Les Misérables, Part Three, Book Three, Chapter VI

I recently read Chapter VI of Part Three, Book Three of Les Misérables (subtitled "What It Is to Have Met a Churchwarden" in the translation by Julie Rose).  One passage caught my eye, and as I lookt into it more closely, I noticed an interesting way in which the structure matches the meaning.

The narrator is describing how Marius is learning about Napoleon Bonaparte:  "every day he saw better and he began to climb slowly, one by one, almost reluctantly at first, then with intoxication and as though drawn by an irresistible fascination, steps that started off dark then gradually became dimly illuminated, only to end in the luminous and splendid blaze of enthusiasm."

I liked this description so much that I lookt it up in the original French:  "chaque jour il voyait mieux; et il se mit à gravir lentement, pas à pas, au commencement presque à regret, ensuite avec enivrement et comme attiré par une fascination irrésistible, d'abord les degrés sombres, puis les degrés vaguement éclairés, enfin les degrés lumineux et splendides de l'enthousiasme."

I think C.E. Wilbur's translation, which I previously read (in an abridged form), hews closer to Hugo's original:  "each day he saw more clearly; and he began to mount slowly, step by step, in the beginning almost with regret, afterwards with rapture, and as if drawn by an irresistible fascination, at first the somber stages, then the dimly lighted stages, finally the luminous and splendid stages of enthusiasm."

Each stage has more description:  first just an adjective ("the somber stages" "les degrés sombres"), then an adjective (technically a participle) modified by an adverb ("the dimly lighted stages" "les degrés vaguement éclairés"), and finally a pair of adjectives ("the luminous and splendid stages" "les degrés lumineux et splendides").  Even in the language, then, where each "step" is more advanced than the last, the narrator traces Marius's progression.

Les Misérables, Part One, Book Five, Chapter III

I'm still (slowly) reading Les Misérables, the first time for this particular translation and an unabridged edition.  Recently, I read Chapter III ("Sums Deposited with Laffitte") of Part One, Book Five.  This chapter contains one of my favorite lines, but I was a bit disappointed with how it's rendered in this translation:  "Books are remote but reliable friends."  I much prefer the other translation I read, where this line is "Books are cold but sure friends."  I lookt up the original French (which I got as a free e-book years ago) and found that it's "les livres sont des amis froids et sûrs."  I would translate this as "books are cold and sure friends."  "Et" is usually translated "and," but apparently both translators felt that the context permitted a more adversative conjunction.

A couple weeks after I read this, I was still thinking about the original French sentence, and I realized that there's assonance between "livres" and "amis" and that this emphasizes this type of clause.  "Livres" ("books") is the subject nominative, and "amis" ("friends") is the predicate nominative.  Both words have the same semantic weight, so to speak (nouns on opposite sides of a copulative verb), and the assonance between them indicates this balanced relationship.

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Almost as a side-note, I'll add this:  the entire sentence (describing Jean Valjean in the guise of Monsieur Madeleine) is "He loved books; books are remote but reliable friends," and this provides a direct contrast with Javert, described two chapters later (in Chapter V. "Dim Flashes of Lightning on the Horizon"):  "In his rare spare time, although he hated books, he would read...."

Les Misérables, Part One, Book One, Chapter IV

On 1 January, I started re-reading Les Misérables but in a different edition from what I've read before; this is a different translation (by Julie Rose) and unabridged.  I recently read Chapter IV of Book One, Part One (getting through the introduction took some time), and I realized that some of Monsieur Myriel's behavior has Biblical precedent.

The narrator explains:

A tragic event occurred in Digne.  A man had been condemned to death for murder.  It was some poor unfortunate who was not quite literate, but not completely illiterate; he had been a tumbler working the fairs as well as a public letter-writer.  The trial was the talk of the town.  The day before the date set for the condemned man's execution, the prison chaplain got sick.  A priest was needed to attend the prisoner in his last moments, so they went for the local curé.  Apparently this curé refused, saying, "That's not my problem.  Not my job.  Besides, I don't want anything to do with that circus monkey.  I'm sick, too.  And anyway, it's not my place." 

When the bishop [Monsieur Myriel] was told of this response he said, "The reverend father is right.  It's not his place, it's mine." 

And with that, he sped off to the jail, rushed to the cell of the "circus monkey," called him by his name, took his hand and talked to him.

