Book 2, Chapter 3 of Les Miserables, translated by Isabelle F. Hapgood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Miserable by Victor Hugo. Book 2, The Fall. Chapter 3, The Heroism of Passive Obedience. The door opened. It opened wide with a rapid movement, as though someone had given it an energetic and resolute push. A man entered. We already know the man. It was the Wayfarer whom we have seen wandering about in search of shelter. He entered, advanced to step and halted, leaving the door open behind him.  The fire on the hearth lighted him up. He was hideous. It was a sinister apparition. Adam Magliore had not even the strength to utter a cry. She trembled and stood with her mouth wide open. Man was up, Epistene turned round, beheld the man entering, and half started up in terror. Then, turning her head by degrees towards the fireplace again, she began to observe her brother, and her phallus became once more profoundly calm and serene. The bishop fixed a tranquil eye on the man. As he opened his mouth, doubtless to ask the newcomer what he desired, the man rested both hands on his staff, directed his gaze at the old man and the two women, and without waiting for the bishop to speak, he said, in a loud voice, See here, my name is Jean Valjean. I am a convict from the galleys. I have passed nineteen years in the galleys. I was liberated four days ago, and am on my way to Pontarlier, which is my destination. I have been walking for four days since I left Hulon. I have traveled a dozen leagues to-day on foot. This evening, when I arrived in these parts, I went to an inn, and they turned me out because of my yellow passport, which I had shown at the town hall. I had to do it. I went to an inn. They said to me, Be off at both places. No one would take me. I went to the prison. The jailer would not admit me. I went into a dog's kennel. The dog bit me and chased me off, as though he had been a man. No one would have said that he knew who I was. I went into the fields, intending to sleep in the open air beneath the stars. There were no stars. I thought it was going to rain, and I re-entered the town, to seek the recess of the doorway. Yonder in the square, I meant to sleep on a stone bench. A good woman pointed out your house to me and said, Knock there. I have knocked. What is this place? Do you keep an inn? I have money, savings, one hundred and nine frong, fifteen sous, which I earned in the galleys by my labor in the course of nineteen years. I will pay. What is that to me? I have money. I am very weary, twelve leeks on foot. I am very hungry. Are you willing that I should remain? Madame MacLeory said the bishop. You will set another place. The man advanced three paces and approached the lamp which was on the table. Stop, he resumed, as though he had not quite understood. That's not it. Did you hear? I'm a galleyslave, a convict. I come from the galleys. He drew from his pocket a large sheet of yellow paper, which he unfolded. Here's my passport, yellow, as you see. This serves to expel me from every place where I go. Will you read it? I know how to read. I learned in the galleys. There is a school there for those who choose to learn. Hold, this is what they put on this passport. Jean Valjean, convicted convict, native of, that is nothing to you, has been nineteen years in the galleys, five years for housebreaking and burglary, fourteen years for having attempted to escape on four occasions. He is a very dangerous man. There, everyone has cast me out. Are you willing to receive me? Is this an inn? Will you give me something to eat in a bed? Have you a stable? Madame Magliore said the bishop, you will put white sheets on the bed in the alcove. We have already explained the character of the two women's obedience. Madame Magliore retired to execute these orders. The bishop turned to the man. Sit down, sir, and warm yourself. We are going to sup in a few moments, and your bed will be prepared while you are supping. At this point, the man suddenly comprehended. The expression on his face, up to that time, somber and harsh, bore the imprint of stupefication, of doubt, of joy, and became extraordinary. He began stammering like a crazy man. Really? What? You will keep me? You do not drive me forth? A convict? You call me sir? You do not address me as thou?  It's what people always say to me. I felt sure that you would expel me, so I told you what once who I am.  I am going to sup! A bed with mattress and sheets, like the rest of the world! A bed! It is nineteen years since I have slept in a bed. You actually do not want me to go? You are good people. I have money. I will pay well. Pardon me, most of the innkeeper, but what is your name? I will pay anything you ask. You are a fine man.  I am, replied the bishop. A priest who lives here. A priest, replied the man. Oh, what a fine priest! Then you are not going to demand any money of me?  The cura of this big church? Well, I am a fool, truly. I have not perceived your school cap. As he spoke, he deposited his knapsack and his cudgel in a corner, replaced his passport in his pocket, and seated himself. Man was eloped to Steen, gazed mildly at him. He continued, You are humane, monsieur le cura, you have not scorned me. A good priest is a very good thing. Then you do not require me to pay? No, said the bishop, keep your money. How much have you? Did you not tell me one hundred and nine francs? And fifteen sous, added the man. One hundred and nine francs, fifteen sous. And how long did it take you to earn that? Nineteen years. Nineteen years. The bishop sighed deeply. The man continued, I have still the whole of my money. In four days I have spent only twenty-five sous, which I earned by helping unload some wagons at Grosse.  And one day I saw a bishop there. Monsignor is what they call him. He was the bishop of Mahore, at Marseille. He is the cura who rules over the other cura, as you understand. Pardon me, I say that very badly, but it is such a far-off thing to me. You understand what we are. He set masses in the middle of the galleys on an altar. He had a pointed thing made of gold on his head. He glittered in the bright light of midday. We were all ranged in lines on the three sides, with cannons with lighted matches facing us. We could not see very well. He spoke, but he was too far off, and we did not hear. That is what a bishop is like. While he was speaking, the bishop had gone and shut the door, which had remained wide open. Madame Magliore returned. She brought a silver fork and spoon, which she placed on the table. Madame Magliore said the bishop, place those things as near the fire as possible, and turning to his guest, the night wind is harsh on the alps. You must be cold, sir.  Monsignor, to a convict, is like a glass of water to one of the shipwrecks of the Medusa. Ignomy thirsts for consideration. This lamp gives a very pat light to the bishop. Madame Magliore understood him and went to get the two silver candlesticks from the chimney piece in Monsignor's bed chamber, and placed them lighted on the table.  The bishop, who was sitting close to him, gently touched his hand. You could not help telling me who you were. This is not my house. It is the house of Jesus Christ. This storage does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty, you are welcome, and do not thank me, do not say that I receive you in my house. No one is at home here, except the man who needs a refuge. I say to you, who are passing by, that you are much more at home than I am myself. Everything here is yours. What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me, you had one which I knew. The man opened his eyes in astonishment. Really? You knew what I was called? Yes, replied the bishop. You were called my brother. Stop, Mr. Le Curay, exclaimed the man. I was very hungry when I entered here, but you are so good that I no longer know what has happened to me. The bishop looked at him and said, you have suffered much. Oh, the red coat, the ball and the ankle, a plank to sleep on, heat, cold, toil, the convicts, the thrashings, the double chain for nothing, the cell for one word, even sick and in bed, still the chain. Dogs, dogs are happier, 19 years. I am 46. Now there is the yellow passport. That is what it is like. Yes, resumed the bishop. You have come from a very sad place.   If you emerge with thoughts of goodwill and of peace, you are more worthy than any one of us. In the meantime, Madame Magliore had served supper, soup made with water, oil, bread and salt, a little bacon, a bit of mutton, figs, a fresh cheese and a large loaf of rye bread. She had, of her own accord, added to the bishop's ordinary fare, a bottle of his old mauve wine. The bishop's face at once assumed that expression of gaiety which is peculiar to hospitable natures. To table, he cried very faciously. As was his custom when a stranger sucked with him, he made the man sit on his right. Man was elbaptistine, perfectly peaceable and natural, took her seat at his left. The bishop asked a blessing that helped the soup himself according to his custom. The man began to eat with avidity. All at once the bishop says, it strikes me there is something missing on this table. Madame Magliore had, in fact, only placed the three sets of forks and spoons which were absolutely necessary. Now it was the usage of the house when the bishop had anyone to supper to lay out the whole six sets of silver on the tablecloth, an innocent ostentation. This graceful semblance of luxury was a kind of child's play which was full of charm in that gentle and severe household which raised poverty into dignity. Madame Magliore understood the remark, went out without saying a word, and a moment later the three sets of silver forks and spoons demanded by the bishop were glittering upon the cloth, symmetrically