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Les Misérables
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“How are you going to manage to get out?”
Jean Valjean made no reply. Thénardier continued:
“It’s impossible to pick the lock of that gate. But still you must get out of this.”
“That is true,” said Jean Valjean.
“Well, half shares then.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You have killed that man; that’s all right. I have the key.”
Thénardier pointed to Marius. He went on:
“I don’t know you, but I want to help you. You must be a friend.”
Jean Valjean began to comprehend. Thénardier took him for an assassin.
Thénardier resumed:
“Listen, comrade. You didn’t kill that man without looking to see what he had in his pockets. Give me my half. I’ll open the door for you.”
And half drawing from beneath his tattered blouse a huge key, he added:
“Do you want to see how a key to liberty is made? Look here.”
Jean Valjean “remained stupid” – the expression belongs to the elder Corneille – to such a degree that he doubted whether what he beheld was real. It was Providence appearing in horrible guise, and his good angel springing from the earth in the form of Thénardier.
Thénardier thrust his fist into a large pocket concealed under his blouse, drew out a rope and offered it to Jean Valjean.
“Hold on,” said he, “I’ll give you the rope to boot.”
“What is the rope for?”
“You will need a stone also, but you can find one outside. There’s a heap of rubbish.”
“What am I to do with a stone?”
“Idiot, you’ll want to sling that stiff into the river, you’ll need a stone and a rope, otherwise it would float on the water.”
Jean Valjean took the rope. There is no one who does not occasionally accept in this mechanical way.
Thénardier snapped his fingers as though an idea had suddenly occurred to him.
“Ah, see here, comrade, how did you contrive to get out of that slough yonder? I haven’t dared to risk myself in it. Phew! you don’t smell good.”
After a pause he added:
“I’m asking you questions, but you’re perfectly right not to answer. It’s an apprenticeship against that cursed quarter of an hour before the examining magistrate. And then, when you don’t talk at all, you run no risk of talking too loud. That’s no matter, as I can’t see your face and as I don’t know your name, you are wrong in supposing that I don’t know who you are and what you want. I twig. You’ve broken up that gentleman a bit; now you want to tuck him away somewhere. The river, that great hider of folly, is what you want. I’ll get you out of your scrape. Helping a good fellow in a pinch is what suits me to a hair.”
While expressing his approval of Jean Valjean’s silence, he endeavored to force him to talk. He jostled his shoulder in an attempt to catch a sight of his profile, and he exclaimed, without, however, raising his tone:
“Apropos of that quagmire, you’re a hearty animal. Why didn’t you toss the man in there?”
Jean Valjean preserved silence.
Thénardier resumed, pushing the rag which served him as a cravat to the level of his Adam’s apple, a gesture which completes the capable air of a serious man:
“After all, you acted wisely. The workmen, when they come to-morrow to stop up that hole, would certainly have found the stiff abandoned there, and it might have been possible, thread by thread, straw by straw, to pick up the scent and reach you. Some one has passed through the sewer. Who? Where did he get out? Was he seen to come out? The police are full of cleverness. The sewer is treacherous and tells tales of you. Such a find is a rarity, it attracts attention, very few people make use of the sewers for their affairs, while the river belongs to everybody. The river is the true grave. At the end of a month they fish up your man in the nets at Saint-Cloud. Well, what does one care for that? It’s carrion! Who killed that man? Paris. And justice makes no inquiries. You have done well.”
The more loquacious Thénardier became, the more mute was Jean Valjean.
Again Thénardier shook him by the shoulder.
“Now let’s settle this business. Let’s go shares. You have seen my key, show me your money.”
Thénardier was haggard, fierce, suspicious, rather menacing, yet amicable.
There was one singular circumstance; Thénardier’s manners were not simple; he had not the air of being wholly at his ease; while affecting an air of mystery, he spoke low; from time to time he laid his finger on his mouth, and muttered, “hush!” It was difficult to divine why. There was no one there except themselves. Jean Valjean thought that other ruffians might possibly be concealed in some nook, not very far off, and that Thénardier did not care to share with them.
Thénardier resumed:
“Let’s settle up. How much did the stiff have in his bags?”
Jean Valjean searched his pockets.
It was his habit, as the reader will remember, to always have some money about him. The mournful life of expedients to which he had been condemned imposed this as a law upon him. On this occasion, however, he had been caught unprepared. When donning his uniform of a National Guardsman on the preceding evening, he had forgotten, dolefully absorbed as he was, to take his pocket-book. He had only some small change in his fob. He turned out his pocket, all soaked with ooze, and spread out on the banquette of the vault one louis d’or, two five-franc pieces, and five or six large sous.
Thénardier thrust out his lower lip with a significant twist of the neck.
“You knocked him over cheap,” said he.
He set to feeling the pockets of Jean Valjean and Marius, with the greatest familiarity. Jean Valjean, who was chiefly concerned in keeping his back to the light, let him have his way.
While handling Marius’ coat, Thénardier, with the skill of a pickpocket, and without being noticed by Jean Valjean, tore off a strip which he concealed under his blouse, probably thinking that this morsel of stuff might serve, later on, to identify the assassinated man and the assassin. However, he found no more than the thirty francs.
“That’s true,” said he, “both of you together have no more than that.”
And, forgetting his motto: “half shares,” he took all.
He hesitated a little over the large sous. After due reflection, he took them also, muttering:
“Never mind! You cut folks’ throats too cheap altogether.”
That done, he once more drew the big key from under his blouse.
“Now, my friend, you must leave. It’s like the fair here, you pay when you go out. You have paid, now clear out.”
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Последний отзыв
В борьбе за власть есть первые; есть вторые; и есть 6ыдло (из канала BS "Без Слёз").
- Вторые всегда стремятся стать первыми. Но ресурсы власти – у п...
Далее