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SISTER SIMPLICE
The incidents the reader is about to peruse were not all known
at M. sur M. But the small portion of them which became known
left such a memory in that town that a serious gap would exist
in this book if we did not narrate them in their most minute details.
Among these details the reader will encounter two or three improbable
circumstances, which we preserve out of respect for the truth.
On the afternoon following the visit of Javert, M. Madeleine
went to see Fantine according to his wont.
Before entering Fantine's room, he had Sister Simplice summoned.
The two nuns who performed the services of nurse in the infirmary,
Lazariste ladies, like all sisters of charity, bore the names
of Sister Perpetue and Sister Simplice.
Sister Perpetue was an ordinary villager, a sister of charity
in a coarse style, who had entered the service of God as one enters
any other service.
She was a nun as other women are cooks. This type is not so
very rare.
The monastic orders gladly accept this heavy peasant earthenware,
which is easily fashioned into a Capuchin or an Ursuline.
These rustics are utilized for the rough work of devotion.
The transition from a drover to a Carmelite is not in the
least violent; the one turns into the other without much effort;
the fund of ignorance common to the village and the cloister is
a preparation ready at hand, and places the boor at once on the
same footing as the monk:
a little more amplitude in the smock, and it becomes a frock.
Sister Perpetue was a robust nun from Marines near Pontoise,
who chattered her patois, droned, grumbled, sugared the potion
according to the bigotry or the hypocrisy of the invalid, treated
her patients abruptly, roughly, was crabbed with the dying, almost
flung God in their faces, stoned their death agony with prayers
mumbled in a rage; was bold, honest, and ruddy.
Sister Simplice was white, with a waxen pallor.
Beside Sister Perpetue, she was the taper beside the candle.
Vincent de Paul has divinely traced the features of the Sister
of Charity in these admirable words, in which he mingles as much
freedom as servitude:
"They shall have for their convent only the house of
the sick; for cell only a hired room; for chapel only their parish
church; for cloister only the streets of the town and the wards
of the hospitals; for enclosure only obedience; for gratings only
the fear of God; for veil only modesty."
This ideal was realized in the living person of Sister Simplice:
she had never been young, and it seemed as though she would
never grow old. No one could have told Sister Simplice's age.
She was a person-- we dare not say a woman--who was gentle,
austere, well-bred, cold, and who had never lied.
She was so gentle that she appeared fragile; but she was more
solid than granite.
She touched the unhappy with fingers that were charmingly
pure and fine.
There was, so to speak, silence in her speech; she said just
what was necessary, and she possessed a tone of voice which would
have equally edified a confessional or enchanted a drawing-room.
This delicacy accommodated itself to the serge gown, finding in
this harsh contact a continual reminder of heaven and of God.
Let us emphasize one detail. Never to have lied, never to
have said, for any interest whatever, even in indifference, any
single thing which was not the truth, the sacred truth, was Sister
Simplice's distinctive trait; it was the accent of her virtue.
She was almost renowned in the congregation for this imperturbable
veracity.
The Abbe Sicard speaks of Sister Simplice in a letter to the
deaf-mute Massieu. However pure and sincere we may be, we all
bear upon our candor the crack of the little, innocent lie.
She did not.
Little lie, innocent lie--does such a thing exist?
To lie is the absolute form of evil.
To lie a little is not possible:
he who lies, lies the whole lie.
To lie is the very face of the demon.
Satan has two names; he is called Satan and Lying.
That is what she thought; and as she thought, so she did.
The result was the whiteness which we have mentioned--a whiteness
which covered even her lips and her eyes with radiance.
Her smile was white, her glance was white. There was not a
single spider's web, not a grain of dust, on the glass window
of that conscience.
On entering the order of Saint Vincent de Paul, she had taken
the name of Simplice by special choice. Simplice of Sicily, as
we know, is the saint who preferred to allow both her breasts
to be torn off rather than to say that she had been born at Segesta
when she had been born at Syracuse-- a lie which would have saved
her.
This patron saint suited this soul.
Sister Simplice, on her entrance into the order, had had two
faults which she had gradually corrected:
she had a taste for dainties, and she liked to receive letters.
She never read anything but a book of prayers printed in Latin,
in coarse type. She did not understand Latin, but she understood
the book.
This pious woman had conceived an affection for Fantine, probably
feeling a latent virtue there, and she had devoted herself almost
exclusively to her care.
M. Madeleine took Sister Simplice apart and recommended Fantine
to her in a singular tone, which the sister recalled later on.
On leaving the sister, he approached Fantine.
Fantine awaited M. Madeleine's appearance every day as one
awaits a ray of warmth and joy.
She said to the sisters, "I only live when Monsieur le
Maire is here."
She had a great deal of fever that day.
As soon as she saw M. Madeleine she asked him:--
"And Cosette?"
He replied with a smile:--
"Soon."
M. Madeleine was the same as usual with Fantine.
Only he remained an hour instead of half an hour, to Fantine's
great delight. He urged every one repeatedly not to allow the
invalid to want for anything.
It was noticed that there was a moment when his countenance
became very sombre.
But this was explained when it became known that the doctor
had bent down to his ear and said to him, "She is losing
ground fast."
Then he returned to the town-hall, and the clerk observed
him attentively examining a road map of France which hung in his
study. He wrote a few figures on a bit of paper with a pencil.
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