Editing Volume 1/Book 3/Chapter 8

Les Mis&eacute;rables, Volume 1: Fantine, Book Third: In the Year 1817, Chapter 8: The Death of a Horse
(Tome 1: Fantine, Livre troisi&egrave;me: En l'ann&eacute;e 1817, Chapitre 8: Mort d'un cheval )

==General notes on this chapter==

==French text==

 
&mdash;On d&icirc;ne mieux chez Edon que chez Bombarda, s'&eacute;cria Z&eacute;phine.

 
&mdash;Je pr&eacute;f&egrave;re Bombarda &agrave; Edon, d&eacute;clara Blachevelle. Il a plus de luxe.
C'est plus asiatique. Voyez la salle d'en bas. Il y a des glaces sur les
murs.

 
&mdash;J'en aime mieux dans mon assiette, dit Favourite.

 
Blachevelle insista:

 
&mdash;Regardez les couteaux. Les manches sont en argent chez Bombarda, et en
os chez Edon. Or, l'argent est plus pr&eacute;cieux que l'os.

 
&mdash;Except&eacute; pour ceux qui ont un menton d'argent, observa Tholomy&egrave;s.

 
Il regardait en cet instant-l&agrave; le d&ocirc;me des Invalides, visible des
fen&ecirc;tres de Bombarda.

 
Il y eut une pause.

 
&mdash;Tholomy&egrave;s, cria Fameuil, tout &agrave; l'heure, Listolier et moi, nous avions
une discussion.

 
&mdash;Une discussion est bonne, r&eacute;pondit Tholomy&egrave;s, une querelle vaut mieux.

 
&mdash;Nous disputions philosophie.

 
&mdash;Soit.

 
&mdash;Lequel pr&eacute;f&egrave;res-tu de Descartes ou de Spinosa?

 
&mdash;D&eacute;saugiers, dit Tholomy&egrave;s.

 
Cet arr&ecirc;t rendu, il but et reprit:

 
&mdash;Je consens &agrave; vivre. Tout n'est pas fini sur la terre, puisqu'on peut
encore d&eacute;raisonner. J'en rends gr&acirc;ces aux dieux immortels. On ment, mais
on rit. On affirme, mais on doute. L'inattendu jaillit du syllogisme.
C'est beau. Il est encore ici-bas des humains qui savent joyeusement
ouvrir et fermer la bo&icirc;te &agrave; surprises du paradoxe. Ceci, mesdames, que
vous buvez d'un air tranquille, est du vin de Mad&egrave;re, sachez-le, du cru
de Coural das Freiras qui est &agrave; trois cent dix-sept toises au-dessus du
niveau de la mer! Attention en buvant! trois cent dix-sept toises! et
monsieur Bombarda, le magnifique restaurateur, vous donne ces trois cent
dix-sept toises pour quatre francs cinquante centimes!

 
Fameuil interrompit de nouveau:

 
&mdash;Tholomy&egrave;s, tes opinions font loi. Quel est ton auteur favori?

 
&mdash;Ber....

 
&mdash;Quin?

 
&mdash;Non. Choux.

 
Et Tholomy&egrave;s poursuivit:

 
&mdash;Honneur &agrave; Bombarda! il &eacute;galerait Munophis d'Elephanta s'il pouvait me
cueillir une alm&eacute;e, et Thyg&eacute;lion de Ch&eacute;ron&eacute;e s'il pouvait m'apporter une
h&eacute;ta&iuml;re! car, &ocirc; mesdames, il y avait des Bombarda en Gr&egrave;ce et en &Eacute;gypte.
C'est Apul&eacute;e qui nous l'apprend. H&eacute;las! toujours les m&ecirc;mes choses et
rien de nouveau. Plus rien d'in&eacute;dit dans la cr&eacute;ation du cr&eacute;ateur! ''Nil
sub sole novum'', dit Salomon; ''amor omnibus idem'', dit Virgile; et
Carabine monte avec Carabin dans la galiote de Saint-Cloud, comme
Aspasie s'embarquait avec P&eacute;ricl&egrave;s sur la flotte de Samos. Un dernier
mot. Savez-vous ce que c'&eacute;tait qu'Aspasie, mesdames? Quoiqu'elle v&eacute;c&ucirc;t
dans un temps o&ugrave; les femmes n'avaient pas encore d'&acirc;me, c'&eacute;tait une &acirc;me;
une &acirc;me d'une nuance rose et pourpre, plus embras&eacute;e que le feu, plus
franche que l'aurore. Aspasie &eacute;tait une cr&eacute;ature en qui se touchaient
les deux extr&ecirc;mes de la femme; c'&eacute;tait la prostitu&eacute;e d&eacute;esse. Socrate,
plus Manon Lescaut. Aspasie fut cr&eacute;&eacute;e pour le cas o&ugrave; il faudrait une
catin &agrave; Prom&eacute;th&eacute;e.

