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Laigle de Meaux, as the reader knows, lived more with Joly than elsewhere. He had a

lodging, as a bird has one on a branch. The two friends lived together, ate together,

slept together. They had everything in common, even Musichetta, to some extent. They were,

what the subordinate monks who accompany monks are called, bini. On the morning of the 5th

of June, they went to Corinthe to breakfast. Joly, who was all stuffed up, had a catarrh

which Laigle was beginning to share. Laigle's coat was threadbare, but Joly was well

dressed. .

It was about nine o'clock in the morning, when they opened the door of Corinthe. .

They ascended to the first floor. .

Matelote and Gibelotte received them. .

"Oysters, cheese, and ham," said Laigle. .

And they seated themselves at a table. .

The wine-shop was empty; there was no one there but themselves. .

Gibelotte, knowing Joly and Laigle, set a bottle of wine on the table. .

While they were busy with their first oysters, a head appeared at the hatchway of the

staircase, and a voice said:-- .

"I am passing by. I smell from the street a delicious odor of Brie cheese. I

enter." It was Grantaire. .

Grantaire took a stool and drew up to the table. .

At the sight of Grantaire, Gibelotte placed two bottles of wine on the table. .

That made three. .

"Are you going to drink those two bottles?" Laigle inquired of Grantaire. .

Grantaire replied:-- .

"All are ingenious, thou alone art ingenuous. Two bottles never yet astonished a

man." .

The others had begun by eating, Grantaire began by drinking. Half a bottle was rapidly

gulped down. .

"So you have a hole in your stomach?" began Laigle again. .

"You have one in your elbow," said Grantaire. .

And after having emptied his glass, he added:-- .

"Ah, by the way, Laigle of the funeral oration, your coat is old." .

"I should hope so," retorted Laigle. "That's why we get on well

together, my coat and I. It has acquired all my folds, it does not bind me anywhere, it is

moulded on my deformities, it falls in with all my movements, I am only conscious of it

because it keeps me warm. Old coats are just like old friends." .

"That's true," ejaculated Joly, striking into the dialogue, "an old goat

is an old abi" (ami, friend). .

"Especially in the mouth of a man whose head is stuffed up," said Grantaire. .

"Grantaire," demanded Laigle, "have you just come from the

boulevard?" .

"No." .

"We have just seen the head of the procession pass, Joly and I." .

"It's a marvellous sight," said Joly. .

"How quiet this street is!" exclaimed Laigle. "Who would suspect that

Paris was turned upside down? How plainly it is to be seen that in former days there were

nothing but convents here! In this neighborhood! Du Breul and Sauval give a list of them,

and so does the Abbe Lebeuf. They were all round here, they fairly swarmed, booted and

barefooted, shaven, bearded, gray, black, white, Franciscans, Minims, Capuchins,

Carmelites, Little Augustines, Great Augustines, old Augustines--there was no end of

them." .

"Don't let's talk of monks," interrupted Grantaire, "it makes one want

to scratch one's self." .

Then he exclaimed:-- .

"Bouh! I've just swallowed a bad oyster. Now hypochondria is taking possession of

me again. The oysters are spoiled, the servants are ugly. I hate the human race. I just

passed through the Rue Richelieu, in front of the big public library. That pile of

oyster-shells which is called a library is disgusting even to think of. What paper! What

ink! What scrawling! And all that has been written! What rascal was it who said that man

was a featherless biped? [51] And then, I met a pretty girl of my acquaintance, who is as

beautiful as the spring, worthy to be called Floreal, and who is delighted, enraptured, as

happy as the angels, because a wretch yesterday, a frightful banker all spotted with

small-pox, deigned to take a fancy to her! Alas! Woman keeps on the watch for a protector

as much as for a lover; cats chase mice as well as birds. Two months ago that young woman

was virtuous in an attic, she adjusted little brass rings in the eyelet-holes of corsets,

what do you call it? She sewed, she had a camp bed, she dwelt beside a pot of flowers, she

was contented. Now here she is a bankeress. This transformation took place last night. I

met the victim this morning in high spirits. The hideous point about it is, that the jade

is as pretty to-day as she was yesterday. Her financier did not show in her face. Roses

have this advantage or disadvantage over women, that the traces left upon them by

caterpillars are visible. Ah! There is no morality on earth. I call to witness the myrtle,

the symbol of love, the laurel, the symbol of air, the olive, that ninny, the symbol of

peace, the apple-tree which came nearest rangling Adam with its pips, and the fig-tree,

the grandfather of petticoats. As for left, do you know what left is? The Gauls covet

Clusium, Rome protects Clusium, and demands what wrong Clusium has done to them. Brennus

answers: The wrong that Alba did to you, the wrong that Fidenae did to you, the wrong that

the Eques, the Volsci, and the Sabines have done to you. They were your neighbors.The

Clusians are ours. We understand neighborliness just as you do. You have stolen Alba, we

shall take Clusium.' Rome said: You shall not take Clusium.' Brennus took Rome. Then he

cried:Vae victis!' That is what left is. Ah! What beasts of prey there are in this world!