arranged before the three persons seated at the table. End of book two, chapter three, recording by Melissa. Book two, chapter four of Les Misérables, translated by Isabelle F. Hapgood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Melissa. Les Misérables, by Victor Hugo. Book two, The Fall. Chapter four, details concerning the cheese dairies of Pont Arléais. Now, in order to convey an idea of what happened at that table, we cannot do better than to transcribe here a passage from one of Manouazelle Baptistine's letters to Madame Bois-Chevron, where in the conversation between the convict and the bishop is described within genius minuteness. This man paid no attention to anyone. He ate with the veracity of a starving man. However, after supper he said, Monsieur le Cureux of the good God, all this is far too good for me, but I must say that the carters who would not allow me to eat with them keep a better table than you do. Between ourselves, the remark rather shocked me. My brother replied, they are more fatigued than I. No, return to the man. They have more money. You are poor. I see that plainly. You cannot be even a curate. Are you really a curé? Ah, if the good God were but just, you certainly ought to be a curé. The good God is more than just, said my brother. A moment later he added, Monsieur Jean Vergent, is it to Pont Arléais that you are going? With my road marked out for me. I think that is what the man said. Then he went on, I must be on my way by daybreak tomorrow. Traveling is hard. If the nights are cold, the days are hot. You are going to a good country, said my brother. During the revolution, my family was ruined. I took refuge in Franch-Compt at first, and there I lived for some time by the twill of my hands. My will was good. I found plenty to occupy me. One has only to choose. There are paper mills, tanneries, distilleries, boil factories, watch factories on a large scale, steel mills, copper works, 20 iron foundries at least, four of which situated at Lowe's, at Châtillon, at Adencourt, and at Baire, are tolerably large. I think I am not mistaken in saying that those are the names which my brother mentioned. When he interrupted himself and addressed me, have we not some relatives in those parts, my dear sister? I replied, We did have some. Among others, Monsieur de Lucenay, who was captain of the gates at Pontarlier under the old regime. Yes, resumed my brother, but in 93 one had no longer any relatives, one had only one's arms. I worked. They have in the country of Pontarlier, whether you are going, Monsieur Vajon, a truly patriarchal and truly charming industry, my sister. It is their cheese-daries which they call frutillaires. Then my brother, while urging the man to eat, explained to him, with great minuteness, what these frutillaires of Pontarlier were, that they were divided into two classes, the big barns which belonged to the rich, and where there are forty or fifty cows, which produce from seven to eight thousand cheeses each summer, and the associative frutillaires, which belong to the poor. These are the peasants of Mid-Mountain, who hold their cows in common and share their proceeds. They engage the services of cheesemaker, whom they call the grourenne. The grourenne receives the milk of the associates three times a day, and marks the quantity on a double tally. It is towards the end of April that the work of the cheese-daries begins. It is towards the middle of June that the cheesemakers drive their cows to the mountain. The man recovered his animation as he ate. My brother made him drink that good mauve wine, which he does not drink himself, because he says that wine is expensive. My brother imparted all these details, with that easy gaze he of his, with which you are acquainted, interspersing his words with graceful attentions to me. He recurred frequently to that comfortable trade of grourenne, as though he wished the man to understand, without advising him directly and harshly, that this would afford him a refuge. One thing struck me. This man was what I have told you. Well, neither during supper, nor during the entire evening, did my brother utter a single word, with the exception of a few words about Jesus when he entered, which could remind the man of what he was, nor of what my brother was. To all appearances, it was the occasion for preaching him a little sermon, and of impressing the bishop on the convict, so that a mark of the passage might remain behind. This might have appeared to anyone else who had this unfortunate man in his hands, to afford a chance to nourish his soul, as well as his body, and to pursue upon him some reproach, seasoned with moralizing advice, or a little commiseration, with an exhortation to conduct himself better in the future. My brother did not even ask him from what country he came, nor what was his history. For in his history there was a fault, and my brother seemed to avoid everything, which could remind him of it. To such a point did he carry it, that at one time, when my brother, who was speaking of the Mountaineers of Pontaillier, who exercised his gentle labor near heaven, and who he added are happy because they are innocent, he stopped short, fearing less than this remark, there might have escaped him something which might wound the man. By dint of reflection, I think I have comprehended what was passing in my brother's heart. He was thinking, no doubt, that this man, whose name is Jean Valjean, had his misfortune only to vividly present in his mind, and that the best thing was to divert him from it, and to make him believe, if only momentarily, that he was a person like any other by treating him in just his ordinary way. Is this not indeed to understand charity well? Is there not, dear Madame, something truly evangelical in this delicacy which abstains from sermon, from moralizing, from illusions, and is not the truest pity when a man has a sore point not to touch it at all? It has seemed to me that this might have been my brother's private thought. In any case, what I can say is that, if he entertained all these ideas, he gave no sign of them. From beginning to end, even to me he was the same as he is every evening, and he sucked with his Jean Valjean with the same air, and in the same manner in which he might have sucked with Monsieur Gediand the provost, or with the curates of the parish. Towards the end, when he had reached the figs, there came a knock at the door. It was Mother Gerbeau, with her little one in her arms. My brother kissed the child on the brow, and borrowed fifteen Sue, which I had about me, to give to Mother Gerbeau. The man was not paying much heed to anything then. He was no longer talking, and he seemed very much fatigued. After poor old Gerbeau had taken her departure, my brother said, Grace, that he turned to the man and said to him, you must be in great need of your bed. Madame Magliore cleared the table very promptly. I understood that we must retire, in order to allow this traveler to go to sleep, and we both went upstairs. Nevertheless, I sent Madame Magliore down a moment later to carry to the man's bed a goat's skin from the black forest, which was in my room. The nights are frigid, and that keeps one warm. It is a pity that this skin is old, all the hair is falling out. My brother bought it while he was in Germany, at Totlingen, near the sources of the Danube, as well as the little ivory-handled knife which I use at table. Madame Magliore returned immediately. We set our prayers in the drawing room, where we hang up the linen, and then we each retired to our own chambers, without saying a word to each other. End of Book Two, Chapter Four, recording by Melissa. Book Two, Chapter Five, of Les Miserables, translated by Isabelle F. Hapgood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Charlene V. Smith. Book Two, The Fall, Chapter Five, Tranquility. After bidding his sister good night, Monsignor Bienvenue took one of the two silver candlesticks from the table, handed the other to his guest, and said to him, Monsieur, I will conduct you to your room. The man followed him. As might have been observed from what has been said above, the house was so arranged that in order to pass into the oratory where the alcove was situated, or to get out of it, it was necessary to traverse the bishop's bedroom. At the moment when he was crossing this apartment, Madame McClure was putting away the silverware in the cupboard near the head of the bed. This was her last care every evening before she went to bed. The bishop installed his guest in the alcove. A fresh white bed had been prepared there. The man set the candle down on a small table. Well, said the bishop, may you pass a good night. Tomorrow morning, before you set out, you shall drink a cup of warm milk from our cows. Thanks, Monsieur Labais, said the man. Hardly had he pronounced these words full of peace when all of a sudden and without transition he made a strange movement which would have frozen the two sainted women with horror had they witnessed it. Even at this day it is difficult for us to explain what inspired him at that moment. Did he intend to convey a warning or to throw out a menace? Was he simply obeying a sort of instinctive impulse which was obscure even to himself? He turned abruptly to the old man, folded his arms and bending upon his host a savage gaze he exclaimed in a hoarse voice.  