Part 40

“They thought they recognized here and there, chiefly under the Palais de Justice, some cells of ancient dungeons built in the sewer itself. Hideous _in pace_. An iron collar hung in one of these cells. They walled them all up. Some odd things were found; among other things, the skeleton of an orang-outang which disappeared from the Jardin des Plantes in 1800—a disappearance probably connected with the famous and incontestable appearance of the devil in the Rue des Bernardins in the last year of the eighteenth century. The poor devil finally drowned himself in the sewer.

“Under the long, arched passage which terminates at the Arche Marion, a rag-picker’s basket, in perfect preservation, was the admiration of connoisseurs. Everywhere the mud, which the workmen had come to handle boldly, abounded in precious objects, gold and silver trinkets, precious stones, coins. A giant who should have filtered this cloaca would have had the riches of centuries in his sieve. At the point of separation of the two branches of the Rue du Temple and the Rue Ste. Avoye, they picked up a singular Huguenot medal in copper, bearing on one side a hog wearing a cardinal’s hat, and on the other a wolf with the tiara on his head.

[Sidenote: EXTENT OF THE WORK.]

“The complete visitation of the subterranean sewer system of Paris occupied seven years, from 1805 to 1812. While yet he was performing it, Bruneseau laid out, directed, and brought to an end some considerable works. At the same time, he disinfected and purified the whole network. After the second year, Bruneseau was assisted by his son-in-law Nargaud.

“Tortuous, fissured, unpaved, crackling, interrupted by quagmires, broken by fantastic elbows, rising and falling out of all rule, fetid, savage, wild, submerged, in obscurity, with scars on its pavements and gashes on its walls, appalling,—such was, seen retrospectively, the ancient sewer of Paris. Ramifications in every direction, crossings of trenches, branchings, goose-tracks, stars as if in mines, cœcums, cul-de-sacs, arches covered with saltpetre, infectious cesspools, an herpetic ooze upon the walls, drops falling from the ceiling, darkness,—nothing equalled the horror of this old voiding crypt, the digestive apparatus of Babylon, cavern, grave, gulf pierced with streets, Titanic molehill, in which the mind seems to see prowling through the shadow, that enormous blind mole, the past.

“At present the sewer is neat, cold, straight, correct. It almost realizes the ideal of what is understood in England by the word ‘respectable.’ It is comely and sober; drawn by the line; we might almost say, fresh from the bandbox. At the first glance, we should readily take it for one of those underground passages formerly so common and so useful for the flight of monarchs and princes, in that good old time ‘when the people loved their kings.’ The present sewer is a beautiful sewer; the pure style reigns in it; the classic rectilinear alexandrine, which, driven from poetry, appears to have taken refuge in architecture, seems mingled with every stone of that long, darkling, and whitish arch; each discharging mouth is an arcade. If the geometric line is in place anywhere, it surely is in the stercorary trenches of a great city. There all should be subordinated to the shortest road. The sewer has now assumed a certain official aspect. The very police reports, of which it is sometimes the object, are no longer wanting in respect for it. The words which characterize it in the administrative language are elevated and dignified. Villon would no longer recognize his old dwelling in case of need.

[Sidenote: HOW THE SEWERS ARE BUILT.]

“The excavation of the sewers of Paris has been a difficult work. Paris is built upon a deposit singularly rebellious to human control. There are liquid clays, living springs, hard rocks, those soft and deep mires which technical science calls Moutardes. The pick advances laboriously into these calcareous strata alternating with seams of very fine clay and laminar schistose beds, incrusted with oyster shells contemporary with the pre-adamite oceans. Sometimes a brook suddenly throws down an arch which has been commenced, and inundates the laborers; or a slide of marl loosens, and rushes down with the fury of a cataract, crushing the largest of the sustaining timbers like glass. Quite recently at Villette, when it was necessary, without interrupting navigation and without emptying the canal, to lead the collecting sewer under the St. Martin Canal, a fissure opened in the bed of the canal; the water suddenly rose in the works under ground beyond all the power of the pumps: they were obliged to seek the fissure, which was in the neck of the great basin, by means of a diver, and it was not without difficulty that it was stopped. Elsewhere, near the Seine, and even at some distance from the river, as, for instance, at Belleville, Grande Rue, and the Lunière arcade, we find quicksands in which we sink, and a man may be buried out of sight. Add asphyxia from the miasma, burial by the earth falling in, sudden settlings of the bottom, and the work of constructing sewers can well be understood to be dangerous.”