Monsieur Myriel's "call[ing] him by his name" is a significant detail.  The primary purpose may be simply to illustrate the contrast between Monsieur Myriel and the curé (one is compassionate where the other is rudely dismissive), but there's also an echo of the Good Shepherd discourse from John 10, specifically part of verse 3:  the shepherd "calls his own sheep by name."  Myriel cares for the man in the same way that the Good Shepherd cares for his sheep.

That Myriel goes to visit the man in prison at all is also an example of the behavior that Jesus commends in Matthew 25, where He describes the final judgement and says, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world... [for] I was in prison and you came to me."

Later in the chapter, the narrator explains that "Widowed or orphaned families didn't have to ask, he [Myriel] came of his own accord."  Here again, Myriel follows examples from the Bible.  In the Old Testament, the widowed and orphaned are often mentioned as those who need to be cared for.  Psalm 146:9 says that the LORD "upholds the widow and the fatherless."  In the New Testament, James writes that "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this:  to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world" (James 1:27).  This is exactly what Monsieur Myriel does.

Les Misérables (Part I, Book Seven, Chapter 11)

This post contains spoilers.

In reading Les Misérables, I recently got to the courtroom scene where Monsieur Madeleine reveals his true identity as Jean Valjean.  He does this to protect Champmathieu, who was thought to be Jean Valjean and who was going to be sent to the galleys for life.  In the preceding chapters, it was explained that Champmathieu allegedly stole a branch of apples.  The particular object of his alleged theft got me thinking about religious parallels here, and in Chapter 11 ("Champmathieu More and More Astonished"), I found many of them.

First, from the previous chapters, Champmathieu's alleged theft of apples is a parallel to Adam and Eve's taking the forbidden fruit from the tree in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:6).  Jean Valjean intercedes for him, and in doing so, I found a lot of parallels between Valjean and Christ.  By correcting the misplacement of the identity, Valjean obviates the punishment that Champmathieu would have been faced with.  Similarly, Christ takes on humanity's punishment in the crucifixion.  To some degree, 1 Corinthians 15:22 demonstrates this parallelism and Christ as a second Adam:  "For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive."

Chapter 11 itself starts with a description of Monsieur Madeleine (not yet revealed as Jean Valjean).  It's specifically noted that "his hair, already grey when he came to Arras, was now perfectly white."  There's a footnote in my edition that explains that "To have hair turn white overnight from an emotional shock is a common melodramatic device in nineteenth-century fiction."  I suppose "emotional shock" is a valid reading, but if Valjean is Christ-like in his intercession, that whiteness demonstrates purity and even the Transfiguration.  Later in the chapter, the narrator says, "Nobody said to himself that he there beheld the effulgence of a great light, yet all felt dazzled at heart."  The revelation of Valjean's identity is also called a "luminous fact."  This isn't too different from "And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light" (Matthew 17:2).  Valjean reveals his identity before Brevet, Chenildieu, and Cochepaille, three of his former galley-mates, and Christ's identity as true God at His Transfiguration is revealed before Peter, James, and John, three of his disciples.  After Valjean provides some details about some suspenders that Brevet owned in the galley, Brevet is "struck with surprise" and "gazed wildly at him" - a reaction that isn't too dissimilar from the disciples:  "When the disciples heard this ["This is my beloved Son"], they fell on their faces and were terrified" (Matthew 17:6).

Immediately after Valjean reveals his identity, "That species of religious awe was felt in the hall," and as he leaves the courtroom, "there was at this moment an indescribable divinity within him."  Like the Transfiguration, there are features that indicate a deity.

When an attorney calls for a doctor, thinking Monsieur Madeleine has gone mad, Valjean interrupts him "with a tone full of gentleness and authority" - more Christ-like attributes.  Valjean also says, "I tell you the truth," which Christ frequently says in the Gospels.

Finally, while Valjean's intercession for Champmathieu could be read as Christ's intercession for Adam (and for humanity as a whole), there are also parallels to Christ's trial before His crucifixion.  There's the obvious similarity that both are trials, but more specifically there's the crowd's choice to release Barabbas instead Christ where here Valjean acts to release Champmathieu and offers himself instead.  There are slight differences, since Christ didn't act to release Barabbas and Valjean is actually guilty, but the decisions of each that lead to the courtroom scenes are similar.  Before being turned over in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prays, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will" (Matthew 26:39).  Valjean goes through his own version of this, asking himself what is the right thing to do and pondering over it for multiple chapters.  But he too does as God wills (or as he thinks God wills) and gives himself up.

