melbourne observer. 120919b. september 19, 2012. part b. pages 17-36

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

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www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, September 19, 2012 - 7

Three o’clock in the morning had just struck,and he had been walking thus for five hours,almost uninterruptedly, when he at length al-lowed himself to drop into his chair.There he fell asleep and had a dream.This dream, like the majority of dreams, boreno relation to the situation, except by its painfuland heart-rending character, but it made an im-pression on him. This nightmare struck him soforcibly that he wrote it down later on. It is oneof the papers in his own handwriting which hehas bequeathed to us. We think that we havehere reproduced the thing in strict accordancewith the text.Of whatever nature this dream may be, the his-tory of this night would be incomplete if we wereto omit it: it is the gloomy adventure of an ailingsoul.Here it is. On the envelope we find this lineinscribed, “The Dream I had that Night.”“I was in a plain; a vast, gloomy plain, wherethere was no grass. It did not seem to me to bedaylight nor yet night.“I was walking with my brother, the brother ofmy childish years, the brother of whom, I mustsay, I never think, and whom I now hardly re-member.“We were conversing and we met some passers-by. We were talking of a neighbor of ours in

the beginning.Thus did this unhappy soul struggle in its an-guish. Eighteen hundred years before this un-fortunate man, the mysterious Being in whomare summed up all the sanctities and all the suf-ferings of humanity had also long thrust asidewith his hand, while the olive-trees quivered inthe wild wind of the infinite, the terrible cupwhich appeared to Him dripping with darknessand overflowing with shadows in the depths allstudded with stars.

the ladder staircase of the galleys beneath thesergeant’s whip. Oh, what misery! Can destiny,then, be as malicious as an intelligent being,and become as monstrous as the human heart?And do what he would, he always fell back uponthe heartrending dilemma which lay at the foun-dation of his revery: “Should he remain in para-dise and become a demon? Should he return tohell and become an angel?”What was to be done? Great God! what was tobe done?The torment from which he had escaped withso much difficulty was unchained afresh withinhim. His ideas began to grow confused oncemore; they assumed a kind of stupefied andmechanical quality which is peculiar to despair.The name of Romainville recurred incessantlyto his mind, with the two verses of a song whichhe had heard in the past. He thought thatRomainville was a little grove near Paris, whereyoung lovers go to pluck lilacs in the month ofApril.He wavered outwardly as well as inwardly. Hewalked like a little child who is permitted totoddle alone.At intervals, as he combated his lassitude, hemade an effort to recover the mastery of hismind. He tried to put to himself, for the last time,and definitely, the problem over which he had,in a manner, fallen prostrate with fatigue: Oughthe to denounce himself? Ought he to hold hispeace? He could not manage to see anythingdistinctly. The vague aspects of all the coursesof reasoning which had been sketched out byhis meditations quivered and vanished, one af-ter the other, into smoke. He only felt that, towhatever course of action he made up his mind,something in him must die, and that of neces-sity, and without his being able to escape thefact; that he was entering a sepulchre on theright hand as much as on the left; that he waspassing through a death agony,— the agony ofhis happiness, or the agony of his virtue.Alas! all his resolution had again taken posses-sion of him. He was no further advanced than at

BOOK THE SEVENTH. CHAPTER III

A TEMPEST IN A SKULL

Continued from last week

former days, who had always worked with herwindow open from the time when she came tolive on the street. As we talked we felt cold be-cause of that open window.“There were no trees in the plain. We saw aman passing close to us. He was entirely nude,of the hue of ashes, and mounted on a horsewhich was earth color. The man had no hair; wecould see his skull and the veins on it. In hishand he held a switch which was as supple as avine-shoot and as heavy as iron. This horsemanpassed and said nothing to us.“My brother said to me, ‘Let us take to the hol-low road.’“There existed a hollow way wherein one sawneither a single shrub nor a spear of moss. Ev-erything was dirt-colored, even the sky. Afterproceeding a few paces, I received no replywhen I spoke: I perceived that my brother wasno longer with me.“I entered a village which I espied. I reflectedthat it must be Romainville. (WhyRomainville?)55 This parenthesis is due to Jean Valjean.“The first street that I entered was deserted. Ientered a second street. Behind the angle formedby the two streets, a man was standing erectagainst the wall. I said to this Man:—“‘What country is this? Where am I?’ The manmade no reply. I saw the door of a house open,and I entered.“The first chamber was deserted. I entered thesecond. Behind the door of this chamber a manwas standing erect against the wall. I inquiredof this man, ‘Whose house is this? Where amI?’ The man replied not.“The house had a garden. I quitted the houseand entered the garden. The garden was de-serted. Behind the first tree I found a man stand-ing upright. I said to this man, ‘What garden isthis? Where am I?’ The man did not answer.“I strolled into the village, and perceived that itwas a town. All the streets were deserted, all thedoors were open. Not a single living being waspassing in the streets, walking through the cham-bers or strolling in the gardens. But behind eachangle of the walls, behind each door, behindeach tree, stood a silent man. Only one was tobe seen at a time. These men watched me pass.“I left the town and began to ramble about thefields.“After the lapse of some time I turned back andsaw a great crowd coming up behind me. I rec-ognized all the men whom I had seen in thattown. They had strange heads. They did notseem to be in a hurry, yet they walked fasterthan I did. They made no noise as they walked.In an instant this crowd had overtaken and sur-rounded me. The faces of these men wereearthen in hue.“Then the first one whom I had seen and ques-tioned on entering the town said to me:—“‘Whither are you going! Do you not know thatyou have been dead this long time?’“I opened my mouth to reply, and I perceivedthat there was no one near me.”He woke. He was icy cold. A wind which waschill like the breeze of dawn was rattling theleaves of the window, which had been left openon their hinges. The fire was out. The candlewas nearing its end. It was still black night.He rose, he went to the window. There were nostars in the sky even yet.From his window the yard of the house and thestreet were visible. A sharp, harsh noise, whichmade him drop his eyes, resounded from theearth.Below him he perceived two red stars, whoserays lengthened and shortened in a singularmanner through the darkness.As his thoughts were still half immersed in themists of sleep, “Hold!” said he, “there are nostars in the sky. They are on earth now.”But this confusion vanished; a second sound simi-lar to the first roused him thoroughly; he lookedand recognized the fact that these two stars werethe lanterns of a carriage. By the light whichthey cast he was able to distinguish the form ofthis vehicle. It was a tilbury harnessed to a smallwhite horse. The noise which he had heard wasthe trampling of the horse’s hoofs on the pave-ment.

