Chapter 17 Volume 2 Sinking

At the beginning of October, 1815, about one hour before sunset, a man on foot entered the little town of Digne.Scattered residents watched the passer-by with uneasiness at their doors or windows.It was hard to come across a more ragged passer-by than he was.He was a man of medium height, stocky, in his prime, perhaps forty-six or forty-eight.A leather-brimmed cap pressed between his brows partly concealed his sunburned, sweating face.A part of the hairy bosom peeped out of his yellow dungaree shirt buttoned with a small silver anchor, his tie was twisted like a rope, and his blue cotton trousers were frayed, white at one knee and holed at the other. ; an old tattered gray cloth shirt, with a piece of green cloth sewn with twine on the left and right elbows; on his back was a cloth bag, which was full and fastened; Knotty stick, a pair of sockless feet in spiked shoes, a bald head, and a long beard.

Sweat, heat, running, and hiking gave the down-and-out man an air of indescribable embarrassment. His hair, which had been shaved, was thick again because it had begun to grow a little, as if it had not been trimmed for a long time. No one knew him, he was naturally just a passerby.Where did he come from?From the south.Or from the sea.Because the road he took to enter the city of Digne is exactly the road that Emperor Napoleon took when he went from Cannes to Paris seven months ago.The man must have been walking all day, and he looked very tired.Many women who lived in the old part of the lower city saw him resting under the trees on the Gassendi Avenue, and drinking some water from the water pipe at the end of the square.He must be extremely thirsty, because the children chasing him saw him stop to drink water at the water pipe of the small vegetable market two hundred paces away.

When he reached the corner of Bathville Street, he turned left and walked towards the town hall.He went in and came out again a quarter of an hour later.A policeman sat by the door on the same stone bench on which General Drouet had set up on the 4th of March to read the Declaration of Port Jouin to the horrified crowd of Digne.The man took off his cap and saluted the policeman respectfully. The policeman didn't answer the salute, but only looked at him carefully for a while, gave him a look, and walked to the city hall. At that time, there was a splendid inn in Digne called the "Croix de Colbat".The owner of the inn is Yagan Rabar.People in the town believed him to be a relation of another Rabar, who kept the hotel of the Three Dauphins in Grenoble and acted as a guide.According to legend at the time, during the first month of the lunar year, General Bertrand disguised himself as a coachman, traveled to and from that area many times, distributed many crosses to some soldiers, and distributed a large number of Napoleons to some gentry.The actual situation is this: after the emperor entered the city of Grenoble, he did not want to live in the governor's office. He thanked the mayor and said: "I will go to live with a good man I know." The place he went to was the Third Prince's Hotel.The glory of that Rabar of the Three Princes' Inn reached down to this Rabar of the Cross of Colba twenty-five leagues away.People in the town said he was a cousin of the Grenoble one.

The man was walking towards the inn, which was the nicest inn in the place.He walked into the kitchen. The door of the kitchen faced the street, which was also as level as the street.All the stoves were lit, and a great fire blazed in the grate.The innkeeper, who was also the cook, was busily tending from the hearth to the pan, preparing a good dinner for the many coachmen, who could be heard talking and laughing loudly in the next room.Anyone who has traveled knows that no one eats better than the coachmen.A fat field mouse on a long spit, sandwiched between a string of white bamboo chickens and a bunch of pheasants, turned before the fire.Two herrings from Lake Lechou and one perch from Lake Aluci were cooking on the stove.

When the host heard the door open and a new guest had come in, his eyes were still fixed on the stove without looking up, he said: "What do you want sir?" "Eat and sleep," said the man. "It couldn't be easier," replied the host.At this time, he turned his head, looked at the passenger, and continued, "...you have to pay." The man drew a large purse from the pocket of his shirt, and replied: "I have money." "Okay, I will serve you." The master said. The man put the purse back in his pocket, took off the bag, put it on the ground by the door, and, still holding the stick, went to sit on a low stool by the fire.Digne is in the mountains and the October nights are cold.

However, the innkeeper came and came and went, always looking at the traveler. "Is there something to eat right away?" the man asked. "We'll have to wait a little while," said the innkeeper. At this moment, while the newcomer was turning his back on the fire, the serious innkeeper drew a pencil from his pocket, and tore a corner from the old newspaper which had been thrown on the little table by the windowsill.He wrote a line or two on the edge of the white newspaper, folded the torn paper, left it unsealed, and handed it to a boy who seemed to be his cook and his errand runner.The owner of the inn whispered a word in the ear of the young man, and the young man ran towards the direction of the city hall.

