#lm 1.7.1

[les-mis-daily-doodles]

oh hey they’re nice ig

[scuttleton]

LM 1.7.1

New book: The Champmathieu Affair

"Soeur Simplice" is the chapter title, and soeur means "sister" as in a nun, apparently.

Not all the incidents that are to be read about here were generally known in Montreuil-sur-Mer, but the little that did come to public knowledge left such a lasting memory in that town that it would constitute a serious lacuna in this book if we did not relate them in the smallest detail.

Oh boy

Among these details the reader will encounter two or three improbable circumstances that we preserve out of respect for the truth.

HAHA

"I know it sounds crazy but I promise it's true 🥺"

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.

Trying to figure out how the mayor can live above him and yet somehow he can see a shadow from the upstairs window on... His own window?? Am I being obtuse or does that make no sense

[empressofkashyr]

Brickclub 1.7.1 ‘Sister Simplice’

Hugo focuses a lot on the fact that this sister has never lied once in her life. This innocuous detail my seem irrelevant now, but it will be very important later, and is something of a Chekov's Nun

[cliozaur]

Just a couple of points concerning this chapter:

I'm intrigued by what might have occurred in Hugo's life that led him to disdain truthfulness and almost elevate the ability to lie out of necessity to a virtue. Valjean excels at deceit and performance, which proves crucial for his survival on multiple occasions. In contrast, Javert is pathologically incapable of lying (he does it just once in his life), and this trait doesn't make him a better person; instead, it renders him both villainous and ridiculous. Sister Simplice shares a similar aversion to lying (at least at this point): "the sacred truth was Sister Simplice’s distinctive trait; it was the accent of her virtue." For her, lies are equated with the devil. However, unlike Javert, Sister Simplice will demonstrate more flexibility.

When introducing Sister Perpétue, Hugo unveils his perspective on peasants. It's evident that among intellectuals, attitudes toward peasants have not changed much since the eighteenth century. In this regard, Hugo aligns with the views of Voltaire, which was somewhat unexpected.

[lesmisletters-daily]

Sister Simplice

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.7.1

The incidents the reader is about to peruse were not all known at M. sur M. But the small portion of them which became known left such a memory in that town that a serious gap would exist in this book if we did not narrate them in their most minute details. Among these details the reader will encounter two or three improbable circumstances, which we preserve out of respect for the truth.

On the afternoon following the visit of Javert, M. Madeleine went to see Fantine according to his wont.

Before entering Fantine’s room, he had Sister Simplice summoned.

The two nuns who performed the services of nurse in the infirmary, Lazariste ladies, like all sisters of charity, bore the names of Sister Perpétue and Sister Simplice.

Sister Perpétue was an ordinary villager, a sister of charity in a coarse style, who had entered the service of God as one enters any other service. She was a nun as other women are cooks. This type is not so very rare. The monastic orders gladly accept this heavy peasant earthenware, which is easily fashioned into a Capuchin or an Ursuline. These rustics are utilized for the rough work of devotion. The transition from a drover to a Carmelite is not in the least violent; the one turns into the other without much effort; the fund of ignorance common to the village and the cloister is a preparation ready at hand, and places the boor at once on the same footing as the monk: a little more amplitude in the smock, and it becomes a frock. Sister Perpétue was a robust nun from Marines near Pontoise, who chattered her patois, droned, grumbled, sugared the potion according to the bigotry or the hypocrisy of the invalid, treated her patients abruptly, roughly, was crabbed with the dying, almost flung God in their faces, stoned their death agony with prayers mumbled in a rage; was bold, honest, and ruddy.