Continued on Page 18

●●●●● Victor Hugo

The perspiration streamed from his brow. Hefixed a haggard eye on the candlesticks. Butthat within him which had spoken had not fin-ished. The voice continued:—“Jean Valjean, there will be around you manyvoices, which will make a great noise, whichwill talk very loud, and which will bless you,and only one which no one will hear, and whichwill curse you in the dark. Well! listen, infa-mous man! All those benedictions will fall backbefore they reach heaven, and only the male-diction will ascend to God.”This voice, feeble at first, and which had pro-ceeded from the most obscure depths of his con-science, had gradually become startling and for-midable, and he now heard it in his very ear. Itseemed to him that it had detached itself fromhim, and that it was now speaking outside ofhim. He thought that he heard the last words sodistinctly, that he glanced around the room in asort of terror.“Is there any one here?” he demanded aloud, inutter bewilderment.Then he resumed, with a laugh which re-sembled that of an idiot:—“How stupid I am! There can be no one!”There was some one; but the person who wasthere was of those whom the human eye cannotsee.He placed the candlesticks on the chimney-piece.Then he resumed his monotonous and lugubri-ous tramp, which troubled the dreams of thesleeping man beneath him, and awoke him witha start.This tramping to and fro soothed and at the sametime intoxicated him. It sometimes seems, onsupreme occasions, as though people movedabout for the purpose of asking advice of every-thing that they may encounter by change ofplace. After the lapse of a few minutes he nolonger knew his position.He now recoiled in equal terror before both theresolutions at which he had arrived in turn. Thetwo ideas which counselled him appeared tohim equally fatal. What a fatality! What con-junction that that Champmathieu should havebeen taken for him; to be overwhelmed by pre-cisely the means which Providence seemed tohave employed, at first, to strengthen his posi-tion!There was a moment when he reflected on thefuture. Denounce himself, great God! Deliverhimself up! With immense despair he faced allthat he should be obliged to leave, all that heshould be obliged to take up once more. Heshould have to bid farewell to that existencewhich was so good, so pure, so radiant, to therespect of all, to honor, to liberty. He should nevermore stroll in the fields; he should never morehear the birds sing in the month of May; he shouldnever more bestow alms on the little children;he should never more experience the sweet-ness of having glances of gratitude and love fixedupon him; he should quit that house which hehad built, that little chamber! Everything seemedcharming to him at that moment. Never againshould he read those books; never more shouldhe write on that little table of white wood; his oldportress, the only servant whom he kept, wouldnever more bring him his coffee in the morning.Great God! instead of that, the convict gang, theiron necklet, the red waistcoat, the chain on hisankle, fatigue, the cell, the camp bed all thosehorrors which he knew so well! At his age, afterhaving been what he was! If he were only youngagain! but to be addressed in his old age as “thou”by any one who pleased; to be searched by theconvict-guard; to receive the galley-sergeant’scudgellings; to wear iron-bound shoes on his barefeet; to have to stretch out his leg night and morn-ing to the hammer of the roundsman who visitsthe gang; to submit to the curiosity of strangers,who would be told: “That man yonder is thefamous Jean Valjean, who was mayor of M. surM.”; and at night, dripping with perspiration,overwhelmed with lassitude, their green capsdrawn over their eyes, to remount, two by two,

CHAPTER IV

FORMS ASSUMED BY SUFFERING

DURING SLEEP


From Page 17

“What vehicle is this?” he said to himself. “Whois coming here so early in the morning?”At that moment there came a light tap on thedoor of his chamber.He shuddered from head to foot, and cried in aterrible voice:—“Who is there?”Some one said:—“I, Monsieur le Maire.”He recognized the voice of the old woman whowas his portress.“Well!” he replied, “what is it?”“Monsieur le Maire, it is just five o’clock in themorning.”“What is that to me?”“The cabriolet is here, Monsieur le Maire.”“What cabriolet?”“The tilbury.”“What tilbury?”“Did not Monsieur le Maire order a tilbury?”“No,” said he.“The coachman says that he has come for Mon-sieur le Maire.”“What coachman?”“M. Scaufflaire’s coachman.”“M. Scaufflaire?”That name sent a shudder over him, as though aflash of lightning had passed in front of his face.“Ah! yes,” he resumed; “M. Scaufflaire!”If the old woman could have seen him at thatmoment, she would have been frightened.A tolerably long silence ensued. He examinedthe flame of the candle with a stupid air, andfrom around the wick he took some of the burn-ing wax, which he rolled between his fingers.The old woman waited for him. She even ven-tured to uplift her voice once more:—“What am I to say, Monsieur le Maire?”“Say that it is well, and that I am coming down.”

sive. He was, more than ever, as he had been atthe first moment.Why was he going to Arras?He repeated what he had already said to him-self when he had hired Scaufflaire’s cabriolet:that, whatever the result was to be, there was noreason why he should not see with his own eyes,and judge of matters for himself; that this waseven prudent; that he must know what took place;that no decision could be arrived at without hav-ing observed and scrutinized; that one mademountains out of everything from a distance;that, at any rate, when he should have seen thatChampmathieu, some wretch, his consciencewould probably be greatly relieved to allow himto go to the galleys in his stead; that Javert wouldindeed be there; and that Brevet, that Chenildieu,that Cochepaille, old convicts who had knownhim; but they certainly would not recognizehim;— bah! what an idea! that Javert was ahundred leagues from suspecting the truth; thatall conjectures and all suppositions were fixedon Champmathieu, and that there is nothing soheadstrong as suppositions and conjectures; thataccordingly there was no danger.That it was, no doubt, a dark moment, but thathe should emerge from it; that, after all, he heldhis destiny, however bad it might be, in his ownhand; that he was master of it. He clung to thisthought.At bottom, to tell the whole truth, he would havepreferred not to go to Arras.Nevertheless, he was going thither.As he meditated, he whipped up his horse, whichwas proceeding at that fine, regular, and eventrot which accomplishes two leagues and a halfan hour.In proportion as the cabriolet advanced, he feltsomething within him draw back.At daybreak he was in the open country; thetown of M. sur M. lay far behind him. He watchedthe horizon grow white; he stared at all the chillyfigures of a winter’s dawn as they passed beforehis eyes, but without seeing them. The morninghas its spectres as well as the evening. He didnot see them; but without his being aware of it,and by means of a sort of penetration which wasalmost physical, these black silhouettes of treesand of hills added some gloomy and sinisterquality to the violent state of his soul.Each time that he passed one of those isolateddwellings which sometimes border on the high-way, he said to himself, “And yet there are peoplethere within who are sleeping!”The trot of the horse, the bells on the harness,the wheels on the road, produced a gentle, mo-notonous noise. These things are charming whenone is joyous, and lugubrious when one is sad.It was broad daylight when he arrived at Hesdin.He halted in front of the inn, to allow the horse abreathing spell, and to have him given someoats.The horse belonged, as Scaufflaire had said, tothat small race of the Boulonnais, which has toomuch head, too much belly, and not enough neckand shoulders, but which has a broad chest, alarge crupper, thin, fine legs, and solid hoofs —a homely, but a robust and healthy race. Theexcellent beast had travelled five leagues in twohours, and had not a drop of sweat on his loins.He did not get out of the tilbury. The stablemanwho brought the oats suddenly bent down andexamined the left wheel.“Are you going far in this condition?” said theman.He replied, with an air of not having roused him-self from his revery:—“Why?”“Have you come from a great distance?” wenton the man.“Five leagues.”“Ah!”“Why do you say, ‘Ah?’”The man bent down once more, was silent for amoment, with his eyes fixed on the wheel; thenhe rose erect and said:—“Because, though this wheel has travelled fiveleagues, it certainly will not travel another quar-ter of a league.”He sprang out of the tilbury.“What is that you say, my friend?”“I say that it is a miracle that you should havetravelled five leagues without you and your horserolling into some ditch on the highway. Just seehere!”The wheel really had suffered serious damage.The shock administered by the mail-wagon hadsplit two spokes and strained the hub, so that thenut no longer held firm.“My friend,” he said to the stableman, “is there