[Sidenote: JEAN VALJEAN’S ESCAPE.]

In all that he has written, Victor Hugo has produced nothing more graphic than his description of Jean Valjean in the sewers of Paris, when endeavoring to escape from the police, after the fight at the barricades. We quote his description, omitting a few paragraphs.

“It was in the sewer of Paris that Jean Valjean found himself.

“A resemblance of Paris with the sea. As in the ocean, the diver can disappear.

“The transition was marvellous. From the very centre of the city, Jean Valjean had gone out of the city, and, in the twinkling of an eye, the time of lifting a cover and closing it again, he had passed from broad day to complete obscurity, from noon to midnight, from uproar to silence, from the whirl of the thunder to the stagnation of the tomb, and, by a mutation much more prodigious still than that of the Rue Polonceau, from the most extreme peril to the most absolute security.

“Sudden fall into a cave; disappearance in the dungeon of Paris; to leave that street in which death was everywhere for this kind of sepulchre, in which there was life, was an astounding crisis. He remained for some seconds as if stunned; listening, stupefied. The spring trap of safety had suddenly opened beneath him. Celestial goodness had in some sort taken him by treachery. Adorable ambuscades of Providence!

“Only, the wounded man did not stir, and Jean Valjean did not know whether what he was carrying away in this grave were alive or dead.

“His first sensation was blindness. Suddenly he saw nothing more. It seemed to him also that in one minute he became deaf. He heard nothing more. The frenzied storm of murder which was raging a few feet above him only reached him, as we have said, thanks to the thickness of the earth which separated him from it, stifled and indistinct, and like a rumbling at a great depth. He felt that it was solid under his feet; that was all; but that was enough. He reached out one hand, then the other, and touched the wall on both sides, and realized that the passage was narrow; he slipped, and realized that the pavement was wet. He advanced one foot with precaution, fearing a hole, a pit, some gulf; he made sure that the flagging continued. A whiff of fetidness informed him where he was.

[Sidenote: LIGHT AND DARKNESS.]

“After a few moments he ceased to be blind. A little light fell from the air-hole through which he had slipped in, and his eye became accustomed to this cave. He began to distinguish something. The passage in which he was earthed—no other word better expresses the condition—was walled up behind him. It was one of those cul-de-sacs technically called branchments. Before him there was another wall, a wall of night. The light from the air-hole died out ten or twelve paces from the point at which Jean Valjean stood, and scarcely produced a pallid whiteness over a few yards of the damp wall of the sewer. Beyond, the opaqueness was massive; to penetrate it appeared horrible, and to enter it seemed like being ingulfed. He could, however, force his way into that wall of mist, and he must do it. He must even hasten. Jean Valjean thought that that grating, noticed by him under the paving-stones, might also be noticed by the soldiers, and that all depended upon that chance. They also could descend into the well and explore it. There was not a minute to be lost. He had laid Marius upon the ground; he gathered him up,—this is again the right word,—replaced him upon his shoulders, and began his journey. He resolutely entered that obscurity.

“The truth is, that they were not so safe as Jean Valjean supposed. Perils of another kind, and not less great, awaited them perhaps. After the flashing whirl of the combat, the cavern of miasmas and pitfalls; after chaos, the cloaca. Jean Valjean had fallen from one circle of hell to another.

[Sidenote: A PERPLEXING SITUATION.]

“At the end of fifty paces he was obliged to stop. A question presented itself. The passage terminated in another, which it met transversely. These two roads were offered. Which should he take? Should he turn to the left or to the right? How guide himself in this black labyrinth? This labyrinth, as we have remarked, has a clew—its descent. To follow the descent is to go to the river.