Sister Simplice was white, with a waxen pallor. Beside Sister Perpétue, she was the taper beside the candle. Vincent de Paul has divinely traced the features of the Sister of Charity in these admirable words, in which he mingles as much freedom as servitude: “They shall have for their convent only the house of the sick; for cell only a hired room; for chapel only their parish church; for cloister only the streets of the town and the wards of the hospitals; for enclosure only obedience; for gratings only the fear of God; for veil only modesty.” This ideal was realized in the living person of Sister Simplice: she had never been young, and it seemed as though she would never grow old. No one could have told Sister Simplice’s age. She was a person—we dare not say a woman—who was gentle, austere, well-bred, cold, and who had never lied. She was so gentle that she appeared fragile; but she was more solid than granite. She touched the unhappy with fingers that were charmingly pure and fine. There was, so to speak, silence in her speech; she said just what was necessary, and she possessed a tone of voice which would have equally edified a confessional or enchanted a drawing-room. This delicacy accommodated itself to the serge gown, finding in this harsh contact a continual reminder of heaven and of God. Let us emphasize one detail. Never to have lied, never to have said, for any interest whatever, even in indifference, any single thing which was not the truth, the sacred truth, was Sister Simplice’s distinctive trait; it was the accent of her virtue. She was almost renowned in the congregation for this imperturbable veracity. The Abbé Sicard speaks of Sister Simplice in a letter to the deaf-mute Massieu. However pure and sincere we may be, we all bear upon our candor the crack of the little, innocent lie. She did not. Little lie, innocent lie—does such a thing exist? To lie is the absolute form of evil. To lie a little is not possible: he who lies, lies the whole lie. To lie is the very face of the demon. Satan has two names; he is called Satan and Lying. That is what she thought; and as she thought, so she did. The result was the whiteness which we have mentioned—a whiteness which covered even her lips and her eyes with radiance. Her smile was white, her glance was white. There was not a single spider’s web, not a grain of dust, on the glass window of that conscience. On entering the order of Saint Vincent de Paul, she had taken the name of Simplice by special choice. Simplice of Sicily, as we know, is the saint who preferred to allow both her breasts to be torn off rather than to say that she had been born at Segesta when she had been born at Syracuse—a lie which would have saved her. This patron saint suited this soul.

Sister Simplice, on her entrance into the order, had had two faults which she had gradually corrected: she had a taste for dainties, and she liked to receive letters. She never read anything but a book of prayers printed in Latin, in coarse type. She did not understand Latin, but she understood the book.

This pious woman had conceived an affection for Fantine, probably feeling a latent virtue there, and she had devoted herself almost exclusively to her care.

M. Madeleine took Sister Simplice apart and recommended Fantine to her in a singular tone, which the sister recalled later on.

On leaving the sister, he approached Fantine.

Fantine awaited M. Madeleine’s appearance every day as one awaits a ray of warmth and joy. She said to the sisters, “I only live when Monsieur le Maire is here.”

She had a great deal of fever that day. As soon as she saw M. Madeleine she asked him:—

“And Cosette?”

He replied with a smile:—

“Soon.”

M. Madeleine was the same as usual with Fantine. Only he remained an hour instead of half an hour, to Fantine’s great delight. He urged every one repeatedly not to allow the invalid to want for anything. It was noticed that there was a moment when his countenance became very sombre. But this was explained when it became known that the doctor had bent down to his ear and said to him, “She is losing ground fast.”

Then he returned to the town-hall, and the clerk observed him attentively examining a road map of France which hung in his study. He wrote a few figures on a bit of paper with a pencil.

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

Round 1, Matchup 51: I.vii.1 vs II.viii.1

Which chapter title do you prefer?

Sister Simplice

In Which is Treated the Manner of Entering the Convent

Voting ended onApr 25, 2025

[dolphin1812]

I think it’s interesting that Sister Simplice’s honesty permits her to transcend age (no one can tell how old she is) and gender (”a person - we dare not say a woman”) when honesty’s importance is so mixed in the novel as a whole and in this section in particular. Of course, many instances of lying in this book are obviously harmful. We’ve just seen how the Thénardiers lie to Fantine in their letters to try to get as much money as possible out of her while separating her from Cosette. However, we’ve also seen the consequences of a focus on honesty above all else. Madeleine’s factory only requires “honesty” from the workers, but that demand is what got Fantine fired. Fantine may not have been hired at all if she’d told the truth about having a child outside of marriage, and then she wouldn’t have ever experienced the financial stability she had while working at the factory. Similarly, Jean Valjean relies on lies to stay safe. In theory, it’d be wonderful if he could tell the truth of his life, but false identities are what keep him out of prison.

I don’t want to imply that Sister Simplice’s honesty is a form of privilege. Hugo specifies that her name comes from a martyr who chose to die rather than lie, suggesting that she too would tell the truth even if it cost her her life. I think it’s instead a sign that there are multiple ways to be “good” and that they all have their flaws. We saw this with the bishop as well. His commitment to charity and compassion undoubtedly makes him good and admirable, but his avoidance of politics makes it difficult for him to address the systemic aspects of these issues. In contrast, the Conventionist was working for political change, but that came at the cost of violence. Even though he was opposed to monarchy, he specified that he didn’t vote for the death of the king, and while he did feel that the violence of the old order explained the violence of the Revolution, the fact that he spent so much time on this question indicates that it’s a difficult issue to navigate. 