The traveler saw nothing of this passing. He asked again: "Is there something to eat right away?" "We'll have to wait a while," said the innkeeper. The kid is back.He brought back the paper.The master opened it hastily, like a person waiting for an answer, he seemed to read it carefully, then nodded and thought for a while.He finally took a step towards the passenger who seemed restless. "Sir," said he, "I cannot receive you." The man was half upright from his seat. "What! Are you afraid I won't pay? Would you like me to pay first? I have money, I'll tell you."

"Not for that." "Then why?" "You have money..." "Yes." The man said. "But I," said the host, "I have no room." The man said kindly, "Just put me in the stable." "I can not." "why?" "Those horses take up all the space." "Well," said the man again, "a corner above the attic will do. A bale will suffice. We'll see after dinner." "I can't cook for you." The outsider, taken seriously by this measured but hard gesture, rose to his feet. "Ha! What a joke! I'm dying of hunger, I. I set off when the sun came out. Twelve leagues. It's not that I don't pay. I want to eat."

"I have nothing at all," said the innkeeper. The man laughed loudly and turned towards the stove. "Nothing! What's that?" "Those things are all ordered by the customer." "Who decided?" "Mr. Coachmen have fixed it." "How many are they?" "Twelve people." "There's food for twenty people there." "It was all pre-booked and paid for." The man sat down again and said in the same tone: "I've already arrived at this inn. I'm hungry, so I won't leave." The master bent down, leaned close to his ear, and said in a tone that surprised him:

"Let's go." At this moment, the traveler stooped, and touched the coals in the fire with the iron end of his stick. He turned around suddenly, and was about to speak, but the innkeeper's eyes were on him, and he whispered just as before. Say: "I say enough nonsense. Do you want me to tell you your name? Your name is Jean Valjean. Now do you want me to tell you who you are? When you came in, I was a little puzzled when I saw you. I have sent to the town hall, and here is the answer. Do you know how to read?" As he spoke, he showed the guest the fully opened sheet of paper that had been passed from the hotel to the town hall and from the town hall to the hotel.The guest glanced at the paper.The innkeeper was silent for a while, and then said:

"No matter who I am, I have always been polite. You'd better go." The man lowered his head, picked up his cloth bag on the ground and left. He walked down that street.Like a person who has been insulted and full of grievances, he leans against the wall and walks forward.He didn't turn around the first time either.Had he turned his head, he would have seen the innkeeper of the Cross of Colba standing at his door, surrounded by the travelers in the inn and the passers-by on the road, gesticulating and talking; From the suspicious eyes of a group of people, he could guess that his appearance would soon cause a storm in the city. He didn't see those passing by at all.People who are depressed don't always look behind.They just feel that bad luck is chasing them. He walked like that for a while, walking without stopping, wandering through many streets he didn't know, forgetting his own fatigue, which often happens when people are depressed.Suddenly, he felt unbearably hungry.It's getting dark too.He looked around for a place where he could spend the night. Since the fine hotel was shut down, he wanted to find a poor hotel, a poor hut. Just at the end of that street a lamp was lit, and in the half-darkness of twilight there appeared a branch of pine hanging from a piece of bent iron.He walked to that place. It is indeed a hotel.It's the hotel on Shaffer Street. The passerby stopped for a while, looking through the glass window into the interior of the hall on the ground floor of the restaurant, and saw that the lamps on the table were burning, and the fire in the fireplace was also burning.Several people were drinking in it.The boss is also near the fire.An iron pot hung on a hook roared in the flames. This hotel is also a kind of inn. It has two doors, one facing the street, and the other leading to a small courtyard where dirt and dung are mixed. The passerby dared not enter through the door facing the street.He slipped into the patio first, stayed there for a while, then gently lifted the latch and pushed the door open. "Who is here?" the boss asked. "A guy who wants to have dinner and spend the night." "Okay, here's food and a place to live." Followed, he went in.Those who were drinking all turned their heads.He had a light on this side and a fire on that side.Everyone stared at him for a while as he undid the sack.The boss said to him: "Here's a fire, and supper is cooking in the pot. Come and warm yourself to the fire, man." He went and sat by the fire, and stretched out his tired feet before the fire, and a scent rushed from the cauldron.His face was still half-hidden by the cap that was pressed down between his brows, and all that could be discerned at that moment was a vague expression of comfort, mingled with another sadness from long-term pain. It was a strong and melancholy profile.This appearance is rare, it looks humble at first glance, but serious afterward.The eyes shone brightly under the brows like a fire among thorn bushes. At that time, among those who sat down around the table was a fishmonger.He had been at Lavale's inn before entering the hotel in Shaver Street, and had left his horses in the stables, and that same morning he happened to meet this wicked-faced stranger in the Gulf of Aser and . . . ( I have forgotten the name of the place, I think it was Escubronn).The stranger had begged to be seated on the horse's rump when he met him, and he was already looking very sleepy, but the fishmonger faltered and whipped away.The fishmonger had been one of those who had gathered around Jacques Laval half an hour before, and he himself had told those at the Colba Cross Hotel about the unpleasant encounter that morning.Then he winked from his seat at the innkeeper.The hotel owner walked up to him.They exchanged a few words with each other in low voice.The guest who was on his way was thinking about his thoughts. The innkeeper returned to the fire, and suddenly put his hand on the man's shoulder, and said to him: "You need to get out of here." The stranger turned around and said humbly: "Oh! You know?" "I know." "They kicked me out of that hostel." "I'm kicking you out of here again." "Where do you want me to go?" "Go somewhere else." The man picked up his stick and cloth bag and left. As he went out of the shop, he met some children who had followed him from the Cross of Colba and were waiting for him at the door, throwing stones at him.He turned around in embarrassment, and raised his stick to indicate that he wanted to beat, and the children scattered like a flock of birds. He walked past the prison, where a bell chain hung from the gate.He pulled the bell. A small hole in the wall opened. "Monsieur Warden," said he, taking off his cap respectfully, "will you open the cell door and let me stay the night?" A personal voice answered: "A prison is not an inn. You must have someone arrest you first. This door will open for you." The little hole in the wall was closed again. He came to a side street with many gardens.A few of them are only fenced, which enlivens the streets.Between those gardens and hedges he saw lights in the windows of a little cottage.He looked in through the glass window just as he looked first at the hotel.It was a large whitewashed room with a bed with a chintz sheet, a cradle in one corner, some wooden chairs, and a double-barreled gun hanging from the wall.There is a table in the middle of the room, and food is being placed on the table.A copper lamp illuminated the white and large tablecloth, a tin jug full of wine as bright as silver, and a steaming chestnut soup bowl.Beside the table sat a smiling man of about forty, who was bouncing a child on his knee to make him jump.Next to him a young woman was feeding another baby.The father smiled, the child smiled, and the mother smiled slightly. The stranger was lost for a moment in front of the gentle and peaceful scene.What is he thinking?Only he can tell.Maybe he was thinking that such a happy family should be willing to welcome guests, and maybe he could find a little compassion in the blessed land in front of him. He tapped very lightly on the pane. No one heard. He knocks a second time. He heard the woman say: "Master, it seems that someone is knocking on the door." "No." Her husband replied. He knocks a third time. The husband stood up, took the lamp, went and opened the door. He is a tall, half farmer, half worker.He wore a large leather apron, which went up to his left shoulder, and in the apron contained a hammer, a red handkerchief, a powder-box, and the like, all held up by a belt, in which he Belly bulges.His head was thrown back, and a lapel shirt was opened wide, revealing a white and smooth cow neck.He had thick eyebrows, a large black beard on his cheeks, well-set eyes, and a protruding chin, and there was an indescribably contented air about his features. "Sir," said the passer-by, "excuse me. If I pay, will you give me a pot of soup, and let me sleep overnight in the corner of the shed in the garden? Tell me, will you, if If I pay for it?" "Who are you?" asked the owner of the house. The man replied: "I have come from Pimasson. I have walked all day, I