a wheelwright here?”“Certainly, sir.”“Do me the service to go and fetch him.”“He is only a step from here. Hey! MasterBourgaillard!”Master Bourgaillard, the wheelwright, was stand-ing on his own threshold. He came, examinedthe wheel and made a grimace like a surgeonwhen the latter thinks a limb is broken.“Can you repair this wheel immediately?”“Yes, sir.”“When can I set out again?”“To-morrow.”“To-morrow!”“There is a long day’s work on it. Are you in ahurry, sir?”“In a very great hurry. I must set out again in anhour at the latest.”“Impossible, sir.”“I will pay whatever you ask.”“Impossible.”“Well, in two hours, then.”“Impossible today. Two new spokes and a hubmust be made. Monsieur will not be able to startbefore tomorrow morning.”“The matter cannot wait until tomorrow. Whatif you were to replace this wheel instead of re-pairing it?”“How so?”“You are a wheelwright?”“Certainly, sir.”“Have you not a wheel that you can sell me?Then I could start again at once.”“A spare wheel?”“Yes.”“I have no wheel on hand that would fit yourcabriolet. Two wheels make a pair. Two wheelscannot be put together hap-hazard.”“In that case, sell me a pair of wheels.”“Not all wheels fit all axles, sir.”“Try, nevertheless.”“It is useless, sir. I have nothing to sell but cart-wheels. We are but a poor country here.”“Have you a cabriolet that you can let me have?”The wheelwright had seen at the first glancethat the tilbury was a hired vehicle. He shruggedhis shoulders.“You treat the cabriolets that people let you sowell! If I had one, I would not let it to you!”“Well, sell it to me, then.”“I have none.”“What! not even a spring-cart? I am not hard toplease, as you see.”“We live in a poor country. There is, in truth,”added the wheelwright, “an old calash underthe shed yonder, which belongs to a bourgeoisof the town, who gave it to me to take care of,and who only uses it on the thirty-sixth of themonth — never, that is to say. I might let that toyou, for what matters it to me? But the bour-geois must not see it pass — and then, it is acalash; it would require two horses.”“I will take two post-horses.”“Where is Monsieur going?”“To Arras.”“And Monsieur wishes to reach there today?”“Yes, of course.”“By taking two post-horses?”“Why not?”“Does it make any difference whether Mon-sieur arrives at four o’clock tomorrow morn-ing?”“Certainly not.”“There is one thing to be said about that, yousee, by taking post-horses — Monsieur has hispassport?”“Yes.”“Well, by taking post-horses, Monsieur cannotreach Arras before tomorrow. We are on a cross-road. The relays are badly served, the horsesare in the fields. The season for ploughing is justbeginning; heavy teams are required, and horsesare seized upon everywhere, from the post aswell as elsewhere. Monsieur will have to waitthree or four hours at the least at every relay.And, then, they drive at a walk. There are manyhills to ascend.”“Come then, I will go on horseback. Unharnessthe cabriolet. Some one can surely sell me asaddle in the neighborhood.”“Without doubt. But will this horse bear thesaddle?”“That is true; you remind me of that; he will notbear it.”“Then —”“But I can surely hire a horse in the village?”“A horse to travel to Arras at one stretch?”“Yes.”“That would require such a horse as does notexist in these parts. You would have to buy it to

begin with, because no one knows you. But youwill not find one for sale nor to let, for five hun-dred francs, or for a thousand.”“What am I to do?”“The best thing is to let me repair the wheel likean honest man, and set out on your journey to-morrow.”“To-morrow will be too late.”“The deuce!”“Is there not a mail-wagon which runs to Arras?When will it pass?”“To-night. Both the posts pass at night; the onegoing as well as the one coming.”“What! It will take you a day to mend thiswheel?”“A day, and a good long one.”“If you set two men to work?”“If I set ten men to work.”“What if the spokes were to be tied togetherwith ropes?”“That could be done with the spokes, not withthe hub; and the felly is in a bad state, too.”“Is there any one in this village who lets outteams?”“No.”“Is there another wheelwright?”The stableman and the wheelwright replied inconcert, with a toss of the head“No.”He felt an immense joy.It was evident that Providence was intervening.That it was it who had broken the wheel of thetilbury and who was stopping him on the road.He had not yielded to this sort of first summons;he had just made every possible effort to con-tinue the journey; he had loyally and scrupu-lously exhausted all means; he had been de-terred neither by the season, nor fatigue, nor bythe expense; he had nothing with which to re-proach himself. If he went no further, that wasno fault of his. It did not concern him further. Itwas no longer his fault. It was not the act of hisown conscience, but the act of Providence.He breathed again. He breathed freely and tothe full extent of his lungs for the first time sinceJavert’s visit. It seemed to him that the hand ofiron which had held his heart in its grasp for thelast twenty hours had just released him.It seemed to him that God was for him now, andwas manifesting Himself.He said himself that he had done all he could,and that now he had nothing to do but retrace hissteps quietly.If his conversation with the wheelwright hadtaken place in a chamber of the inn, it wouldhave had no witnesses, no one would have heardhim, things would have rested there, and it isprobable that we should not have had to relateany of the occurrences which the reader is aboutto peruse; but this conversation had taken placein the street. Any colloquy in the street inevita-bly attracts a crowd. There are always peoplewho ask nothing better than to become specta-tors. While he was questioning the wheelwright,some people who were passing back and forthhalted around them. After listening for a fewminutes, a young lad, to whom no one had paidany heed, detached himself from the group andran off.At the moment when the traveller, after the in-ward deliberation which we have just described,resolved to retrace his steps, this child returned.He was accompanied by an old woman.“Monsieur,” said the woman, “my boy tells methat you wish to hire a cabriolet.”These simple words uttered by an old womanled by a child made the perspiration trickle downhis limbs. He thought that he beheld the handwhich had relaxed its grasp reappear in the dark-ness behind him, ready to seize him once more.He answered:—“Yes, my good woman; I am in search of acabriolet which I can hire.”And he hastened to add:—“But there is none in the place.”“Certainly there is,” said the old woman.“Where?” interpolated the wheelwright.“At my house,” replied the old woman.He shuddered. The fatal hand had grasped himagain.The old woman really had in her shed a sort ofbasket spring-cart. The wheelwright and thestable-man, in despair at the prospect of the trav-eller escaping their clutches, interfered.“It was a frightful old trap; it rests flat on theaxle; it is an actual fact that the seats were sus-pended inside it by leather thongs; the rain cameinto it; the wheels were rusted and eaten withmoisture; it would not go much further than the