“Jean Valjean understood this at once.

“He said to himself that he was probably in the sewer of the markets; that, if he should choose the left and follow the descent, he would come in less than a quarter of an hour to some mouth upon the Seine between the Pont au Change and the Pont Neuf; that is to say, he would reappear in broad day in the most populous portion of Paris. He might come out in some gathering of corner idlers. Amazement of the passers-by at seeing two bloody men come out of the ground under their feet. Arrival of sergent-de-ville, call to arms in the next guard-house. He would be seized before getting out. It was better to plunge into the labyrinth, to trust to this darkness, and rely on Providence for the issue.

“He chose the right, and went up the ascent.

“When he had turned the corner of the gallery, the distant gleam of the air-hole disappeared, the curtain of obscurity fell back over him, and he again became blind. He went forward, none the less, as rapidly as he could. Marius’s arms were passed about his neck, and his feet hung behind him. He held both arms with one hand, and groped for the wall with the other. Marius’s cheek touched his, and stuck to it, being bloody. He felt a warm stream, which came from Marius, flow over him and penetrate his clothing. Still, a moist warmth at his ear, which touched the wounded man’s mouth, indicated respiration, and consequently life. The passage through which Jean Valjean was now moving was not so small as the first. Jean Valjean walked in it with difficulty. The rains of the previous day had not yet run off, and made a little stream in the centre of the floor, and he was compelled to hug the wall to keep his feet out of the water. Thus he went on in midnight. He resembled the creatures of night groping in the invisible, and lost under ground in the veins of the darkness.

“However, little by little, whether that some distant air-holes sent a little floating light into this opaque mist, or that his eyes became accustomed to the obscurity, some dim vision came back to him, and he again began to receive a confused perception, now of the wall which he was touching, and now of the arch under which he was passing. The pupil dilates in the night, and at last finds day in it, even as the soul dilates in misfortune, and at last finds God in it.

“To find his way was difficult.

[Sidenote: THE TRACK OF THE SEWERS.]

“The track of the sewers echoes, so to speak, the track of the streets which overlie them. There were in the Paris of that day two thousand two hundred streets. Picture to yourselves below them that forest of dark branches which is called the sewer. The sewers existing at that epoch, placed end to end, would have given a length of thirty miles. We have already said that the present network, thanks to the extraordinary activity of the last thirty years, is not less than a hundred and forty miles.

“Jean Valjean began with a mistake. He thought that he was under the Rue St. Denis, and it was unfortunate that he was not there. There is beneath the Rue St. Denis an old stone sewer, which goes straight to the collecting sewer, called the Grand Sewer, with a single elbow, on the right, at the height of the ancient Cour des Miracles, and a single branch, the St. Martin sewer, the four arms of which cut each other in a cross. But the gallery of the Petite Truanderie, the entrance to which was near the wine-shop of Corinth, never communicated with the underground passage in the Rue St. Denis; it runs into the Montmartre sewer, and it was in that that Jean Valjean was entangled. There, opportunities of losing one’s self abound. The Montmartre sewer is one of the most labyrinthian of the ancient network. Luckily Jean Valjean had left behind him the sewer of the markets, the geometrical plan of which represents a multitude of interlocked top-gallant-masts; but he had before him more than one embarrassing encounter, and more than one street corner—for these are streets—presenting itself in the obscurity like a point of interrogation; first, at his left, the vast Plâtrière sewer, a kind of Chinese puzzle, pushing and jumbling its chaos of T’s and Z’s beneath the Hôtel des Postes and the rotunda of the grain-market to the Seine, where it terminates in a Y; secondly, at his right, the crooked corridor of the Rue du Cadran, with its three teeth, which are so many blind ditches; thirdly, at his left, the branch of the Mail, complicated, almost at its entrance, by a kind of fork, and, after zigzag upon zigzag, terminating in the great voiding crypt of the Louvre, truncated and ramified in all directions; finally, at the right, the cul-de-sac passage of the Rue des Jeûneurs, with countless little reducts here and there, before arriving at the central sewer, which alone could lead him to some outlet distant enough to be secure.