He broke off and added with a laugh in which there looked something monstrous. Have you really reflected well? How do you know that I have not been an assassin? The Bishop replied, that is the concern of the good God. Then gravely and moving his lips like one who is praying or talking to himself he raised two fingers of his right hand and bestowed his benediction on the man who did not bow and without turning his head or looking behind him he returned to his bedroom. When the alcove was in use a large surge curtain drawn from wall to wall concealed the altar. The Bishop knelt before this curtain as he passed and said a brief prayer. A moment later he was in his garden walking, meditating, contemplating his heart and soul wholly absorbed in those grand and mysterious things which God shows at night to the eyes which remain open. As for the man he was actually so fatigued that he did not even profit by the nice white sheets. Snuffing out his candle with his nostrils after the manner of convicts he dropped all dressed as he was upon the bed where he immediately fell into a profound sleep. Midnight struck as the Bishop returned from his garden to his apartment. A few minutes later all were asleep in the little house. End of book two, chapter five recording by Charlene V. Smith. Book two, chapter six of Les Miserables translated by Isabelle F. Hapgood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Charlene V. Smith. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. Book two, The Fall. Chapter six, Jean Valjean. Towards the middle of the night, Jean Valjean woke. Jean Valjean came from a poor peasant family he had not learned to read in his childhood. When he reached man's estate he became a tree pruner at Favreau-les. His mother was named Jean Métoux. His father was called Jean Valjean or Valjean, probably a sobriquette and a contraction of Valjean. Here's Jean. Jean Valjean was of that thoughtful but not gloomy disposition which constitutes the peculiarity of affectionate natures. On the whole, however, there was something decidedly sluggish and insignificant about Jean Valjean in appearance at least. He had lost his father and mother at a very early age. His mother had died of a milk fever which had not been properly attended to. His father, a tree pruner like himself, had been killed by a fall from a tree. All that remained to Jean Valjean was a sister older than himself. A widow with seven children, boys and girls. This sister had brought up Jean Valjean and so long as she had had a husband she lodged and fed her young brother. The husband died. The eldest of the seven children was eight years old. The youngest, one. Jean Valjean had just attained his 25th year. He took the father's place and in his turn supported the sister who had brought him up. This was done simply as a duty and even a little churlishly on the part of Jean Valjean. Thus his youth had been spent in rude and ill-paid toil. He had never known a kind woman friend in his native parts. He had not had the time to fall in love. He returned at night weary and ate his broth without uttering a word. His sister, Mother Jean, often took the best part of his verpas from his bowl while he was eating. A bit of meat, a slice of bacon, the heart of the cabbage to give to one of her children. As he went on eating with his head bent over the table and almost into his soup his long hair falling about his bowl and concealing his eyes he had the air of perceiving nothing and allowing it. There was at Favreau-les not far from the Valjean thatched cottage on the other side of the lane a farmer's wife named Marie Claude. The Valjean children habitually famished sometimes went to borrow from Marie Claude a pint of milk in their mother's name which they drank behind a hedge or in some alley corner snatching the jug from each other so hastily that the little girls spilled it on their aprons and down their necks. If their mother had known of this marauding she would have punished the delinquents severely. Jean Valjean gruffly and grumblingly played Marie Claude for the pint of milk behind their mother's back and the children were not punished. In pruning season he earned 18 sews a day then he hired out as a haymaker, as labourer as neat heard on a farm, as a drudge he did whatever he could his sister worked also but what could she do with seven little children? It was a sad group enveloped in misery which was being gradually annihilated a very hard winter came Jean had no work the family had no bread no bread literally seven children One Sunday evening Maubere Isabeau the baker on the church square at Favreau-les was preparing to go to bed when he heard a violent blow on the grated front of his shop he arrived in time to see an arm passed through the hole made by a blow from a fist through the grating and the glass the arm seized a loaf of bread and carried it off Isabeau ran out in haste the robber fled at the full speed of his legs Isabeau ran after him and stopped him the thief had flung away the loaf but his arm was still bleeding it was Jean Valjean this took place in 1795 Jean Valjean was taken before the tribunals of the time for theft and breaking and entering an inhabited house at night he had a gun which he had used better than anyone else in the world he was a bit of a poacher and this injured his case there exists a legitimate prejudice against poachers the poacher, like the smuggler, smacks too strongly of the brigand nevertheless, we will remark cursorily there is still an abyss between these races of men and the hideous assassin of the towns the poacher lives in the forest the smuggler lives in the mountains or on the sea the cities make ferocious men because they make corrupt men the mountain, the sea, the forest make savage men they develop the fierce side but often without destroying the humane side Jean Valjean was pronounced guilty the terms of the code were explicit there occur formidable hours in our civilization there are moments when the penal laws decree a shipwreck what an ominous minute is that in which society draws back and consummates the irreparable abandonment of a sentient being Jean Valjean was condemned to five years in the galleys on the 22nd of April 1796 the victory of Montenot won by the general-in-chief of the army of Italy whom the message of the directory to the 500 of the 2nd of Floréale, year four, calls Buena part, was announced in Paris on that same day a great gang of galley slaves was put in chains at Bessettra Jean Valjean formed a part of that gang an old turnkey of the prison who is now nearly 80 years old still recalls perfectly that unfortunate wretch who was chained to the end of the fourth line in the north angle of the courtyard he was seated on the ground like the others he did not seem to comprehend his position except that it was horrible it is probable that he also was disentangling from amid the vague ideas of a poor man ignorant of everything something excessive while the bolt of his iron collar was being riveted behind his head with heavy blows from the hammer he wept his tears stifled him they impeded his speech he only managed to say from time to time I was a tree pruner at Feverelli's then still sobbing he raised his right hand and lowered it gradually seven times as though he were touching in succession seven heads of unequal heights and from this gesture it was divine that the thing which he had done whatever it was had been done for the sake of clothing and nourishing seven little children he set out for Toulon he arrived there after a journey of 27 days on a cart with a chain on his neck at Toulon he was clothed in the red cassock all that had constituted his life even to his name was afaced he was no longer even Jean Valjean he was number 24601 what became of his sister what became of the seven children who troubled himself about that what becomes of the handful of leaves from the young tree which is sawed off at the root it is always the same story these poor living beings these creatures of God henceforth without support without guide without refuge wandered away at random who even knows each in his own direction perhaps and little by little buried themselves in that cold mist which engulfs solitary destinies gloomy shades into which disappear in succession so many unlucky heads in the somber march of the human race they quitted the country the clock tower of what had been their village forgot them the boundary line of what had been their field forgot them after a few years residence in the galleys Jean Valjean himself forgot them in that heart where there had been a wound there was a scar that is all only once during all the time which he spent it too long did he hear his sister mentioned this happened I think towards the end of the fourth year of his captivity I know not through what channels the news reached him someone who had known them in their own country had seen his sister she was in Paris she lived in a poor street rear Saint-Sulpice in the Rue des Gendres she had with her only one child a little boy the youngest where were the other six perhaps she did not know herself every morning she went to a printing office number three Rue de Sabot where she was a folder and stitcher she was obliged to be there at six o'clock in the morning long before daylight in winter in the same building with the printing office there was a school and to this school she took her little boy who was seven years old but as she entered the printing office at six and the school only opened at seven the child had to wait in the courtyard for the school to open for an hour one hour of a winter night in the open air they would not allow the child to come into the printing office because he was in the way they said when the workmen passed in the morning they beheld this poor little being seated on the pavement overcome with drowsiness and often fast asleep in the shadow crouched down and doubled up over his basket when it rained an old woman the portraits took pity on him she took him into her den where there was a pallet a spinning wheel and two wooden chairs and the little one slumbered in a corner pressing himself close to the cat that he might suffer less from cold at seven o'clock the school opened and he entered