Marius continued going to Mass on a regular basis just as he had been taught in his childhood. One Sunday he attended church at Saint Sulpice, in the same chapel his aunt had taken him many times as a lad. This particular morning, feeling more contemplative than normal, he knelt down behind a pillar next to a velvet-covered chair. The service had hardly begun when an old man who was one of the parish officers appeared and said to Marius, “This is my chair, sir.”
The young man promptly stepped aside so the old man could be seated in his chair but stood throughout the service just a few steps away. Once the Mass was concluded, the old man approached him and said, “I beg your pardon, sir, for having disturbed you earlier. You must have thought me rude, but please allow me to explain myself.”
“There is no need of that, sir,” Marius said.
“Yes, there is,” continued the old man. “I don’t want you to think badly of me. But, you see, I am quite attached to this place. I enjoy the Mass much better from here, for it is very special to me. It was in this very place I often watched a poor, brave father come every two or three months for many years. I was able to find out that he had no other way to see his child, because he was prevented from doing so by family arrangements. The little boy never suspected his father was there. Perhaps the poor child had never even been told he had a father. The man stood behind this pillar so he would not be seen—weeping all the while. That poor man adored the little fellow. I could see that plainly. Therefore, this spot has become holy in my eyes, and I have gotten into the habit of listening to the Mass from here.
“Once I even had the opportunity to learn something about the man. Some time ago, I was visiting my brother in Vernon when I saw him. My brother was his priest and told me some of the poor man’s history. It seems he had a father-in-law who threatened to disinherit the child if he, the boy’s father, ever saw him. He sacrificed himself for his son’s happiness and future inheritance. Apparently the man’s father-in-law demanded this agreement because of the man’s political persuasions. Some people just don’t know where to stop! Just because a man fought at Waterloo doesn’t make him a monster, and that is certainly no reason to separate a man from his child. He had a deep battle scar across his face, and his name was something like Pontmarie or Montpercy. He was one of Napoléon’s colonels, and I believe he is now dead.”
“His name was Pontmercy,” Marius stated, as his face turned ashen.
“Yes, that’s it! Did you know him?”
“Sir,” Marius offered, “he was my father.”
The old man clasped his hands in delight, pulled them to his chest, and exclaimed, “Then you are the child! Yes, I guess he would be a man by now. Well, dear child, I can honestly say you had a father who loved you dearly!”
Marius, feeling overwhelmed by what he had just learned, simply offered his arm to the elderly man and walked him to his house. The following day he said to his grandfather, “I have planned a hunting trip with several friends. May I have permission to be gone for three days?”
His grandfather replied, “Take four days if you like. Go and have a good time.”
Of course, Marius had no intention of taking a hunting trip—except one to find out more about his father. Suddenly he had become obsessed with knowing all he could about this man who had loved him after all. He went straight to the library of his law school and searched all the files, newspapers, and histories of the republic and the empire for any mention of Colonel Georges Pontmercy. He devoured everything and even went to visit one of the generals his father had served with during his military career. The general knew many details of his father’s life in Vernon as well, and Marius was learning to see his father as the rarest of men—one who reflected all the best qualities of a lion and a lamb at the same time. In fact, the son was quickly traveling down the road of adoration whenever he thought of his father.
The young man’s political ideas also were undergoing extraordinary transformation. Reading the history of his father and the history of those times startled and bewildered him. Up to that point, the republic and the empire had only been monstrous words to him. Marius always had seen the republic as a guillotine at dusk and the empire as a sword in the night. Yet now he was beginning to realize he had no more understood the politics of his country than he had intimately known his father. He felt he had not known either one and had willingly allowed a total darkness to cover his eyes. But now his eyes were widely open.
Marius perused the many bulletins of his father’s grand army. They were heroic stories penned on the very field of battle. He would always see the name of the emperor and often would behold his own father’s name. He felt as though the great empire was presenting itself to him, and a flood seemed to be rising within him. At times it seemed his father was close enough to breathe on him and would whisper in his ear. Once, without fully realizing what was happening within him or what sudden impulse he was obeying, he sprang to his feet, stretched both arms out the window, and while staring into what appeared to him to be infinite darkness, loudly exclaimed, “Long live the emperor!”
Like many converts to a new religion, Marius’s political conversion intoxicated him. He threw himself headlong into it and went too far. Fanaticism for the sword took possession of him, for his political idolatry was divine on the one hand but was becoming brutal on the other. He entirely shed his Royalist skin and donned the hide of a revolutionary. It was then he went to an engraver and ordered his personal cards, which read: LE BARON MARIUS PONTMERCY.