- Continued on Page 35

Page 18 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, September 19, 2012

CHAPTER V

HINDRANCES

The posting service from Arras to M. sur M.was still operated at this period by small mail-wagons of the time of the Empire. These mail-wagons were two-wheeled cabriolets, uphol-stered inside with fawn-colored leather, hungon springs, and having but two seats, one for thepostboy, the other for the traveller. The wheelswere armed with those long, offensive axleswhich keep other vehicles at a distance, andwhich may still be seen on the road in Germany.The despatch box, an immense oblong coffer,was placed behind the vehicle and formed apart of it. This coffer was painted black, and thecabriolet yellow.These vehicles, which have no counterpartsnowadays, had something distorted and hunch-backed about them; and when one saw thempassing in the distance, and climbing up someroad to the horizon, they resembled the insectswhich are called, I think, termites, and which,though with but little corselet, drag a great trainbehind them. But they travelled at a very rapidrate. The post-wagon which set out from Arrasat one o’clock every night, after the mail fromParis had passed, arrived at M. sur M. a littlebefore five o’clock in the morning.That night the wagon which was descending toM. sur M. by the Hesdin road, collided at thecorner of a street, just as it was entering thetown, with a little tilbury harnessed to a whitehorse, which was going in the opposite direc-tion, and in which there was but one person, aman enveloped in a mantle. The wheel of thetilbury received quite a violent shock. The post-man shouted to the man to stop, but the travellerpaid no heed and pursued his road at full gallop.“That man is in a devilish hurry!” said the post-man.The man thus hastening on was the one whomwe have just seen struggling in convulsionswhich are certainly deserving of pity.Whither was he going? He could not have told.Why was he hastening? He did not know. Hewas driving at random, straight ahead. Whither?To Arras, no doubt; but he might have been go-ing elsewhere as well. At times he was con-scious of it, and he shuddered. He plunged intothe night as into a gulf. Something urged himforward; something drew him on. No one couldhave told what was taking place within him;every one will understand it. What man is therewho has not entered, at least once in his life, intothat obscure cavern of the unknown?However, he had resolved on nothing, decidednothing, formed no plan, done nothing. None ofthe actions of his conscience had been deci-

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, September 19, 2012 - Page 19www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, September 19, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Victoria Pictorial Historic Photo Collection

●●●●● The Old Stone Bridge, Dandenong●●●●● Dandenong. 1915.

●●●●● Entering Dandenong from Gippsland

●●●●● Dandenong Post Ofice ●●●●● Main street, Dandenong, from Colonial Bank

●●●●● Dandenong Produce Market. 1931. ●●●●● In the gardens, Dandenong

●●●●● Commercial Bank and Town Hall, Dandenong

Page 22 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, September 19, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

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Trivia ChallengeAnswer: Eleven

■ The school holidays are brought to a trum-peting climax on Sunday, September 30 at HamerHall with the high-energy rhythms and soundsof Raising The Roof.

Vocal and instrumental ensembles from com-munities across Victoria will come together toperform musical traditions from around theworld, including La Voce Della Luna - ItalianWomen's Choir, Drum Nation, Chao Feng Chi-nese Orchestra, Massive Hip-Hop Choir, SkinChoir, Melbourne Ukulele Kollective, MelbourneMass Gospel Choir, Kew Band and more.

Led by renowned musicians Graeme Leakand Patrick Cronin, and hosted by Julia Zemiro,Raising The Roof in the new Hamer Hall cel-ebrates the music traditions and cultures foundthroughout Victoria and culminates with a fi-nale where everyone is the star.

Audience members will be taught simplemelodies, rhythms and vocal refrains which willthen contribute to the final number: a grand-scalecrescendo of sound, instruments and voices.

Ripping and rustling paper, stomping feet andcrowd-wide chants will combine with the on-stage musicians playing instruments of Asian,Indigenous, African, Pacific, Middle-Easternand European origins.

Singers from Community Music Victoria'snetwork will also be dotted throughout the audi-torium to help bring the entire venue to life, andMelbourne-based Bollywood outfit TheBombay Royale will add their signature blend of1960s and 70s hindi, surf and disco to the entiremusic-making affair.

Pre-show from 1.30pm, visitors can also gobehind the scenes on the performers' music-making rituals. Spotlight rehearsals will be setup in the foyer spaces and audience memberscan sit in on a jam-session with Melbourne Uku-lele Kollective, listen to a warm-up with La VoceDella Luna and witness the rhyme-droppingprowess of Massive Hip-Hop Choir.

■ Happiness is not based on external status, itis an internal state.

■ Brachydactyly. Shortness of the fingers andtoes.

■ How many ships were in Australia’s FirstFleet?

■ Observer reader Betty Jeffrey of Glenburnsends this recipe:

Ingredients1kg diced steak cut into small pieces and rolledin flour1 packet frozen mixed vegetables¼-cup tomato sauce1 tablespoon golden syrup1 tablespoon Worcestershire Sauce1 tablespoon vinegar

MethodStir sauce, syrup, Worcestershire sauce and vin-egar togetherPlace meat and begs in casseroleAnd add sauce mixture. Then add enough liq-uid (Coca-Cola or wine or plain water) to justcover ingredients.Cook in oven at 180 degrees for 2½-hours oruntil meat is tender. Thicken gravy if neces-sary.

■ Spotted in Strathmore: ‘This Vehicle Is Pro-tected By An Anti-Theft Sticker’.

■ Melbourne’s theatre fraternity is sendinggood wishes to Suzie Howie. Suzie explained tocolleagues that she was being joined by J PBolton for the publicity for A Funny Thing Hap-pened On The Way To The Forum:

“Please note that J P Bolton of JPPR will bewoprking alongside me on publicity forAFTHOTWTTF. My doctor has advised me thatthis is the best for my on-going breast cancertreatment. As you know, I began working a num-ber of months ago on Forum, and I will continuewith strategy and the practical planning and dis-cussions I have had with so many of you. Now Iam joined by JP, an accomplished publicist inhis own right, whom you’ve all dealt with onmany shows over the years and I cam assureyou we will be pulling out all stops out for youand the show.”