What eagles! It makes my flesh creep." .

[51] Bipede sans plume: biped without feathers--pen. .

He held out his glass to Joly, who filled it, then he drank and went on, having hardly

been interrupted by this glass of wine, of which no one, not even himself, had taken any

notice:-- .

"Brennus, who takes Rome, is an eagle; the banker who takes the grisette is an

eagle. There is no more modesty in the one case than in the other. So we believe in

nothing. There is but one reality: drink. Whatever your opinion may be in favor of the

lean cock, like the Canton of Uri, or in favor of the fat cock, like the Canton of Glaris,

it matters little, drink. You talk to me of the boulevard, of that procession, et caetera,

et caetera. Come now, is there going to be another revolution? This poverty of means on

the part of the good God astounds me. He has to keep greasing the groove of events every

moment. There is a hitch, it won't work. Quick, a revolution! The good God has his hands

perpetually black with that cart-grease. If I were in his place, I'd be perfectly simple

about it, I would not wind up my mechanism every minute, I'd lead the human race in a

straightforward way, I'd weave matters mesh by mesh, without breaking the thread, I would

have no provisional arrangements, I would have no extraordinary repertory. What the rest

of you call progress advances by means of two motors, men and events. But, sad to say,

from time to time, the exceptional becomes necessary. The ordinary troupe suffices neither

for event nor for men: among men geniuses are required, among events revolutions. Great

accidents are the law; the orderof things cannot do without them; and, judging from the

apparition of comets, one would be tempted to think that Heaven itself finds actors needed

for its performance. At the moment when one expects it the least, God placards a meteor on

the wall of the firmament. Some queer star turns up, underlined by an enormous tail. And

that causes the death of Caesar. Brutus deals him a blow with a knife, and God a blow with

a comet. Crac, and behold an aurora borealis, behold a revolution, behold a great man; '93

in big letters, Napoleon on guard, the comet of 1811 at the head of the poster. Ah! What a

beautiful blue theatre all studded with unexpected flashes! Boum! Boum! Extraordinary

show! Raise your eyes, boobies. Everything is in disorder, the star as well as the drama.

Good God, it is too much and not enough. These resources, gathered from exception,seem

magnificence and poverty.My friends, Providence has come down to expedients. What does a

revolution prove? That God is in a quandry. He effects a coup d'etat because he, God, has

not been able to make both ends meet. In fact, this confirms me in my conjectures as to

Jehovah's fortune; and when I see so much distress in heaven and on earth, from the bird

who has not a grain of millet to myself without a hundred thousand livres of income, when

I see human destiny, which is very badly worn, and even royal destiny, which is

threadbare, witness the Prince de Conde hung, when I see winter, which is nothing but a

rent in the zenith through which the wind blows, when I see so many rags even in the

perfectly new purple of the morning on the crests of hills, when I see the drops of dew,

those mock pearls, when I see the frost, that paste, when I see humanity ripped apart and

events patched up, and so many spots on the sun and so many holes in the moon, when I see

so much misery everywhere, I suspect that God is not rich. The appearance exists, it is

true, but I feel that he is hard up. He gives a revolution as a tradesman whose money-box

is emptygives a ball. God must not be judged from appearances. Beneath the gilding of

heaven I perceive a poverty-stricken universe. Creation is bankrupt. That is why I am

discontented. Here it is the 4th of June, it is almost night; ever since this morning I

have been waiting for daylight to come; it has not come, and I bet that it won't come all

day. This is the inexactness of an ill-paid clerk. Yes, everything is badly arranged,

nothing fits anything else, this old world is all warped, I take my stand on the

opposition, everything goes awry; the universe is a tease. It's like children, those who

want them have none, and those who don't want them have them. Total: I'm vexed. Besides,

Laigle de Meaux, that bald-head, offends my sight. It humiliates me to think that I am of

the same age as that baldy. However, I criticise, but I do not insult. The universe is

what it is. I speak here without evil intent and to ease my conscience. Receive, Eternal