this is what was told to Jean Valjean they talked to him about it for one day it was a moment a flash as though a window had suddenly been opened upon the destiny of those things whom he had loved then all closed again he heard nothing more forever nothing from them ever reached him again he never beheld them he never met them again and in the continuation of this mournful history they will not be met with any more towards the end of this fourth year Jean Valjean's turn to escape arrived his comrades assisted him as is the custom in that sad place he escaped he wandered for two days in the fields at liberty if being at liberty is to be hunted to turn the head every instant to quake at the slightest noise to be afraid of everything of a smoking roof of a passing man of a barking dog of a galloping horse of a striking clock of the day because one can see of the night because one cannot see of the highway of the path of a bush of sleep on the evening of the second day he was captured he had neither eaten nor slept for 36 hours the maritime tribunal condemned him for this crime to a prolongation of his term for three years which made eight years in the sixth year his turn to escape occurred again he availed himself of it but could not accomplish his flight fully he was missing at roll call the cannon were fired and at night the patrol found him hidden under the keel of a vessel in process of construction he resisted the galley guards who seized him escape and rebellion this case provided for by a special code was punished by an addition of five years two of them in the double chain 13 years in the 10th year his turn came round again he again profited by it he succeeded no better three years for this fresh attempt 16 years finally i think it was during his 13th year he made a last attempt and only succeeded in getting retaken at the end of four hours of absence three years for those four hours 19 years in october 1815 he was released he had entered there in 1796 for having broken a pane of glass and taken a loaf of bread room for a brief parentheses this is the second time during his studies on the penal question and damnation by law that the author of this book has come across the theft of a loaf of bread as the point of departure for the disaster of a destiny claud go had stolen a loaf Jean Valjean had stolen a loaf English statistics prove the fact that four thefts out of five in london have hunger for their immediate cause Jean Valjean had entered the galley sobbing and shuddering he emerged impassive he had entered in despair he emerged gloomy what had taken place in that soul end of book 2 chapter 6 recording by charlene v smith book 2 chapter 7 of limizurab translated by isabel f. hapgood this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by david jakeway name is Arab by victor hugo book 2 chapter 7 the interior of despair let us try to say it it is necessary that society should look at these things because it is itself which creates them he was as we have said an ignorant man but he was not a fool the light of nature was ignited in him unhappiness which also possesses a clearness of vision of its own augmented the small amount of daylight which existed in this mind beneath the cudgel beneath the chain in the cell in hardship beneath the burning sun of the galleys upon the plank bed of the convict he withdrew into his own consciousness and meditated he constituted himself the tribunal he began by putting himself on trial he recognized the fact that he was not an innocent man unjustly punished he admitted that he had committed an extreme and blameworthy act that that loaf of bread would probably not have been refused to him had he asked for it that in any case it would have been better to wait until he could get it through compassion or through work that it is not an unanswerable argument to say can one wait when one is hungry that in the first place it is very rare for anyone to die of hunger literally and next that fortunately or unfortunately man is so constituted that he can suffer long and much both morally and physically without dying that it is therefore necessary to have patience that that would even have been better for those poor little children that it had been an active madness for him a miserable unfortunate wretch to take society at large violently by the collar and to imagine that one can escape from misery through theft that that is in any case a poor door through which to escape from misery through which infamy enters in short that he was in the wrong then he asked himself whether he had been the only one in fault in his fatal history whether it was not a serious thing that he a laborer out of work that he an industrious man should have lacked bread and whether the fault once committed and confessed the chastisement had not been ferocious and disproportioned whether there had not been more abuse on the part of the law in respect to the penalty than there had been on the part of the culprit in respect to his fault whether there had not been an excess of weights in one balance of the scale in the one which contains expiation whether the overweight of the penalty was not equivalent to the annihilation of the crime and did not result in reversing the situation of replacing the fault of the delinquent by the fault of the repression of converting the guilty man into the victim and the debtor into the creditor and of ranging the law definitely on the side of the man who had violated it whether this penalty complicated by successive aggravations for attempts at escape had not ended in becoming a sort of outrage perpetrated by the stronger upon the feebler a crime of society against the individual a crime which was being committed afresh every day a crime which had lasted 19 years he asked himself whether human society could have the right to force its members to suffer equally in one case for its own unreasonable lack of foresight and in the other case for its pitiless foresight and to seize a poor man forever between a defect and an excess a default of work and an excess of punishment whether it was not outrageous for society to treat thus precisely those of its members who were the least well endowed in the division of goods made by chance and consequently the most deserving of consideration these questions put an answer he judged society and condemned it he condemned it to his hatred he made it responsible for the fate which he was suffering and he said to himself that it might be that one day he should not hesitate to call it to account he declared to himself that there was no equilibrium between the harm which he had caused and the harm which was being done to him he finally arrived at the conclusion that his punishment was not in truth unjust but that it most assuredly was iniquitous anger may be both foolish and absurd one can be irritated wrongfully one is exasperated only when there is some show of right on one side at bottom Jean Valjean felt himself exasperated and besides human society had done him nothing but harm he had never seen anything of it save that angry face which it calls justice and which it shows to those whom it strikes men had only touched him to bruise him every contact with them had been a blow never since his infancy since the days of his mother of his sister had he ever encountered a friendly word and a kindly glance from suffering to suffering he had gradually arrived at the conviction that life is a war and that in this war he was the conquered he had no other weapon than his hate he resolved to wed it in the galleys and to bear it away with him when he departed there was it too long a school for the convicts kept by the ignorantine friars where the most necessary branches were taught to those of the unfortunate men who had a mind for them he was of the number who had a mind he went to school at the age of 40 and learned to read to write to cipher he felt that to fortify his intelligence was to fortify his hate in certain cases education and enlightenment can serve to eke out evil this is a sad thing to say after having judged society which had caused his unhappiness he judged providence which had made society and he condemned it also thus during 19 years of torture and slavery this soul mounted in at the same time fell light entered it on one side and darkness on the other john valjean had not as we have seen in evil nature he was still good when he arrived at the galleys he there condemned society and felt that he was becoming wicked he there condemned providence and was conscious that he was becoming impious it is difficult not to indulge in meditation at this point does human nature thus change utterly and from top to bottom can the man created good by god be rendered wicked by man can the soul be completely made over by fate and become evil fate being evil can the heart become misshapen and contract incurable deformities and infirmities under the oppression of a disproportionate unhappiness as a verbal column beneath too low a vault is there not in every human soul was there not in the soul of john valjean in particular a first spark a divine element incorruptible in this world immortal in the other which good can develop fan ignite and make to glow with splendor and which evil can never wholly extinguish grave and obscure questions to the last of which every physiologist would probably have responded no and that without hesitation had he beheld it too long during the hours of repose which were for john valjean hours of reverie this gloomy galley slave seated with folded arms upon the bar of some capstan with the end of his chain thrust into his pocket to prevent its dragging serious silent and thoughtful a pariah of the laws which regarded the man with wrath condemned by civilization and regarding heaven with severity certainly and we