Editing Volume 1/Book 3/Chapter 2

Les Mis&eacute;rables, Volume 1: Fantine, Book Third: In the Year 1817, Chapter 2: A Double Quartette<br />
(Tome 1: Fantine, Livre troisi&egrave;me: En l'ann&eacute;e 1817, Chapitre 2: Double quatuor)

==General notes on this chapter==

==French text==

Ces Parisiens &eacute;taient l'un de Toulouse, l'autre de Limoges, le troisi&egrave;me
de Cahors et le quatri&egrave;me de Montauban; mais ils &eacute;taient &eacute;tudiants, et
qui dit &eacute;tudiant dit parisien; &eacute;tudier &agrave; Paris, c'est na&icirc;tre &agrave; Paris.

Ces jeunes gens &eacute;taient insignifiants; tout le monde a vu ces
figures-l&agrave;; quatre &eacute;chantillons du premier venu; ni bons ni mauvais, ni
savants ni ignorants, ni des g&eacute;nies ni des imb&eacute;ciles; beaux de ce
charmant avril qu'on appelle vingt ans. C'&eacute;taient quatre Oscars
quelconques, car &agrave; cette &eacute;poque les Arthurs n'existaient pas encore.
''Br&ucirc;lez pour lui les parfums d'Arabie'', s'&eacute;criait la romance, ''Oscar s'avance, Oscar, je vais le voir''! On sortait d'Ossian, l'&eacute;l&eacute;gance &eacute;tait
scandinave et cal&eacute;donienne, le genre anglais pur ne devait pr&eacute;valoir que
plus tard, et le premier des Arthurs, Wellington, venait &agrave; peine de
gagner la bataille de Waterloo.

Ces Oscars s'appelaient l'un F&eacute;lix Tholomy&egrave;s, de Toulouse; l'autre
Listolier, de Cahors; l'autre Fameuil, de Limoges; le dernier
Blachevelle, de Montauban. Naturellement chacun avait sa ma&icirc;tresse.
Blachevelle aimait Favourite, ainsi nomm&eacute;e parce qu'elle &eacute;tait all&eacute;e en
Angleterre; Listolier adorait Dahlia, qui avait pris pour nom de guerre
un nom de fleur; Fameuil idol&acirc;trait Z&eacute;phine, abr&eacute;g&eacute; de Jos&eacute;phine;
Tholomy&egrave;s avait Fantine, dite la Blonde &agrave; cause de ses beaux cheveux
couleur de soleil.

Favourite, Dahlia, Z&eacute;phine et Fantine &eacute;taient quatre ravissantes filles,
parfum&eacute;es et radieuses, encore un peu ouvri&egrave;res, n'ayant pas tout &agrave; fait
quitt&eacute; leur aiguille, d&eacute;rang&eacute;es par les amourettes, mais ayant sur le
visage un reste de la s&eacute;r&eacute;nit&eacute; du travail et dans l'&acirc;me cette fleur
d'honn&ecirc;tet&eacute; qui dans la femme survit &agrave; la premi&egrave;re chute. Il y avait une
des quatre qu'on appelait la jeune, parce qu'elle &eacute;tait la cadette; et
une qu'on appelait la vieille. La vieille avait vingt-trois ans. Pour ne
rien celer, les trois premi&egrave;res &eacute;taient plus exp&eacute;riment&eacute;es, plus
insouciantes et plus envol&eacute;es dans le bruit de la vie que Fantine la
Blonde, qui en &eacute;tait &agrave; sa premi&egrave;re illusion.

Dahlia, Z&eacute;phine, et surtout Favourite, n'en auraient pu dire autant. Il
y avait d&eacute;j&agrave; plus d'un &eacute;pisode &agrave; leur roman &agrave; peine commenc&eacute;, et
l'amoureux, qui s'appelait Adolphe au premier chapitre, se trouvait &ecirc;tre
Alphonse au second, et Gustave au troisi&egrave;me. Pauvret&eacute; et coquetterie
sont deux conseill&egrave;res fatales, l'une gronde, l'autre flatte; et les
belles filles du peuple les ont toutes les deux qui leur parlent bas &agrave;
l'oreille, chacune de son c&ocirc;t&eacute;. Ces &acirc;mes mal gard&eacute;es &eacute;coutent. De l&agrave; les
chutes qu'elles font et les pierres qu'on leur jette. On les accable
avec la splendeur de tout ce qui est immacul&eacute; et inaccessible. H&eacute;las! si
la ''Yungfrau'' avait faim?

