Chapter 95 Volume Three Fulfilling His Promise to the Dead

Montfermeil lies between Livry and Sierre, on the southern foot of the plateau between the Oulque and the Marne.Today, this is a fairly large town, with the same whitewashed villas all year round, and more cheerful gentry on Sundays.Montfermeil in 1823 did not have so many whitewashed houses, nor did it have so many proud gentry.It was just a country in the woods.At that time, there were only a few good-looking houses here and there. They were grand and spacious, with balconies surrounded by coiled iron railings. The small pieces of glass on the long windows reflected different shades of green on the closed white-painted shutters. It turns out that those houses were left over from the previous century.But Montfermeil was still just a village.Merchants who are tired of traveling and scholars who love mountains and forests have not yet discovered it.It was a peaceful and pleasant place not on any traffic line, and the people there lived a rural life with low prices, easy livelihood, and ample food and clothing.The fly in the ointment is that the terrain is high and the water source is scarce.

People have to walk a considerable distance to fetch water.Those who live in the village near Garni can get water from a secluded pond in the woods; Drinking water can only be obtained from a small spring on the mountainside halfway up a quarter of an hour's journey. Therefore, the supply of water is quite hard work for every family.Those rich families, the noble class, to which Thenardier's inn belongs, usually exchange a penny for a pail of water to an old man who is a water bearer, and the old man sells water at Montfermeil for about a day. Eight sous; but he worked only till seven in the evening in summer, and till five in winter; and after dark, when the downstairs windows were closed, whoever had no water had to fetch it himself, or not drink it.

That was what little Cosette was most afraid of, that poor little girl, perhaps the reader has not forgotten.We remember that Cosette had a double use in the eyes of the Thenardiers: they received money from the mother and labor from the child.Thus, when her mother had stopped sending money altogether—for reasons we have seen in previous chapters—the Thenardiers kept Cosette.She saved a female worker for them.Since she is in such a position, whenever she needs water, she has to get it.The child was terrified every time he thought of reaching for water from the spring in the dark, so she took great care to never let the master lack water.

Christmas in 1823 was particularly lively at Montfermeil.Early winter was mild, with no freezing and no snow yet.A few jugglers came from Paris, and with the permission of the mayor, they set up a barn in the village street, while a gang of merchants, with the same accommodation, set up on the empty square in front of the chapel. Temporary pavements were erected on it, and extended into the Baker's Lane, in which, we may remember, Thénardier's inn was located.All the taverns and taverns were packed, and brought a lively and lively atmosphere to the quiet little place.There is one more thing we should mention, so that we can be faithful to the ancients.Among the grotesque things on display on the empty grounds, there is an animal gallery. There are some clowns there. He showed the villagers of Montfermeil one of those formidable vultures from Brazil, with eyes like a tricolor cockade, which the Royal Museum did not acquire until 1845.Natural scientists call that bird, I think, Caracalla Polyporus, of the class of birds of prey, the family of eagles.A few good veterans in the village, Bonaparte's former ministry, went to see the bird, and fell in love with the Lord spontaneously.The jugglers declared the tricolor cockade eyes to be a unique phenomenon, created by a merciful God just for their animal gallery.

On Christmas Eve, a number of people, some drivers and shopkeepers, were sitting in the low room of Thenardier's inn, around four or five candles on a table, drinking.In that room, like all tavern rooms, there were tables, tin cans, glass bottles, drinkers, smokers, dimly lit candles, and a din of voices.But in 1823 there were always two fashionable things on the tables of the propertied classes: a kaleidoscope and a shining tin lamp.Madame Thenardier was preparing dinner in front of a blazing oven, and the master Thenardier was drinking and talking politics with his guests. The main content of those conversations was about the Spanish war and Monsieur Duke of Angouleme, and there would also be one or two passages of local color from the din of people, such as:

"Around Nanterre and Suresnes, the wine production is quite high. It was estimated that only 100% of the wine was produced, but 120% was produced. There is a lot of juice coming out of the press." "But the grapes may not be ripe, right?" The grapes in those places have to be harvested before they are ripe. If they are ripe, the wine will be fouled in spring." "So, those wines are all light wines?" "Weaker than the wines here. The grapes are still green I have to pick it up..." Or a miller cried out: "Can we take responsibility for what's in the pocket? It's full of little bastards that can't be shelled, we can't make that kind of joke, we have to send them all to the mill, and there are barnyard seeds, Fennel seeds, cumin seeds, pigeon peas, hemp seeds, jaffold seeds, foxtail seeds, and a whole host of other things, not counting the pebbles in some wheat, especially in Brittany. There's a lot of it in the wheat. I really don't like grinding Breton wheat any more than a sawman likes sawing squares with nails. Just think of the ashes you get out of grinding that way. But people keep complaining about the flour Not good. They don't understand the situation. That flour is not our fault."

Between the two windows, a lawnmower and a farm owner were sitting at a table, discussing work on the pasture in spring, and the lawnmower said: "Wet grass is not bad at all, but easy to cut. Dew is a good thing, sir. It doesn't matter. The grass, your grass, is still young, so it's hard to handle. It's still so soft, and it bows its head when it touches the knife edge. ..." Cosette remained in her usual place, sitting on a bar under a vegetable-table by the fire.She was dressed in rags, with bare feet and wooden shoes, and she was knitting wool stockings for the little girl of the Thenardier family by the dim light of the fire.There was a little kitten playing under the chair.In the next room could be heard the clear chatter and laughter of two children, Eponine and Azma.

In the corner of the fireplace hung a leather whip. From somewhere in the room the cry of a very small child came from somewhere into the dining room, high and thin among the noise.It was a little boy born to Madame Thenardier in the winter of the previous two years. She often said: "I don't know why, it's the effect of the cold weather." The little boy was just over three years old. he.When the urgency of the little trick had become too irritating, Thenardier said: "Your son is whining again; go and see what he wants." The mother replied: "Don't worry about it! It's a nuisance." The neglected child continued to yell in the dark.