 
Tholomy&egrave;s, lanc&eacute;, se serait difficilement arr&ecirc;t&eacute;, si un cheval ne se f&ucirc;t
abattu sur le quai en cet instant-l&agrave; m&ecirc;me. Du choc, la charrette et
l'orateur rest&egrave;rent court. C'&eacute;tait une jument beauceronne, vieille et
maigre et digne de l'&eacute;quarrisseur, qui tra&icirc;nait une charrette fort
lourde. Parvenue devant Bombarda, la b&ecirc;te, &eacute;puis&eacute;e et accabl&eacute;e, avait
refus&eacute; d'aller plus loin. Cet incident avait fait de la foule. &Agrave; peine
le charretier, jurant et indign&eacute;, avait-il eu le temps de prononcer avec
l'&eacute;nergie convenable le mot sacramentel: ''m&acirc;tin''! appuy&eacute; d'un implacable
coup de fouet, que la haridelle &eacute;tait tomb&eacute;e pour ne plus se relever. Au
brouhaha des passants, les gais auditeurs de Tholomy&egrave;s tourn&egrave;rent la
t&ecirc;te, et Tholomy&egrave;s en profita pour clore son allocution par cette
strophe m&eacute;lancolique:

 
''Elle &eacute;tait de ce monde o&ugrave; coucous et carrosses''<br> ''Ont le m&ecirc;me destin,''<br> ''Et, rosse, elle a v&eacute;cu ce que vivent les rosses,''<br> ''L'espace d'un: m&acirc;tin!''<br>

 
&mdash;Pauvre cheval, soupira Fantine.

 
Et Dahlia s'&eacute;cria:

 
&mdash;Voil&agrave; Fantine qui va se mettre &agrave; plaindre les chevaux! Peut-on &ecirc;tre
fichue b&ecirc;te comme &ccedil;a!

 
En ce moment, Favourite, croisant les bras et renversant la t&ecirc;te en
arri&egrave;re, regarda r&eacute;sol&ucirc;ment Tholomy&egrave;s et dit:

 
&mdash;Ah &ccedil;&agrave;! et la surprise?

 
&mdash;Justement. L'instant est arriv&eacute;, r&eacute;pondit Tholomy&egrave;s. Messieurs,
l'heure de la surprise a sonn&eacute;. Mesdames, attendez-nous un moment.

 
&mdash;Cela commence par un baiser, dit Blachevelle.

 
&mdash;Sur le front, ajouta Tholomy&egrave;s.

 
Chacun d&eacute;posa gravement un baiser sur le front de sa ma&icirc;tresse; puis ils
se dirig&egrave;rent vers la porte tous les quatre &agrave; la file, en mettant leur
doigt sur la bouche.

 
Favourite battit des mains &agrave; leur sortie.

 
&mdash;C'est d&eacute;j&agrave; amusant, dit-elle.

 
&mdash;Ne soyez pas trop longtemps, murmura Fantine. Nous vous attendons.

 

==English text==

 
"The dinners are better at Edon's than at Bombarda's," exclaimed Zephine.

 
"I prefer Bombarda to Edon," declared Blachevelle. "There is more luxury.
It is more Asiatic. Look at the room downstairs; there are mirrors
[glaces] on the walls."

 
"I prefer them [glaces, ices] on my plate," said Favourite.

 
Blachevelle persisted:&mdash;

 
"Look at the knives. The handles are of silver at Bombarda's and of bone
at Edon's. Now, silver is more valuable than bone."

 
"Except for those who have a silver chin," observed Tholomyes.

 
He was looking at the dome of the Invalides, which was visible from
Bombarda's windows.

 
A pause ensued.

