Page 366 - les-miserables

the unhappy with fingers that were charmingly pure and
fine. There was, so to speak, silence in her speech; she said
just what was necessary, and she possessed a tone of voice
which would have equally edified a confessional or enchant-
ed a drawing-room. This delicacy accommodated itself to
the serge gown, finding in this harsh contact a continual
reminder of heaven and of God. Let us emphasize one de-
tail. Never to have lied, never to have said, for any interest
whatever, even in indifference, any single thing which was
not the truth, the sacred truth, was Sister Simplice’s distinc-
tive trait; it was the accent of her virtue. She was almost
renowned in the congregation for this imperturbable verac-
ity. The Abbe Sicard speaks of Sister Simplice in a letter to
the deaf-mute Massieu. However pure and sincere we may
be, we all bear upon our candor the crack of the little, in-
nocent lie. She did not. Little lie, innocent lie—does such a
thing exist? To lie is the absolute form of evil. To lie a little is
not possible: he who lies, lies the whole lie. To lie is the very
face of the demon. Satan has two names; he is called Satan
and Lying. That is what she thought; and as she thought, so
she did. The result was the whiteness which we have men-
tioned—a whiteness which covered even her lips and her
eyes with radiance. Her smile was white, her glance was
white. There was not a single spider’s web, not a grain of
dust, on the glass window of that conscience. On entering
the order of Saint Vincent de Paul, she had taken the name
of Simplice by special choice. Simplice of Sicily, as we know,
is the saint who preferred to allow both her breasts to be
torn off rather than to say that she had been born at Segesta

366 Les Miserables