#x6; when he hired the chamber,, had stated that his name was Jondrette.   Some time after his moving in,, which had borne a singular resemblance to the entrance of nothing at all,, to borrow the memorable expression of the principal tenant,, this Jondrette had said to the woman,, who,, like her predecessor,, was at the same time portress and stair-sweeper: "Mother So-and-So,, if any one should chance to come and inquire for a Pole or an Italian,, or even a Spaniard,, perchance,, it is I."   This family was that of the merry barefoot boy.   He arrived there and found distress,, and,, what is still sadder,, no smile; a cold hearth and cold hearts.   When he entered,, he was asked: "Whence come you?"   He replied:   "From the street."   When he went away,, they asked him:   "Whither are you going?"   He replied: "Into the streets."   His mother said to him:   "What did you come here for?"   This child lived,, in this absence of affection,, like the pale plants which spring up in cellars.   It did not cause him suffering,, and he blamed no one.   He did not know exactly how a father and mother should be.   Nevertheless,, his mother loved his sisters.   We have forgotten to mention,, that on the Boulevard du Temple this child was called Little Gavroche.   Why was he called Little Gavroche?   Probably because his father's name was Jondrette.   It seems to be the instinct of certain wretched families to break the thread.   The chamber which the Jondrettes inhabited in the Gorbeau hovel was the last at the end of the corridor.   The cell next to it was occupied by a very poor young man who was called M. Marius.   Let us explain who this M. Marius was. BOOK SECOND.--THE GREAT BOURGEOIS CHAPTER I   NINETY YEARS AND THIRTY-TWO TEETH   In the Rue Boucherat,, Rue de Normandie and the Rue de Saintonge there still exist a few ancient inhabitants who have preserved the memory of a worthy man named M. Gillenormand,, and who mention him with complaisance.   This good man was old when they were young. This silhouette has not yet entirely disappeared--for those who regard with melancholy that vague swarm of shadows which is called the past-- from the labyrinth of streets in the vicinity of the Temple to which,, under Louis XIV.,, the names of all the provinces of France were appended exactly as in our day,, the streets of the new Tivoli quarter have received the names of all the capitals of Europe; a progression,, by the way,, in which progress is visible.   M.Gillenormand,, who was as much alive as possible in 1831,, was one of those men who had become curiosities to be viewed,, simply because they have lived a long time,, and who are strange because they formerly resembled everybody,, and now resemble nobody. He was a peculiar old man,, and in very truth,, a man of another age,, the real,, complete and rather haughty bourgeois of the eighteenth century,, who wore his good,, old bourgeoisie with the air with which marquises wear their marquisates.   He was over ninety years of age,, his walk was erect,, he talked loudly,, saw clearly,, drank neat,, ate,, slept,, and snored.   He had all thirty-two of his teeth. He only wore spectacles when he read.   He was of an amorous disposition,, but declared that,, for the last ten years,, he had wholly and decidedly renounced women.   He could no longer please,, he said; he did not add:   "I am too old,," but:   "I am too poor."   He said: "If I were not ruined--Heee!"   All he had left,, in fact,, was an income of about fifteen thousand francs.   His dream was to come into an inheritance and to have a hundred thousand livres income for mistresses.   He did not belong,, as the reader will perceive,, to that puny variety of octogenaries who,, like M. de Voltaire,, have been dying all their life; his was no longevity of a cracked pot; this jovial old man had always had good health.   He was superficial,, rapid,, easily angered.   He flew into a passion at everything,, generally quite contrary to all reason.   When contradicted,, he raised his cane; he beat people as he had done in the great century. He had a daughter over fifty years of age,, and unmarried,, whom he chastised severely with his tongue,, when in a rage,, and whom he would have liked to whip.   She seemed to him to be eight years old. He boxed his servants' ears soundly,, and said:   "Ah! carogne!" One of his oaths was:   "By the pantoufloche of the pantouflochade!" He had singular freaks of tranquillity; he had himself shaved every day by a barber who had been mad and who detested him,, being jealous of M. Gillenormand on account of his wife,, a pretty and coquettish barberess.   M. Gillenormand admired his own discernment in all things,, and declared that he was extremely sagacious; here is one of his sayings:   "I have,, in truth,, some penetration; I am able to say when a flea bites me,, from what woman it came."   The words which he uttered the most frequently were:   the sensible man,, and nature.   