At the end of the chapter, Champmathieu is released from all accusations, because even though Valjean thinks Champmathieu is guilty (in his lengthy considerations in Book Seven, Chapter 2, he tells himself, "He has stolen!  it is useless for me to say he has not stolen, he has stolen!"), he still interceded for him.

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After writing the original draft of this post, I found in later chapters some parallels that are more crucifixion-centered.  At the beginning of Chapter 5 in Book Eight, the narrator describes the reaction that the citizens of M--- sur M--- have after Monsieur Madeleine is revealed to have been Jean Valjean the galley slave.  "We are sorry not to be able to disguise the fact that, on this single sentence, he was a galley slave, almost everybody abandoned him.  ...  Three or four persons alone in the whole city remained faithful to his memory."  This is similar to Christ's disciples' falling away after His arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane:  "Then all the disciples left him and fled" (Matthew 26:56).

About a page later, Valjean escapes from prison and returns home.  The narrator explains that

It has never been known how he had succeeded in gaining entrance into the court-yard without opening the carriage port.  He had, and always carried about him, a pass-key which opened a little side door, but he must have been searched, and this taken from him.  This point is not yet cleared up.

This seems to have some connection to Christ's appearing to His disciples (after the resurrection) even though they were within a locked room.  "On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, 'Peace be with you'" - John 20:19.

I'm not sure if the Valjean-as-Christ parallels continue throughout the book (I guess I'll find out), but they do seem particularly strong in these chapters.

Les Misérables (Part I, Book Three, Chapter 9)

This post contains a minor spoiler.

The day after I posted about finding a reference to 1 Corinthians 13 in Les Misérables, I found an-other important Biblical reference.

Part I, Book Three is about Fantine, her three friends, and their lovers, rather than Jean Valjean.  Chapter 2 starts with "In this year, 1817, four young Parisians played 'a good joke.'"  The joke itself doesn't come until chapter 9.  Throughout Book Three, these four students have been telling their lovers that they have a surprise for them.  In chapter 9, after eating at a restaurant, they get up (ostensibly to go and get the surprise) and just leave the girls.  After a hour, the waiter gives them a letter (on which is written "THIS IS THE SURPRISE") that the students left for them.  It starts:

Oh, our lovers!
     Know that we have parents.  Parents - you scarcely know the meaning of the word, they are what are called fathers and mothers in the civil code, simple but honest.  Now these parents bemoan us, these old men claim us, these good men and women call us prodigal sons, desire our return and offer to kill for us the fatted calf.  We obey them, being virtuous.

The students want to portray themselves as honorable men who do what their parents want, and - in doing so - they compare themselves to (or say that their parents compare them to) the prodigal son.  But, instead, their comparison illustrates their complete ignorance of the prodigal son.

In the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), a son asks his father for his share of the inheritance, goes off travelling, and "squander[s] his property in reckless living" (15:13).  A famine comes, leaving him even more desperate, so he gets a job feeding pigs (and finds himself envying even their food).  Then he realizes that his father's servants are treated better, so he goes back to his father's house, intending only to ask to be a servant and say "I am no longer worthy to be called your son" (15:19).  But, instead, his father welcomes him joyfully and commands his servants to "bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet.  And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate.  For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found" (15:22-23).

The key difference between the actual prodigal son and the four students is that the prodigal son demonstrates penitence ("I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you'" [15:18]) where the students pride themselves because they think themselves "virtuous."

There's also a difference in the incentive to return home.  The prodigal son returns merely so that he can find work and lodging, but the students' letter explains that the fatted calf is a reward that the parents are offering in exchange for their sons' homecoming.  The prodigal son wasn't expecting a feast upon his return, but the students seem almost weary of the prospect, as if it's an ordeal they have to go through.  If anything, they're like the prodigal son at the beginning of the parable, when he wants his share of the inheritance and is interested in "reckless living."

What struck me about the prodigal son comparison is its irony.  The students want to appear as if they're good sons and do what their parents want, but the actual prodigal son attained a much better understanding of his filial relationship.

Les Misérables (Part I, Book Two, Chapter 13)

About a month ago, I started re-reading Les Misérables (this is the second time I've read it).  I recently finished Book Two, and at the very end (in Chapter 13 - "Petit Gervais"), I think I found a reference to 1 Corinthians 13.

The narrator writes that Jean Valjean "beheld himself then, so to speak, face to face, and at the same time, through that hallucination, he saw, at a mysterious distance, a sort of light which he took at first to be a torch.  Examining more attentively this light which dawned upon his conscience, he recognised that it had a human form, and that this torch was the bishop."

