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2014-03-04T08:28:23Z

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Historymaker: Created page with "Les Misérables, Volume 3: Marius, Book Eighth: The Wicked Poor Man, Chapter 13: Solus cum solo, in loco remoto, non cogitabuntur orare pater noster
(Tome 3: Mariu..."

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Created page with "Les Misérables, Volume 3: Marius, Book Eighth: The Wicked Poor Man, Chapter 13: Solus cum solo, in loco remoto, non cogitabuntur orare pater noster<br /> (Tome 3: Mariu..."

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Les Misérables, Volume 3: Marius, Book Eighth: The Wicked Poor Man, Chapter 13: Solus cum solo, in loco remoto, non cogitabuntur orare pater noster<br />
(Tome 3: Marius, Livre huitième: Le mauvais pauvre, Chapitre 13: Solus cum solo, in loco remoto, non cogitabuntur orare pater noster)

==General notes on this chapter==

==French text==

Marius, tout songeur qu'il était, était, nous l'avons dit, une nature
ferme et énergique. Les habitudes de recueillement solitaire, en
développant en lui la sympathie et la compassion, avaient diminué
peut-être la faculté de s'irriter, mais laissé intacte la faculté de
s'indigner; il avait la bienveillance d'un brahme et la sévérité d'un
juge; il avait pitié d'un crapaud, mais il écrasait une vipère. Or,
c'était dans un trou de vipères que son regard venait de plonger;
c'était un nid de monstres qu'il avait sous les yeux.

—Il faut mettre le pied sur ces misérables, dit-il.

Aucune des énigmes qu'il espérait voir dissiper ne s'était éclaircie; au
contraire, toutes s'étaient épaissies peut-être; il ne savait rien de
plus sur la belle enfant du Luxembourg et sur l'homme qu'il appelait M.
Leblanc, sinon que Jondrette les connaissait. À travers les paroles
ténébreuses qui avaient été dites, il n'entrevoyait distinctement qu'une
chose, c'est qu'un guet-apens se préparait, un guet-apens obscur, mais
terrible; c'est qu'ils couraient tous les deux un grand danger, elle
probablement, son père à coup sûr; c'est qu'il fallait les sauver;
c'est qu'il fallait déjouer les combinaisons hideuses des Jondrette et
rompre la toile de ces araignées.

Il observa un moment la Jondrette. Elle avait tiré d'un coin un vieux
fourneau de tôle et elle fouillait dans des ferrailles.

Il descendit de la commode le plus doucement qu'il put et en ayant soin
de ne faire aucun bruit.

Dans son effroi de ce qui s'apprêtait et dans l'horreur dont les
Jondrette l'avaient pénétré, il sentait une sorte de joie à l'idée qu'il
lui serait peut-être donné de rendre un tel service à celle qu'il
aimait.

Mais comment faire? Avertir les personnes menacées? où les trouver? Il
ne savait pas leur adresse. Elles avaient reparu un instant à ses yeux,
puis elles s'étaient replongées dans les immenses profondeurs de Paris.
Attendre M. Leblanc à la porte le soir à six heures, au moment où il
arriverait, et le prévenir du piège? Mais Jondrette et ses gens le
verraient guetter, le lieu était désert, ils seraient plus forts que
lui, ils trouveraient moyen de le saisir ou de l'éloigner, et celui que
Marius voulait sauver serait perdu. Une heure venait de sonner, le
guet-apens devait s'accomplir à six heures. Marius avait cinq heures
devant lui.

Il n'y avait qu'une chose à faire.

Il mit son habit passable, se noua un foulard au cou, prit son chapeau,
et sortit, sans faire plus de bruit que s'il eût marché sur de la mousse
avec des pieds nus.

D'ailleurs la Jondrette continuait de fourgonner dans ses ferrailles.

Une fois hors de la maison, il gagna la rue du Petit-Banquier.