Favourite, ayant &eacute;t&eacute; en Angleterre, avait pour admiratrices Z&eacute;phine et
Dahlia. Elle avait eu de tr&egrave;s bonne heure un chez-soi. Son p&egrave;re &eacute;tait un
vieux professeur de math&eacute;matiques brutal et qui gasconnait; point mari&eacute;,
courant le cachet malgr&eacute; l'&acirc;ge. Ce professeur, &eacute;tant jeune, avait vu un
jour la robe d'une femme de chambre s'accrocher &agrave; un garde-cendre; il
&eacute;tait tomb&eacute; amoureux de cet accident. Il en &eacute;tait r&eacute;sult&eacute; Favourite.
Elle rencontrait de temps en temps son p&egrave;re, qui la saluait. Un matin,
une vieille femme &agrave; l'air b&eacute;guin &eacute;tait entr&eacute;e chez elle et lui avait
dit:

&mdash;Vous ne me connaissez pas, mademoiselle?

&mdash;Non.

&mdash;Je suis ta m&egrave;re.

Puis la vieille avait ouvert le buffet, bu et mang&eacute;, fait apporter un
matelas qu'elle avait, et s'&eacute;tait install&eacute;e. Cette m&egrave;re, grognon et
d&eacute;vote, ne parlait jamais &agrave; Favourite, restait des heures sans souffler
mot, d&eacute;jeunait, d&icirc;nait et soupait comme quatre, et descendait faire
salon chez le portier, o&ugrave; elle disait du mal de sa fille.

Ce qui avait entra&icirc;n&eacute; Dahlia vers Listolier, vers d'autres peut-&ecirc;tre,
vers l'oisivet&eacute;, c'&eacute;tait d'avoir de trop jolis ongles roses. Comment
faire travailler ces ongles-l&agrave;? Qui veut rester vertueuse ne doit pas
avoir piti&eacute; de ses mains. Quant &agrave; Z&eacute;phine, elle avait conquis Fameuil
par sa petite mani&egrave;re mutine et caressante de dire: &laquo;Oui, monsieur&raquo;.

Les jeunes gens &eacute;tant camarades, les jeunes filles &eacute;taient amies. Ces
amours-l&agrave; sont toujours doubl&eacute;s de ces amiti&eacute;s-l&agrave;.

Sage et philosophe, c'est deux; et ce qui le prouve, c'est que, toutes
r&eacute;serves faites sur ces petits m&eacute;nages irr&eacute;guliers, Favourite, Z&eacute;phine
et Dahlia &eacute;taient des filles philosophes, et Fantine une fille sage.

Sage, dira-t-on? et Tholomy&egrave;s? Salomon r&eacute;pondrait que l'amour fait
partie de la sagesse. Nous nous bornons &agrave; dire que l'amour de Fantine
&eacute;tait un premier amour, un amour unique, un amour fid&egrave;le.

Elle &eacute;tait la seule des quatre qui ne f&ucirc;t tutoy&eacute;e que par un seul.

Fantine &eacute;tait un de ces &ecirc;tres comme il en &eacute;cl&ocirc;t, pour ainsi dire, au
fond du peuple. Sortie des plus insondables &eacute;paisseurs de l'ombre
sociale, elle avait au front le signe de l'anonyme et de l'inconnu. Elle
&eacute;tait n&eacute;e &agrave; Montreuil-sur-mer. De quels parents? Qui pourrait le dire?
On ne lui avait jamais connu ni p&egrave;re ni m&egrave;re. Elle se nommait Fantine.
Pourquoi Fantine? On ne lui avait jamais connu d'autre nom. &Agrave; l'&eacute;poque
de sa naissance, le Directoire existait encore. Point de nom de famille,
elle n'avait pas de famille; point de nom de bapt&ecirc;me, l'&eacute;glise n'&eacute;tait
plus l&agrave;. Elle s'appela comme il plut au premier passant qui la rencontra
toute petite, allant pieds nus dans la rue. Elle re&ccedil;ut un nom comme elle
recevait l'eau des nu&eacute;es sur son front quand il pleuvait. On l'appela la
petite Fantine. Personne n'en savait davantage. Cette cr&eacute;ature humaine
&eacute;tait venue dans la vie comme cela. &Agrave; dix ans, Fantine quitta la ville
et s'alla mettre en service chez des fermiers des environs. &Agrave; quinze
ans, elle vint &agrave; Paris "chercher fortune". Fantine &eacute;tait belle et resta
pure le plus longtemps qu'elle put. C'&eacute;tait une jolie blonde avec de
belles dents. Elle avait de l'or et des perles pour dot, mais son or
&eacute;tait sur sa t&ecirc;te et ses perles &eacute;taient dans sa bouche.