Father, the assurance of my distinguished consideration. Ah! By all the saints of Olympus

and by all the gods of paradise, I was not intended to be a Parisian, that is to say, to

rebound forever, like a shuttlecock between two battledores, from the group of the

loungers to the group of the roysterers. I was made to be a Turk, watching oriental houris

all day long, executing those exquisite Egyptian dances, as sensuous as the dream of a

chaste man, or a Beauceron peasant, or a Venetian gentleman surrounded by gentlewoman, or

a petty German prince, furnishing the half of a foot-soldier to the Germanic

confederation, and occupying his leisure with drying his breeches on his hedge, that is to

say, his frontier. Those are the positions for which I was born! Yes, I have said a Turk,

and I will not retract. I do not understand how people can habitually take Turks in bad

part; Mohammed had his good points; respect for the inventor of seraglios with houris and

paradises with odalisques! Let us not insult Mohammedanism, the only religion which is

ornamented with a hen-roost! Now, I insist on a drink. The earth is a great piece of

stupidity. And it appears that they are going to fight, all those imbeciles, and to break

each other's profiles and to massacre each other in the heart of summer, in the month of

June, when they might go off with a creature on their arm, to breathe the immense heaps of

new-mown hay in the meadows! Really, people do commit altogether too many follies. An old

broken lantern which I have just seen at a bric-a-brac merchant's suggests a reflection to

my mind; it is time to enlighten the human race. Yes, behold me sad again. That's what

comes of swallowing an oyster and a revolution the wrong way! I am growing melancholy once

more. Oh! Frightful old world. People strive, turn each other out, prostitute themselves,

kill each other, and get used to it!" .

And Grantaire, after this fit of eloquence, had a fit of coughing, which was well

earned. .

"A propos of revolution," said Joly, "it is decidedly abberent that

Barius is in lub." .

"Does any one know with whom?" demanded Laigle. .

"Do." .

"No?" .

"Do! I tell you." .

"Marius' love affairs!" exclaimed Grantaire. "I can imagine it. Marius

is a fog, and he must have found a vapor. Marius is of the race of poets. He who says

poet, says fool, madman, Tymbraeus Apollo. Marius and his Marie, or his Marion, or his

Maria, or his Mariette. They must make a queer pair of lovers. I know just what it is

like. Ecstasies in which they forget to kiss. Pure on earth, but joined in heaven. They

are souls possessed of senses. They lie among the stars." .

Grantaire was attacking his second bottle and, possibly, his second harangue, when a

new personage emerged from the square aperture of the stairs. It was a boy less than ten

years of age, ragged, very small, yellow, with an odd phiz, a vivacious eye, an enormous

amount of hair drenched with rain, and wearing a contented air. .

The child unhesitatingly making his choice among the three, addressed himself to Laigle

de Meaux. .

"Are you Monsieur Bossuet?" .

"That is my nickname," replied Laigle. "What do you want with me?" .

"This. A tall blonde fellow on the boulevard said to me: Do you know Mother

Hucheloup?' I said:`Yes, Rue Chanvrerie, the old man's widow;' he said to me:`Go there.

There you will find M. Bossuet. Tell him from me: "A B C".' It's a joke that

they're playing on you, isn't it. He gave me ten sous." .

"Joly, lend me ten sous," said Laigle; and, turning to Grantaire:

"Grantaire, lend me ten sous." .

This made twenty sous, which Laigle handed to the lad. .

"Thank you, sir," said the urchin. .

"What is your name?" inquired Laigle. .

"Navet, Gavroche's friend." .

"Stay with us," said Laigle. .

"Breakfast with us," said Grantaire, .

The child replied:-- .

"I can't, I belong in the procession, I'm the one to shout `Down with

Polignac!'" .

And executing a prolonged scrape of his foot behind him, which is the most respectful

of all possible salutes, he took his departure. .

The child gone, Grantaire took the word:-- .

"That is the pure-bred gamin. There are a great many varieties of the gamin

species. The notary's gamin is called Skip-the-Gutter, the cook's gamin is called a

scullion, the baker's gamin is called a mitron, the lackey's gamin is called a groom, the

marine gamin is called the cabin-boy, the soldier's gamin is called the drummer-boy, the

painter's gamin is called paint-grinder, the tradesman's gamin is called an errand-boy,

the courtesan gamin is called the minion, the kingly gamin is called the dauphin, the god

gamin is called the bambino." .

In the meantime, Laigle was engaged in reflection; he said half aloud:-- .

"A B C,that is to say: the burial of Lamarque." .

"The tall blonde," remarked Grantaire, "is Enjolras, who is sending you

a warning." .

"Shall we go?" ejaculated Bossuet. .

"It's raiding," said Joly. "I have sworn to go through fire, but not

through water. I don't wand to ged a gold." "I shall stay here," said

Grantaire. "I prefer a breakfast to a hearse." .

"Conclusion: we remain," said Laigle. "Well, then, let us drink.

Besides, we might miss the funeral without missing the riot." .

"Ah! the riot, I am with you!" cried Joly. .

