Les Misérables, v. 3/5: Marius Read online

  Produced by Laura Natal & Marc D'Hooghe athttps://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously madeavailable by the Hathi Trust.)

  LES MISÉRABLES.

  BY

  VICTOR HUGO.

  PART THIRD.

  MARIUS.

  AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION BY SIR LASCELLES WRAXALL.

  BOSTON:

  LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

  1887.

  MARIUS]

  TABLE OF CONTENTS.

  MARIUS.

  BOOK I.

  PARIS STUDIED IN ITS GAMIN.

  I. PARVULUS II. THE GAMIN'S CHARACTERISTICS III. HE IS AGREEABLE IV. HE MAY BE USEFUL V. HIS CONFINES VI. A BIT OF HISTORY VII. THE GAMIN WOULD HAVE HIS PLACE IN INDIAN CASTES VIII. A CHARMING ANECDOTE OF THE LAST KING IX. THE OLD SOUL OF GAUL X. ECCE PARIS, ECCE HOMO XI. THE REIGN OF RIDICULE XII. THE FUTURE LATENT IN THE PEOPLE XIII. LITTLE GAVROCHE

  BOOK II.

  LE GRAND BOURGEOIS.

  I. NINETY YEARS AND TWO-AND-THIRTY TEETH II. LIKE MASTER, LIKE HOME III. LUC ESPRIT IV. AN ASPIRING CENTENARIAN V. BASQUE AND NICOLETTE VI. MAGNON AND HER TWO LITTLE ONES VII. RULE: NO ONE RECEIVED UNTIL EVENING VIII. TWO DO NOT MAKE A PAIR

  BOOK III.

  GRANDFATHER AND GRANDSON.

  I. AN OLD DRAWING-ROOM II. A RED SPECTRE OF THAT DAY III. REQUIESCANT! IV. THE END OF THE BRIGAND V. MARIUS MEETS A CHURCHWARDEN VI. WHAT RESULTED FROM MEETING A CHURCHWARDEN VII. SOME PETTICOAT VIII. MARBLE AGAINST GRANITE

  BOOK IV.

  THE FRIENDS OF THE A. B. C.

  I. A GROUP THAT NEARLY BECAME HISTORICAL II. BOSSUET'S FUNERAL ORATION ON BLONDEAU III. MARIUS IS ASTONISHED IV. THE BACK ROOM OF THE CAFÉ MUSAIN V. ENLARGEMENT OF THE HORIZON VI. RES ANGUSTA

  BOOK V.

  THE GOOD OF MISFORTUNE.

  I. MARIUS IS INDIGENT II. MARIUS POOR III. MARIUS GROWS IV. M. MAB?'UF V. POVERTY A GOOD NEIGHBOR TO MISERY VI. THE SUBSTITUTE

  BOOK VI.

  THE CONJUNCTION OF TWO STARS.

  I. NICKNAMES AND SURNAMES II. LUX FACTA EST III. THE EFFECT OF SPRING IV. BEGINNING OF A GREAT MALADY V. MAME BOUGON IS THUNDER-STRUCK VI. TAKEN PRISONER VII. ADVENTURES OF THE LETTER "U" LEFT TO CONJECTURES VIII. EVEN INVALIDS MAY BE LUCKY IX. ECLIPSE

  BOOK VII.

  PATRON MINETTE.

  I. MINES AND MINERS II. THE BOTTOM III. BABET, GUEULEMER, CLAQUESOUS, AND MONTPARNASSE IV. COMPOSITION OF THE TROOP

  BOOK VIII.

  THE EVIL POOR.

  I. MARIUS LOOKING FOR A GIRL'S BONNET MEETS A MAN'S CAP II. MARIUS FINDS SOMETHING III. FOUR LETTERS IV. A ROSE IN WRETCHEDNESS V. A PROVIDENTIAL PEEP-HOLE VI. THE WILD-BEAST MAN IN HIS LAIR VII. STRATEGY AND TACTICS VIII. A SUNBEAM IN THE GARRET IX. JONDRETTE ALMOST CRIES X. THE TARIFF OF CAB-FARES XI. WRETCHEDNESS OFFERS HELP TO SORROW XII. THE USE OF M. LEBLANC'S FIVE-FRANC PIECE XIII. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT XIV. A POLICE-AGENT GIVES A LAWYER TWO "KNOCK-ME-DOWNS" XV. JONDRETTE MAKES HIS PURCHASE XVI. A SONG TO AN ENGLISH AIR POPULAR IN 1832 XVII. THE USE OF MARIUS'S FIVE-FRANC PIECE XVIII. THE TWO CHAIRS FACE TO FACE XIX. TREATING OF DARK DEPTHS XX. THE TRAP XXI. ALWAYS BEGIN BY ARRESTING THE VICTIMS XXII. THE LITTLE CHILD WHO CRIED IN VOLUME SECOND

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  LE GRAND BOURGEOIS Vol. III. FrontispieceDrawn by G. Jeanniot.