In addition to allowing multiple systems of morality to co-exist, I think Hugo is pointing out the difference between actually adhering to a moral code and paying lip service to it. Everyone in Montreuil-sur-Mer seems fixated on honesty, but most of them (such as Mme Victurnien) are hypocritical about it as well. Sister Simplice, however, is genuinely honest. When she preaches the value of this trait, she’s not doing so to harm others, but out of a real belief that it’s right.

[katenepveu]

So Les Mis Letters through the end of Part One, "Fantine."

(Reminder: I know very little about the plot, so please: no spoilers! Thank you.)

This turned out long (what a surprise!) so I will pop it behind a read-more.

I continue to be bemused by Hugo's approach to verisimilitude and sources. I would be perfectly happy to just roll with it, but he keeps calling to my attention the places in which he cannot know just as much as the places where he claims he does! Consider this from 1.7.3, "A Storm on the Brain":

It’s only in this sense that we should understand the words often used in this chapter: he said, he cried out. We say to ourselves, we talk to ourselves, we cry out inside ourselves, without the outer silence being broken. There is a great tumult; everything in us speaks, except our mouths. The realities of the soul are no less real for not being visible and tangible.

Beautiful, true, and also putting flashing neon lights around "none of this monologue could have been overheard by anyone!"

And then this from the chapter immediately after:

The nightmare struck him so forcefully he later wrote it down. It is one of the notes written in his own hand that he left behind. We believe we should transcribe the thing verbatim here.

Maybe it's because I really pay attention to how a work carries through its chosen narrative framework, but I find these constant attempts to reinforce the text's authoritativeness to have exactly the opposite effect.

To continue with the narrative's approach, I note this from 1.7.1, "Sister Simplice":

Among these details, the reader will come across two or three improbable circumstances that we are keeping out of respect for the truth.

All of 1.7 seems to be improbable circumstances stacked on improbable circumstances! This is not an objection, to be clear: Hugo obviously wanted to produce the specific effect of rapid tension-release-mounting tension of the journey to Arras, which works very well--even though I didn't actually have any doubt, this time, about how Jean Valjean was going to decide.

And that inevitability makes it pointless, for me, to quibble with the logistics--even though I admit I wanted to. For instance, I managed to restrain myself from looking up the possibility of appeals at this time in France, even though my day job is as an appellate lawyer: not the point! And while I tagged the post about the mayor's inability to delegate with "management! is! a skill!!!!"--because my day job also includes managing people and I have a lot of feelings about that--I know that's part of the larger point being made, about how ingrained prejudices manifest even in social structures that are meant to help and how there's only such much a single person can do.

So while I did think, quite a bit, about the competing duties to Fantine and Cosette and to Champmathieu, ultimately I couldn't judge Jean Vajlean as a person for his choice because as a reader, I didn't experience it as a choice, I experienced it as Hugo moving him through the plot to produce the desired effect. For a while I was looking for Good Place trolley problem gifs, thinking I would have Jean as the driver and Hugo as Michael making it all bloody; but then I came across this one, which seems extremely apropos (transcription in alt):

Jean Valjean, being our very explicit Christ analogue (1.7.3), could never do anything else.

(Do I wish that Fantine lived? You bet. Am I surprised? Again, no. Do I see it as Hugo demonstrating that women get the worst of it, and also Hugo demonstrating that he's sexist? why not both.gif!)

Finally, as a lawyer, I fully appreciate Hugo reading my profession for filth in 1.7.9:

The defense counsel had given a pretty good summing up in that provincial lingo that had long constituted the eloquence of the bar and that lawyers used to use in days gone by, every bit as much in Romorantin as in Paris or Montbrison, which today, having become classic and therefore old hat, is scarcely spoken anymore other than by the official orators at the bar, for whom it is most useful in its grave sonority and its majestic tone: a language in which a husband or a wife is called a spouse, Paris, the center of the arts and of civilization, the king, the monarch, my lord bishop, the holy pontiff, the counsel for the prosecution, the eloquent interpreter for the prosecution, the speech for the defense, the strains we have just heard, the century of Louis XIV, the grand siècle, a theater, a temple of Melpomene, the reigning royal family, the august blood of our kings, a concert, a solemn celebration of music, the general in command, the illustrious warrior who, etc., theology students, those gentle Levites, mistakes imputed to newspapers, the imposture that distills its venom in the columns of these organs, etc., etc.

I try very hard not to fall into that myself, but he's not wrong.