make no attempt to dissimulate the fact the observing physiologist would have beheld an irremediable misery he would perchance have pitied this sick man of the laws making but he would not have even assayed any treatment he would have turned aside his gaze from the caverns of which he would have caught a glimpse within this soul and like dante at the portals of hell he would have effaced from this existence the word which the finger of god has nevertheless inscribed upon the brow of every man hope was this state of his soul which we have attempted to analyze as perfectly clear to john valjean as we have tried to render it for those who read us did john valjean distinctly perceive after their formation and had he seen distinctly during the process of their formation all the elements of which his moral misery was composed had this rough and unlettered man gathered a perfectly clear perception of the succession of ideas through which he had by degrees mounted and descended to the lugubrious aspects which had for so many years formed the inner horizon of his spirit was he conscious of all that passed within him and of all that was working there that is something which we do not presume to state it is something which we do not even believe there was too much ignorance in john valjean even after his misfortune to prevent much vagueness from still lingering there at times he did not rightly know himself what he felt john valjean was in the shadows he suffered in the shadows he hated in the shadows one might have said that he hated in advance of himself he dwelt habitually in this shadow feeling his way like a blind man and a dreamer only at intervals there suddenly came to him from without and from within an access of wrath a surcharge of suffering a livid and rapid flash which illuminated his whole soul and caused to appear abruptly all around him in front behind amid the gleams of a frightful light the hideous precipices and the somber perspective of his destiny the flash passed the night closed in again and where was he he no longer knew the peculiarity of pains of this nature in which that which is pitiless that is to say that which is brutalizing predominates is to transform a man little by little by a sort of stupid transfiguration into a wild beast sometimes into a ferocious beast john valjean's successive and obstinate attempts at escape would alone suffice to prove this strange working of the law upon the human soul john valjean would have renewed these attempts utterly useless and foolish as they were as often as the opportunity had presented itself without reflecting for an instant on the result nor on the experiences which he had already gone through he escaped impetuously like the wolf who finds his cage open instinct said to him flee reason would have said remain but in the presence of so violent a temptation reason vanished nothing remained but instinct the beast alone acted when he was recaptured the fresh severities inflicted on him only served to render him still more wild one detail which we must not omit is that he possessed a physical strength which was not approached by a single one of the denizens of the galleys at work at paying out cable or winding up a capstan john valjean was worth four men he sometimes lifted and sustained enormous weights on his back and when the occasion demanded it he replaced that implement which is called a jackscrew and was formerly called or guile pride whence we may remark in passing is derived the name of the room on to guile near the holly fish market in paris once when they were repairing the balcony of the town hall at to long one of those admirable karyatids of puje which support the balcony became loosened and was on the point of falling john valjean who was present supported the karyatid with his shoulder and gave the workman time to arrive his suppleness even exceeded his strength certain convicts who were forever dreaming of escape ended by making a veritable science of force and skill combined it is the science of muscles an entire system of mysterious statics is daily practiced by prisoners men who are forever envious of the flies and birds to climb a vertical surface and define points of support where hardly a projection was visible was play to john valjean an angle of the wall being given with attention of his back and legs with his elbows and his heels fitted into the unevenness of the stone he raised himself as if by magic to the third story he sometimes mounted thus even to the roof of the galley prison he spoke but little he laughed not at all an excessive emotion was required to ring from him once or twice a year that lugubrious laugh of the convict which is like the echo of the laugh of a demon to all appearance he seemed to be occupied in the constant contemplation of something terrible he was absorbed in fact a fourth the unhealthy perceptions of an incomplete nature and a crushed intelligence he was confusedly conscious that some monstrous thing was resting on him in that obscure and one shadow within which he crawled each time that he turned his neck in a shade to raise his glance he perceived with terror mingled with rage a sort of frightful accumulation of things collecting and mounting above him beyond the range of his vision laws prejudices men and deeds whose outlines escaped him whose mass terrified him and which was nothing else than that prodigious pyramid which we call civilization he distinguished here and there in that swarming and formless mass now near him now a far off and on inaccessible table lands some group some detail vividly illuminated here the galley sergeant in his cudgel there the gendarme and his sword yonder the mitered archbishop away at the top like a sort of son the emperor crowned and dazzling it seemed to him that these distant splendors far from dissipating his night rendered it more funerial and more black all this laws prejudices deeds men things went and came above him over his head in accordance with the complicated and mysterious movement which god imparts to civilization walking over him and crushing him with i know not what peacefulness in its cruelty and inexorability in its indifference souls which have fallen to the bottom of all possible misfortune unhappy men lost in the lowest of those limbo's at which no one any longer looks the reproved of the law feel the whole weight of this human society so formidable for him who is without so frightful for him who is beneath resting upon their heads in this situation john valjean meditated and what could be the nature of his meditation if the grain of millet beneath the millstone had thoughts it would doubtless think that same thing which john valjean thought all these things realities full of specters phantasmagories full of realities had eventually created for him a sort of interior state which is almost indescribable at times amid his convict toil he paused he fell to thinking his reason at one in the same time riper and more troubled than of your rose and revolt everything which had happened to him seemed to him absurd everything that surrounded him seemed to him impossible he said to himself it is a dream he gazed at the galley sergeant standing a few paces from him the galley sergeant seemed a phantom to him all of a sudden the phantom dealt him a blow with his cudgel visible nature hardly existed for him it would almost be true to say that there existed for john valjean neither son nor fine summer days nor radiant sky nor fresh april dawns i know not what vent hole daylight habitually illumined his soul to sum up in conclusion that which can be summed up and translated into positive results in all that we have just pointed out we will confine ourselves to the statement that in the course of nineteen years john valjean the inoffensive tree pruner of favor all the formidable convict of telon had become capable thanks to the manner in which the galleys had molded him of two sorts of evil action firstly of evil action which was rapid unpremeditated dashing entirely instinctive in the nature of reprisals for the evil which he had undergone secondly of evil action which was serious grave consciously argued out and premeditated with the false ideas which such a misfortune can furnish his deliberate deeds passed through three successive phases which natures of a certain stamp can alone traverse reasoning will perseverance he had for moving causes his habitual wrath bitterness of soul a profound sense of indignity suffered the reaction even against the good the innocent and the just if there are any such the point of departure like the point of arrival for all his thoughts was hatred of human law that hatred which if it be not arrested in its development by some providential incident becomes within a given time the hatred of society then the hatred of the human race then the hatred of creation and which manifests itself by a vague incessant and brutal desire to do harm to some living being no matter whom it will be perceived that it was not without reason that Jean Valjean's passport described him as a very dangerous man from year to year this soul had dried away slowly but with fatal sureness when the heart is dry the eye is dry on his departure from the galleys it had been nineteen years since he had shed a tear end of book two chapter seven book two chapter eight of limizarab translated by isabel f hapgood this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Peter Eastman limizarab by Victor Hugo book two the fall chapter eight billows and shadows a man overboard what matters it the vessel does not halt the wind blows that somber ship has a path which it is forced to pursue it passes on the man disappears then reappears he plunges he rises again to the surface he calls he stretches out his arms he is not heard the vessel trembling