#lm 1.7.2

Let us stress one detail. Never to have lied, never, for whatever reason, even a disinterested reason, to have said a single thing that was not the truth, the sacred truth, was Soeur Simplice’s distinctive characteristic. . . . However sincere, frank and honest we may be, all of us have at least the flaw of the little white lie in our candour. Not she.

Now that's impressive

This pious woman had grown fond of Fantine, probably detecting the latent virtue in her, and she had devoted herself almost exclusively to her care. Monsieur Madeleine took Soeur Simplice aside and asked her to look after Fantine in a peculiar tone of voice the nun later recalled.

I would like to trust this woman

I would like to trust her to do this 🙏 may she please remain trustworthy

Fantine awaited Monsieur Madeleine’s appearance every day as one awaiting a ray of warmth and happiness. She said to the sisters, ‘I’m alive only when monsieur le maire is here.’ She was very feverish that day. As soon as she saw Monsieur Madeleine she asked him, ‘And Cosette?’ He replied with a smile, ‘Soon.’

orz

. . . to Fantine’s great delight, he remained an hour instead of half an hour. He kept telling everyone the sick woman should want for nothing. There was a moment, it was observed, when his face became very sombre. But this was explained when it was learned that the doctor had leaned towards him and said in his ear, ‘She’s fading fast.’

Then he returned to the town hall and the clerk saw him closely studying a road map of France that hung in his study. He pencilled a few figures on a piece of paper.

I BELIEVE IN YOU, I BELIEVE YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT

1.7.2

When Monsieur Madeleine reached the priest’s house there was only one passer-by in the street, and this person noticed the following: having walked past the priest’s house Monsieur Madeleine stopped, stood still, then turned and retraced his steps to the door of the house, which was a modest entrance with an iron knocker. He briskly laid his hand on the knocker and lifted it. Then he stopped again and remained suspended in the act, as if thinking, and after a few seconds, instead of allowing the knocker to fall with a clatter, he quietly replaced it and continued on his way with a degree of haste he had not shown before.

Oh man I want to know what he was thinking so bad... What was going through his head....

‘Maître Scaufflaire, have you a good horse?’ he asked. ‘Monsieur le maire,’ said the Fleming, ‘all my horses are good. What do you mean by a good horse?’ ‘I mean a horse capable of doing fifty miles in a day.’ ‘By God!’ said the Fleming. ‘Fifty miles!’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Harnessed to a gig?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And how much rest will it have after making that journey?’ ‘It must be able to set off again the next day if necessary.’ ‘To make the return journey?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘By God! By God! And it’s fifty miles?’

(opens Google)

"A typical horse of average age and conditioning can travel 20-30 miles per day. Older and less conditioned horses will travel slowly, closer to 15 miles per day. Finally, horses trained for endurance or special breeds, like Arabian horses, can travel 50 miles per day."

That's probably also not while pulling anything. And internet says they should get several days or a week of rest after.

Dang

‘Monsieur le maire,’ said the Fleming, ‘I have just what you need. My little white horse. . . . But there are conditions.’ ‘State them.’ ‘In the first place, you’re to give it an hour’s breather halfway. It’s to be fed, and someone will be there while it’s feeding to prevent the stable-boy at the inn from stealing the oats, for I’ve noticed that at inns the oats are more often drunk by the stable-boys than eaten by the horses.’ ‘Someone will be there.’

At first, I thought to myself, people do that? And then I thought... Actually no I'm not surprised

‘In the second place – is the gig for monsieur le maire?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Does monsieur le maire know how to drive?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, monsieur le maire will travel alone and without baggage so as not to put too much strain on the horse.’ ‘Agreed.’ ‘But as monsieur le maire will have no one with him, he’ll have to take it on himself to see that the oats aren’t stolen.’ ‘You have my word.’

It's okay he can do anything I believe in him

‘I’ll need thirty francs a day. With rest days also paid for. Not a quarter of a sou less, and the beast’s feed at monsieur le maire’s expense.’

