Dea, Gwynplaine was the saviour, who made life tolerable; the liberator, whose hand guided her through that labyrinth called blindness. Gwynplaine was her brother, friend, guide, support; the personification of heavenly power; the husband, winged and resplendent. Where the multitude saw the monster, Dea recognized the archangel. Blind Dea perceived his soul.
Ursus, a philosopher, understood that. He approved of the fascination of Dea. He said,
“The blind see the invisible. Conscience is vision”.
Then, looking at Gwynplaine, he murmured,
“Semi-monster, but demi-god”.
Gwynplaine, on the other hand, was madly in love with Dea.
There is the invisible eye, the spirit, and the visible eye, the pupil. He saw her with the visible eye. Dea was dazzled by the ideal; Gwynplaine, by the real. Gwynplaine was not ugly; he was frightful. Dea was sweet. He was horror; she was grace. Dea was his dream. She was almost an angel, and yet just a woman.
Gwynplaine and Dea were united, and these two suffering hearts adored each other. One nest and two birds – that was their story. They had begun to feel a universal law – to please, to seek, and to find each other.
THE BLUE SKY THROUGH THE BLACK CLOUD
Thus lived these unfortunate creatures together – Dea and Gwynplaine. These orphans were all in all to each other, the feeble and the deformed. An inexpressible thanksgiving arose out of their distress. They were grateful. To whom? To the obscure immensity. Be grateful in your own hearts. That suffices.
Gwynplaine and Dea were grateful. Deformity is expulsion. Blindness is a precipice. Gwynplaine was no longer deformed. He was beloved. The abjection of the disfigured man was exalted and dilated into intoxication, into delight, into belief; and a hand was stretched out towards the melancholy hesitation of the blind girl, to guide her in her darkness.
The rejected found a refuge in each other. They held together by what they lacked: in that in which one was poor, the other was rich. The misfortune of the one made the treasure of the other. Had Dea not been blind, would she have chosen Gwynplaine? Had Gwynplaine not been disfigured, would he have preferred Dea? What happiness for Dea that Gwynplaine was hideous! What good fortune for Gwynplaine that Dea was blind! Gwynplaine saved Dea. Dea saved Gwynplaine.
Gwynplaine had a thought – “What should I be without her?” Dea had a thought – “What should I be without him?” The exile of each made a country for both. They belonged to each other; they knew themselves. They were inexpressibly happy. In their hell they had created heaven. Such was your power, O Love! Dea heard Gwynplaine’s laugh; Gwynplaine saw Dea’s smile. Thus the mysterious problem of happiness was solved; and by whom? By two outcasts.
For Gwynplaine, Dea was splendour. For Dea, Gwynplaine was presence. Gwynplaine was the religion of Dea. Sometimes, lost in her sense of love towards him, she knelt, like a beautiful priestess.
These happy creatures dwelt in the ideal world. They were spouses in it at distances as opposite as the spheres. Their kisses were the kisses of souls.
They had always lived a common life. They knew themselves only in each other’s society. The infancy of Dea had coincided with the youth of Gwynplaine. They had grown up side by side. For a long time they had slept in the same bed, for the hut was not a large bedchamber. They lay on the chest, Ursus on the floor; that was the arrangement. One fine day, whilst Dea was still very little, Gwynplaine felt himself grown up. He said to Ursus,
“I will also sleep on the floor.”
And at night he stretched himself, with the old man, on the bear skin. Then Dea wept. She cried; but Gwynplaine, become restless because he had begun to love, decided to remain where he was. From that time he always slept by the side of Ursus on the planks. In the summer, when the nights were fine, he slept outside with Homo.
Such was the idyll blooming in a tragedy. Ursus said to them, -
“Old brutes, adore each other!”
URSUS AS TUTOR, AND URSUS AS GUARDIAN
Ursus added, -
“Some of these days I will play them a nasty trick. I will marry them.”
Ursus taught Gwynplaine the theory of love. He said to him, -
“Do you know how the Almighty lights the fire called love? He places the woman underneath, the devil between, and the man at the top. A match – that is to say, a look – is enough.”
“A look is unnecessary,” answered Gwynplaine, thinking of Dea.
And Ursus replied, -
“Fool! Do souls require mortal eyes to see each other?”
Ursus was a good fellow at times. Gwynplaine, sometimes madly in love with Dea, became melancholy. Ursus would say to himself, -
“They love each other too much. This may have its disadvantages. Let us avoid a fire. Let us moderate these hearts.”
Then Ursus warned Dea, -
“Dea, you must not be so fond of Gwynplaine. To live in the life of another is perilous. Egoism is a good root of happiness. Men escape from women. Gwynplaine’s success is so great! You have no idea how great his success is!”
And to Gwynplaine, -
“Gwynplaine, disproportions are no good. So much ugliness on one side and so much beauty on another will compel reflection. Temper your ardour, my boy. Do not become too enthusiastic about Dea. Do you seriously consider that you are made for her? Just think of your deformity and her perfection! See the distance between her and yourself. She has everything, this Dea. What a white skin! What hair! Lips like strawberries! And her foot! her hand! Those shoulders, with their exquisite curve! She walks diffusing light; and the tone of her voice is charming. But for all this, to think that she is a woman! She would not be such a fool as to be an angel. She is absolute beauty. Repeat all this to yourself, to calm your ardour.”
These speeches redoubled the love of Gwynplaine and Dea, and Ursus was astonished at this. Did he, then, desire to extinguish their love, or to cool it even?
Certainly not. At the bottom of his heart this love, which was flame for them and warmth for him, was his delight. But it is natural to grate a little against that which charms us; men call it wisdom.
Ursus had been, in his relations with Gwynplaine and Dea, almost a father and a mother. Grumbling all the while, he had brought them up; grumbling all the while, he had nourished them.
We may observe, however, that after the first few years, when Gwynplaine was nearly grown up, and Ursus had grown quite old, Gwynplaine had taken his turn, and drawn Ursus.
This family of an old man and two children, with a wolf, had become, as they wandered, a group more and more intimately united. Ursus had encrusted Gwynplaine as much as possible with all he himself possessed of science and wisdom.
He repeated constantly to Gwynplaine, -
“Be a philosopher. To be wise is to be invulnerable. You see what I am, I have never shed a tear. This is the result of my wisdom.”
Ursus, in one of his monologues in the hearing of the wolf, said, -
“I
