ulcers of his memory opened once more, he reflected again on the past, Colonel Pontmercy placed himself once more between M. Gillenormand and him, Marius, he told himself that he had no true kindness to expect from a person who had been so unjust and so hard to his father. And with health, there returned to him a sort of harshness towards his grandfather. The old man was gently pained by this. M. Gillenormand, without however allowing it to appear, observed that Marius, ever since the latter had been brought back to him and had regained consciousness, had not once called him father. It is true that he did not say "monsieur" to him; but he contrived not to say either the one or the other, by means of a certain way of turning his phrases. Obviously, a crisis was approaching.

As almost always happens in such cases, Marius skirmished before giving battle, by way of proving himself. This is called "feeling the ground." One morning it came to pass that M. Gillenormand spoke slightingly of the Convention, apropos of a newspaper which had fallen into his hands, and gave vent to a Royalist harangue on Danton, Saint-Juste and Robespierre.--"The men of '93 were giants," said Marius with severity. The old man held his peace, and uttered not a sound during the remainder of that day.

Marius, who had always present to his mind the inflexible grandfather of his early years, interpreted this silence as a profound concentration of wrath, augured from it a hot conflict, and augmented his preparations for the fray in the inmost recesses of his mind.

He decided that, in case of a refusal, he would tear off his bandages, dislocate his collar-bone, that he would lay bare all the wounds which he had left, and would reject all food. His wounds were his munitions of war. He would have Cosette or die.

He awaited the propitious moment with the crafty patience of the sick.

That moment arrived.

马吕斯长期处于不死不活的状态。他在几个星期里发着高烧，神志昏迷，加上脑部症状严重，主要是由于头部受伤后受震，而不是由于伤的本身。

他常整夜在凄惨的高烧呓语中以及在阴郁的垂死挣扎时喊着珂赛特的名字。他有些伤口太大，这很危险，大的伤口化脓，在一定的气候影响下，常会外毒内侵，导致死亡。每次气候发生变化，再遇上点暴风雨，医生就提心吊胆。他一再叮嘱不要让病人受一点刺激。包扎伤口是复杂而困难的，当时还没有发明用胶布固定夹板和纱布。妮珂莱特做包伤布用去一条床单，她说：“这和天花板一样大。”好不容易才用氯化洗剂和硝酸银治愈了坏疽。当病情危急时，吉诺曼绝望地守在外孙床前，他和马吕斯一样，不死也不活。

看门的注意到，每天，有时一天两次，有一个衣着整齐的白发老人，来打听病人的消息，并且放下一大包裹伤布。

自从这垂死的人在那凄惨的夜晚被送到他外祖父家整整四个月以后，在九月七日①，医生终于说他保证病人已脱离险境，恢复期开始了。由于锁骨折断引起的后果，马吕斯还得在长椅上躺两个多月。常常会有最后一个不易愈合的伤口，使病人极其厌烦地忍受着长期的包扎。

①原文如此。事实上，从六月六日晚到九月七日，只过了三个月。

其实这次久病和长期的疗养使他逃脱了追捕，在法国，即使是公众的愤怒，也不会长达六个月而不熄灭。当时社会上的情况，暴动等于是大家的过错，在一定程度上只得睁一只眼闭一只眼。

此外吉斯凯命令医生揭发伤员的那项可耻的通知激怒了舆论，它非但引起公愤，而且首先触怒王上，受伤者受到了这一愤怒的庇护。除去在战斗中当场被俘者之外，军事法庭不敢再找任何一个伤员的麻烦，因此马吕斯这才可以太平无事。

吉诺曼先生先经受了一切痛苦，继而又品尝了各种狂喜。别人很难阻止他整夜陪伴病人，他叫人把他的大靠背椅搬到马吕斯床旁；他要他的女儿把家中最漂亮的麻纱布料做成纱布和绷带。吉诺曼小姐是个既理智又年长的人，她想方设法留下细软的布料，但同时又使外祖父相信他的命令被执行了。吉诺曼先生不允许别人向他解释用粗布裹伤比麻纱好，旧布比新布好。每次包扎伤口他都在旁看着，吉诺曼小姐则羞怯地避开。在用剪刀剪去死肉时，老人叫着“啊唷！”“啊唷！”看到他慈祥地哆嗦着递一杯汤药给病人时，没有比这更感动人的了。他对医生不断地发问，他没有发现自己总是在重复同样的问话。

当医生通知他病人已脱离危险期的那天，这老好人听了惊喜若狂，当天他赏了看门的三个路易。晚上回到自己的寝室时，他用大拇指和食指弹着，代替响板，跳起了嘉禾舞，并且还唱着下面的歌：