“If Jean Valjean had had any notion of what we have here pointed out, he would have quickly perceived, merely from feeling the wall, that he was not in the underground gallery of the Rue St. Denis. Instead of the old hewn stone, instead of the ancient architecture, haughty and royal even in the sewer, with floor and running courses of granite, and mortar of thick lime, which cost seventy-five dollars a yard, he would have felt beneath his hand the contemporary cheapness, the economical expedient, the millstone grit laid in hydraulic cement upon a bed of concrete, which cost thirty-five dollars a yard, the bourgeois masonry known as _small materials_; but he knew nothing of all this.

“He went forward with anxiety, but with calmness, seeing nothing, knowing nothing, plunged into chance, that is to say, swallowed up in Providence.

[Sidenote: MOVING IN THE DARKNESS.]

“By degrees, we must say, some horror penetrated him. The shadow which enveloped him entered his mind. He was walking in an enigma. This aqueduct of the cloaca is formidable; it is dizzily intertangled. It is a dreary thing to be caught in this Paris of darkness. Jean Valjean was obliged to find, and almost to invent, his route without seeing it. In that unknown region, each step which he ventured might be the last. How should he get out? Should he find an outlet? Should he find it in time? Would this colossal subterranean sponge, with cells of stone, admit of being penetrated and pierced? Would he meet with some unlooked for knot of obscurity? Would he encounter the inextricable and the insurmountable? Would Marius die of hemorrhage, and he of hunger? Would they both perish there at last, and make two skeletons in some niche of that night? He did not know. He asked himself all this, and he could not answer. The intestine of Paris is an abyss. Like the prophet, he was in the belly of the monster.

[Sidenote: APPROACHING THE SEINE.]

“Suddenly he was surprised. At the most unexpected moment, and without having diverged from a straight line, he discovered that he was no longer rising; the water of the brook struck, coming against his heels instead of upon the top of his feet. The sewer now descended. What? would he then soon reach the Seine? This danger was great, but the peril of retreat was still greater. He continued to advance. It was not towards the Seine that he was going. The saddle-back which the topography of Paris forms upon the right bank, empties one of its slopes into the Seine, and the other into the Grand Sewer. The crest of this saddle-back, which determines the division of the waters, follows a very capricious line. The culminating point, which is the point of separation of the flow, is in the St. Avoye sewer, beyond the Rue Michel de Comte, in the sewer of the Louvre, near the Boulevards, and in the Montmartre sewer, near the markets. It was at this culminating point that Jean Valjean had arrived. He was making his way towards the belt sewer; he was on the right road. But he knew nothing of it.

“Whenever he came to a branch, he felt its angles, and if he found the opening not as wide as the corridor in which he was, he did not enter, and continued his route, deeming rightly that every narrower way must terminate in a cul-de-sac, and could only lead him away from his object, the outlet. He thus evaded the quadruple snare which was spread for him in the obscurity, by the four labyrinths which we have just enumerated.

“At a certain moment he felt that he was getting away from under the Paris which was petrified by the _émeute_, in which the barricades had suppressed the circulation, and that he was coming beneath the Paris which was alive and normal. He heard suddenly above his head a sound like thunder, distant, but continuous. It was the rumbling of the vehicles.

“He had been walking for about half an hour, at least by his own calculation, and had not yet thought of resting; only he had changed the hand which supported Marius. The darkness was deeper than ever, but this depth reassured him.

“All at once he saw his shadow before him. It was marked out on a feeble ruddiness almost indistinct, which vaguely empurpled the floor at his feet and the arch over his head, and which glided along at his right, and his left, on the two slimy walls of the corridor. In amazement he turned round.

“Behind him, in the portion of the passage through which he had passed, at a distance which appeared to him immense, flamed, throwing its rays into the dense obscurity, a sort of horrible star, which appeared to be looking at him.

“It was the gloomy star of the police which was rising in the sewer. Behind this star were moving, without order, eight or ten black forms, straight, indistinct, terrible.

