第二十六章 第十二章 主教工作
第十二章 主教工作
第二天清晨，卞福汝主教在园中散步。马格洛大娘惊慌失措地向他跑来。
“我的主教，我的主教，”她喊道，“您知道那篮银器在哪里吗？”
“知道。”主教说。
“耶稣上帝保佑！”她又说，“我还以为它不见了呢。”
主教刚在花坛边拾起那篮子，便把它递给马格洛大娘。
“在这儿。”
“怎么！”她说，“里面是空的！银器呢？”
“啊，”主教回答说，“原来您是为银器操心？我不知道它在哪儿。”
“伟大的上帝！它被偷走了！昨晚那个男人把它偷走了。”
一时间，那位机警的老妇人以她全部的活力冲进祈祷室，走进壁龛，又回到主教身边。主教刚俯下身，正叹着气察看一株被篮子在花床上碰断的“吉雍氏贝壳花”。听到马格洛大娘的叫声，他直起身来。
“主教大人，那男人走了！银器被偷了！”
她喊出这句话时，目光落在花园的一个角落里，那里有翻墙的痕迹。墙上的压顶石也被掀掉了。
“看！他就是从那儿走的。他跳进了科什菲莱巷。啊，真可恶！他偷了我们的银器！”
主教沉默片刻，随即抬起庄重的眼睛，温和地对马格洛大娘说：
“首先，那些银器是我们的吗？”
马格洛大娘愣住了。又是一阵沉默；接着主教继续说：
“马格洛大娘，我长久以来占有着那些银器，这是不对的。它们属于穷人。那人是谁？显然是个穷人。”
“唉！耶稣啊！”马格洛大娘回答道，“这不是为了我，也不是为了小姐。我们倒无所谓。可是为了主教大人。主教大人现在用什么来吃饭呢？”
主教用一种惊讶的神情望着她。
“哎呀！难道就没有锡叉锡勺了吗？”
马格洛大娘耸耸肩。
“锡有味道。”
“那么铁叉铁勺。”
马格洛大娘做了个意味深长的鬼脸。
“铁有铁味。”
“那就这样吧，”主教说，“用木勺。”
过了一会儿，他就在昨晚冉阿让坐过的那张桌上用早餐了。卞福汝主教在吃早餐时，愉快地对默默无语的妹妹和低声嘟囔着的马格洛大娘说，其实用一块面包蘸牛奶，根本不需要叉子或勺子，哪怕是木头的。
“真是个好主意，”马格洛大娘一边来回走动，一边自言自语，“收留那种人！还把他安排在自己身边住！幸亏他只是偷了东西！啊，我的上帝！想想都让人发抖！”
兄妹俩正要起身离桌时，有人敲门。
“请进。”主教说。
门开了。门口出现了一群奇特而粗暴的人。三个男人揪着第四个人的领子。那三个是警察；另一个是冉阿让。
一名警察队长似乎指挥着这群人，站在门边。他走进来，向主教行了个军礼。
“主教大人——”他说。
听到这个词，抑郁而似乎已被压垮的冉阿让吃惊地抬起头，傻愣愣地望着。
“主教大人！”他喃喃地说，“原来他不是本堂神甫？”
“住口！”警察说，“这是主教大人。”
这时，卞福汝主教已尽可能快地向前走来，尽管他年事已高。
“啊！您来了！”他望着冉阿让喊道，“我很高兴见到您。可是怎么回事？我把烛台也给您了，那也是银的，跟其他的一样，您肯定能卖两百法郎。您为什么没有把它们跟叉勺一起带走呢？”
冉阿让睁圆了眼睛，凝望着这位令人尊敬的主教，那表情非任何人类语言所能描述。
“主教大人，”警察队长说，“那么这个人说的是真话了？我们遇见了他。他像个逃跑的人一样走着。我们拦住他查问。他拿着这些银器——”
“他还告诉你们，”主教微笑着打断说，“那是一位好心的老神甫送他的，他在那里过了一夜？我明白是怎么回事了。你们把他带回来了？这是个误会。”
“既然如此，”队长回答说，“我们可以放他走了？”
“当然可以。”主教回答。
警察们放开了冉阿让，他往后退缩。
“是真的要放我走吗？”他用一种几乎含糊不清的声音说，仿佛在梦呓。
“是的，你被释放了，你不明白吗？”一个警察说。
“我的朋友，”主教又说，“在您走之前，这是您的烛台。拿去吧。”
他走到壁炉前，拿起那两只银烛台，拿来交给冉阿让。那两个女人没有说话，没有动作，也没有任何可能使主教难堪的目光。
冉阿让浑身发抖。他机械地接过那两只烛台，神情恍惚。
“现在，”主教说，“平安地去吧。顺便说一句，我的朋友，下次回来时，不必从花园里走。您随时可以从临街的房门进出，无论白天黑夜，那门只用插销关着，从不锁。”
然后他转向警察们：
“先生们，你们可以退下了。”
警察们退了出去。
冉阿让像个快要昏厥的人。
主教走近他，低声说：
“不要忘记，永远不要忘记，您曾答应我，用这笔钱来成为一个诚实的人。”
冉阿让从不记得自己曾答应过什么，他无言以对。主教说这些话时，加重了语气。他庄严地继续说道：
“冉阿让，我的兄弟，您不再属于恶，而是属于善。我买下您的灵魂，把它从黑暗的念头和沉沦的精神中赎出，交给上帝。”
The next morning at sunrise Monseigneur Bienvenu was strolling in his
garden. Madame Magloire ran up to him in utter consternation.
“Monseigneur, Monseigneur!” she exclaimed, “does your Grace know where
the basket of silver is?”
“Yes,” replied the Bishop.
“Jesus the Lord be blessed!” she resumed; “I did not know what had
become of it.”
The Bishop had just picked up the basket in a flower-bed. He presented
it to Madame Magloire.
“Here it is.”
“Well!” said she. “Nothing in it! And the silver?”