■ Wednesday, September 19. Happy 73rd birth-day to Observer reader Howard Purcell ofViewbank. Many happy returns to PaigeMcGinley. Birthday honours to Artie Stevens ofAIR News.■ Thursday, September 20. Happy birthdayto Mark Holmes. Businessman Ron Walker is73. Footballer Peter Daicos is 51.■ Friday, September 21. Special wishes tothose celebrating a birthday on this day. Mel-bourne TV and radio personality Dan Webb is88. Actor David Wenham is 47.■ Saturday, September 22. Kerri-AnneKennerley is 59. Actress Tiffany Lamb is 46.TV presenter Kim Watkins is 45.■ Sunday, September 23. Folk singer EricBogle was born in Scotland, 68 years ago.■ Monday, September 24. Football identityDenis Pagan is 65.■ Tuesday, September 25. Actress RobynNevin is 70.

■ Shana Tova. A good and sweet year to ourJewish readers.■ We have received a Yea Chronicle clippingthat notes the 60th wedding anniversary of Bettyand Ray Jeffrey of Glenburn. They dined atNatalia Restaurant, Croydon South, run byJason and Angela Diab of Killingworth, to cel-ebrate with sons Fraser and Lester, and friends.■ Cheerio to young John Parker, aesthete.

■ Thanks to Tommy Dysart, JoannieBrockenshire and Kole Dysart for their lettercongratulating the Melbourne Observer on its43rd anniversary. They also sent good wishes toAsh Long “four your decade of transformingoceans of ink to volumes of most enjoyable en-tertainment”.■ Retired broadcaster Keith McGowan had asurprise meeting with Mike Brady at Wye Riveron Monday (Sept. 17) this week. Keith, wifeAngela, and mother-in-law Sheila Heath, weretaking a Great Ocean Road tour that includedTorquay, Aireys Inlet and a coffee with the UpThere Cazaly man.

www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

ARIES (MAR 21 - APR 20)Something you thought you didn't want now appeals to you. Are you going mad? Ofcourse not Aries, you're just starting to realise that everyone has their faults and someof them you can live with.TAURUS (APR 21 - MAY 21)The new Moon yesterday helped you to gain insight into the way that your close onesthink and act. You're no longer feeling so judgmental and you regain the trust insomeone important to you.GEMINI (MAY 22 - JUNE 21)Your stubborn nature comes to the fore and now that you've finished licking yourwounds you're ready willing and able to take on life again. The Sun promises a newand compatible attraction.CANCER (JUNE 22 - JULY 23)You're missing someone who was in your life and you don't know how to deal with theemotions you're having. You can start by accepting one of the many invites you'vebeen ignoring. Call now to turn around ‘that' monetary problem still looming.LEO (JULY 24 - AUG 23)You're more important to your loved ones than you think and it's time you gave yourselfa little more credit.Â Having pride in who you are is the key to you enjoying life again.VIRGO (AUG 24 - SEPT 23)You seem to be on tenterhooks waiting for news on something. Don't dream your dayaway but use the time you have to work on preparing yourself for the major life changecoming your way.LIBRA (SEPT 24 - OCT 23)You're making so many new friends, you may find it hard to stick to promises andagreements you made with others. Check your diary or you could affect your financesas well as your reputation.SCORPIO (OCT 24 - NOV 22)This is the beginning of a new phase in your life which will allow you far moreindependence than ever before. Don't feel you have to carry a face who wouldn't dothe same for you.SAGITTARIUS (NOV 23 - DEC 21)Your element of fire is pushing you to say things which you know you will end upregretting. Slow your pace and think about the consequences or you could end up insomeone's bad books today.CAPRICORN (DEC 22 - JAN 20)Don't feel pressured to make changes to your life just because those close to you are.Sometimes Capricorn, familiarity can be a good thing.Â Trusting your instincts withnew faces can bring love and romance.AQUARIUS (JAN 21 - FEB 19)You're coming to terms with many things at the moment aren't you Aquarius? Whatyou need to be doing though is taking lessons from your past. A new love conquestbeckons if you pay attention today.PISCES (FEB 20 - MARCH 20)There are so many new things which are ready for you to learn. You've just beenspending too much of your time working on the problems of others. Now you' must beyour priority.

Your Stars with Christina La Cross

●●●●● Mike Brady with Keith McGowan



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ObserverMelbourne

Travellers’ Good Buys

ObserverMelbourne Wines & Liqueurs

withDavidEllis

withDavidEllis

■ It’s amazing enough that a whitewine should continue to be made tobasically the same style as it was whenlaunched 75 years ago, but more sothat at around just $11 it has the po-tential to also develop beautifully over10 years in the cellar.

Houghton’s White Classic wasconceived by the legendary JackMann at the company’s winery inWestern Australia’s Swan Valley in1937, using basically Chenin Blancwith a blend of several other whitevarieties. The same year it won FirstPrize in the ‘Dry White Table Wine’class at the Royal Melbourne WineShow, with the judges saying theywere “taken-aback by its bold newstyle.”

And when one described it “as likethe great White Burgundies ofFrance,” the company jumped on thequote and labelled it Houghton’sWhite Burgundy. The name stuck un-til the European Union banned the useof their regional names by other coun-tries in 2006, and it was re-namedHoughton’s White Classic.

Today it’s making is in the handsof Senior Winemaker, Ross Pammentwho deviates little from Jack Mann’soriginal criteria, still using CheninBlanc with a mix of several other va-rieties to result in lovely tropical fruitflavours of grapefruit, passionfruit,lime and rockmelon, complementedby peach and green apple.

Pay around $11 and enjoy withroast chicken and green olive andprune stuffing.

●●●●● “I just love this job,” Steve Melchior sums up his ‘work.’

This is Australia’s oldest nationalpark, with shaded pockets of rainforestand breathtaking views from BaldHill, site of a memorial to pioneeringaviator Lawrence Hargrave who ex-perimented with flying box-kites andother flying machines here in the 19thcentury, and popular today with hanggliders and paragliders.

Ideally located nearby is PaulineSmith’s long established Otford Pan-try, a popular spot for a coffee and herfamous homemade apple pie.

A couple of minutes south is thejewel in the region’s crown, the SeaCliff Bridge, which meanders like alarge serpent for 665 metres, juttingout over rocky platforms and the wa-ters of the ocean – a far safer alterna-tive to the previous cliff-hugging singlelane highway that was regularly closedby rock falls and landslides.

On the southern side we park andjump off the bike for a leisurely walkacross a section of the bridge as domany on a sundrenched weekend. Tojoin Steve on his sightseeing ride isone of the pleasurable reasons to visitWollongong and the scenic coastalstrip.

Book a night or two at the centrally-located beachside retreat of NovotelNorthbeach, and you will have thechance to experience a city whichoffers a lot more than at first meetsthe eye.

And maybe at some stage swapthe motor cycle for a pushbike throughsuch companies as Mobile BikeRental, and so combine some exer-cise with sightseeing along a dedi-cated path from Wollongong north toBulli, at times with the beaches justover your shoulder.

You may even try your hand at thetandem hang gliding from Bald Hillor skydiving from North Wollongongbefore or after driving to the top of theescarpment to walk along IllawarraFly Treetop Walk with its far-reach-ing views of the coast.

