in every sufferer's heart, so that one bad case of this kind is
multiplied, for every one who hears of it feels it as a personal
wrong, and the
leaven works. Even this is not so serious, but
something far worse comes of it. Among the people, these causes of
injustice bring about a
chronic state of smothered
hatred for their
social superiors. The middle class becomes the poor man's enemy; they
lie without the bounds of his moral code, he tells lies to them and
robs them without
scruple; indeed, theft ceases to be a crime or a
misdemeanor, and is looked upon as an act of vengeance.
"When an official, who ought to see that the poor have justice done
them, uses them ill and cheats them of their due, how can we expect
the poor starving wretches to bear their troubles
meekly and to
respect the rights of property? It makes me
shudder to think that some
understrapper whose business it is to dust papers in a government
office, has pocketed Gondrin's promised thousand francs of
pension.
And yet there are folk who, never having
measured the
excess of the
people's sufferings,
accuse the people of
excess in the day of their
vengeance! When a government has done more harm than good to
individuals, its further
existence depends on the merest accident, the
masses square the
account after their fashion by upsetting it. A
statesman ought always to imagine Justice with the poor at her feet,
for justice was only invented for the poor."
When they had come within the
compass of the
township, Benassis saw
two people walking along the road in front of them, and turned to his
companion, who had been absorbed for some time in thought.
"You have seen a
veteran soldier resigned to his life of
wretchedness,
and now you are about to see an old
agriculturallaborer who is
submitting to the same lot. The man there ahead of us has dug and sown
and toiled for others all his life."
Genestas looked and saw an old
laborer making his way along the road,
in company with an aged woman. He seemed to be afflicted with some
form of sciatica, and limped
painfully" target="_blank" title="ad.痛苦地;费力地">
painfully along. His feet were encased in
a
wretched pair of sabots, and a sort of
wallet hung over his
shoulder. Several tools lay in the bottom of the bag; their handles,
blackened with long use and the sweat of toil, rattled audibly
together; while the other end of the
wallet behind his shoulder held
bread, some walnuts, and a few fresh onions. His legs seemed to be
warped, as it were, his back was bent by
continual toil; he stooped so
much as he walked that he leaned on a long stick to steady himself.
His snow-white hair escaped from under a battered hat, grown rusty by
exposure to all sorts of weather, and mended here and there with
visible stitches of white thread. His clothes, made of a kind of rough
canvas, were a mass of patches of contrasting colors. This piece of
humanity in ruins lacked none of the characteristics that
appeal to
our hearts when we see ruins of other kinds.
His wife held herself somewhat more erect. Her clothing was
likewise a
mass of rags, and the cap that she wore was of the
coarsest materials.
On her back she carried a rough
earthen jar by means of a thong passed
through the handles of the great
pitcher, which was round in shape and
flattened at the sides. They both looked up when they heard the horses
approaching, saw that it was Benassis, and stopped.
The man had worked till he was almost past work, and his faithful
helpmate was no less broken with toil. It was
painful to see how the
summer sun and the winter's cold had blackened their faces, and
covered them with such deep wrinkles that their features were hardly
discernible. It was not their life history that had been engraven on
their faces; but it might be gathered from their attitude and bearing.
Incessant toil had been the lot of both; they had worked and suffered
together; they had had many troubles and few joys to share; and now,
like captives grown accustomed to their prison, they seemed to be too
familiar with
wretchedness to heed it, and to take everything as it
came. Yet a certain frank light-heartedness was not
lacking in their
faces; and on a closer view, their
monotonous life, the lot of so many
a poor creature, well-nigh seemed an enviable one. Trouble had set its
unmistakable mark on them, but petty cares had left no traces there.
"Well, my good Father Moreau, I suppose there is no help for it, and
you must always be working?"
"Yes, M. Benassis, there are one or two more bits of waste that I mean
to clear for you before I knock off work," the old man answered
cheerfully, and light shone in his little black eyes.
"Is that wine that your wife is carrying? If you will not take a rest
now, you ought at any rate to take wine."
"I take a rest? I should not know what to do with myself. The sun and
the fresh air put life into me when I am out of doors and busy
grubbing up the land. As to the wine, sir, yes, that is wine sure
enough, and it is all through your contriving I know that the Mayor at