Easy peasy for this guy B)

‘Fourthly, a cabriolet would be too heavy for a journey like this and would tire the horse. Monsieur le maire must agree to travel in a little tilbury I have.’ ‘I agree.’

Back to Google

Cabriolet, left, tilbury right

‘It’s light but uncovered.’ ‘I don’t mind that.’ ‘Has monsieur le maire taken into consideration that it’s winter?’

Man, I wouldn't even want to ride in a cabriolet in the winter. It may have a hood but that's still pretty open B'( I'd freeze my hands off

Monsieur Madeleine did not reply. The Fleming went on, ‘That it’s very cold?’ Monsieur Madeleine remained silent. Maître Scaufflaire continued, ‘That it may rain?’ Monsieur Madeleine raised his head and said, ‘The tilbury and the horse are to be outside my door at half-past four tomorrow morning.’

What a (heh) champ

‘But it’s just now occurred to me, monsieur le maire hasn’t told me where he’s going. Where is monsieur le maire going?’ . . . ‘Has your horse got strong forelegs?’ said Monsieur Madeleine. ‘Yes, monsieur le maire. Best hold him in a little, on the downhill. Are there many downhill stretches between here and where you are going?’ ‘Don’t forget to be outside my door tomorrow morning at half-past four precisely,’ replied Monsieur Madeleine. And he departed.

HAHA no answer for you

The mayor had been gone two or three minutes when the door opened again. It was monsieur le maire. He still had the same impassive and preoccupied air. ‘Monsieur Scaufflaire,’ he said, ‘how much would you say the horse that you’ll be hiring out to me is worth, on top of the tilbury?’ ‘In front of the tilbury, monsieur le maire,’ said the Fleming, with a guffaw.

HA dumb joke but alright you got me

‘If you say so. Well?’ ‘Does monsieur le maire want to buy them from me?’ ‘No, but I want to indemnify you should anything happen to them. You can pay back the money on my return. How much do you think your horse and gig are worth?’

Oh I also thought maybe he was buying them

‘Five hundred francs, monsieur le maire.’ ‘Here you are.’ Monsieur Madeleine laid a banknote on the table, then left, and this time he did not return. Maître Scaufflaire bitterly regretted not having said a thousand francs. As it was, the horse and tilbury together were worth only three hundred.

😒😒😒😒😒

Coming back from Maître Scaufflaire’s he had taken the long way round, as if the priest’s front door had been a temptation to him and he wanted to avoid it.

I wonder if he wants to talk to the priest all about everything that's happening... But maybe worries that it would cut his plan short if the man decided to turn around and report him..... He's surely no Myriel, after all 😔

The cashier occupied a room directly below Monsieur Madeleine’s room. . . . Towards midnight he suddenly woke up. In his sleep he had heard a noise above his head. He listened. It was footsteps going back and forth, as if someone were walking about in the room above him. He listened more closely and recognized Monsieur Madeleine’s footstep. This struck him as odd. Usually there was no noise from Monsieur Madeleine’s room until he got up in the morning. A moment later the cashier heard something that sounded like a wardrobe being opened then shut again. Then a piece of furniture was moved. There was a pause, and the pacing resumed.

Typical upstairs neighbor 😔

The cashier sat up in bed, fully awakened, stared, and through the window-panes he saw on the wall opposite the reddish reflection of a lighted window. From the direction of the rays of light, it must have been the window of Monsieur Madeleine’s room. The reflection flickered as if it came from a lighted fire rather than a candle. There was no shadow cast by the frames of the window-panes, which meant the window was wide open. In such cold weather the open window was surprising.