Elle travailla pour vivre; puis, toujours pour vivre, car le c&oelig;ur a sa
faim aussi, elle aima.

Elle aima Tholomy&egrave;s.

Amourette pour lui, passion pour elle. Les rues du quartier latin,
qu'emplit le fourmillement des &eacute;tudiants et des grisettes, virent le
commencement de ce songe. Fantine, dans ces d&eacute;dales de la colline du
Panth&eacute;on, o&ugrave; tant d'aventures se nouent et se d&eacute;nouent, avait fui
longtemps Tholomy&egrave;s, mais de fa&ccedil;on &agrave; le rencontrer toujours. Il y a une
mani&egrave;re d'&eacute;viter qui ressemble &agrave; chercher. Bref, l'&eacute;glogue eut lieu.

Blachevelle, Listolier et Fameuil formaient une sorte de groupe dont
Tholomy&egrave;s &eacute;tait la t&ecirc;te. C'&eacute;tait lui qui avait l'esprit.

Tholomy&egrave;s &eacute;tait l'antique &eacute;tudiant vieux; il &eacute;tait riche; il avait
quatre mille francs de rente; quatre mille francs de rente, splendide
scandale sur la montagne Sainte-Genevi&egrave;ve. Tholomy&egrave;s &eacute;tait un viveur de
trente ans, mal conserv&eacute;. Il &eacute;tait rid&eacute; et &eacute;dent&eacute;; et il &eacute;bauchait une
calvitie dont il disait lui-m&ecirc;me sans tristesse: ''cr&acirc;ne &agrave; trente ans, genou &agrave; quarante''. Il dig&eacute;rait m&eacute;diocrement, et il lui &eacute;tait venu un
larmoiement &agrave; un &oelig;il. Mais &agrave; mesure que sa jeunesse s'&eacute;teignait, il
allumait sa ga&icirc;t&eacute;; il rempla&ccedil;ait ses dents par des lazzis, ses cheveux
par la joie, sa sant&eacute; par l'ironie, et son &oelig;il qui pleurait riait sans
cesse. Il &eacute;tait d&eacute;labr&eacute;, mais tout en fleurs. Sa jeunesse, pliant bagage
bien avant l'&acirc;ge, battait en retraite en bon ordre, &eacute;clatait de rire, et
l'on n'y voyait que du feu. Il avait eu une pi&egrave;ce refus&eacute;e au Vaudeville.
Il faisait &ccedil;&agrave; et l&agrave; des vers quelconques. En outre, il doutait
sup&eacute;rieurement de toute chose, grande force aux yeux des faibles. Donc,
&eacute;tant ironique et chauve, il &eacute;tait le chef. ''Iron'' est un mot anglais
qui veut dire fer. Serait-ce de l&agrave; que viendrait ironie?

Un jour Tholomy&egrave;s prit &agrave; part les trois autres, f&icirc;t un geste d'oracle,
et leur dit:

&mdash;Il y a bient&ocirc;t un an que Fantine, Dahlia, Z&eacute;phine et Favourite nous
demandent de leur faire une surprise. Nous la leur avons promise
solennellement. Elles nous en parlent toujours, &agrave; moi surtout. De m&ecirc;me
qu'&agrave; Naples les vieilles femmes crient &agrave; saint Janvier: ''Faccia gialluta, fa o miracolo''. Face jaune, fais ton miracle! nos belles me
disent sans cesse: &laquo;Tholomy&egrave;s, quand accoucheras-tu de ta surprise?&raquo; En
m&ecirc;me temps nos parents nous &eacute;crivent. Scie des deux c&ocirc;t&eacute;s. Le moment me
semble venu. Causons.

Sur ce, Tholomy&egrave;s baissa la voix, et articula myst&eacute;rieusement quelque
chose de si gai qu'un vaste et enthousiaste ricanement sortit des quatre
bouches &agrave; la fois et que Blachevelle s'&eacute;cria:

&mdash;&Ccedil;a, c'est une id&eacute;e!

Un estaminet plein de fum&eacute;e se pr&eacute;senta, ils y entr&egrave;rent, et le reste de
leur conf&eacute;rence se perdit dans l'ombre.

Le r&eacute;sultat de ces t&eacute;n&egrave;bres fut une &eacute;blouissante partie de plaisir qui
eut lieu le dimanche suivant, les quatre jeunes gens invitant les quatre
jeunes filles.

==English text==

    
These Parisians came, one from Toulouse, another from Limoges, the third
from Cahors, and the fourth from Montauban; but they were students; and
when one says student, one says Parisian: to study in Paris is to be born
in Paris.