  BEGINNING OF A GREAT MALADYDrawn by G. Jeanniot.

  MARIUS

  BOOK I.

  PARIS STUDIED IN ITS GAMIN.

  CHAPTER I.

  PARVULUS.

  Paris has a child and the forest has a bird; the bird is called asparrow, the child is called a gamin. Couple these two ideas, the onewhich is all furnace, the other all dawn; bring the two sparks, Parisand childhood, into collision, and a little being is produced,--a_homuncio_, as Plautus would say.

  This little being is joyous; he does not eat every day, and he goesto the theatre every night if he thinks proper. He has no shirt onhis body, no shoes on his feet, and no covering on his head; he islike the flies, which have none of those things. He is from seven tothirteen years of age, lives in gangs, rambles about the streets,lodges in the open air, wears an old pair of his father's trousers,which descend lower than his heels, an old hat belonging to some otherfather, which comes below his ears, and one yellow list brace. He runs,watches, begs, kills time, colors pipes, swears like a fiend, hauntsthe wine-shop, knows thieves, is familiar with women of the town, talksslang, sings filthy songs, and has nothing bad in his heart; for he hasin his soul a pearl, Innocence; and pearls are not dissolved by mud.So long as the man is a child, God desires that he should be innocent.If we were to ask the enormous city, "What is this creature?" it wouldreply, "It is my little one."

  CHAPTER II.

  THE GAMIN'S CHARACTERISTICS.

  The gamin of Paris is the dwarf of the giantess. Let us not exaggerate:this cherub of the gutter has sometimes a shirt, but in that case hasonly one; he has shoes at times, but then they have no soles; he hasat times a home, and likes it, for he finds his mother there; but heprefers the street, because he finds liberty there. He has games ofhis own, and his own tricks, of which hatred of the respectable classconstitutes the basis, and he has metaphors of his own,--thus, to bedead, he calls eating dandelions by the root. He has trades of hisown,--fetching hackney coaches, letting down steps, imposing tollsfrom one side of the street to the other in heavy showers, which hecalls making _ponts des arts_, and shouting out speeches made by theauthorities in favor of the French people. He has also a currencyof his own, composed of all the little pieces of copper that can bepicked up in the streets. This curious money, which takes the name of_loques,_ has an unvarying and well-established value in this childishBohemia.

  Lastly, he has a fauna of his own, which he studiously observes inevery hole and corner,--the Lady-bird, the death's-head moth, thedaddy long-legs, and the "devil," a black insect which threatens bywrithing its tail, and which is armed with two horns. He has hisfabulous monster, which has scales on its belly and is not a lizard,and spots on its back but is not a frog; it lives in holes in oldlime-kilns and dried-up wells; it is black, hairy, slimy, and crawlsabout, at one moment slowly, at another quickly; it utters no sound,but looks so terrible that no one has ever seen it. This monster hecalls _le sourde,_ and looking for it under stones is a pleasure of aformidable nature. Another pleasure is suddenly to raise a paving-stoneand look at the woodlice. Every region of Paris is interesting for thecelebrated "finds" which may be made in them; thus, there are earwigsin the timber-yards of the Ursulines, centipedes at the Panthéon, andtadpoles in the ditches of the Champs de Mars.

  As for witticisms, this child is as full of them as Talleyrand; butthough no less cynical, he is more honest. He is gifted with anunforeseen joviality, and startles the shop-keeper by his mad laugh.His range extends from genteel comedy to farce. A funeral passes, andamong the persons following is a physician. "Hilloh!" shouts a gamin,"when did the doctors begin to carry home their own work?"

  Another is in a crowd. A serious man, adorned with spectacles andwatch-seals, turns indignantly: "You scoundrel, what do you mean bytaking my wife's waist?" "I, sir? Search me!"

  CHAPTER III.

  HE IS AGREEABLE.

  At night, thanks to a few half-pence which he always contrives toprocure, the _homuncio_
enters a theatre. On crossing this magicalthreshold he becomes transfigured; he was a gamin, and he becomes the_titi_. Theatres are like overturned vessels, which have their hold inthe air, and the titis congregate in the hold. The titi is to the gaminas the butterfly to the chrysalis,--the same being, but now flying andhovering. It is sufficient for him to be present, with his radianthappiness, his power of enthusiasm and delight, and the clapping of hishands, which resembles the flapping of wings; and the narrow, fetid,obscure, dirty, unhealthy, hideous, abominable hold is at once calledParadise.

  Give a being what is useless, and deprive him of what is necessary, andyou will have the gamin. He possesses some literary intuition, and histastes,--we confess it with all proper regret,--are not classical. Heis by nature but little of an academician.