While the views are many, so tooare the dining options, including aninviting Samuel’s at Thirroul, a smartboutique style restaurant where theservice is warm and friendly and thedishes so varied and tantalisinglylisted that the most difficult part is inthe choosing.

In a prime location overlooking theprotected waters of WollongongHarbour and just a five-minute strollfrom the lighthouse, is the renownedHarbourfront restaurant, its specialityof fresh Santorini prawns a highlightas an entrée, or try the tempuraprawns and scallops.

A chilli and prawn linguini is alsopopular both as an entrée or a maincourse, and so too the black musseland crab risotto. And, of the mains,the John Dory is a tasty choice – butbe prepared to dine on portions moregenerously sized than you’ll find inmany a capital city restaurant of thesame standard.

For breakfast, Diggies on thebeachfront at North Wollongong is afavourite among locals, and doesn’tburn a hole in the pocket. And to ex-plore such eateries provides as muchfood for thought as joining Steve onhis ride along the Grand Pacific Drive.■ Details: Check out these sites:www.tourismwollongong.com;www.grandpacificdrive.com.au;www.justcruisintours.com.au

■ Beaut drop to go with a beautsteak.

■ A classic 75 years on – en-joy with roast chicken and greenolive and prune stuffing.

■ For as long as he likes to remem-ber, Wollongong’s Steve Melchior hashad a passion for motor cycles, espe-cially those with the Harley-Davidsonbadge.

With the wind whistling through hishandle-bar moustache, Steve has littlehesitation to announce “I just love thisjob”.

And why not, when you considerthat eight years ago he swapped anengineering maintenance job atQantas to turn his love into a career,taking guests on chauffeured Harley-Davidson sightseeing rides along suchspectacularly scenic routes asLawrence Hargrave Drive linkingRoyal National Park with Wollongong,and the amazing Grand Pacific Drive.

Steve wasn’t exactly born to bewild. However, he couldn’t think of abetter way to spend a day than to puton a helmet, don an ex-Police leatherjacket, and go for a ride.

His company – Just Cruisin’Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Tours –has a selection of privately-ownedbikes at its disposal for a ride on theback of, or in a sidecar. A Trike, if youare after a bit more stability, can alsobe booked for one of his informativeand entertaining road trips.

With the NSW South Coast turn-ing on a clear day we opted to take aHarley pillion ride behind Steve ($100per hour) through the southern reachesof the Royal National Park.

■ Steven Kurtz has put togood use fruit off 10- to 45-yearold vines he deliberatelypruned for low yields for hisKurtz Family Vineyards’Boundary Row 2009 Shiraz, aknock-out drop at $24 for thosewho like a beaut steak and abeaut wine to go with it.

The Kurtz family are 4th gen-eration Barossan growers andvignerons of German descent,and winemaker Steve hascoaxed wonderful black plumand cherry flavours to the forewith this drop. Ready to enjoynow, it’s also one to considerfor that special spot in the cel-lar over the next few years forfuture extra pleasure.

One for

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From Page 18

tilbury; a regular ramshackle old stage-wagon;the gentleman would make a great mistake if hetrusted himself to it,” etc., etc.All this was true; but this trap, this ramshackleold vehicle, this thing, whatever it was, ran onits two wheels and could go to Arras.He paid what was asked, left the tilbury with thewheelwright to be repaired, intending to reclaimit on his return, had the white horse put to thecart, climbed into it, and resumed the road whichhe had been travelling since morning.At the moment when the cart moved off, headmitted that he had felt, a moment previously,a certain joy in the thought that he should not gowhither he was now proceeding. He examinedthis joy with a sort of wrath, and found it absurd.Why should he feel joy at turning back? Afterall, he was taking this trip of his own free will.No one was forcing him to it.And assuredly nothing would happen exceptwhat he should choose.As he left Hesdin, he heard a voice shouting tohim: “Stop! Stop!” He halted the cart with avigorous movement which contained a feverishand convulsive element resembling hope.It was the old woman’s little boy.“Monsieur,” said the latter, “it was I who gotthe cart for you.”“Well?”“You have not given me anything.”He who gave to all so readily thought this de-mand exorbitant and almost odious.“Ah! it’s you, you scamp?” said he; “you shallhave nothing.”He whipped up his horse and set off at full speed.He had lost a great deal of time at Hesdin. Hewanted to make it good. The little horse wascourageous, and pulled for two; but it was themonth of February, there had been rain; the roadswere bad. And then, it was no longer the tilbury.The cart was very heavy, and in addition, therewere many ascents.He took nearly four hours to go from Hesdin toSaint–Pol; four hours for five leagues.At Saint–Pol he had the horse unharnessed atthe first inn he came to and led to the stable; ashe had promised Scaufflaire, he stood besidethe manger while the horse was eating; hethought of sad and confusing things.The inn-keeper’s wife came to the stable.“Does not Monsieur wish to breakfast?”“Come, that is true; I even have a good appe-tite.”He followed the woman, who had a rosy, cheer-ful face; she led him to the public room wherethere were tables covered with waxed cloth.“Make haste!” said he; “I must start again; I amin a hurry.”A big Flemish servant-maid placed his knife andfork in all haste; he looked at the girl with asensation of comfort.“That is what ailed me,” he thought; “I had notbreakfasted.”His breakfast was served; he seized the bread,took a mouthful, and then slowly replaced it onthe table, and did not touch it again.A carter was eating at another table; he said tothis man:—“Why is their bread so bitter here?”The carter was a German and did not under-stand him.He returned to the stable and remained near thehorse.An hour later he had quitted Saint–Pol and wasdirecting his course towards Tinques, which isonly five leagues from Arras.What did he do during this journey? Of whatwas he thinking? As in the morning, he watchedthe trees, the thatched roofs, the tilled fields passby, and the way in which the landscape, brokenat every turn of the road, vanished; this is a sortof contemplation which sometimes suffices tothe soul, and almost relieves it from thought.What is more melancholy and more profoundthan to see a thousand objects for the first andthe last time? To travel is to be born and to die atevery instant; perhaps, in the vaguest region ofhis mind, he did make comparisons betweenthe shifting horizon and our human existence:all the things of life are perpetually fleeing be-fore us; the dark and bright intervals are inter-mingled; after a dazzling moment, an eclipse;we look, we hasten, we stretch out our hands tograsp what is passing; each event is a turn in theroad, and, all at once, we are old; we feel ashock; all is black; we distinguish an obscuredoor; the gloomy horse of life, which has beendrawing us halts, and we see a veiled and un-known person unharnessing amid the shadows