These young men were insignificant; every one has seen such faces; four
specimens of humanity taken at random; neither good nor bad, neither wise
nor ignorant, neither geniuses nor fools; handsome, with that charming
April which is called twenty years. They were four Oscars; for, at that
epoch, Arthurs did not yet exist. Burn for him the perfumes of Araby!
exclaimed romance. Oscar advances. Oscar, I shall behold him! People had
just emerged from Ossian; elegance was Scandinavian and Caledonian; the
pure English style was only to prevail later, and the first of the
Arthurs, Wellington, had but just won the battle of Waterloo.

These Oscars bore the names, one of Felix Tholomyes, of Toulouse; the
second, Listolier, of Cahors; the next, Fameuil, of Limoges; the last,
Blachevelle, of Montauban. Naturally, each of them had his mistress.
Blachevelle loved Favourite, so named because she had been in England;
Listolier adored Dahlia, who had taken for her nickname the name of a
flower; Fameuil idolized Zephine, an abridgment of Josephine; Tholomyes
had Fantine, called the Blonde, because of her beautiful, sunny hair.

Favourite, Dahlia, Zephine, and Fantine were four ravishing young women,
perfumed and radiant, still a little like working-women, and not yet
entirely divorced from their needles; somewhat disturbed by intrigues, but
still retaining on their faces something of the serenity of toil, and in
their souls that flower of honesty which survives the first fall in woman.
One of the four was called the young, because she was the youngest of
them, and one was called the old; the old one was twenty-three. Not to
conceal anything, the three first were more experienced, more heedless,
and more emancipated into the tumult of life than Fantine the Blonde, who
was still in her first illusions.

Dahlia, Zephine, and especially Favourite, could not have said as much.
There had already been more than one episode in their romance, though
hardly begun; and the lover who had borne the name of Adolph in the first
chapter had turned out to be Alphonse in the second, and Gustave in the
third. Poverty and coquetry are two fatal counsellors; one scolds and the
other flatters, and the beautiful daughters of the people have both of
them whispering in their ear, each on its own side. These badly guarded
souls listen. Hence the falls which they accomplish, and the stones which
are thrown at them. They are overwhelmed with splendor of all that is
immaculate and inaccessible. Alas! what if the Jungfrau were hungry?

Favourite having been in England, was admired by Dahlia and Zephine. She
had had an establishment of her own very early in life. Her father was an
old unmarried professor of mathematics, a brutal man and a braggart, who
went out to give lessons in spite of his age. This professor, when he was
a young man, had one day seen a chambermaid's gown catch on a fender; he
had fallen in love in consequence of this accident. The result had been
Favourite. She met her father from time to time, and he bowed to her. One
morning an old woman with the air of a devotee, had entered her
apartments, and had said to her, "You do not know me, Mamemoiselle?" "No."
"I am your mother." Then the old woman opened the sideboard, and ate and
drank, had a mattress which she owned brought in, and installed herself.
This cross and pious old mother never spoke to Favourite, remained hours
without uttering a word, breakfasted, dined, and supped for four, and went
down to the porter's quarters for company, where she spoke ill of her
daughter.

It was having rosy nails that were too pretty which had drawn Dahlia to
Listolier, to others perhaps, to idleness. How could she make such nails
work? She who wishes to remain virtuous must not have pity on her hands.
As for Zephine, she had conquered Fameuil by her roguish and caressing
little way of saying "Yes, sir."

The young men were comrades; the young girls were friends. Such loves are
always accompanied by such friendships.

Goodness and philosophy are two distinct things; the proof of this is
that, after making all due allowances for these little irregular
households, Favourite, Zephine, and Dahlia were philosophical young women,
while Fantine was a good girl.

Good! some one will exclaim; and Tholomyes? Solomon would reply that love
forms a part of wisdom. We will confine ourselves to saying that the love
of Fantine was a first love, a sole love, a faithful love.

She alone, of all the four, was not called "thou" by a single one of them.

Fantine was one of those beings who blossom, so to speak, from the dregs
of the people. Though she had emerged from the most unfathomable depths of
social shadow, she bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the
unknown. She was born at M. sur M. Of what parents? Who can say? She had
never known father or mother. She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She had
never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory still
existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal name; the
Church no longer existed. She bore the name which pleased the first random
passer-by, who had encountered her, when a very small child, running
bare-legged in the street. She received the name as she received the water
from the clouds upon her brow when it rained. She was called little
Fantine. No one knew more than that. This human creature had entered life
in just this way. At the age of ten, Fantine quitted the town and went to
service with some farmers in the neighborhood. At fifteen she came to
Paris "to seek her fortune." Fantine was beautiful, and remained pure as
long as she could. She was a lovely blonde, with fine teeth. She had gold
and pearls for her dowry; but her gold was on her head, and her pearls
were in her mouth.