He did not give to this last word the grand acceptation which our epoch has accorded to it,, but he made it enter,, after his own fashion,, into his little chimney-corner satires: "Nature,," he said,, "in order that civilization may have a little of everything,, gives it even specimens of its amusing barbarism. Europe possesses specimens of Asia and Africa on a small scale. The cat is a drawing-room tiger,, the lizard is a pocket crocodile. The dancers at the opera are pink female savages.   They do not eat men,, they crunch them; or,, magicians that they are,, they transform them into oysters and swallow them.   The Caribbeans leave only the bones,, they leave only the shell.   Such are our morals.   We do not devour,, we gnaw; we do not exterminate,, we claw." BOOK SECOND.--THE GREAT BOURGEOIS CHAPTER II   LIKE MASTER,, LIKE HOUSE    He lived in the Marais,, Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire,, No. 6. He owned the house.   This house has since been demolished and rebuilt,, and the number has probably been changed in those revolutions of numeration which the streets of Paris undergo.   He occupied an ancient and vast apartment on the �
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 to affront unjust power,, again to insult drunken victory,, to hold one's position,, to stand one's ground; that is the example which nations need,, that is the light which electrifies them. The same formidable lightning proceeds from the torch of Prometheus to Cambronne's short pipe. BOOK FIRST.--PARIS STUDIED IN ITS ATOM CHAPTER XII   THE FUTURE LATENT IN THE PEOPLE    As for the Parisian populace,, even when a man grown,, it is always the street Arab; to paint the child is to paint the city; and it is for that reason that we have studied this eagle in this arrant sparrow. It is in the faubourgs,, above all,, we maintain,, that the Parisian race appears; there is the pure blood; there is the true physiognomy; there this people toils and suffers,, and suffering and toil are the two faces of man.   There exist there immense numbers of unknown beings,, among whom swarm types of the strangest,, from the porter of la Rapee to the knacker of Montfaucon.   Fex urbis,, exclaims Cicero; mob,, adds Burke,, indignantly; rabble,, multitude,, populace.   These are words and quickly uttered.   But so be it.   What does it matter? What is it to me if they do go barefoot!   They do not know how to read; so much the worse.   Would you abandon them for that?   Would you turn their distress into a malediction?   Cannot the light penetrate these masses?   Let us return to that cry:   Light! and let us obstinately persist therein!   Light!   Light!   Who knows whether these opacities will not become transparent?   Are not revolutions transfigurations? Come,, philosophers,, teach,, enlighten,, light up,, think aloud,, speak aloud,, hasten joyously to the great sun,, fraternize with the public place,, announce the good news,, spend your alphabets lavishly,, proclaim rights,, sing the Marseillaises,, sow enthusiasms,, tear green boughs from the oaks.   Make a whirlwind of the idea. This crowd may be rendered sublime.   Let us learn how to make use of that vast conflagration of principles and virtues,, which sparkles,, bursts forth and quivers at certain hours.   These bare feet,, these bare arms,, these rags,, these ignorances,, these abjectnesses,, these darknesses,, may be employed in the conquest of the ideal. Gaze past the people,, and you will perceive truth.   Let that vile sand which you trample under foot be cast into the furnace,, let it melt and seethe there,, it will become a splendid crystal,, and it is thanks to it that Galileo and Newton will discover stars. BOOK FIRST.--PARIS STUDIED IN ITS ATOM CHAPTER XIII   LITTLE GAVROCHE    Eight or nine years after the events narrated in the second part of this story,, people noticed on the Boulevard du Temple,, and in the regions of the Chateau-d'Eau,, a little boy eleven or twelve years of age,, who would have realized with tolerable accuracy that ideal of the gamin sketched out above,, if,, with the laugh of his age on his lips,, he had not had a heart absolutely sombre and empty. This child was well muffled up in a pair of man's trousers,, but he did not get them from his father,, and a woman's chemise,, but he did not get it from his mother.   Some people or other had clothed him in rags out of charity.   Still,, he had a father and a mother. But his father did not think of him,, and his mother did not love him.   He was one of those children most deserving of pity,, among all,, one of those who have father and mother,, and who are orphans nevertheless.   This child never felt so well as when he was in the street. The pavements were less hard to him than his mother's heart.   His parents had despatched him into life with a kick.   He simply took flight.   