under the hurricane is wholly absorbed in its own workings the passengers and sailors do not even see the drowning man his miserable head is but a speck amid the immensity of the waves he gives vent to desperate cries from out of the depths what a specter is that retreating sail he gazes and gazes at it frantically it retreats it grows dim it diminishes in size he was there but just now he was one of the crew he went and came along the deck with the rest he had his part of breath and of sunlight he was a living man now what has taken place he has slipped he has fallen all is at an end he is in the tremendous sea underfoot he has nothing but what flees and crumbles the billows torn and lashed by the wind and compass him hideously the tossings of the abyss bear him away all the tongues of water dash over his head a populace of waves spits upon him confused openings half devour him every time that he sinks he catches glimpses of precipices filled with night frightful and unknown vegetation sees him not about his feet draw him to them he is conscious that he is becoming an abyss that he forms part of the foam the waves toss him from one to another he drinks in the bitterness the cowardly ocean attacks him furiously to drown him the enormity plays with his agony it seems as though all that water were hate nevertheless he struggles he tries to defend himself he tries to sustain himself he makes an effort he swims he his petty strength all exhausted instantly combats the inexhaustible where then is the ship yonder barely visible in the pale shadows of the horizon the wind blows in gusts all the foam overwhelms him he raises his eyes and beholds only the lividness of the clouds he witnesses amid his death pangs the immense madness of the sea he is tortured by this madness he hears noises strange to man which seem to come from beyond the limits of the earth and from one knows not what frightful region beyond there are birds in the clouds just as there are angels above human distresses but what can they do for him they sing and fly and float and he he rattles in the death agony he feels himself buried in those two infinities the ocean and the sky at one and the same time the one is a tomb the other is a shroud night descends he has been swimming for hours his strength is exhausted that ship that distant thing in which there were men has vanished he is alone in the formidable twilight gulf he sinks he stiffens himself he twists himself he feels under him the monstrous billows of the invisible he shouts there are no more men where is god he shouts help help he still shouts on nothing on the horizon nothing in heaven he implores the expanse the waves the seaweed the reef they are deaf he beseeches the tempest the imperturbable tempest obeys only the infinite around him darkness fog solitude the stormy and non-sentient tumult the undefined curling of those wild waters in him horror and fatigue beneath him the depths not a point of support he thinks of the gloomy adventures of the corpse in the limitless shadow the bottomless cold paralyzes him his hands contract convulsively they close and grasp nothingness winds clouds whirlwinds gusts useless stars what is to be done the desperate man gives up he is weary he chooses the alternative of death he resists not he lets himself go he abandons his grip and then he tosses forever more in the lugubrious dreary depths of engulfment oh implacable march of human societies oh losses of men and of souls on the way ocean into which falls all that the law lets slip disastrous absence of help oh moral death the sea is the inexorable social night into which the penal laws fling they're condemned the sea is the immensity of wretchedness the soul going downstream in the scolp may become a corpse who shall resuscitate it end of book two chapter eight book two chapter nine of lemes arab translated by isabel f. hapgood this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox.org lemes arab by victor hugo book two chapter nine new troubles when the hour came for him to take his departure from the galleys when john valjean heard in his ear the strange words thou art free the moment seemed improbable and unprecedented array of vivid life array of the true light of the living suddenly penetrated within him but it was not long before this ray paled john valjean had been dazzled by the idea of liberty he had believed in a new life he very speedily perceived what sort of liberty it is to which a yellow passport is provided and this was encompassed with much bitterness he had calculated that his earnings during his sojourn in the galleys ought to amount to 171 francs it is but just to add that he had forgotten to include in his calculations the forced repose of sundays and festival days during nineteen years which entailed a diminution of about 80 francs at all events his horde had been reduced by various local levies to the sum of 109 francs 15 sues which had been counted out to him on his departure he had understood nothing of this and had thought himself wronged let us say the robbed on the day following his liberation he saw at grass in front of an orange flower distillery some men engaged in unloading bales he offered his services business was pressing they were accepted he set to work he was intelligent robust adroit he did his best the master seemed pleased while he was at work a gendarme past observed him and demanded his papers it was necessary to show him the yellow passport that done jan valjean resumed his labor a little while before he had questioned one of the workmen as to the amount which they earned each day at this occupation he had been told 30 sues when evening arrived as he was forced to set out again on the following day he presented himself to the owner of the distillery and requested to be paid the owner did not utter a word but handed him 15 sue he objected he was told that is enough for the he persisted the master looked him straight between the eyes and said to him beware of the prison there again he considered that he had been robbed society the state by diminishing his hoard had robbed him wholesale now it was the individual who was robbing him at retail liberation is not deliverance one gets free from the galleys but not from the sentence that is what happened to him at grassa we have seen in what manner he was received at dinya end of book two chapter nine recording by garret Fitzgerald brewer main book two chapter ten of lame is a rob translated by isabel f. hapgood this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox.org recording by garret Fitzgerald lame is a rob by victor hugo book two the fall chapter 10 the man aroused as the cathedral clock struck two in the morning john valjana woke what woke him was that his bed was too good it was nearly 20 years since he had slept in a bed and although he had not undressed the sensation was too novel not to disturb his slumbers he had slept more than four hours his fatigue had passed away he was accustomed not to devote many hours to repose he opened his eyes and stared into the gloom which surrounded him then he closed them again with the intention of going to sleep once more when many varied sensations have agitated the day when various matters preoccupy the mind one falls asleep once but not a second time sleep comes more easily than it returns this is what happened to john valjana he could not get to sleep again and he fell to thinking he was at one of those moments when the thoughts which one has in one's mind are troubled there was a sort of dark confusion in his brain his memories of the olden time and of the immediate present floated their pal mel and mingled confusedly losing their proper forms becoming disproportionately large then suddenly disappearing as in a muddy and perturbed pool many thoughts occurred to him but there was one which kept constantly presenting itself afresh and which drove away all others we will mention this thought at once he had observed the six sets of silver forks and spoons and the ladle which madame agroir had placed on the table those six sets of silver haunted him they were there a few paces distant just as he was traversing the adjoining room to reach the one in which he then was the old servant woman had been in the act of placing them in a little cupboard near the head of the bed he had taken careful note of this cupboard on the right as you entered from the dining room they were solid and old silver from the ladle one could get at least 200 francs double what he had earned in 19 years it is true that he would have earned more if the administration had not robbed him his mind wavered for a whole hour in fluctuations with which there was certainly mingled some struggle three o'clock struck he opened his eyes again drew himself up abruptly into a sitting posture stretched out his arm and felt of his knapsack which he had thrown down on a corner of the alcove then he hung his legs over the edge of the bed and placed his feet on the floor and thus found himself almost without knowing it seated on his bed he remained for a time thoughtfully in this attitude which would have been suggestive of something sinister for anyone who had seen him thus in the dark the only person awakened that house where all was sleeping all of a sudden he stooped down removed his shoes and placed them softly on the mat beside the bed then he resumed his thoughtful attitude and became motionless once more throughout this hideous meditation the thoughts which we have above indicated moved incessantly through his brain entered withdrew re-entered and in a manner oppressed him and then he thought also without knowing why and with the mechanical persistence of reverie of a convict named brevet whom he had known in the galleys and whose trousers had been upheld by a single suspender of