CHAPTER III--TO WIT, THE PLAN OF PARIS IN 1727

  Three hundred paces further on, he arrived at a point where the streetforked. It separated into two streets, which ran in a slanting line, oneto the right, and the other to the left.

  Jean Valjean had before him what resembled the two branches of a Y.Which should he choose? He did not hesitate, but took the one on theright.

  Why?

  Because that to the left ran towards a suburb, that is to say, towardsinhabited regions, and the right branch towards the open country, thatis to say, towards deserted regions.

  However, they no longer walked very fast. Cosette's pace retarded JeanValjean's.

  He took her up and carried her again. Cosette laid her head on theshoulder of the good man and said not a word.

  He turned round from time to time and looked behind him. He took care tokeep always on the dark side of the street. The street was straightin his rear. The first two or three times that he turned round he sawnothing; the silence was profound, and he continued his march somewhatreassured. All at once, on turning round, he thought he perceived in theportion of the street which he had just passed through, far off in theobscurity, something which was moving.

  He rushed forward precipitately rather than walked, hoping to find someside-street, to make his escape through it, and thus to break his scentonce more.

  He arrived at a wall.

  This wall, however, did not absolutely prevent further progress; it wasa wall which bordered a transverse street, in which the one he had takenended.

  Here again, he was obliged to come to a decision; should he go to theright or to the left.

  He glanced to the right. The fragmentary lane was prolonged betweenbuildings which were either sheds or barns, then ended at a blind alley.The extremity of the cul-de-sac was distinctly visible,--a lofty whitewall.

  He glanced to the left. On that side the lane was open, and abouttwo hundred paces further on, ran into a street of which it was theaffluent. On that side lay safety.

  At the moment when Jean Valjean was meditating a turn to the left, inan effort to reach the street which he saw at the end of the lane, heperceived a sort of motionless, black statue at the corner of the laneand the street towards which he was on the point of directing his steps.

  It was some one, a man, who had evidently just been posted there, andwho was barring the passage and waiting.

  Jean Valjean recoiled.

  The point of Paris where Jean Valjean found himself, situated betweenthe Faubourg Saint-Antoine and la Râpée, is one of those which recentimprovements have transformed from top to bottom,--resulting indisfigurement according to some, and in a transfiguration according toothers. The market-gardens, the timber-yards, and the old buildingshave been effaced. To-day, there are brand-new, wide streets, arenas,circuses, hippodromes, railway stations, and a prison, Mazas, there;progress, as the reader sees, with its antidote.

  Half a century ago, in that ordinary, popular tongue, which is allcompounded of traditions, which persists in calling the Institut _lesQuatre-Nations_, and the Opera-Comique _Feydeau_, the precise spotwhither Jean Valjean had arrived was called _le Petit Picpus_. ThePorte Saint-Jacques, the Porte Paris, the Barrière des Sergents, thePorcherons, la Galiote, les Célestins, les Capucins, le Mail, la Bourbe,l'Arbre de Cracovie, la Petite-Pologne--these are the names of old Pariswhich survive amid the new. The memory of the populace hovers over theserelics of the past.

  Le Petit-Picpus, which, moreover, hardly ever had any existence, andnever was more than the outline of a quarter, had nearly the monkishaspect of a Spanish town. The roads were not much paved; the streetswere not much built up. With the exception of the two or three streets,of which we shall presently speak, all was wall and solitude there. Nota shop, not a vehicle, hardly a candle lighted here and there in thewindows; all lights extinguished after ten o'clock. Gardens, convents,timber-yards, marshes; occasional lowly dwellings and great walls ashigh as the houses.

  Such was this quarter in the last century. The Revolution snubbedit soundly. The republican government demolished and cut through it.Rubbish shoots were established there. Thirty years ago, this quarterwas disappearing under the erasing process of new buildings. To-day,it has been utterly blotted out. The Petit-Picpus, of which no existingplan has preserved a trace, is indicated with sufficient clearnessin the plan of 1727, published at Paris by Denis Thierry, RueSaint-Jacques, opposite the Rue du Plâtre; and at Lyons, by Jean Girin,Rue Mercière, at the sign of Prudence. Petit-Picpus had, as we havejust mentioned, a Y of streets, formed by the Rue duChemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine, which spread out in two branches, taking onthe left the name of Little Picpus Street, and on the right the name ofthe Rue Polonceau. The two limbs of the Y were connected at the apexas by a bar; this bar was called Rue Droit-Mur. The Rue Polonceau endedthere; Rue Petit-Picpus passed on, and ascended towards the Lenoirmarket. A person coming from the Seine reached the extremity of the RuePolonceau, and had on his right the Rue Droit-Mur, turning abruptly at aright angle, in front of him the wall of that street, and on his right atruncated prolongation of the Rue Droit-Mur, which had no issue and wascalled the Cul-de-Sac Genrot.

  It was here that Jean Valjean stood.

  As we have just said, on catching sight of that black silhouettestanding on guard at the angle of the Rue Droit-Mur and the RuePetit-Picpus, he recoiled. There could be no doubt of it. That phantomwas lying in wait for him.

  What was he to do?

  The time for retreating was passed. That which he had perceived inmovement an instant before, in the distant darkness, was Javert and hissquad without a doubt. Javert was probably already at the commencementof the street at whose end Jean Valjean stood. Javert, to allappearances, was acquainted with this little labyrinth, and had takenhis precautions by sending one of his men to guard the exit. Thesesurmises, which so closely resembled proofs, whirled suddenly, like ahandful of dust caught up by an unexpected gust of wind, through JeanValjean's mournful brain. He examined the Cul-de-Sac Genrot; there hewas cut off. He examined the Rue Petit-Picpus; there stood a sentinel.He saw that black form standing out in relief against the whitepavement, illuminated by the moon; to advance was to fall into thisman's hands; to retreat was to fling himself into Javert's arms. JeanValjean felt himself caught, as in a net, which was slowly contracting;he gazed heavenward in despair.