 
"Tholomyes," exclaimed Fameuil, "Listolier and I were having a discussion
just now."

 
"A discussion is a good thing," replied Tholomyes; "a quarrel is better."

 
"We were disputing about philosophy."

 
"Well?"

 
"Which do you prefer, Descartes or Spinoza?"

 
"Desaugiers," said Tholomyes.

 
This decree pronounced, he took a drink, and went on:&mdash;

 
"I consent to live. All is not at an end on earth since we can still talk
nonsense. For that I return thanks to the immortal gods. We lie. One lies,
but one laughs. One affirms, but one doubts. The unexpected bursts forth
from the syllogism. That is fine. There are still human beings here below
who know how to open and close the surprise box of the paradox merrily.
This, ladies, which you are drinking with so tranquil an air is Madeira
wine, you must know, from the vineyard of Coural das Freiras, which is
three hundred and seventeen fathoms above the level of the sea. Attention
while you drink! three hundred and seventeen fathoms! and Monsieur
Bombarda, the magnificent eating-house keeper, gives you those three
hundred and seventeen fathoms for four francs and fifty centimes."

 
Again Fameuil interrupted him:&mdash;

 
"Tholomyes, your opinions fix the law. Who is your favorite author?"

 
"Ber&mdash;"

 
"Quin?"

 
"No; Choux."

 
And Tholomyes continued:&mdash;

 
"Honor to Bombarda! He would equal Munophis of Elephanta if he could but
get me an Indian dancing-girl, and Thygelion of Chaeronea if he could
bring me a Greek courtesan; for, oh, ladies! there were Bombardas in
Greece and in Egypt. Apuleius tells us of them. Alas! always the same, and
nothing new; nothing more unpublished by the creator in creation! Nil sub
sole novum, says Solomon; amor omnibus idem, says Virgil; and Carabine
mounts with Carabin into the bark at Saint-Cloud, as Aspasia embarked with
Pericles upon the fleet at Samos. One last word. Do you know what Aspasia
was, ladies? Although she lived at an epoch when women had, as yet, no
soul, she was a soul; a soul of a rosy and purple hue, more ardent hued
than fire, fresher than the dawn. Aspasia was a creature in whom two
extremes of womanhood met; she was the goddess prostitute; Socrates plus
Manon Lescaut. Aspasia was created in case a mistress should be needed for
Prometheus."

 
Tholomyes, once started, would have found some difficulty in stopping, had
not a horse fallen down upon the quay just at that moment. The shock
caused the cart and the orator to come to a dead halt. It was a Beauceron
mare, old and thin, and one fit for the knacker, which was dragging a very
heavy cart. On arriving in front of Bombarda's, the worn-out, exhausted
beast had refused to proceed any further. This incident attracted a crowd.
Hardly had the cursing and indignant carter had time to utter with proper
energy the sacramental word, Matin (the jade), backed up with a pitiless
cut of the whip, when the jade fell, never to rise again. On hearing the
hubbub made by the passersby, Tholomyes' merry auditors turned their
heads, and Tholomyes took advantage of the opportunity to bring his
allocution to a close with this melancholy strophe:&mdash;

 
<pre>
      "Elle etait de ce monde ou coucous et carrosses [[3]]
          Ont le même destin;
      Et, rosse, elle a vécu ce que vivant les rosses,
          L'espace d'un matin!"

</pre>
 
"Poor horse!" sighed Fantine.

 
And Dahlia exclaimed:&mdash;

 
"There is Fantine on the point of crying over horses. How can one be such
a pitiful fool as that!"

 
At that moment Favourite, folding her arms and throwing her head back,
looked resolutely at Tholomyes and said:&mdash;

 
"Come, now! the surprise?"

 
"Exactly. The moment has arrived," replied Tholomyes. "Gentlemen, the hour
for giving these ladies a surprise has struck. Wait for us a moment,
ladies."

 
"It begins with a kiss," said Blachevelle.

 
"On the brow," added Tholomyes.

 
Each gravely bestowed a kiss on his mistress's brow; then all four filed
out through the door, with their fingers on their lips.

 
Favourite clapped her hands on their departure.

 
"It is beginning to be amusing already," said she.

 
"Don't be too long," murmured Fantine; "we are waiting for you."



==Translation notes==

==Textual notes==

==Citations==
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