Laigle rubbed his hands. .

"Now we're going to touch up the revolution of 1830. As a matter of fact, it does

hurt the people along the seams." .

"I don't think much of your revolution," said Grantaire. "I don't

execrate this Government. It is the crown tempered by the cotton night-cap. It is a

sceptre ending in an umbrella. In fact, I think that to-day, with the present weather,

Louis Philippe might utilize his royalty in two directions, he might extend the tip of the

sceptre end against the people, and open the umbrella end against heaven." .

The room was dark, large clouds had just finished the extinction of daylight. There was

no one in the wine-shop, or in the street, every one having gone off "to watch

events." .

"Is it mid-day or midnight?" cried Bossuet. "You can't see your hand

before your face. Gibelotte, fetch a light." .

Grantaire was drinking in a melancholy way. .

"Enjolras disdains me," he muttered. "Enjolras said:`Joly is ill,

Grantaire is drunk.' It was to Bossuet that he sent Navet. If he had come for me, I would

have followed him. So much the worse for Enjolras! I won't go to his funeral." .

This resolution once arrived at, Bossuet, Joly, and Grantaire did not stir from the

wine-shop. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the table at which they sat was covered with

empty bottles. Two candles were burning on it, one in a flat copper candlestick which was

perfectly green, the other in the neck of a cracked carafe. Grantaire had seduced Joly and

Bossuet to wine; Bossuet and Joly had conducted Grantaire back towards cheerfulness. .

As for Grantaire, he had got beyond wine, that merely moderate inspirer of dreams, ever

since mid-day. Wine enjoys only a conventional popularity with serious drinkers. There is,

in fact, in the matter of inebriety, white magic and black magic; wine is only white

magic. Grantaire was a daring drinker of dreams. The blackness of a terrible fit of

drunkenness yawning before him, far from arresting him, attracted him. He had abandoned

the bottle and taken to the beerglass. The beer-glass is the abyss. Having neither opium

nor hashish on hand, and being desirous of filling his brain with twilight, he had had

recourse to that fearful mixture of brandy, stout, absinthe, which produces the most

terrible of lethargies. It is of these three vapors, beer, brandy, and absinthe, that the

lead of the soul is composed. They are three grooms; the celestial butterfly is drowned in

them; and there are formed there in a membranous smoke, vaguely condensed into the wing of

the bat, three mute furies, Nightmare, Night, and Death, which hover about the slumbering

Psyche. .

Grantaire had not yet reached that lamentable phase; far from it. He was tremendously

gay, and Bossuet and Joly retorted. They clinked glasses. Grantaire added to the eccentric

accentuation of words and ideas, a peculiarity of gesture; he rested his left fist on his

knee with dignity, his arm forming a left angle, and, with cravat untied, seated astride

a stool, his full glass in his left hand, he hurled solemn words at the big maid-servant

Matelote:-- .

"Let the doors of the palace be thrown open! Let every one be a member of the

French Academy and have the left to embrace Madame Hucheloup. Let us drink." .

And turning to Madame Hucheloup, he added:-- .

"Woman ancient and consecrated by use, draw near that I may contemplate

thee!" .

And Joly exclaimed:-- .

"Matelote and Gibelotte, dod't gib Grantaire anything more to drink. He has

already devoured, since this bording, in wild prodigality, two francs and ninety-five

centibes." .

And Grantaire began again:-- .

"Who has been unhooking the stars without my permission, and putting them on the

table in the guise of candles?" .

Bossuet, though very drunk, preserved his equanimity. .

He was seated on the sill of the open window, wetting his back in the falling rain, and

gazing at his two friends. .

All at once, he heard a tumult behind him, hurried footsteps, cries of "To

arms!" He turned round and saw in the Rue Saint-Denis, at the end of the Rue de la

Chanvrerie, Enjolras passing, gun in hand, and Gavroche with his pistol, Feuilly with his

sword, Courfeyrac with his sword, and Jean Prouvaire with his blunderbuss, Combeferre with

his gun, Bahorel with his gun, and the whole armed and stormy rabble which was following

them. .

The Rue de la Chanvrerie was not more than a gunshot long. Bossuet improvised a

speaking-trumpet from his two hands placed around his mouth, and shouted:-- .

"Courfeyrac! Courfeyrac! Hohee!" .

Courfeyrac heard the shout, caught sight of Bossuet, and advanced a few paces into the

Rue de la Chanvrerie, shouting: "What do you want?" which crossed a "Where

are you going?" .

"To make a barricade," replied Courfeyrac. .

"Well, here! This is a good place! Make it here!" .

"That's true, Aigle," said Courfeyrac. .

And at a signal from Courfeyrac, the mob flung themselves into the Rue de la

Chanvrerie. .

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