knitted cotton the checkered pattern of that suspender recurred incessantly to his mind he remained in this situation and would have so remained indefinitely even until daybreak had not the clock struck one the half or quarter hour it seemed to him that that stroke said to him come on he rose to his feet hesitated still another moment and listened all was quiet in the house then he walked straight ahead with short steps to the window of which he caught a glimpse the night was not very dark there was a full moon across which caused large clouds driven by the wind this created outdoors alternate shadow and gleams of light eclipses then bright openings of the clouds and indoors a sort of twilight this twilight sufficient to enable a person to see his way intermittent on account of the clouds resembled the sort of livid light which falls through an airhole in a cellar before which the passerby come and go out arriving at the window Jean Valjean examined it it had no grading it opened in the garden and was fastened according to the fashion of the country only by a small pin he opened it but as a rush of cold and piercing air penetrated the room abruptly he closed it again immediately he scrutinized the garden with that attempt of gaze which studies rather than looks the garden was enclosed by a tolerably low white wall easy to climb far away at the extremity he perceived tops of trees spaced at regular intervals which indicated that the wall separated the garden from an avenue or lane planted with trees having taken this survey he executed a movement like that of a man who has made up his mind strode to his alcove grasped his knapsack opened it fumbled in it pulled out of it something which he placed on the bed put his shoes into one of his pockets shut the whole thing up again threw the knapsack on his shoulders put on his cap drew the visor down over his eyes felt for his cudgel went and placed it in the angle of the window then returned to the bed and resolutely seized the object which he had deposited there it resembled a short bar of iron pointed like a pike at one end it would have been difficult to distinguish in that darkness for what employment that bit of iron could have been designed perhaps it was a lever possibly it was a club in the daytime it would have been possible to recognize it as nothing more than a miner's candlestick convicts were at that period sometimes employed inquiring stone from the lofty hills which environment too long and it was not rare for them to have miners tools at their command these miners candlesticks are of massive iron terminated at the lower extremity by a point by means of which they are stuck into the rock he took the candlestick in his right hand holding his breath and trying to deaden the sound of his tread he directed his steps to the door of the adjoining room occupied by the bishop as we already know on arriving at this door he founded a jar the bishop had not closed it end of book two chapter 10 recording by Garrett Fitzgerald Brewer main this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Betty Grebe in Wapella Illinois Les Miserables by Victor Hugo book two chapter 11 what he does Jean Vergen listened not a sound he gave the door a push he pushed it gently with the tip of his finger lightly with the furtive and uneasy gentleness of a cat which is desirous of entering the door yielded to this pressure and made an imperceptible and silent movement which enlarged the opening a little he waited a moment then gave the door a second and a bolder push it continued to yield in silence the opening was now large enough to allow him to pass but near the door but near the door there stood a little table which formed an embarrassing angle with it and barred the entrance Jean Vergen recognized the difficulty it was necessary at any cost to enlarge the aperture still further he decided on his course of action and gave the door a third push more energetic than the two proceeding this time a badly oiled hinge suddenly emitted amid the silence a horse and prolonged cry Jean Vergen shuttered the noise of the hinge rang in his ears with something of the piercing and formidable sound of the trumpet of the day of judgment in the fantastic exaggerations of the first moment he almost imagined that the hinge had just become animated and had suddenly assumed a terrible life and that it was barking like a dog to arouse everyone and warned and to wake those who were asleep he halted shuttering bewildered and fell back from the tips of his toes upon his heels he heard the arteries in his temples beating like two forge hammers and it seemed to him that his breath issued from his breast with the roar of the wind issuing from a cavern it seemed impossible to him that the horrible clamor of that irritated hinge should not have disturbed the entire household like the shock of an earthquake the door pushed by him had taken the alarm and had shouted the old man would rise at once the two old women would shriek out people would come to their assistance in less than a quarter of an hour the town would be in an uproar and the gender Marie on hand for a moment he thought himself lost he remained where he was petrified like the statue of salt not daring to make a movement several minutes elapsed the door had fallen wide open he ventured to peep into the next room nothing had stirred there he lent an ear nothing was moving in the house the noise made by the rusty hinge had not awakened anyone this first danger was passed but there still rained a frightful tumult within him nevertheless he did not retreat even when he had thought himself lost he had not drawn back his only thought now was to finish as soon as possible he took a step and entered the room this room was in a state of perfect calm here and there vague and confused forms were distinguishable which in the daylight were papers scattered on a table open folios volumes piled upon a stool an armchair heaped with clothing a prayer do you and which at that hour were only shadowy corners and whitish spots Jean Valjean advanced with precaution taking care not to knock against the furniture he could hear at the extremity of the room the even and tranquil breathing of the sleeping bishop he suddenly came to a halt he was near the bed he had arrived there sooner than he had thought for nature sometimes mingles her effects and her spectacles with our actions with somber and intelligent appropriateness as though she desired to make us reflect for the last half hour a large cloud had covered the heavens at that moment when Jean Valjean paused in front of the bed this cloud parted as though on purpose an array of light traversing the long window suddenly illuminated the bishop's pale face he was sleeping peacefully he lay in his bed almost completely dressed on account of the cold of the best alps in a garment of brown wool in which covered his arms to the wrists his head was thrown back on the pillow in the careless attitude of repose his hand adorned with the pastoral ring and wence had fallen so many good deeds and so many holy actions was hanging over the edge of the bed his whole face was illumined with a vague expression of satisfaction of hope and of felicity it was more than a smile and almost a radiance he bore upon his brow the indescribable reflection of a light which was invisible the soul of the just contemplates in sleep a mysterious heaven a reflection of that heaven rested on the bishop it was at the same time a luminous transparency for that heaven was within him that heaven was his conscience at the moment when the ray of moonlight superposed itself so to speak upon that inward radiance the sleeping bishop seemed as in a glory it remained however gentle and veiled in an ineffable half light that moon in the sky that slumbering nature that garden without a quiver that house which was so calm the hour the moment the silence added some solemn and unspeakable quality to the venerable repose of this man and enveloped in a sort of serene and majestic orial of white hair those closed eyes that face in which all was hope and all was confidence that head of an old man and that slumber of an infant there was something almost divine in this man who was thus august without being himself aware of it Jean Valjean was in the shadow and stood motionless with his iron candlestick in his hand frightened by this luminous old man never had he beheld anything like this disconfidence terrified him the moral world has no grander spectacle than this a troubled and uneasy conscience which has arrived on the brink of an evil action contemplating the slumber of the just that slumber in that isolation and with a neighbor like himself had about it something sublime of which he was vaguely but imperiously conscious no one could have told what was passing within him not even himself in order to attempt to form an idea of it it is necessary to think of the most violent of things in the presence of the most gentle even on his visage it would have been impossible to distinguish anything with certainty it was a sort of haggard astonishment he gazed at it and that was all but what was his thought it would have been impossible to divine it what was evident was that he had been touched and astounded but what was the nature of this emotion his eye never quitted the old man the only thing which was clearly to be inferred from his attitude and his signeomy was a strange indecision one would have said that he was hesitating between the two abysses the one in which one loses oneself and that in which one saves oneself he seemed prepared to crush that skull or kiss that hand at the expiration of a few minutes his left arm rose slowly towards his brow and he took off his cap then his arm fell back with the same deliberation and Jean Valjean felt to meditating