  This being bawls, shouts, ridicules, and fights; wears patches likea babe, and rags like a philosopher; fishes in the gutter, sports inthe sewers, extracts gayety from filth, grins and bites, whistlesand sings, applauds and hisses, tempers the Hallelujah Chorus withMatanturlurette, hums every known tune, finds without looking, knowswhat he is ignorant of, is a Spartan in filching, is foolish even towisdom, is lyrical even to dirt, would squat upon Olympus, wallows onthe dungheap and emerges covered with stars. The gamin of Paris is theboy Rabelais.

  He is not satisfied with his trousers if they have no watch-pockets.

  He is surprised at little, and frightened by less; he sings downsuperstitions, reduces exaggerations, puts out his tongue at ghosts,depoetizes stilts, and introduces caricature into the most seriousaffairs. It is not that he is prosaic, far from it; but he substitutesa farcical phantasmagoria for solemn vision. If Adamastor were toappear to him, the gamin would say, "Hilloh, old Bogy!"

  CHAPTER IV.

  HE MAY BE USEFUL.

  Paris begins with the badaud and ends with the gamin: two beingsof which no other city is capable; the passive acceptance which issatisfied with looking, and the inexhaustible initiative; Prudhommeand Fouillou. Paris alone has that in its natural history: all themonarchy is in the badaud, all the anarchy is in the gamin. This palechild of the faubourgs of Paris lives, and is developed, and grows upin suffering, a thoughtful witness in the presence of social realitiesand human things. He believes himself reckless, but is not so: he lookson, ready to laugh, but also ready for something else. Whoever you maybe who call yourself prejudice, abuses, ignominy, oppression, iniquity,despotism, injustice, fanaticism, or tyranny, take care of the yawninggamin.

  This little fellow will grow. Of what clay is he made? Of anything.Take a handful of mud, a breath, and you have Adam. It is sufficientfor a God to pass, and God has ever passed over the gamin. Fortunetoils for this little being, though by the word fortune we mean to someextent chance. Will this pygmy, moulded in the coarse common clay,ignorant, uneducated, brutal, violent, and of the populace, be anIonian or a Bœotian? Wait a while, _dum currit rota_, and the geniusof Paris, that demon which creates children of accident and men ofdestiny, will behave exactly contrary to the Latin potter, and make anamphora out of the earthenware jar.

  CHAPTER V.

  HIS CONFINES.

  The gamin loves the town, but he loves solitude as well, for thereis something of the sage in him: he is _urbis amator_ like Fuscus,and _ruris amator_ like Flaccus. To wander about dreamily, that is,to lounge, is an excellent employment of time for the philosopher,particularly in that slightly bastard sort of country, ugly enough,but strange and composed of two natures, that surrounds certain largecities, and notably Paris. Observing the suburbs is looking at anamphibious scene; it is the end of the trees and the beginning of theroofs, the end of the grass and the beginning of the pavement, the endof the furrows and the beginning of the shops, the end of the beatenpaths and the beginning of passions, the end of the divine murmur andthe beginning of human reason, and all this produces an extraordinaryinterest; and such is the motive of the apparently objectless walks ofthe dreamer in those unattractive parts which the passer-by at oncebrands with the title of "dull."

  The author of these lines was for a long time a prowler about thesuburbs of Paris, and it is a source of profound recollection for him.The worn grass, the stony path, the chalk, the marl, the plaster, therough monotony of ploughed and fallow land, the young market-gardenplants suddenly noticed in a hollow, the mixture of the wild and thetame, the vast deserted nooks in which the garrison drummers hold theirnoisy school, these Thebaïds by day and cut-throat dens by night, thetottering mill turning in the wind, the drawing-wheels of the quarries,the wine-shops at the corners of the cemeteries, the mysterious charmof the tall dark walls cutting at right angles immense open fieldsbathed in sunshine and full of butterflies,--all this attracted him.

  Hardly any one knows those singular spots,--la Glacière, la Cimette,the hideous wall of Grenelle pock-marked with bullets, the MontParnasse, the Fosse aux Loups, the Tombe Issoire, or the Pierre Platede Chatillon, where there is an old exhausted quarry, which is nowonly employed to grow mushrooms, and is closed by a heap of rottenboards flush with the ground. The Campagna of Rome is an idea, andthe banlieue of Paris is another: to see in what an horizon offersus nought but fields, houses, or trees, is to remain on the surface;for all the aspects of things are the thoughts of God. The spot wherea plain forms its junction with a town is always imprinted with aspecies of penetrating melancholy; for nature and humanity address yousimultaneously, and local peculiarities make their appearance there.