She worked for her living; then, still for the sake of her living,&mdash;for
the heart, also, has its hunger,&mdash;she loved.

She loved Tholomyes.

An amour for him; passion for her. The streets of the Latin quarter,
filled with throngs of students and grisettes, saw the beginning of their
dream. Fantine had long evaded Tholomyes in the mazes of the hill of the
Pantheon, where so many adventurers twine and untwine, but in such a way
as constantly to encounter him again. There is a way of avoiding which
resembles seeking. In short, the eclogue took place.

Blachevelle, Listolier, and Fameuil formed a sort of group of which
Tholomyes was the head. It was he who possessed the wit.

Tholomyes was the antique old student; he was rich; he had an income of
four thousand francs; four thousand francs! a splendid scandal on Mount
Sainte-Genevieve. Tholomyes was a fast man of thirty, and badly preserved.
He was wrinkled and toothless, and he had the beginning of a bald spot, of
which he himself said with sadness, the skull at thirty, the knee at
forty. His digestion was mediocre, and he had been attacked by a watering
in one eye. But in proportion as his youth disappeared, gayety was
kindled; he replaced his teeth with buffooneries, his hair with mirth, his
health with irony, his weeping eye laughed incessantly. He was dilapidated
but still in flower. His youth, which was packing up for departure long
before its time, beat a retreat in good order, bursting with laughter, and
no one saw anything but fire. He had had a piece rejected at the
Vaudeville. He made a few verses now and then. In addition to this he
doubted everything to the last degree, which is a vast force in the eyes
of the weak. Being thus ironical and bald, he was the leader. Iron is an
English word. Is it possible that irony is derived from it?

One day Tholomyes took the three others aside, with the gesture of an
oracle, and said to them:&mdash;

"Fantine, Dahlia, Zephine, and Favourite have been teasing us for nearly a
year to give them a surprise. We have promised them solemnly that we
would. They are forever talking about it to us, to me in particular, just
as the old women in Naples cry to Saint Januarius, 'Faccia gialluta, fa o
miracolo, Yellow face, perform thy miracle,' so our beauties say to me
incessantly, 'Tholomyes, when will you bring forth your surprise?' At the
same time our parents keep writing to us. Pressure on both sides. The
moment has arrived, it seems to me; let us discuss the question."

Thereupon, Tholomyes lowered his voice and articulated something so
mirthful, that a vast and enthusiastic grin broke out upon the four mouths
simultaneously, and Blachevelle exclaimed, "That is an idea."

A smoky tap-room presented itself; they entered, and the remainder of
their confidential colloquy was lost in shadow.

The result of these shades was a dazzling pleasure party which took place
on the following Sunday, the four young men inviting the four young girls.

==Translation notes==

==Textual notes==

==Citations==
<references />
@@ Line 326: / Line 326: @@
 ==Textual notes==
-===Burn for him... Oscar approaches... Ossian had left his mark===
-‘Brûlez pour lui les parfums d’Arabie / Oscar s’avance, Oscar, je vais le voir.’ Hugo is quoting two lines from an anonymous popular song, ‘Il va venir, le sultan que j’adore’ (‘He is coming, the sultan I adore’), which concludes with the singer expressing her fear that her lover will not be true. Oscar is also the name of a character (the son of Ossian) in James Macpherson’s Poems of Ossian (1760–62). Purportedly translated from an ancient Scottish manuscript by the Gaelic warrior and bard Ossian, the poems’ authenticity was contested at the time and they are now believed to be the work of Macpherson himself. Nevertheless, they enjoyed a phenomenal success, were widely translated and had a huge influence on contemporary literature and music.<ref name="donougher">Hugo, Victor. ''The Wretched: A new translation of Les Mis&eacute;rables.'' Trans. Christine Donougher. London: Penguin Classics, 2013.</ref>
-===the Jungfrau===
-Snow-white and unattainable, the Jungfrau (literally, ‘young woman’) is one of the peaks in the Swiss Alps.<ref name="donougher" />
-===grisettes===
-An archetypal figure of nineteenth-century Parisian life, the grisette is the sexually attractive and available young working woman. More often than not a seamstress or florist, poor but financially independent, she wants to enjoy herself and keeps company with students and artists, with whom she goes dancing and on country weekend outings.<ref name="donougher" />
 ==Citations==
 <references />