From time to time Marius would take another one of his “hunting trips,” and his aunt began to wonder where he really was going. On one of these trips, which always were brief, he went to Montfermeil. He went there in order to obey his father’s instructions to find the old sergeant of Waterloo—the innkeeper named Thénardier. Yet the inn had failed financially and no one knew what had happened to Thénardier.
This trip had taken Marius four days, and while he was gone, his grandfather had said, “This boy is becoming too wild.”
Therefore, the young man’s grandfather and his aunt began to scrutinize his every move. One day they thought they noticed something under his shirt—something attached to a black ribbon and worn around his neck.
Marius’s spinster aunt, Mademoiselle Gillenormand, had another relative she was quite fond of by the name of Lieutenant Théodule Gillenormand. He was her grandnephew, and the primary reason she was so fond of him was that she had so little contact with the young man. He was in the military and had all the qualities that made him a competent officer. He visited Paris so rarely that Marius had never seen him. Therefore, the two cousins knew each other in name only.
One morning while Marius was on another of his “hunting trips” away from home, his aunt’s curiosity was overwhelming her. She was attempting to take her mind off him by sewing and had been working for several hours when someone knocked on her door. It was her grandnephew.
Uttering a cry of delight, the soldier’s aunt exclaimed, “Théodule! It’s so good to see you! What brings you to town?”
“I’m just passing through and will be here only until evening. Our garrison is being transferred, and we had to come through Paris.”
“Are you traveling by horseback with the rest of your regiment?” she asked.
“No, I asked for permission to visit you, and another soldier is taking my horse for me. I will catch up with my unit by coach. By the way, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Is my cousin Marius traveling today as well?” he asked.
“What makes you think that?” she questioned with surprise. Suddenly her curiosity regarding Marius was piqued even further.
“Well, when I got to Paris, I first went to book my seat on the coach for this evening,” he began.
“And?” she said, attempting to pull the information from him more quickly.
“I happened to see the names of the other passengers, and Marius Pontmercy was one of them,” he added.
“Oh! I wonder what he’s up to. Where could he be going?” she wondered aloud.
“He’s just traveling, like I am,” he answered.
“Yes, but in your case it’s your duty. In his case, I believe there’s something strange happening.”
Then suddenly an idea struck her, and she asked, “Would your cousin recognize you?”
“No, I’ve only seen him from a distance, and I don’t believe he ever has seen me,” the young soldier answered.
“And where is the coach headed tonight?”
“Ultimately to Les Andelys, but I get off at Vernon in order to catch another coach for Gaillon. I have no idea where Marius is headed,” he explained.
“Listen, Théodule, I would like your help with something. Marius has been spending more and more time away from here, and I would love to know what he is doing.”
“Oh, he’s probably just chasing some young woman’s skirt,” he said with a smile.
“You’re probably right, but do me a favor. How about following Marius if you can? Since he doesn’t know you, it should be easy. And then, if you catch a glimpse of the young woman, write to let me know all the details. I’m sure it will amuse Marius’s grandfather too.”
Smiling again, slyly, he agreed by saying, “As you please, Aunt. I’d be happy to be my cousin’s ‘chaperone.’ ” Then, after receiving a hug from his aunt, the young lieutenant departed.
That evening Marius boarded the coach and promptly fell asleep, totally unaware he was being watched. Around sunrise the next morning, the coach pulled into Vernon and Marius quickly stepped down and began walking down the street. Since Théodule had several hours before his other coach was due to depart, he had time to follow his cousin.
A little peasant girl standing on the street corner, her arms loaded with bouquets of flowers, began shouting to Marius and the other travelers, “Don’t forget to buy flowers for your lady!” Marius turned, walked to her, and purchased one of the finest selections in her nearby basket.
Lieutenant Théodule, watching from a distance, thought in amusement, To deserve such a fine bouquet of flowers, this woman must really be something. I can hardly wait to see her. At this point, he began following Marius out of his own sense of curiosity, not simply because he had promised his aunt he would do so.
Marius did not notice he was being followed, and he walked past a number of attractive women yet never so much as glanced at them. It seemed he saw nothing around him, which led Théodule to think, He must be very much in love!
Moments later the young soldier realized Marius was headed toward the church. “Great!” Théodule said to himself. “A rendezvous spiked with ‘a bit of Mass’ is the best kind. There’s nothing like trying to pull one over on God.”
Yet once Marius got to the church, he continued past it. Then he disappeared around the back of the building. “I guess he’s meeting her outside. Perhaps I’ll get an even better look at the lass,” the lieutenant speculated.
Upon reaching the back of the church, however, Théodule stopped in amazement. He saw Marius kneeling over a grave. He had spread the flowers over the small plot and was covering his bowed head with his hands as he sobbed aloud. At the far end of the grave stood a plain cross fashioned out of black wood. On the cross in white letters was written the name: Colonel Baron Pontmercy.
