LOGINSo long as there shall exist, by virtue of law and custom, decrees of damnation pronounced by society, artificially creating hells amid the civilization of earth, and adding the element of human fate to divine destiny; so long as the three great problems of the century—the degradation of man through pauperism, the corruption of woman through hunger, the crippling of children through lack of light—are unsolved; so long as social asphyxia is possible in any part of the world;—in other words, and with a still wider significance, so long as ignorance and poverty exist on earth, books of the nature of Les Misérables cannot fail to be of use.
View More1 (return) [ Patois of the French Alps: chat de maraude, rascally marauder.] 2 (return) [ Liège: a cork-tree. Pau: a jest on peau, skin.] 3 (return) [ She belonged to that circle where cuckoos and carriages share the same fate; and a jade herself, she lived, as jades live, for the space of a morning (or jade).] 4 (return) [ An ex-convict.] 5 (return) [ This parenthesis is due to Jean Valjean.] 6 (return) [ A bullet as large as an egg.] 7 (return) [ Walter Scott, Lamartine, Vaulabelle, Charras, Quinet, Thiers.] 8 (return) [ This is the inscription:— 9 (return) [ A heavy rifled gun.] 10 (return) [ “A battle terminated, a day finished, false measures repaired, greater successes assured for the morrow,—all was lost by a moment of panic, terror.”—Napoleon, Dictées de Sainte Hélène.] 11 (return) [ Five winning numbers in a lottery] 12 (return) [ Literally “made cuirs”; i. e., pronounced a t or an s at the end of words where the opposite
Publisher of the Italian translation of Les Misérables in Milan.You are right, sir, when you tell me that Les Misérables is written for all nations. I do not know whether it will be read by all, but I wrote it for all. It is addressed to England as well as to Spain, to Italy as well as to France, to Germany as well as to Ireland, to Republics which have slaves as well as to Empires which have serfs. Social problems overstep frontiers. The sores of the human race, those great sores which cover the globe, do not halt at the red or blue lines traced upon the map. In every place where man is ignorant and despairing, in every place where woman is sold for bread, wherever the child suffers for lack of the book which should instruct him and of the hearth which should warm him, the book of Les Misérables knocks at the door and says: “Open to me, I come for you.”At the hour of civilization through which we are now passing, and which is still so sombre, the miserable’s name is Man; he is ago
In the cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, in the vicinity of the common grave, far from the elegant quarter of that city of sepulchres, far from all the tombs of fancy which display in the presence of eternity all the hideous fashions of death, in a deserted corner, beside an old wall, beneath a great yew tree over which climbs the wild convolvulus, amid dandelions and mosses, there lies a stone. That stone is no more exempt than others from the leprosy of time, of dampness, of the lichens and from the defilement of the birds. The water turns it green, the air blackens it. It is not near any path, and people are not fond of walking in that direction, because the grass is high and their feet are immediately wet. When there is a little sunshine, the lizards come thither. All around there is a quivering of weeds. In the spring, linnets warble in the trees.This stone is perfectly plain. In cutting it the only thought was the requirements of the tomb, and no other care was taken than to make the
Jean Valjean turned round at the knock which he heard on his door.“Come in,” he said feebly.The door opened.Cosette and Marius made their appearance.Cosette rushed into the room.Marius remained on the threshold, leaning against the jamb of the door.“Cosette!” said Jean Valjean.And he sat erect in his chair, his arms outstretched and trembling, haggard, livid, gloomy, an immense joy in his eyes.Cosette, stifling with emotion, fell upon Jean Valjean’s breast.“Father!” said she.Jean Valjean, overcome, stammered:“Cosette! she! you! Madame! it is thou! Ah! my God!”And, pressed close in Cosette’s arms, he exclaimed:“It is thou! thou art here! Thou dost pardon me then!”Marius, lowering his eyelids, in order to keep his tears from flowing, took a step forward and murmured between lips convulsively contracted to repress his sobs:“My father!”“And you also, you pardon me!” Jean Valjean said to him.Marius could find no words, and Jean Valjean added:“Thanks.”Co