“Ah,” returned the Bishop, “so it is the silver which troubles you? I
don’t know where it is.”
“Great, good God! It is stolen! That man who was here last night has
stolen it.”
In a twinkling, with all the vivacity of an alert old woman, Madame
Magloire had rushed to the oratory, entered the alcove, and returned to
the Bishop. The Bishop had just bent down, and was sighing as he
examined a plant of cochlearia des Guillons, which the basket had
broken as it fell across the bed. He rose up at Madame Magloire’s cry.
“Monseigneur, the man is gone! The silver has been stolen!”
As she uttered this exclamation, her eyes fell upon a corner of the
garden, where traces of the wall having been scaled were visible. The
coping of the wall had been torn away.
“Stay! yonder is the way he went. He jumped over into Cochefilet Lane.
Ah, the abomination! He has stolen our silver!”
The Bishop remained silent for a moment; then he raised his grave eyes,
and said gently to Madame Magloire:—
“And, in the first place, was that silver ours?”
Madame Magloire was speechless. Another silence ensued; then the Bishop
went on:—
“Madame Magloire, I have for a long time detained that silver
wrongfully. It belonged to the poor. Who was that man? A poor man,
evidently.”
“Alas! Jesus!” returned Madame Magloire. “It is not for my sake, nor
for Mademoiselle’s. It makes no difference to us. But it is for the
sake of Monseigneur. What is Monseigneur to eat with now?”
The Bishop gazed at her with an air of amazement.
“Ah, come! Are there no such things as pewter forks and spoons?”
Madame Magloire shrugged her shoulders.
“Pewter has an odor.”
“Iron forks and spoons, then.”
Madame Magloire made an expressive grimace.
“Iron has a taste.”
“Very well,” said the Bishop; “wooden ones then.”
A few moments later he was breakfasting at the very table at which Jean
Valjean had sat on the previous evening. As he ate his breakfast,
Monseigneur Welcome remarked gayly to his sister, who said nothing, and
to Madame Magloire, who was grumbling under her breath, that one really
does not need either fork or spoon, even of wood, in order to dip a bit
of bread in a cup of milk.
“A pretty idea, truly,” said Madame Magloire to herself, as she went
and came, “to take in a man like that! and to lodge him close to one’s
self! And how fortunate that he did nothing but steal! Ah, mon Dieu! it
makes one shudder to think of it!”