In order to reach this Scaufflaire, the shortest way was to take the little-frequented street in which was situated the parsonage of the parish in which M. Madeleine resided. The curé was, it was said, a worthy, respectable, and sensible man. At the moment when M. Madeleine arrived in front of the parsonage there was but one passer-by in the street, and this person noticed this: After the mayor had passed the priest’s house he halted, stood motionless, then turned about, and retraced his steps to the door of the parsonage, which had an iron knocker. He laid his hand quickly on the knocker and lifted it; then he paused again and stopped short, as though in thought, and after the lapse of a few seconds, instead of allowing the knocker to fall abruptly, he placed it gently, and resumed his way with a sort of haste which had not been apparent previously.

M. Madeleine found Master Scaufflaire at home, engaged in stitching a harness over.

“Master Scaufflaire,” he inquired, “have you a good horse?”

“Mr. Mayor,” said the Fleming, “all my horses are good. What do you mean by a good horse?”

“I mean a horse which can travel twenty leagues in a day.”

“The deuce!” said the Fleming. “Twenty leagues!”

“Yes.”

“Hitched to a cabriolet?”

“Yes.”

“And how long can he rest at the end of his journey?”

“He must be able to set out again on the next day if necessary.”

“To traverse the same road?”

“Yes.”

“The deuce! the deuce! And it is twenty leagues?”

M. Madeleine drew from his pocket the paper on which he had pencilled some figures. He showed it to the Fleming. The figures were 5, 6, 8½.

“You see,” he said, “total, nineteen and a half; as well say twenty leagues.”

“Mr. Mayor,” returned the Fleming, “I have just what you want. My little white horse—you may have seen him pass occasionally; he is a small beast from Lower Boulonnais. He is full of fire. They wanted to make a saddle-horse of him at first. Bah! He reared, he kicked, he laid everybody flat on the ground. He was thought to be vicious, and no one knew what to do with him. I bought him. I harnessed him to a carriage. That is what he wanted, sir; he is as gentle as a girl; he goes like the wind. Ah! indeed he must not be mounted. It does not suit his ideas to be a saddle-horse. Every one has his ambition. ‘Draw? Yes. Carry? No.’ We must suppose that is what he said to himself.”

“And he will accomplish the trip?”

“Your twenty leagues all at a full trot, and in less than eight hours. But here are the conditions.”

“State them.”

“In the first place, you will give him half an hour’s breathing spell midway of the road; he will eat; and some one must be by while he is eating to prevent the stable boy of the inn from stealing his oats; for I have noticed that in inns the oats are more often drunk by the stable men than eaten by the horses.”

“Some one will be by.”

“In the second place—is the cabriolet for Monsieur le Maire?”

“Yes.”

“Does Monsieur le Maire know how to drive?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Monsieur le Maire will travel alone and without baggage, in order not to overload the horse?”

“Agreed.”

“But as Monsieur le Maire will have no one with him, he will be obliged to take the trouble himself of seeing that the oats are not stolen.”

“That is understood.”

“I am to have thirty francs a day. The days of rest to be paid for also—not a farthing less; and the beast’s food to be at Monsieur le Maire’s expense.”

M. Madeleine drew three napoleons from his purse and laid them on the table.

“Here is the pay for two days in advance.”

“Fourthly, for such a journey a cabriolet would be too heavy, and would fatigue the horse. Monsieur le Maire must consent to travel in a little tilbury that I own.”

“I consent to that.”

“It is light, but it has no cover.”

“That makes no difference to me.”

“Has Monsieur le Maire reflected that we are in the middle of winter?”

M. Madeleine did not reply. The Fleming resumed:—

“That it is very cold?”

M. Madeleine preserved silence.

Master Scaufflaire continued:—

“That it may rain?”

M. Madeleine raised his head and said:—

“The tilbury and the horse will be in front of my door to-morrow morning at half-past four o’clock.”

“Of course, Monsieur le Maire,” replied Scaufflaire; then, scratching a speck in the wood of the table with his thumb-nail, he resumed with that careless air which the Flemings understand so well how to mingle with their shrewdness:—

“But this is what I am thinking of now: Monsieur le Maire has not told me where he is going. Where is Monsieur le Maire going?”

