He taught them how to destroy scurf on wheat，by sprinkling it and the granary and inundating the cracks in the floor with a solution of common salt；and how to chase away weevils by hanging up orviot in bloom everywhere，on the walls and the ceilings，among the grass and in the houses.
He had'recipes'for exterminating from a field，blight，tares，foxtail，and all parasitic growths which destroy the wheat.He defended a rabbit warren against rats，simply by the odor of a guinea-pig which he placed in it.
One day he saw some country people busily engaged in pulling up nettles；he examined the plants，which were uprooted and already dried，and said：
'They are dead.
Nevertheless，it would be a good thing to know how to make use of them.
When the nettle is young，the leaf makes an excellent vegetable；when it is older，it has filaments and fibres like hemp and flax.
Nettle cloth is as good as linen cloth.Chopped up，nettles are good for poultry；pounded，they are good for horned cattle.
The seed of the nettle，mixed with fodder，gives gloss to the hair of animals；the root，mixed with salt，produces a beautiful yellow coloring-matter.Moreover，it is an excellent hay，which can be cut twice.
And what is required for the nettle？
A little soil，no care，no culture.
Only the seed falls as it is ripe，and it is difficult to collect it.
That is all.With the exercise of a little care，the nettle could be made useful；it is neglected and it becomes hurtful.
It is exterminated.
How many men resemble the nettle！'
He added，after a pause：
'Remember this，my friends：
there are no such things as bad plants or bad men.There are only bad cultivators.'
The children loved him because he knew how to make charming little trifles of straw and cocoanuts.
When he saw the door of a church hung in black，he entered：he sought out funerals as other men seek christenings.
Widowhood and the grief of others attracted him，because of his great gentleness；he mingled with the friends clad in mourning，with families dressed in black，with the priests groaning around a coffin.He seemed to like to give to his thoughts for text these funereal psalmodies filled with the vision of the other world.
With his eyes fixed on heaven，he listened with a sort of aspiration towards all the mysteries of the infinite，those sad voices which sing on the verge of the obscure abyss of death.
He performed a multitude of good actions，concealing his agency in them as a man conceals himself because of evil actions.
He penetrated houses privately，at night；he ascended staircases furtively.A poor wretch on returning to his attic would find that his door had been opened，sometimes even forced，during his absence.The poor man made a clamor over it：
some malefactor had been there！He entered，and the first thing he beheld was a piece of gold lying forgotten on some piece of furniture.
The'malefactor'who had been there was Father Madeleine.
He was affable and sad.
The people said：
'There is a rich man who has not a haughty air.
There is a happy man who has not a contented air.'
Some people maintained that he was a mysterious person，and that no one ever entered his chamber，which was a regular anchorite's cell，furnished with winged hour-glasses and enlivened by cross-bones and skulls of dead men！
This was much talked of，so that one of the elegant and malicious young women of M.sur M.came to him one day，and asked：
'Monsieur le Maire，pray show us your chamber.It is said to be a grotto.'
He smiled，and introduced them instantly into this'grotto.'
They were well punished for their curiosity.The room was very simply furnished in mahogany，which was rather ugly，like all furniture of that sort，and hung with paper worth twelve sous.They could see nothing remarkable about it，except two candlesticks of antique pattern which stood on the chimney-piece and appeared to be silver，'for they were hall-marked，'an observation full of the type of wit of petty towns.
Nevertheless，people continued to say that no one ever got into the room，and that it was a hermit's cave，a mysterious retreat，a hole，a tomb.
It was also whispered about that he had'immense'sums deposited with Laffitte，with this peculiar feature，that they were always at his immediate disposal，so that，it was added，M.Madeleine could make his appearance at Laffitte's any morning，sign a receipt，and carry off his two or three millions in ten minutes.
In reality，'these two or three millions'were reducible，as we have said，to six hundred and thirty or forty thousand francs.
BOOK FIFTH.——THE DESCENT
Ⅳ M.MADELEINE IN MOURNING
At the beginning of 1820 the newspapers announced the death of M.Myriel，Bishop of D——，surnamed'Monseigneur Bienvenu，'who had died in the odor of sanctity at the age of eighty-two.
The Bishop of D——to supply here a detail which the papers omitted——had been blind for many years before his death，and content to be blind，as his sister was beside him.
Let us remark by the way，that to be blind and to be loved，is，in fact，one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness upon this earth，where nothing is complete.