  Any one who has wandered as we have in those solitudes contiguous toour suburbs which might be called the Limbos of Paris has seen hereand there, at the most deserted spot, and at the most unexpectedmoment, behind a scrubby hedge, or in the corner of some melancholywall, children grouped tumultuously, fetid, muddy, dusty, unkempt, andragged, playing together, wreathed with corn-flowers. They are thelittle runagates of poor families: this external boulevard is theirbreathing medium, and the banlieue belongs to them, and they eternallyplay truant in it. They ingenuously sing there their repertory ofunclean songs. They are there, or, to speak more correctly, they dwellthere, far from any eye, in the gentle warmth of May or June. Circlinground a hole in the ground and snapping marbles, like irresponsible,freed, and happy beings, so soon as they perceive you they rememberthat they have a trade and must gain their livelihood, and they offerto sell you an old wool stocking full of may-bugs, or a spray of lilac.Such a meeting with chance children is one of the charming and yetpoignant graces of the environs of Paris.

  Sometimes there are girls among the heap of boys,--are they theirsisters?--almost grown up, thin, feverish, sunburnt and freckled,crowned with wheat-ears and poppies, gay, haggard, and barefooted. Youmay see them eating cherries among the wheat, and at night hear themlaugh. These groups, warmly illumined by the bright light of mid-day,or seen in the twilight, for a long time occupy the dreamer, and thesevisions are mingled with his dreams.

  Paris is the centre, the banlieue is the circumference,--that is, thewhole earth, for these children. They never venture beyond it, and canno more leave the Parisian atmosphere than fish can live out of water.With them there is nothing beyond two leagues from the barrière; Ivry,Gentilly, Arcueil, Belleville, Aubervilliers, Ménilmontant, Choisy leRoi, Bellancourt, Meudon, Issy, Vauvres, Sèvres, Puteaux, Neuilly,Gennevilliers, Colombes, Romainville, Chalon, Asnières, Bougival,Nanterre, Enghien, Noisy-le-sec, Nogent, Gournay, Drancy, and Gonesse,--at these places their universe ends.

  CHAPTER VI.

  A BIT OF HISTORY.

  At the epoch almost contemporary with the action of this book therewas not, as at the present day, a policeman at every street corner (ablessing which we have no time to discuss), and wandering childrenabounded in Paris. Statistics give us an average of two hundred andsixty shelterless children picked up annually by the police of thatday in unenclosed fields, in houses building, and under the archesof bridges. One of these nests, which became famous, produced "theswallows of the Rue d'Arcole." This, by the way, is the most disastrousof social symptoms, for all the c
rimes of the man begin with thevagabondage of the lad.

  We must except Paris, however, and in a relative degree, and in spiteof the statistics we have just quoted, the exception is fair. While inany other great city a vagabond child is a ruined man, while nearlyeverywhere the boy left to himself is to some extent devoted and leftto a species of fatal immersion in public vice, which destroys honorand conscience within him, the gamin of Paris, though externally soinjured, is internally almost intact. It is a magnificent thing to beable to say, and one revealed in the splendid probity of our popularrevolutions, that a certain incorruptibility emanates from the ideawhich is in the atmosphere of Paris, as from the salt which is in theocean water. Breathing Paris preserves the soul.

  But what we have just stated does not in any way decrease theheart-contraction which we feel every time we meet one of these lads,around whom we fancy that we can see the threads of the broken familyfluttering. In our present civilization, which is still so incomplete,it is not a very abnormal fact that families thus broken up should notknow what becomes of their children, and allow their own flesh andblood to fall upon the highway. Hence come these obscure destinies; andthis sad thing has become proverbial, and is known as "being cast onthe pavement of Paris."

  Let us remark parenthetically that such desertion of children wasnot discouraged by the old monarchy. A little of the Bohemian andEgyptian element in the lower classes suited the higher spheres, andthe powerful ones profited by it. Hatred of national education wasa dogma; of what good were half-lights? Such was the sentence, andthe vagabond boy is the corollary of the ignorant boy. Besides, themonarchy sometimes wanted lads, and then it skimmed the streets. Inthe reign of Louis XIV., to go no farther back, the King wished,rightly enough, to create a fleet. The idea was good; but let us lookat the means. No fleet is possible unless you have by the side of thesailing-vessels, which are the plaything of the winds, vessels whichcan be sent wherever may be necessary, or be used as tugs, impelledby oars or steam; and in those days galleys were to the navy whatsteam-vessels now are. Hence galleys were needed; but galleys are onlymoved through the galley-slave, and hence the latter must be procured.Colbert ordered the Provincial intendants and parliaments to produceas many convicts as they could, and the magistrates displayed greatcomplaisance in the matter. A man kept on his hat when a processionpassed; that was a Huguenot attitude, and he was sent to the galleys.A boy was met in the street; provided that he was fifteen years of ageand had no place to sleep in, he was sent to the galleys. It was agreat reign, a great age.