Il était vers le milieu de cette rue près d'un mur très bas qu'on peut
enjamber à de certains endroits et qui donne dans un terrain vague, il
marchait lentement, préoccupé qu'il était, la neige assourdissait ses
pas; tout à coup il entendit des voix qui parlaient tout près de lui. Il
tourna la tête, la rue était déserte, il n'y avait personne, c'était en
plein jour, et cependant il entendait distinctement des voix.

Il eut l'idée de regarder par-dessus le mur qu'il côtoyait.

Il y avait là en effet deux hommes adossés à la muraille, assis dans la
neige et se parlant bas.

Ces deux figures lui étaient inconnues. L'un était un homme barbu en
blouse et l'autre un homme chevelu en guenilles. Le barbu avait une
calotte grecque, l'autre la tête nue et de la neige dans les cheveux.

En avançant la tête au-dessus d'eux, Marius pouvait entendre.

Le chevelu poussait l'autre du coude et disait:

—Avec Patron-Minette, ça ne peut pas manquer.

—Crois-tu? dit le barbu; et le chevelu repartit:

—Ce sera pour chacun un fafiot de cinq cents balles, et le pire qui
puisse arriver: cinq ans, six ans, dix ans au plus!

L'autre répondit avec quelque hésitation et en grelottant sous son
bonnet grec:

—Ça, c'est une chose réelle. On ne peut pas aller à l'encontre de ces
choses-là.

—Je te dis que l'affaire ne peut pas manquer, reprit le chevelu. La
maringotte du père Chose sera attelée.

Puis ils se mirent à parler d'un mélodrame qu'ils avaient vu la veille à
la Gaîté.

Marius continua son chemin.

Il lui semblait que les paroles obscures de ces hommes, si étrangement
cachés derrière ce mur et accroupis dans la neige, n'étaient pas
peut-être sans quelque rapport avec les abominables projets de
Jondrette. Ce devait être là ''l'affaire''.

Il se dirigea vers le faubourg Saint-Marceau et demanda à la première
boutique qu'il rencontra où il y avait un commissaire de police.

On lui indiqua la rue de Pontoise et le numéro 14.

Marius s'y rendit.

Et passant devant un boulanger, il acheta un pain de deux sous et le
mangea, prévoyant qu'il ne dînerait pas.

Chemin faisant, il rendit justice à la providence. Il songea que, s'il
n'avait pas donné ses cinq francs le matin à la fille Jondrette, il
aurait suivi le fiacre de M. Leblanc, et par conséquent tout ignoré, que
rien n'aurait fait obstacle au guet-apens des Jondrette, et que M.
Leblanc était perdu, et sans doute sa fille avec lui.

==English text==

Marius, dreamer as he was, was, as we have said, firm and energetic by
nature. His habits of solitary meditation, while they had developed in him
sympathy and compassion, had, perhaps, diminished the faculty for
irritation, but had left intact the power of waxing indignant; he had the
kindliness of a brahmin, and the severity of a judge; he took pity upon a
toad, but he crushed a viper. Now, it was into a hole of vipers that his
glance had just been directed, it was a nest of monsters that he had
beneath his eyes.

"These wretches must be stamped upon," said he.

Not one of the enigmas which he had hoped to see solved had been
elucidated; on the contrary, all of them had been rendered more dense, if
anything; he knew nothing more about the beautiful maiden of the
Luxembourg and the man whom he called M. Leblanc, except that Jondrette
was acquainted with them. Athwart the mysterious words which had been
uttered, the only thing of which he caught a distinct glimpse was the fact
that an ambush was in course of preparation, a dark but terrible trap;
that both of them were incurring great danger, she probably, her father
certainly; that they must be saved; that the hideous plots of the
Jondrettes must be thwarted, and the web of these spiders broken.

He scanned the female Jondrette for a moment. She had pulled an old
sheet-iron stove from a corner, and she was rummaging among the old heap
of iron.

He descended from the commode as softly as possible, taking care not to
make the least noise. Amid his terror as to what was in preparation, and
in the horror with which the Jondrettes had inspired him, he experienced a
sort of joy at the idea that it might be granted to him perhaps to render
a service to the one whom he loved.