Twilight was falling when the children who werecoming out of school beheld this traveller enterTinques; it is true that the days were still short;he did not halt at Tinques; as he emerged fromthe village, a laborer, who was mending the roadwith stones, raised his head and said to him:—“That horse is very much fatigued.”The poor beast was, in fact, going at a walk.“Are you going to Arras?” added the road-mender.“Yes.”“If you go on at that rate you will not arrive veryearly.”He stopped his horse, and asked the laborer:—“How far is it from here to Arras?”“Nearly seven good leagues.”“How is that? the posting guide only says fiveleagues and a quarter.”“Ah!” returned the road-mender, “so you don’tknow that the road is under repair? You will findit barred a quarter of an hour further on; there isno way to proceed further.”“Really?”“You will take the road on the left, leading toCarency; you will cross the river; when youreach Camblin, you will turn to the right; that isthe road to Mont–Saint-Eloy which leads to Ar-ras.”“But it is night, and I shall lose my way.”“You do not belong in these parts?”“No.”“And, besides, it is all cross-roads; stop! sir,”resumed the road-mender; “shall I give you apiece of advice? your horse is tired; return toTinques; there is a good inn there; sleep there;you can reach Arras tomorrow.”“I must be there this evening.”“That is different; but go to the inn all the same,and get an extra horse; the stable-boy will guideyou through the cross-roads.”He followed the road-mender’s advice, retracedhis steps, and, half an hour later, he passed thesame spot again, but this time at full speed, witha good horse to aid; a stable-boy, who calledhimself a postilion, was seated on the shaft ofthe cariole.Still, he felt that he had lost time.Night had fully come.They turned into the cross-road; the way be-came frightfully bad; the cart lurched from onerut to the other; he said to the postilion:—“Keep at a trot, and you shall have a doublefee.”In one of the jolts, the whiffle-tree broke.“There’s the whiffle-tree broken, sir,” said thepostilion; “I don’t know how to harness my horsenow; this road is very bad at night; if you wish toreturn and sleep at Tinques, we could be in Ar-ras early tomorrow morning.”He replied, “Have you a bit of rope and a knife?”“Yes, sir.”He cut a branch from a tree and made a whiffle-tree of it.This caused another loss of twenty minutes; butthey set out again at a gallop.The plain was gloomy; low-hanging, black, crispfogs crept over the hills and wrenched them-selves away like smoke: there were whitishgleams in the clouds; a strong breeze which blewin from the sea produced a sound in all quartersof the horizon, as of some one moving furniture;everything that could be seen assumed attitudesof terror. How many things shiver beneath thesevast breaths of the night!He was stiff with cold; he had eaten nothingsince the night before; he vaguely recalled hisother nocturnal trip in the vast plain in the neigh-borhood of D——, eight years previously, and itseemed but yesterday.The hour struck from a distant tower; he askedthe boy:—“What time is it?”“Seven o’clock, sir; we shall reach Arras ateight; we have but three leagues still to go.”At that moment, he for the first time indulged inthis reflection, thinking it odd the while that ithad not occurred to him sooner: that all thistrouble which he was taking was, perhaps, use-less; that he did not know so much as the hour ofthe trial; that he should, at least, have informedhimself of that; that he was foolish to go thusstraight ahead without knowing whether he wouldbe of any service or not; then he sketched outsome calculations in his mind: that, ordinarily,the sittings of the Court of Assizes began at nineo’clock in the morning; that it could not be along affair; that the theft of the apples would bevery brief; that there would then remain only aquestion of identity, four or five depositions, and

very little for the lawyers to say; that he shouldarrive after all was over.The postilion whipped up the horses; they hadcrossed the river and left Mont–Saint-Eloy be-hind them.The night grew more profound.

“Lovely things we will buyAs we stroll the faubourgs through.“Dear Holy Virgin, beside my stoveI have set a cradle with ribbons decked.God may give me his loveliest star;I prefer the child thou hast granted me.‘Madame, what shall I do with this linen fine?’—‘Make of it clothes for thy new-born babe.’“Roses are pink and corn-flowers are blue,I love my love, and corn-flowers are blue.“‘Wash this linen.’—‘Where?’—‘In the stream.Make of it, soiling not, spoiling not,a petticoat fair with its bodice fine,which I will embroider and fill with flowers.’—‘Madame, the child is no longer here; what is tobe done?’—‘Then make of it a winding-sheet in which tobury me.’“Lovely things we will buyAs we stroll the faubourgs through,Roses are pink, corn-flowers are blue,I love my love, corn-flowers are blue.”This song was an old cradle romance with whichshe had, in former days, lulled her little Cosetteto sleep, and which had never recurred to hermind in all the five years during which she hadbeen parted from her child. She sang it in so sada voice, and to so sweet an air, that it was enoughto make any one, even a nun, weep. The sister,accustomed as she was to austerities, felt a tearspring to her eyes.The clock struck six. Fantine did not seem tohear it. She no longer seemed to pay attention toanything about her.Sister Simplice sent a serving-maid to inquireof the portress of the factory, whether the mayorhad returned, and if he would not come to theinfirmary soon. The girl returned in a few min-utes.Fantine was still motionless and seemed ab-sorbed in her own thoughts.The servant informed Sister Simplice in a verylow tone, that the mayor had set out that morn-ing before six o’clock, in a little tilbury harnessedto a white horse, cold as the weather was; thathe had gone alone, without even a driver; thatno one knew what road he had taken; that peoplesaid he had been seen to turn into the road toArras; that others asserted that they had methim on the road to Paris. That when he wentaway he had been very gentle, as usual, andthat he had merely told the portress not to ex-pect him that night.While the two women were whispering together,with their backs turned to Fantine’s bed, the sis-ter interrogating, the servant conjecturing,Fantine, with the feverish vivacity of certainorganic maladies, which unite the free move-ments of health with the frightful emaciation ofdeath, had raised herself to her knees in bed,with her shrivelled hands resting on the bolster,and her head thrust through the opening of thecurtains, and was listening. All at once shecried:—“You are speaking of M. Madeleine! Why areyou talking so low? What is he doing? Why doeshe not come?”Her voice was so abrupt and hoarse that the twowomen thought they heard the voice of a man;they wheeled round in affright.“Answer me!” cried Fantine.The servant stammered:—“The portress told me that he could not cometoday.”“Be calm, my child,” said the sister; “lie downagain.”Fantine, without changing her attitude, contin-ued in a loud voice, and with an accent that wasboth imperious and heart-rending:—“He cannot come? Why not? You know the rea-son. You are whispering it to each other there. Iwant to know it.”The servant-maid hastened to say in the nun’sear, “Say that he is busy with the city council.”Sister Simplice blushed faintly, for it was a liethat the maid had proposed to her.On the other hand, it seemed to her that the merecommunication of the truth to the invalid would,without doubt, deal her a terrible blow, and thatthis was a serious matter in Fantine’s presentstate. Her flush did not last long; the sister raisedher calm, sad eyes to Fantine, and said, “Mon-sieur le Maire has gone away.”Fantine raised herself and crouched on her heelsin the bed: her eyes sparkled; indescribable joybeamed from that melancholy face.“Gone!” she cried; “he has gone to get Cosette.”Then she raised her arms to heaven, and herwhite face became ineffable; her lips moved;she was praying in a low voice.