He had been thinking of nothing else since the beginning of the conversation, but he did not know why he had not dared to put the question.

“Are your horse’s forelegs good?” said M. Madeleine.

“Yes, Monsieur le Maire. You must hold him in a little when going down hill. Are there many descends between here and the place whither you are going?”

“Do not forget to be at my door at precisely half-past four o’clock to-morrow morning,” replied M. Madeleine; and he took his departure.

The Fleming remained “utterly stupid,” as he himself said some time afterwards.

The mayor had been gone two or three minutes when the door opened again; it was the mayor once more.

He still wore the same impassive and preoccupied air.

“Monsieur Scaufflaire,” said he, “at what sum do you estimate the value of the horse and tilbury which you are to let to me,—the one bearing the other?”

“The one dragging the other, Monsieur le Maire,” said the Fleming, with a broad smile.

“So be it. Well?”

“Does Monsieur le Maire wish to purchase them or me?”

“No; but I wish to guarantee you in any case. You shall give me back the sum at my return. At what value do you estimate your horse and cabriolet?”

“Five hundred francs, Monsieur le Maire.”

“Here it is.”

M. Madeleine laid a bank-bill on the table, then left the room; and this time he did not return.

Master Scaufflaire experienced a frightful regret that he had not said a thousand francs. Besides the horse and tilbury together were worth but a hundred crowns.

The Fleming called his wife, and related the affair to her. “Where the devil could Monsieur le Maire be going?” They held counsel together. “He is going to Paris,” said the wife. “I don’t believe it,” said the husband.

M. Madeleine had forgotten the paper with the figures on it, and it lay on the chimney-piece. The Fleming picked it up and studied it. “Five, six, eight and a half? That must designate the posting relays.” He turned to his wife:—

“I have found out.”

“What?”

“It is five leagues from here to Hesdin, six from Hesdin to Saint-Pol, eight and a half from Saint-Pol to Arras. He is going to Arras.”

Meanwhile, M. Madeleine had returned home. He had taken the longest way to return from Master Scaufflaire’s, as though the parsonage door had been a temptation for him, and he had wished to avoid it. He ascended to his room, and there he shut himself up, which was a very simple act, since he liked to go to bed early. Nevertheless, the portress of the factory, who was, at the same time, M. Madeleine’s only servant, noticed that the latter’s light was extinguished at half-past eight, and she mentioned it to the cashier when he came home, adding:—

“Is Monsieur le Maire ill? I thought he had a rather singular air.”

This cashier occupied a room situated directly under M. Madeleine’s chamber. He paid no heed to the portress’s words, but went to bed and to sleep. Towards midnight he woke up with a start; in his sleep he had heard a noise above his head. He listened; it was a footstep pacing back and forth, as though some one were walking in the room above him. He listened more attentively, and recognized M. Madeleine’s step. This struck him as strange; usually, there was no noise in M. Madeleine’s chamber until he rose in the morning. A moment later the cashier heard a noise which resembled that of a cupboard being opened, and then shut again; then a piece of furniture was disarranged; then a pause ensued; then the step began again. The cashier sat up in bed, quite awake now, and staring; and through his window-panes he saw the reddish gleam of a lighted window reflected on the opposite wall; from the direction of the rays, it could only come from the window of M. Madeleine’s chamber. The reflection wavered, as though it came rather from a fire which had been lighted than from a candle. The shadow of the window-frame was not shown, which indicated that the window was wide open. The fact that this window was open in such cold weather was surprising. The cashier fell asleep again. An hour or two later he waked again. The same step was still passing slowly and regularly back and forth overhead.

The reflection was still visible on the wall, but now it was pale and peaceful, like the reflection of a lamp or of a candle. The window was still open.

Shrewdness of Master Scaufflaire: Wilbour

Scaufflaire's Perspicacity: Wraxall

The Perspicacity of Master Scaufflaire: Hapgood, Walton, Denny, Rose

Astuteness of Master Scaufflaire: FMA