But how was it to be done? How warn the persons threatened? He did not
know their address. They had reappeared for an instant before his eyes,
and had then plunged back again into the immense depths of Paris. Should
he wait for M. Leblanc at the door that evening at six o'clock, at the
moment of his arrival, and warn him of the trap? But Jondrette and his men
would see him on the watch, the spot was lonely, they were stronger than
he, they would devise means to seize him or to get him away, and the man
whom Marius was anxious to save would be lost. One o'clock had just
struck, the trap was to be sprung at six. Marius had five hours before
him.

There was but one thing to be done.

He put on his decent coat, knotted a silk handkerchief round his neck,
took his hat, and went out, without making any more noise than if he had
been treading on moss with bare feet.

Moreover, the Jondrette woman continued to rummage among her old iron.

Once outside of the house, he made for the Rue du Petit-Banquier.

He had almost reached the middle of this street, near a very low wall
which a man can easily step over at certain points, and which abuts on a
waste space, and was walking slowly, in consequence of his preoccupied
condition, and the snow deadened the sound of his steps; all at once he
heard voices talking very close by. He turned his head, the street was
deserted, there was not a soul in it, it was broad daylight, and yet he
distinctly heard voices.

It occurred to him to glance over the wall which he was skirting.

There, in fact, sat two men, flat on the snow, with their backs against
the wall, talking together in subdued tones.

These two persons were strangers to him; one was a bearded man in a
blouse, and the other a long-haired individual in rags. The bearded man
had on a fez, the other's head was bare, and the snow had lodged in his
hair.

By thrusting his head over the wall, Marius could hear their remarks.

The hairy one jogged the other man's elbow and said:—

"—With the assistance of Patron-Minette, it can't fail."

"Do you think so?" said the bearded man.

And the long-haired one began again:—

"It's as good as a warrant for each one, of five hundred balls, and the
worst that can happen is five years, six years, ten years at the most!"

The other replied with some hesitation, and shivering beneath his fez:—

"That's a real thing. You can't go against such things."

"I tell you that the affair can't go wrong," resumed the long-haired man.
"Father What's-his-name's team will be already harnessed."

Then they began to discuss a melodrama that they had seen on the preceding
evening at the Gaite Theatre.

Marius went his way.

It seemed to him that the mysterious words of these men, so strangely
hidden behind that wall, and crouching in the snow, could not but bear
some relation to Jondrette's abominable projects. That must be the affair.

He directed his course towards the faubourg Saint-Marceau and asked at the
first shop he came to where he could find a commissary of police.

He was directed to Rue de Pontoise, No. 14.

Thither Marius betook himself.

As he passed a baker's shop, he bought a two-penny roll, and ate it,
foreseeing that he should not dine.

On the way, he rendered justice to Providence. He reflected that had he
not given his five francs to the Jondrette girl in the morning, he would
have followed M. Leblanc's fiacre, and consequently have remained ignorant
of everything, and that there would have been no obstacle to the trap of
the Jondrettes and that M. Leblanc would have been lost, and his daughter
with him, no doubt.

==Translation notes==

==Textual notes==

==Citations==
<references />

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		+	A lone person with a lone person, in a remote place, one won't think they're praying Our Father

	==Textual notes==		==Textual notes==

Volume 3/Book 8/Chapter 13 - Revision history

Historymaker: /* Translation notes */

Historymaker: Created page with "Les Misérables, Volume 3: Marius, Book Eighth: The Wicked Poor Man, Chapter 13: Solus cum solo, in loco remoto, non cogitabuntur orare pater noster (Tome 3: Mariu..."

Historymaker: Created page with "Les Misérables, Volume 3: Marius, Book Eighth: The Wicked Poor Man, Chapter 13: Solus cum solo, in loco remoto, non cogitabuntur orare pater noster
(Tome 3: Mariu..."