Then Marius’s cousin suddenly realized that the “lass” was a grave.
It was to his father’s grave Marius had been going nearly every time his aunt and his grandfather had wondered where he was. Lieutenant Théodule was so taken aback and deeply moved by his cousin’s visit to a grave, that he did not know what to write to his aunt—so he decided not to write at all.
Two days later, Marius took the long coach trip back to Paris. Sweaty and tired by two full nights spent riding in a coach in just three days, he went straight to his room and undressed to take a bath. He flung his coat and the black ribbon he wore around his neck onto the bed.
Monsieur Gillenormand had heard his grandson return and slowly climbed the stairs to question him as to where he had been, yet once he reached Marius’s room, the young man was already in the bath. As he looked around the room, he suddenly spied the black ribbon that had piqued his curiosity for so long. Unable to resist the temptation, he grabbed it and the young man’s coat and hurried downstairs.
Triumphantly swinging the locket attached to the ribbon back and forth, he strutted into the room where Mademoiselle Gillenormand was busy with her sewing. Then he declared, “Victory! We are about to expose the mystery!” He took the locket, gazed at it for several moments, and as though filled with a sense of pure rapture, pried it open with his wrinkled fingers.
Both the father and his daughter surmised they would find a portrait inside, yet to their surprise, when the locket was open they found nothing but a carefully folded piece of paper. The old spinster, bursting out in laughter, said, “I know what that is! It’s a love letter! Let’s read it.”
Then, putting on her glasses, the woman unfolded the paper and began to read:
“For my son, Marius.
Emperor Napoléon made me a baron on the battlefield of Waterloo. Since the Restoration disputes my right to the title, which was purchased with my own blood, I leave it to my son. He shall take it, and I am confident that over time he will be worthy of its use.”
Fully describing their feelings at this moment would be impossible. It seemed as though the chill of death ran down their spines, and they did not say a word for a moment or two. Finally, Monsieur Gillenormand, rereading the note for himself, mumbled, “This is in the slasher’s own handwriting.”
Marius’s aunt quickly returned the paper to the locket as her father searched the pockets of the young man’s coat. He pulled a blue paper packet from the coat, and taking it from him, the old woman began unwrapping it. Inside were the cards Marius recently had printed, which read: Le Baron Marius Pontmercy.
Just as his grandfather was reading the card, Marius walked into the room. Upon seeing his grandson, the elderly man said, with an air of sarcasm and superiority that seemed crushing, “Well, well, well. So now you are a baron. Congratulations!” Then he asked, “What is the meaning of this?”
Marius reddened slightly and replied, “It means I am the son of my father.”
Monsieur Gillenormand laughed cynically and said harshly, “I am your father.”
“My father,” retorted Marius, looking down, but with sternness in his voice, “was a humble and heroic man who gloriously served the republic and France. He was one of the greatest men in our history and served his country for more than a quarter of a century. He lived through snow, rain, and mud, day and night, and was wounded twenty times or more for what he believed. He died abandoned, alone, and forgotten, and his only crime was to love two ingrates: his country and his son.”
This was more than Marius’s grandfather could bear to hear. At the word republic, he sprang to his feet. The old Royalist’s face turned as bright red as a branding iron, while pure rage arose within him.
“Marius!” he screamed. “You are an abomination! I don’t know what your father was, and I don’t want to know! But I do know this: there were only scoundrels among those men. Anyone who served Napoléon or Robespierre was a thief and an assassin. They were all traitors who betrayed their king, and they were all cowards who fled before the Prussians and the English at Waterloo!”
At these strong words, Marius stood motionless for several moments. His mind was whirling. What was he to do? His father had just been trampled underfoot by his own grandfather! How could he possibly avenge the one without outraging the other? Finally, staggering as though intoxicated, he glared at his grandfather and thundered, “Down with that pig, Louis XVIII!”
Although Louis XVIII had been dead for four years, it was all the same to Marius, and his meaning certainly was understood. The old man’s face, which moments earlier had been crimson, turned whiter than his hair. He responded coldly, “A baron like you and a bourgeois like me cannot possibly live under the same roof.” Then, pointing a trembling finger toward the door, and with the lightning of anger flashing across his eyes, he shouted, “Get out!”
Marius left. The following day Monsieur Gillenormand said to his daughter, “Send sixty pistoles every six months to that bloodsucker, and never mention his name to me again.”
The young revolutionary had left without saying—or even knowing—where he was going. All he had was thirty francs, his watch, and a few clothes in a bag. He hired a carriage and instructed the driver to take him to the Latin Quarter.
Only God knew what was to become of Marius.