The "face to face" part in particular is what reminded me of 1 Corinthians 13:12:  "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face.  Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known."  The study notes in my Bible gloss this passage, explaining that it's talking about the personal knowledge of God that the believer will have, but in Les Misérables, it seems to apply more to Jean Valjean's self-examination and his later certainty in what he has to do.  Shortly before his seeing himself face to face, the narrator asks:

Did a voice whisper in his ear that he had just passed through the decisive hour of his destiny, that there was no longer a middle course for him, that if, thereafter, he should not be the best of men, he would be the worst, that he must now, so to speak, mount higher than the bishop, or fall lower that the galley slave; that, if he would become good, he must become an angel; that, if he would remain wicked, he must become a monster?

These two passages are linked by the expression "so to speak."*  Of the two options presented, Valjean chooses to "mount higher than the bishop."  The chapter (and Book Two) ends with him "in the attitude of prayer, kneeling upon the pavement in the shadow, before the door of Monseigneur Bienvenu."

That higher path is characterized by the bishop bearing illumination, which is a similar description to what 1 Corinthians 13:12 has.  Things are no longer seen dimly, but with illumination ("The light grew brighter and brighter in [Valjean's] mind...").  The preceding verse seems to have some relation to Valjean's choice too:  "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.  When I became a man, I gave up childish ways" (1 Corinthians 13:11).  Valjean also seems to acquire a new perspective (he now "know[s] fully"):

His past life, his first offence, his long expiation, his brutal exterior, his hardened interior, his release made glad by so many schemes of vengeance, what had happened to him at the bishop's, his last action, this theft of forty sous from a child, a crime meaner and the more monstrous that it came after the bishop's pardon, all this returned and appeared to him, clearly, but in a light that he had never seen before.  He beheld his life, and it seemed to him horrible; his soul, and it seemed to him frightful.

At the end of the previous chapter (chapter 12 - "The Bishop at Work"), the bishop tells Jean Valjean that "It is your soul that I am buying for you.  I am withdrawing it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I am giving it to God!"  This dedication to God is an important part of the book, so it's fitting that Hugo's narrator uses Biblical descriptions like these from 1 Corinthians 13 to describe Valjean.

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*Usually, I'd be hesitant to assert something about a translated work based on a particular phrase, but I checked an-other translation I have, and it too uses "so to speak" in both passages.

For the Ambiguity of Case

A few days ago while reading Les Misérables, I came across this sentence:

He wore his working-man’s waistcoat, brown linen trousers, and his cap with the long visor hid his face.

I really like this sentence because of its grammatical structure.  As far as what it's saying, it's not too interesting, but the underlying structure is fascinating and says a lot about English's relatively simple case arrangement.

In this sentence, cap is simultaneously the third in the list and the subject of the second clause.  You could just as easily write, "He wore his working-man's waistcoat, brown linen trousers, and his cap with the long visor" and "His cap with the long visor hid his face."  But the two clauses are combined.  And since his cap with the long visor works both as direct object and subject, it gives the whole sentence a nice, uninterrupted flow.

I got thinking about this some more, and I didn't know whether to attribute this to Hugo or the translator C.E. Wilbur.  Then I realised that the grammatical structure could give me a clue.  English doesn't inflect its nouns to indicate case.  You could come across a word like cap, and you wouldn't know whether it's in the nominative case or accusative case (or any other case).  In some languages, nouns are inflected to indicate their case.  But since it's been about five years since I last took a French class, I couldn't remember if French did this or not.  So I looked it up, and it turns out the French doesn't (though, like English, it does inflect its pronouns to indicate case).  So I still couldn't tell if this grammatical structure was the work of Hugo or Wilbur.

However!  This still illustrates something.  Since I started learning about languages that inflect their nouns to indicate cases, I've come to view those that don't (particularly English) as, well, sort of inferior.  After all, one of the points of grammar is to communicate clearly, and when the language you're using doesn't differentiate between cases, your sentences can be interpreted in ways that you hadn't intended.

But this sentence kind of argues against that clarity.  The ambiguity of cap's case creates this wonderful flow between the two clauses.  With a language that differentiates cases, that would not be possible.  It's only because English doesn't inflect its nouns to indicate cases that something like this is even possible; in a language that does, the two clauses would have to be split because you could not inflect a noun in two different ways simultaneously.  Here, that ambiguity of case creates an uninterrupted rhythm.