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Updated: June 5, 2025
While Marius was slowly descending those melancholy steps which may be called the cellar stairs, and which lead to places without light, where the happy can be heard walking overhead, M. Mabeuf was descending on his side. The Flora of Cauteretz no longer sold at all. The experiments on indigo had not been successful in the little garden of Austerlitz, which had a bad exposure.
"Monsieur Mabeuf!" said the old woman. "Mabeuf!" thought Gavroche, "that name is a perfect farce." The old man who was thus addressed, did not stir. The old woman repeated: "Monsieur Mabeuf!" The old man, without raising his eyes from the ground, made up his mind to answer: "What is it, Mother Plutarque?" "Mother Plutarque!" thought Gavroche, "another farcical name."
Before Father Mabeuf, who was easily terrified, and who was, as we have said, quick to take alarm, was able to reply by a single syllable, this being, whose movements had a sort of odd abruptness in the darkness, had unhooked the chain, plunged in and withdrawn the bucket, and filled the watering-pot, and the goodman beheld this apparition, which had bare feet and a tattered petticoat, running about among the flower-beds distributing life around her.
M. Mabeuf could cultivate there only a few plants which love shade and dampness. Nevertheless, he did not become discouraged. He had obtained a corner in the Jardin des Plantes, with a good exposure, to make his trials with indigo "at his own expense." For this purpose he had pawned his copperplates of the Flora.
He did not understand in the least, and opened it. The purse had two compartments; in one of them there was some small change; in the other lay six napoleons. M. Mabeuf, in great alarm, referred the matter to his housekeeper. "That has fallen from heaven," said Mother Plutarque.
The bravest hesitated to pronounce his own condemnation. Enjolras himself felt a thrill. He repeated: "Does no one volunteer?" Since they had arrived at Corinthe, and had begun the construction of the barricade, no attention had been paid to Father Mabeuf. M. Mabeuf had not quitted the mob, however; he had entered the ground-floor of the wine-shop and had seated himself behind the counter.
He went to see the generals under whom Georges Pontmercy had served, among others, Comte H. Church-warden Mabeuf, whom he went to see again, told him about the life at Vernon, the colonel's retreat, his flowers, his solitude. Marius came to a full knowledge of that rare, sweet, and sublime man, that species of lion-lamb who had been his father.
Many stars had already been consumed by this monster, which, besides, had the claws of a tiger. Bouddha went into its den and succeeded in converting the dragon. That is a good book that you are reading, Mother Plutarque. There is no more beautiful legend in existence." And M. Mabeuf fell into a delicious revery.
"I am uncomfortable against this post," replied Javert. "You are not tender to have left me to pass the night here. Bind me as you please, but you surely might lay me out on a table like that other man." And with a motion of the head, he indicated the body of M. Mabeuf.
He raised his glassy eyes and seemed to be seeking something that had vanished. "A young man who used to come here." In the meantime, M. Mabeuf had searched his memory. "Ah! yes " he exclaimed. "I know what you mean. Wait! Monsieur Marius the Baron Marius Pontmercy, parbleu! He lives, or rather, he no longer lives, ah well, I don't know."
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