让娜生在凤尾草中，

好一个牧羊女的窝棚，

我爱她那惹人的

短裙。

爱神，你活在她心中，

因为在她眼里

有着你那嘲讽人的

箭筒①！

我歌颂她，我更爱，

较之猎神狄安娜，

让娜和她那高耸的布列塔尼人的

乳峰！

①爱神用箭射人，谁中箭就会得到爱情。　

然后他跪在一张椅子上，巴斯克在半掩的门缝中观察他，深信他肯定在祈祷。

直到此刻他是不大信上帝的。

明显地病势在日益好转，每有一次新的好转，外祖父就作一次荒谬的行动。他机械地做出许多高兴的动作，无故楼上楼下来回地跑。一个女邻居，挺漂亮的，有一天早晨很惊讶地收到了一大束花，这是吉诺曼先生送她的。丈夫因嫉妒而吵了一架。吉诺曼先生试着把妮珂莱特抱在膝头上。他称马吕斯为男爵先生。他高呼：“共和国万岁！”

他随时都在询问医生：“是不是没有危险了？”他用祖母的目光注视着马吕斯，目不转睛地望着他进餐。他已不认识自己，他自己已不算数了，马吕斯才是家中的主人，欢畅的心情使他让了位，他变成自己外孙的孙子了。”

这种轻松愉快使他成了一个最可尊敬的孩子。为了避免使初愈的人疲乏或厌烦，他就待在病人的后面对他微笑。他心满意足，他快乐、愉快、可爱、年轻。他那银丝白发使焕发的容光更增添了温柔的庄严气派。当脸上的皱纹再加上优雅时，这优雅就更可爱了。在喜气洋洋的老年有着一种无以名之的曙光。

至于马吕斯，他任凭别人替他包伤，护理，心里牢牢地只有一个念头：珂赛特。

自从他摆脱了高烧和昏迷状态以后，他不再念这个名字了，别人可能认为他已经忘记了。正因为他念念不忘，所以他守口如瓶。

他不知道珂赛特怎样了，麻厂街的经过在他的回忆中就象烟雾一样迷蒙，模糊不清的人影在他脑海中飘浮，爱潘妮、伽弗洛什、马白夫、德纳第一家，还有他所有的朋友都阴惨地混合在街垒的硝烟中；割风先生在这次冒险的流血事变中奇怪地露面，使他感到象是风暴中的一个哑谜；他对自己这条命怎么得来的也不清楚，他不了解是什么人，用什么方法救了他，他四周的人也不知道；至多只能告诉他，那天晚上他在街车中被人带到受难修女街来；在他模模糊糊的思想里，过去、现在和将来的事都好象迷雾重重，但在这迷雾中有决不动摇的一点，一个清楚而又准确的轮廓，一个牢不可破的东西，一个决心，一个志愿：要重新找到珂赛特。在他的心里，生命和珂赛特是分不开的；他已作出决定不能得此失彼，无论是谁，是外公、命运或地狱要强使他活着的话，他坚决要求先替他重建失去的乐园。

至于障碍，他并非没有估计到。

在这里我们要着重指出一个细节：外公的关怀和爱护一点没有赢得他的欢心，也很少使他感动。首先他不知道一切内情，其次在他病时的梦幻中，可能当时还在发烧，他对这种溺爱是有警惕的，认为这种新奇的表现，目的是为了要驯服他。他对此是冷淡的。外祖父他老人家可怜的微笑全属枉然。马吕斯暗想只要自己不开口，随人摆布，事情就好办，但是只要一涉及珂赛特，他就会看到另一种面孔，外公就真相毕露了。于是事情就要不好办了；又要重提家庭问题，是否门当户对等，一切讥讽异议又全来了，割风先生，切风先生，金钱，穷苦，贫困，颈上悬着重石，未来。猛烈的反对，下结论，拒绝。马吕斯事前就准备好顽强对抗。

当他逐渐恢复健康时，他心中的不满又出现了，记忆中的老疮疤又裂开了，他回想过去，彭眉胥上校又来到吉诺曼先生和他马吕斯之间，他觉得这个对他父亲如此不公正又如此凶狠的人是不会有真正的善心的。随着健康的增进，他又恢复了那种生硬的态度来对待外祖父。老人温顺地忍受着痛苦。

吉诺曼先生虽不作任何表示，但他察觉自从马吕斯被送回他家中恢复知觉之后，从来没有叫过他一声父亲。但也不称他先生，不错，但他说话时设法同时避开这两种称呼。

事情显然快爆发了。

马吕斯为了试试自己的力量，在作战前先进行一点小接触，在这种情况下是常有的事，这叫做摸底。有一天清晨，吉诺曼先生随手拿到一张报纸，他就对国民公会草率地发表己见，并且脱口说出了保王派对丹东、圣鞠斯特和罗伯斯庇尔的结论。“九三年的人是伟大的，”马吕斯严肃地说。老人立刻住了嘴，并且那一整天都没有再开口。

在马吕斯的脑海中一直保留着早年外祖父那刚强不屈的形象，因此认为这种沉默是强烈怒火的集中表现，这预示着一场激烈的斗争，他在思想深处增强了战斗的准备。

如果被拒绝，他就下定决心扯掉夹板，使锁骨脱臼，把剩下的伤口都敞开不包，拒绝一切饮食。他的伤口，就是他的武器。得到珂赛特或者死去。

他怀着病人所特有的那种阴郁的耐心等待着有利的时机。

这个时机来到了。

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