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CHAPTER II—A DOUBLE QUARTETTE
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
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
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,—for
the heart, also, has its hunger,—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:—
"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.