once more his cap in his left hand his club in his right hand his hair bristling all over his savage head the bishop continued to sleep in profound peace beneath that terrifying gaze the gleam of the moon rendered confusedly visible the crucifix over the chimney piece which seemed to be extending its arms to both of them with a benediction for one and pardon for the other suddenly Jean Valjean replaced his cap on his brow then stepped rapidly past the bed without glancing at this bishop straight to the cupboard which he saw near the head he raised his iron candlestick as though to force the lock the key was there he opened it the first thing which presented itself to him was the basket of silverware he seized it traversed the chamber with long strides without taking any precautions and without troubling himself at the noise gained the door re-entered the oratory opened the window seized his cudgel bestowed the window sill of the ground floor put the silver into his knapsack threw away the basket crossed the garden leaped over the wall like a tiger and fled end of book two chapter 11 of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo recording by Betty Grebe in Wapella Illinois this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Betty Grebe in Wapella Illinois Les Miserables by Victor Hugo Book 2 Chapter 12 The Bishop Works The next morning at sunrise Monseigneur Benvenu was strolling in his garden Madame Maglois ran up to him in utter consternation Monseigneur Monseigneur she exclaimed does your grace know where the basket of silver is? Yes replied the bishop Jesus the Lord be praised she resumed I did not know what had become of it the bishop had just picked up the basket in a flower bed he presented it to Madame Maglois here it is well said she nothing in it and the silver ah return the bishop so it is the silver which troubles you I don't know where it is great good god it is stolen that man who was here last night has stolen it in a twinkling with all the vivacity of an alert old woman Madame Maglois had rushed to the oratory entered the alcove and returned to the bishop the bishop had just bent down and was sighing as he examined a plant of Cochelaia which the basket had broken as it fell across the bed he rose up at Madame Maglois cry Monseigneur the man is gone the silver has been stolen as she uttered this exclamation her eyes fell upon a corner of the garden where traces of the wall having been scaled were visible the coping of the wall had been torn away stay yonder is the way he went he jumped over into Cochelaia lane ah the abomination he has stolen our silver the bishop remained silent for a moment then he raised his grave eyes and said gently to Madame Maglois and in the first place was that silver ours Madame Maglois was speechless another silence ensued then the bishop went on Madame Maglois I have for a long time detained that silver wrongfully it belonged to the poor who was that man a poor man evidently alas Jesus returned Madame Maglois it is not for my sake nor for Madame's it makes no difference to us but it is for the sake of Monseigneur what is Monseigneur to eat with now the bishop gazed at her with an air of amazement ah come are there no such things as pewter forks and spoons Madame Maglois shrugged her shoulders pewter has an odor iron forks and spoons then Madame Maglois made an expressive grimace iron has a taste very well said the bishop wooden ones then a few moments later as he was breakfasting at the very table at which Jean Valjean had sat on the previous evening as he ate his breakfast Monseigneur welcome remarked gaily to his sister who said nothing and to Madame Maglois who's grumbling under her breath that one really does not need either fork or spoon even of wood in order to dip a bit of bread in a cup of milk a pretty idea truly said Madame Maglois to herself as she came and went to take a man in like that and to lodge him close to oneself and how fortunate that he did nothing but steal ah mon dieu it makes one shudder to think of it as the brother and sister were about to rise from the table there came a knock at the door come in said the bishop the door opened a singular and violent group made its appearance on the threshold three men were holding a fourth man by the collar the three men were Jean de Arme the other was Jean Valjean a brigadier of Jean de Arme who seemed to be in command of the group was standing near the door he entered an advance to the bishop making a military salute Monseigneur said he at this word Jean Valjean who is dejected and seemed overwhelmed raised his head with an air of stupification Monseigneur he murmured so he is not the cure silence said the Jean de Arme he is the Monseigneur the bishop in the meantime Monseigneur Benvenue had advanced as quickly as his great age permitted ah here you are he exclaimed looking at Jean Valjean I am glad to see you well but how is this I gave you the candlesticks too which are of silver like the rest and for which you can certainly get 200 francs why did you not carry them away with your forks and spoons Jean Valjean opened his eyes wide and stared at the venerable bishop with an expression which no human tongue can render any account of Monseigneur said the brigadier of Jean de Arme's so what this man said is true then we came across him he was walking like a man who was running away we stopped him to look into the matter he had the silver and he told you interposed the bishop with a smile that had been given him by a kind old fellow of a priest with whom he had passed the night I see how the matter stands and you have brought him back here it is a mistake in that case replied the brigadier we can let him go certainly replied the bishop the Jean de Arme released Jean Valjean who recoiled is it true that I am to be released he said in an almost inarticulate voice and as though he were talking in his sleep yes thou art released dost thou not understand said one of the Jean de Arme's my friend resume the bishop before you go here are your candlesticks take them he stepped to the chimney piece took the two silver candlesticks and brought them to Jean Valjean the two women looked on without uttering a word without a gesture without a look which could disconcert the bishop Jean Valjean was trembling in every limb he took the two candlesticks mechanically and with a bewildered what air now said the bishop go in peace by the way when you return my friend it is not necessary to pass through the garden you can always enter and depart through the street door it is never fastened with anything but a latch either by day or by night then returning to the Jean de Arme's you may retire gentlemen the Jean de Arme's retired Jean Valjean was like a man on the point of fainting the bishop drew near to him and said in a low voice do not forget never forget that you have promised to use this money in becoming an honest man Jean Valjean who had no recollection of ever having promised anything remained speechless the bishop had emphasized the words when he uttered them he resumed with solemnity Jean Valjean my brother you are no longer belong to evil but to good it is your soul that i buy from you i withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition and i give it to god end of book two chapter 12 of le miserable by victor hugo recording by betty greeby in wapela illinois


There has to be a decision point the way your baby is presenting we have to rush you in and my partner at the time was like You're going to cut her. Are you going to cut it? Is it going to leave a scar and I said I'm not a belly dancer No, no, I'm vulnerable about the future of the children the future of mine and the future of the generation of my children I want to have new pictures taken of you. Yes I want to put it in my front room and they said you can't do that people be embarrassed when he came to your house I said well, it's my body and it's my front room all the things that we do. What is the purpose of it? I just realized That I was much trusting Before I was six so many women they just feel I think I have to cook for my husband I have to breastfeed my children.


We have another stipula unboxing for you. This is the stipula atruria prisma fountain pin. It comes in the stipula red box with the gold accents there with the logo. Inside you have a cream soft fabric. Under the false bottom you have your certificate of authenticity with the pen information and brand information. Okay now let's take a look at the fountain pin. This is the stipula atruria prisma fountain pin in magma. It's also available in a second color called the loose but this is the magma so that with the magma you're going to have that red orange yellow combination of colored cap and piston knob at the back end of the barrel. It's accented with gold and then the actual barrel is very crystal clear and then you have that same magma color on the section. I love that the section matches the cap and I love that there's a little bit of that same coloring on that piston mechanism. I'm sorry on that piston knob. The pin is postable with the friction post if you like to post your pins and the stipula atruria prisma fountain pins are fitted with a 14 karat gold Stiflex fountain pin nib. And this is the second color. This is the deluce color and it also is trimmed in the silver and you notice it is a threaded cap and it's going to have the nib plated to match your trim. These pins also obviously feature a piston filling mechanism and all of them are going to have that crystal clear barrel so you can really see your piston mechanism at work and see the ink level as you write. You'll also recognize the pin clip with that detailed engraving and as well as the center ring with more of that detailed engraving. If you want more information visit pinchlay.com