He was a boisterous,, pallid,, nimble,, wide-awake,, jeering,, lad,, with a vivacious but sickly air.   He went and came,, sang,, played at hopscotch,, scraped the gutters,, stole a little,, but,, like cats and sparrows,, gayly laughed when he was called a rogue,, and got angry when called a thief.   He had no shelter,, no bread,, no fire,, no love; but he was merry because he was free.   When these poor creatures grow to be men,, the millstones of the social order meet them and crush them,, but so long as they are children,, they escape because of their smallness.   The tiniest hole saves them.   Nevertheless,, abandoned as this child was,, it sometimes happened,, every two or three months,, that he said,, "Come,, I'll go and see mamma!" Then he quitted the boulevard,, the Cirque,, the Porte Saint-Martin,, descended to the quays,, crossed the bridges,, reached the suburbs,, arrived at the Salpetriere,, and came to a halt,, where?   Precisely at that double number 50-52 with which the reader is acquainted-- at the Gorbeau hovel.   At that epoch,, the hovel 50-52 generally deserted and eternally decorated with the placard:   "Chambers to let,," chanced to be,, a rare thing,, inhabited by numerous individuals who,, however,, as is always the case in Paris,, had no connection with each other. All belonged to that indigent class which begins to separate from the lowest of petty bourgeoisie in straitened circumstances,, and which extends from misery to misery into the lowest depths of society down to those two beings in whom all the material things of civilization end,, the sewer-man who sweeps up the mud,, and the ragpicker who collects scraps.   The "principal lodger" of Jean Valjean's day was dead and had been replaced by another exactly like her.   I know not what philosopher has said:   "Old women are never lacking."   This new old woman was named Madame Bourgon,, and had nothing remarkable about her life except a dynasty of three paroquets,, who had reigned in succession over her soul.   The most miserable of those who inhabited the hovel were a family of four persons,, consisting of father,, mother,, and two daughters,, already well grown,, all four of whom were lodged in the same attic,, one of the cells which we have already mentioned.   At first sight,, this family presented no very special feature except its extreme destitution; the father,,&
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    ;r hundred years ago,, like the slang of to-day,, is permeated with that sombre,, symbolical spirit which gives to all words a mien which is now mournful,, now menacing.   One feels in it the wild and ancient sadness of those vagrants of the Court of Miracles who played at cards with packs of their own,, some of which have come down to us.   The eight of clubs,, for instance,, represented a huge tree bearing eight enormous trefoil leaves,, a sort of fantastic personification of the forest. At the foot of this tree a fire was burning,, over which three hares were roasting a huntsman on a spit,, and behind him,, on another fire,, hung a steaming pot,, whence emerged the head of a dog.   Nothing can be more melancholy than these reprisals in painting,, by a pack of cards,, in the presence of stakes for the roasting of smugglers and of the cauldron for the boiling of counterfeiters.   The diverse forms assumed by thought in the realm of slang,, even song,, even raillery,, even menace,, all partook of this powerless and dejected character. All the songs,, the melodies of some of which have been collected,, were humble and lamentable to the point of evoking tears. The pegre is always the poor pegre,, and he is always the hare in hiding,, the fugitive mouse,, the flying bird.   He hardly complains,, he contents himself with sighing; one of his moans has come down to us:   "I do not understand how God,, the father of men,, can torture his children and his grandchildren and hear them cry,, without himself suffering torture."[43] The wretch,, whenever he has time to think,, makes himself small before the low,, and frail in the presence of society; he lies down flat on his face,, he entreats,, he appeals to the side of compassion; we feel that he is conscious of his guilt.    [43] Je n'entrave que le dail comment meck,, le daron des orgues,, peut atiger ses momes et ses momignards et les locher criblant sans etre agite lui-meme.    Towards the middle of the last century a change took place,, prison songs and thieves' ritournelles assumed,, so to speak,, an insolent and jovial mien.   The plaintive malure was replaced by the larifla. We find in the eighteenth century,, in nearly all the songs of the galleys and prisons,, a diabolical and enigmatical gayety. We hear this strident and lilting refrain which we should say had been lighted up by a phosphorescent gleam,, and which seems to have been flung into the forest by a will-o'-the-wisp playing the fife:--   Miralabi suslababo   Mirliton ribonribette   Surlababi mirlababo   Mirliton ribonribo.    