have traveled twelve leagues. Do you agree? If I pay for it?" "I don't refuse to lodge with a decent man who will pay," said the peasant, "but why don't you go to an inn?" "There's no room left in the inn." "A joke! Nothing. It's not a day for acrobats or a fair. Have you been to Rabar's?" "Been there." "How?" The passer-by was perplexed, and he replied: "I don't know, he won't receive me." "Have you ever been to that house called what's in Shaffer Street?" The outsider found it even more difficult, he said hesitatingly: "He also refused to receive me." The farmer's countenance took a look of apprehension, and he looked the stranger from head to toe, and suddenly cried out in a trembling voice: "Are you the one?..." He glanced at the stranger again, stepped back three steps, put the lamp on the table, and took his gun from the wall. When the woman heard the farmer say, "Are you that person?", she also stood up, holding her two children in her arms, and quickly hid behind her husband, looking at the stranger in panic, with her eyes wide open. With her chest open and her eyes wide open, she whispered: "Zomarod." These movements are faster than we thought.After observing the "man" as a poisonous snake, the owner of the house returned to the door and said: "roll!" "Please do a good deed," said the man again, "give me a glass of water!" "Give you a shot!" said the farmer. Then he slammed the door shut, and the man heard him push the two great latches.After a while, the shutters were also closed, and the sound of iron bolts being closed went straight to the outside. It was getting darker.There is already a cold wind in the Alps.From the dim twilight, the homeless man saw a hut in a garden on the side of the street, which seemed to be built of grass mounds.He made up his mind, crossed a wooden fence, and reached the garden.He walked towards the hut, the door of which was just a narrow and low hole, like the kind of shelter the road builders built for themselves along the side of the road.Of course he also thought that it was indeed a resting place for road workers, and now he felt cold and hungry, which was really hard.Although he no longer wanted food, at least it was a shelter from the cold.That kind of shed is usually unoccupied at night.He lay down and crawled in.It was quite warm inside, and there was a layer of straw on the floor.He lay there for a while, too tired to move at all.Then, since there was still a sack on his back which made him uncomfortable, and besides, it was a ready-made pillow, he started to untie the straps of the sack.At this moment, he suddenly heard a rough voice.He raised his eyes.In the darkness, I saw a big dog's head appearing from the hole in the hut. It turned out to be a kennel. He himself was a brave and unstoppable person. He picked up his stick as a weapon, and a cloth bag as a shield, and slowly crawled out of the kennel, only his ragged clothes It has become more dilapidated. He went out of the garden again, forced to back away, and parried the vicious dog with the stick technique that the stick teachers called "covering the rose". With all his strength, he climbed over the wooden fence and returned to the middle of the street, alone, with no shelter, no shelter from the wind and rain, not even the pile of straw and that miserable doghouse, he let himself sit On a stone, a passer-by seemed to hear him curse: "I am worse than a dog!" After a while, he stood up again and walked forward.He was out of town, hoping to find a tree or a haystack in a field to lean against. He walked like that for a while, always with his head down.It wasn't until he felt that he was far away from those families that he raised his eyes and looked around.He was already in the field, and in front of him there was a low mound covered with mown stubble, like a shaved head after the harvest. The sky was completely dark, it was not only the darkness of night, it seemed that there were extremely low clouds, pressing on the low hill, and then gradually rising up, covering the sky.But, as the moon was coming up, there was still a little twilight in the firmament, and the clouds formed a kind of milky dome in the sky, from which a gleam of light was reflected. Therefore, the ground is slightly brighter than the sky. It is a particularly gloomy scene. The outline of the low hill is desolate and thin, which is set off by the dark sky and is indistinct. The color is like dead gray.All of this is ugly, mean, bleak, meaningless.In the field and on the low hill there was nothing but a shapeless tree, a few steps away from the wanderer, its branches curled and swaying. Evidently, this man was not intellectually or spiritually endowed with those delicate habits, and was therefore indifferent to the mysteries of things; Such a tree end had a thrilling and desolate meaning, so after standing there for a while, he suddenly turned around and walked away.Some people's instincts often make them feel that the natural world is malicious. He went back the same way.The gates of Digne are shut.Digne, which had been besieged in the Wars of Religion, had until 1815 the old walls, with their square towers, which were later demolished.He went back to the city through such a gap. It must have been eight o'clock in the evening, because he didn't know the streets, so he had to walk around.In this way he went to the prefect's office, and then to the priesthood.When passing the Catholic Church Square, he raised his fist fiercely at the Catholic Church. There was a printing office at the corner of the square.In the past, Napoleon personally dictated on the island of Elba, and then brought back to the mainland the imperial edict and the "Habayashi Army's Report to the Soldiers", which were first printed in this printing office. He was exhausted and hopeless, so he went to the stone bench in front of the printing office and lay down. It so happened that an old woman came out of that cathedral, and when she saw the man lying in the dark, she said: "What are you doing here, friend?" He replied angrily and roughly: "You see, old woman, I'm sleeping." That old woman is indeed worthy of this title, she is the Marchioness of R. "Sleeping on this stone bench?" She asked again. "I have slept on a wooden mattress for nineteen years," said the man, "today I am going to sleep on a stone mattress." "Have you ever been a soldier?" "Yes, old woman. Was in the army." "Why don't you go to the inn?" "Because I have no money." "Ah!" said Madame R. "I only have four sous in my purse." "Give it to me." The man took the four sous. Mrs. R continued: "This little money is not enough for you to stay in an inn. But have you tried it? You can't just spend the night like this. You must be hungry and cold. Maybe someone will do something good and let you stay overnight." "I've knocked on all the doors." "How?" "There's no place that doesn't drive me away." The "old woman" pushed the man by the arm and pointed out to him a low house next to the Bishop's College across the square. "All the doors," she went on, "have you knocked?" "Knocked." "Have you knocked on that door?" "No." "Go and knock on that fan."