6
OLD FAUCHELEVENT
MONSIEUR MADELEINE was walking one morning along one of the unpaved alleys of M—sur M——; he heard a shouting and saw a crowd at a little distance. He went to the spot. An old man, named Father Fauchelevent, had fallen under his cart, his horse having collapsed.
This Fauchelevent was one of the few who were still enemies of Monsieur Madeleine at this time. When Madeleine arrived in the place, the business of Fauchelevent, who was a notary of long-standing, and very well-read for a rustic, was beginning to decline. Fauchelevent had seen this mere artisan grow rich, while he himself, a professional man, had been going to ruin. This had filled him with jealousy, and he had done what he could on all occasions to injure Madeleine. Then came bankruptcy, and the old man, having nothing but a horse and cart, as he was without family, and without children, was compelled to earn his living by hauling loads.
The horse had his thighs broken, and could not stir. The old man was caught between the wheels. Unluckily he had fallen so that the whole weight rested upon his breast. The cart was heavily loaded. Father Fauchelevent was uttering doleful groans. They had tried to pull him out, but in vain. An unlucky effort, inexpert help, a false push, might crush him. It was impossible to extricate him otherwise than by raising the waggon from beneath. Javert, who came up at the moment of the accident, had sent for a jack.
Monsieur Madeleine came. The crowd fell back with respect.
“Help,” cried old Fauchelevent. “Who is a good fellow to save an old man?”
Monsieur Madeleine turned towards the bystanders:
“Has anybody a jack?”
“They have gone for one,” replied a peasant.
“How soon will it be here?”
“We sent to the nearest place, to Flachot Place, where there is a blacksmith; but it will take a good quarter of an hour at least.”
“A quarter of an hour!” exclaimed Madeleine.
It had rained the night before, the road was soft, the cart was sinking deeper every moment, and pressing more and more on the breast of the old carman. It was evident that in less than five minutes his ribs would be crushed.
“We cannot wait a quarter of an hour,” said Madeleine to the peasants who were looking on.
“We must!”
“But it will be too late! Don’t you see that the waggon is sinking all the while?”
“It can’t be helped.”
“Listen,” resumed Madeleine, “there is room enough still under the waggon for a man to crawl in, and lift it with his back. In half a minute we will have the poor man out. Is there nobody here who has strength and courage? Five louis d‘ors for him!”
Nobody stirred in the crowd.
“Ten louis,” said Madeleine.
The bystanders dropped their eyes. One of them muttered: “He’d have to be devilish strong. And then he would risk getting crushed.”
“Come,” said Madeleine, “twenty louis.”
The same silence.
“It is not willingness which they lack,” said a voice.
Monsieur Madeleine turned and saw Javert. He had not noticed him when he came.
Javert continued:
“It is strength. You’d need a fearsome man to raise a waggon like that on his back.”
Then, looking fixedly at Monsieur Madeleine, he went on emphasising every word that he uttered:
“Monsieur Madeleine, I have known but one man capable of doing what you call for.”
Madeleine shuddered.
Javert added, with an air of indifference, but without taking his eyes from Madeleine:
“He was a convict.”
“Ah!” said Madeleine.
“In the galleys at Toulon.”
Madeleine became pale.
Meanwhile the cart was slowly settling down. Father Fauchelevent roared and screamed:
“I am dying! my ribs are breaking! a jack! anything! oh!”
Madeleine looked around him:
“Is there nobody, then, who wants to earn twenty louis and save this poor old man’s life?”
None of the bystanders moved. Javert resumed:
“I have known but one man who could take the place of a jack; that was that convict.”
“Oh! how it crushes me!” cried the old man.
Madeleine raised his head, met the falcon eye of Javert still fixed upon him, looked at the immovable peasants, and smiled sadly. Then, without saying a word, he fell on his knees, and even before the crowd had time to utter a cry, he was under the cart.
There was an awful moment of suspense and of silence.
Madeleine, lying almost flat under the fearful weight, was twice seen to try in vain to bring his elbows and knees nearer together. They cried out to him: “Father Madeleine! come out from there!” Old Fauchelevent himself said: “Monsieur Madeleine! go away! I must die, you see that; leave me! you will be crushed too.” Madeleine made no answer.
The bystanders held their breath. The wheels were still sinking and it had already become almost impossible for Madeleine to extricate himself.
All at once the enormous mass budged, the cart rose slowly, the wheels came half out of the ruts. A smothered voice was heard crying: “Quick! help!” It was Madeleine, who had just made a final effort.
They all rushed to the work. The devotion of one man had given strength and courage to all. The cart was lifted by twenty arms. Old Fauchelevent was safe.
Madeleine arose. He was very pale, though dripping with sweat. His clothes were torn and covered with mud. All wept. The old man kissed his knees and called him the good Lord. He himself wore on his face an indescribable expression of joyous and celestial suffering, and he looked with tranquil eye upon Javert, who was still watching him.