This was sung in a cellar or in a nook of the forest while cutting a man's throat.   A serious symptom.   In the eighteenth century,, the ancient melancholy of the dejected classes vanishes.   They began to laugh. They rally the grand meg and the grand dab.   Given Louis XV. they call the King of France "le Marquis de Pantin."   And behold,, they are almost gay.   A sort of gleam proceeds from these miserable wretches,, as though their consciences were not heavy within them any more.   These lamentable tribes of darkness have no longer merely the desperate audacity of actions,, they possess the heedless audacity of mind.   A sign that they are losing the sense of their criminality,, and that they feel,, even among thinkers and dreamers,, some indefinable support which the latter themselves know not of. A sign that theft and pillage are beginning to filter into doctrines and sophisms,, in such a way as to lose somewhat of their ugliness,, while communicating much of it to sophisms and doctrines.   A sign,, in short,, of some outbreak which is prodigious and near unless some diversion shall arise.   Let us pause a moment.   Whom are we accusing here?   Is it the eighteenth century?   Is it philosophy?   Certainly not.   The work of the eighteenth century is healthy and good and wholesome. The encyclopedists,, Diderot at their head; the physiocrates,, Turgot at their head; the philosophers,, Voltaire at their head; the Utopians,, Rousseau at their head,,--these are four sacred legions. Humanity's immense advance towards the light is due to them. They are the four vanguards of the human race,, marching towards the four cardinal points of progress.   Diderot towards the beautiful,, Turgot towards the useful,, Voltaire towards the true,, Rousseau towards the just.   But by the side of and above the philosophers,, there were the sophists,, a venomous vegetation mingled with a healthy growth,, hemlock in the virgin forest.   While the executioner was burning the great books of the liberators of the century on the grand staircase of the court-house,, writers now forgotten were publishing,, with the King's sanction,, no one knows what strangely disorganizing writings,, which were eagerly read by the unfortunate. Some of these publications,, odd to say,, which were patronized by a prince,, are to be found in the Secret Library.   These facts,, significant but unknown,, were imperceptible on the surface. Sometimes,, in the very obscurity of a fact lurks its danger. It is obscure because it is underhand.   Of all these writers,, the one who probably then excavated in the masses the most unhealthy gallery was Restif de La Bretonne.   This work,, peculiar to the whole of Europe,, effected more ravages in Germany than anywhere else.   In Germany,, during a given period,, summed up by Schiller in his famous drama The Robbers,, theft and pillage rose up in protest against property and labor,, assimilated certain specious and false elementary ideas,, which,, though just in appearance,, were absurd in reality,, enveloped themselves in these ideas,, disappeared within them,, after a fashion,, assumed an abstract name,, passed into the state of theory,, and in that shape circulated among the laborious,, suffering,, and honest masses,, unknown even to the imprudent chemists who had prepared the mixture,, unknown even to the masses who accepted it.   Whenever a fact of this sort presents itself,, the case is grave.   Suffering engenders wrath; and while the prosperous classes blin&#x
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    020;those who were in the room and cried:   "Talk loud,, the rest of you.   Make a noise,, you people behind the scenes.   Come,, a little uproar,, the deuce! so that the children can chatter at their ease."   And,, approaching Marius and Cosette,, he said to them in a very low voice:   "Call each other thou.   Don't stand on ceremony."   Aunt Gillenormand looked on in amazement at this irruption of light in her elderly household.   There was nothing aggressive about this amazement; it was not the least in the world like the scandalized and envious glance of an owl at two turtle-doves,, it was the stupid eye of a poor innocent seven and fifty years of age; it was a life which had been a failure gazing at that triumph,, love.   "Mademoiselle Gillenormand senior,," said her father to her,, "I told you that this is what would happen to you."   He remained silent for a moment,, and then added:   "Look at the happiness of others."   Then he turned to Cosette.   "How pretty she is! how pretty she is!   She's a Greuze. So you are going to have that all to yourself,, you scamp! Ah! my rogue,, you are getting off nicely with me,, you are happy; if I were not fifteen years too old,, we would fight with swords to see which of us should have her.   Come now!   