[Sidenote: FOLLOWED BY THE POLICE.]

“During the day a _battue_ of the sewers had been ordered. Three platoons of officers and sewer-men explored the subterranean streets of Paris; the first, the right bank, the second, the left bank, the third, in the city.

“The officers were armed with carbines, clubs, swords, and daggers.

“That which was at this moment directed upon Jean Valjean was the lantern of the patrol of the right bank.

“This patrol had just visited the crooked gallery and the three blind alleys which are beneath the Rue du Cadran. While they were taking their candle to the bottom of these blind alleys, Jean Valjean had come to the entrance of the gallery upon his way, had found it narrower than the principal passage, and had not entered it. He had passed beyond. The policemen, on coming out from the Cadran gallery, had thought they heard the sound of steps in the direction of the belt sewer. It was, in fact, Jean Valjean’s steps. The sergeant in command of the patrol lifted his lantern, and the squad began to look into the mist in the direction whence the sound came.

“Jean Valjean saw these goblins form a kind of circle. These mastiffs’ heads drew near each other and whispered.

“The result of this council held by the watch-dogs was, that they had been mistaken, that there had been no noise, that there was nobody there, that it was needless to trouble themselves with the belt sewer.

[Sidenote: NARROW ESCAPE FROM CAPTURE.]

“The sergeant gave the order to file left towards the descent to the Seine. If they had conceived the idea of dividing into two squads and going in both directions, Jean Valjean would have been caught. That hung by this thread. It is probable that the instructions from the prefecture, foreseeing the possibility of a combat and that the insurgents might be numerous, forbade the patrol to separate. The patrol resumed its march, leaving Jean Valjean behind. Of all these movements Jean Valjean perceived nothing except the eclipse of the lantern, which suddenly turned back.

“Slow and measured steps resounded upon the floor for some time, more and more deadened by the progressive increase of the distance; the group of black forms sank away; a glimmer oscillated and floated, making a ruddy circle in the vault, which decreased, then disappeared; the silence became deep again; the obscurity became again complete; blindness and deafness resumed possession of the darkness; and Jean Valjean, not yet daring to stir, stood for a long time with his back to the wall, his ear intent and eye dilated, watching the vanishing of that phantom patrol.

“He resumed his march, and after a time felt that he was entering water, and that he had under his feet pavement no longer, but mud.

[Sidenote: CAUGHT IN A QUICKSAND.]

“It sometimes happens, on certain coasts of Brittany or Scotland, that a man, traveller or fisherman, walking on the beach at low tide far from the bank, suddenly notices that for several minutes he has been walking with some difficulty. The strand beneath his feet is like pitch; his soles stick to it; it is sand no longer, it is glue. The beach is perfectly dry, but at every step he takes, as soon as he lifts his foot, the print which it leaves fills with water. The eye, however, has noticed no change; the immense strand is smooth and tranquil, all the sand has the same appearance, nothing distinguishes the surface which is solid from the surface which is no longer so; the joyous little cloud of sand-fleas continues to leap tumultuously over the wayfarer’s feet. The man pursues his way, goes forward, inclines towards the land, endeavors to get nearer the upland. He is not anxious. Anxious about what? Only he feels somehow as if the weight of his feet increased with every step which he takes. Suddenly he sinks in. He sinks in two or three inches. Decidedly he is not on the right road; he stops to take his bearings. All at once he looks at his feet. His feet have disappeared. The sand covers them. He draws his feet out of the sand; he will retrace his steps, he turns back, he sinks in deeper. The sand comes up to his ankles; he pulls himself out, and throws himself to the left; the sand is half leg deep ; he throws himself to the right; the sand comes up to his shins. Then he recognizes with unspeakable terror that he is caught in the quicksand, and that he has beneath him the fearful medium in which man can no more walk than the fish can swim. He throws off his load if he has one, he lightens himself like a ship in distress; it is already too late; the sand is above his knees.

[Sidenote: QUICKSANDS ON THE COAST OF BRITTANY.]