I am in love with you,, mademoiselle.   It's perfectly simple.   It is your right. You are in the right.   Ah! what a sweet,, charming little wedding this will make!   Our parish is Saint-Denis du Saint Sacrament,, but I will get a dispensation so that you can be married at Saint-Paul. The church is better.   It was built by the Jesuits. It is more coquettish.   It is opposite the fountain of Cardinal de Birague.   The masterpiece of Jesuit architecture is at Namur. It is called Saint-Loup. You must go there after you are married. It is worth the journey.   Mademoiselle,, I am quite of your mind,, I think girls ought to marry; that is what they are made for. There is a certain Sainte-Catherine whom I should always like to see uncoiffed.[62] It's a fine thing to remain a spinster,, but it is chilly.   The Bible says:   Multiply.   In order to save the people,, Jeanne d'Arc is needed; but in order to make people,, what is needed is Mother Goose.   So,, marry,, my beauties.   I really do not see the use in remaining a spinster!   I know that they have their chapel apart in the church,, and that they fall back on the Society of the Virgin; but,, sapristi,, a handsome husband,, a fine fellow,, and at the expiration of a year,, a big,, blond brat who nurses lustily,, and who has fine rolls of fat on his thighs,, and who musses up your breast in handfuls with his little rosy paws,, laughing the while like the dawn,,--that's better than holding a candle at vespers,, and chanting Turris eburnea!"   [62] In allusion to the expression,, coiffer Sainte-Catherine,, "to remain unmarried."    The grandfather executed a pirouette on his eighty-year-old heels,, and began to talk again like a spring that has broken loose once more: "Ainsi,, bornant les cours de tes revasseries,, Alcippe,, il est donc vrai,, dans peu tu te maries."[63]   [63] "Thus,, hemming in the course of thy musings,, Alcippus,, it is true that thou wilt wed ere long."    "By the way!"   "What is it,, father?"   "Have not you an intimate friend?"   "Yes,, Courfeyrac."   "What has become of him?"   "He is dead."   "That is good."   He seated himself near them,, made Cosette sit down,, and took their four hands in his aged and wrinkled hands:   "She is exquisite,, this darling.   She's a masterpiece,, this Cosette! She is a very little girl and a very great lady.   She will only be a Baroness,, which is a come down for her; she was born a Marquise. What eyelashes she has!   Get it well fixed in your noddles,, my children,, that you are in the true road.   Love each other. Be foolish about it.   Love is the folly of men and the wit of God. Adore each other.   Only,," he added,, suddenly becoming gloomy,, "what a misfortune!   It has just occurred to me!   More than half of what I possess is swallowed up in an annuity; so long as I live,, it will not matter,, but after my death,, a score of years hence,, ah! my poor children,, you will not have a sou!   Your beautiful white hands,, Madame la Baronne,, will do the devil the honor of pulling him by the tail."[64]    [64] Tirer le diable par la queue,, "to live from hand to mouth."    At this point they heard a grave and tranquil voice say:   "Mademoiselle Euphrasie Fauchelevent possesses six hundred thousand francs."   It was the voice of Jean Valjean.   So far he had not uttered a single word,, no one seemed to be aware that he was there,, and he had remained standing erect and motionless,, behind all these happy people.   "What has Mademoiselle Euphrasie to do with the question?" inquired the startled grandfather.   "I am she,," replied Cosette.   "Six hundred thousand francs?" resumed M. Gillenormand.   "Minus fourteen or fifteen thousand francs,, possibly,," said Jean Valjean.   And he laid on the table the package which Mademoiselle Gillenormand had mistaken for a book.   Jean Valjean himself opened the package; it was a bundle of bank-notes. They were turned over and counted.   There were five hundred notes for a thousand francs each,, and one hundred and sixty-eight of five hundred.   In all,, five hundred and eighty-four thousand francs.   "This is a fine book,," said M. Gillenormand.   "Five hundred and eighty-four thousand francs!" murmured the aunt.   "This arranges things well,, does it not,, Mademoiselle Gillenormand senior?" said the grandfather.   "That devil of a Marius has ferreted out the nest of a millionaire grisette in his tree of dreams! Just trust to the love affairs of young folks now,, will you! Students find studentesses with six hundred thousand francs. Cherubino works better than Rothschild."   "Five hundred and eighty-four thousand francs!" repeated Mademoiselle Gillenormand,, in a low tone.   "Five hundred and eighty-four! one might as well say six hundred thousand!"   As for Marius and Cosette,, they were gazing at each other while this was going on; they hardly heeded this detail
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