- Continued on Page 36


CHAPTER VI

SISTER SIMPLICE PUT TO THE PROOF

But at that moment Fantine was joyous.She had passed a very bad night; her cough wasfrightful; her fever had doubled in intensity; shehad had dreams: in the morning, when the doc-tor paid his visit, she was delirious; he assumedan alarmed look, and ordered that he should beinformed as soon as M. Madeleine arrived.All the morning she was melancholy, said butlittle, and laid plaits in her sheets, murmuringthe while, in a low voice, calculations whichseemed to be calculations of distances. Her eyeswere hollow and staring. They seemed almostextinguished at intervals, then lighted up againand shone like stars. It seems as though, at theapproach of a certain dark hour, the light ofheaven fills those who are quitting the light ofearth.Each time that Sister Simplice asked her howshe felt, she replied invariably, “Well. I shouldlike to see M. Madeleine.”Some months before this, at the moment whenFantine had just lost her last modesty, her lastshame, and her last joy, she was the shadow ofherself; now she was the spectre of herself.Physical suffering had completed the work ofmoral suffering. This creature of five and twentyhad a wrinkled brow, flabby cheeks, pinchednostrils, teeth from which the gums had receded,a leaden complexion, a bony neck, prominentshoulder-blades, frail limbs, a clayey skin, andher golden hair was growing out sprinkled withgray. Alas! how illness improvises old-age!At mid-day the physician returned, gave somedirections, inquired whether the mayor had madehis appearance at the infirmary, and shook hishead.M. Madeleine usually came to see the invalid atthree o’clock. As exactness is kindness, he wasexact.About half-past two, Fantine began to be rest-less. In the course of twenty minutes, she askedthe nun more than ten times, “What time is it,sister?”Three o’clock struck. At the third stroke, Fantinesat up in bed; she who could, in general, hardlyturn over, joined her yellow, fleshless hands in asort of convulsive clasp, and the nun heard herutter one of those profound sighs which seem tothrow off dejection. Then Fantine turned andlooked at the door.No one entered; the door did not open.She remained thus for a quarter of an hour, hereyes riveted on the door, motionless and appar-ently holding her breath. The sister dared notspeak to her. The clock struck a quarter pastthree. Fantine fell back on her pillow.She said nothing, but began to plait the sheetsonce more.Half an hour passed, then an hour, no one came;every time the clock struck, Fantine started upand looked towards the door, then fell backagain.Her thought was clearly perceptible, but she ut-tered no name, she made no complaint, sheblamed no one. But she coughed in a melan-choly way. One would have said that somethingdark was descending upon her. She was lividand her lips were blue. She smiled now andthen.Five o’clock struck. Then the sister heard hersay, very low and gently, “He is wrong not tocome today, since I am going away tomorrow.”Sister Simplice herself was surprised at M.Madeleine’s delay.In the meantime, Fantine was staring at the testerof her bed. She seemed to be endeavoring torecall something. All at once she began to singin a voice as feeble as a breath. The nun lis-tened. This is what Fantine was singing:—“Lovely things we will buyAs we stroll the faubourgs through.Roses are pink, corn-flowers are blue,I love my love, corn-flowers are blue.“Yestere’en the Virgin Mary came near mystove,in a broidered mantle clad, and said to me,‘Here, hide ‘neath my veilthe child whom you one day begged from me.Haste to the city, buy linen, buy a needle, buythread.’


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From Page 33

When her prayer was finished, “Sister,” shesaid, “I am willing to lie down again; I will doanything you wish; I was naughty just now; Ibeg your pardon for having spoken so loud; it isvery wrong to talk loudly; I know that well, mygood sister, but, you see, I am very happy: thegood God is good; M. Madeleine is good; justthink! he has gone to Montfermeil to get mylittle Cosette.”She lay down again, with the nun’s assistance,helped the nun to arrange her pillow, and kissedthe little silver cross which she wore on her neck,and which Sister Simplice had given her.“My child,” said the sister, “try to rest now, anddo not talk any more.”Fantine took the sister’s hand in her moist hands,and the latter was pained to feel that perspira-tion.“He set out this morning for Paris; in fact, heneed not even go through Paris; Montfermeil isa little to the left as you come thence. Do youremember how he said to me yesterday, when Ispoke to him of Cosette, Soon, soon? He wantsto give me a surprise, you know! he made mesign a letter so that she could be taken from theThenardiers; they cannot say anything, can they?they will give back Cosette, for they have beenpaid; the authorities will not allow them to keepthe child since they have received their pay. Donot make signs to me that I must not talk, sister!I am extremely happy; I am doing well; I am notill at all any more; I am going to see Cosetteagain; I am even quite hungry; it is nearly fiveyears since I saw her last; you cannot imaginehow much attached one gets to children, andthen, she will be so pretty; you will see! If youonly knew what pretty little rosy fingers she had!In the first place, she will have very beautifulhands; she had ridiculous hands when she wasonly a year old; like this! she must be a big girlnow; she is seven years old; she is quite a younglady; I call her Cosette, but her name is reallyEuphrasie. Stop! this morning I was looking atthe dust on the chimney-piece, and I had a sortof idea come across me, like that, that I shouldsee Cosette again soon. Mon Dieu! how wrongit is not to see one’s children for years! Oneought to reflect that life is not eternal. Oh, howgood M. le Maire is to go! it is very cold! it istrue; he had on his cloak, at least? he will be

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justice to acknowledge that it was not his fault,but at bottom, he was not sorry.The landlady of the hotel entered.“Does Monsieur wish a bed? Does Monsieurrequire supper?”He made a sign of the head in the negative.“The stableman says that Monsieur’s horse isextremely fatigued.”Here he broke his silence.“Will not the horse be in a condition to set outagain tomorrow morning?”“Oh, Monsieur! he must rest for two days atleast.”He inquired:—“Is not the posting-station located here?”“Yes, sir.”The hostess conducted him to the office; heshowed his passport, and inquired whether therewas any way of returning that same night to M.sur M. by the mail-wagon; the seat beside thepost-boy chanced to be vacant; he engaged itand paid for it. “Monsieur,” said the clerk, “donot fail to be here ready to start at precisely oneo’clock in the morning.”This done, he left the hotel and began to wanderabout the town.He was not acquainted with Arras; the streetswere dark, and he walked on at random; but heseemed bent upon not asking the way of thepassers-by. He crossed the little river Crinchon,and found himself in a labyrinth of narrow al-leys where he lost his way. A citizen was pass-ing along with a lantern. After some hesitation,he decided to apply to this man, not without hav-ing first glanced behind and in front of him, asthough he feared lest some one should hear thequestion which he was about to put.“Monsieur,” said he, “where is the court-house,if you please.”“You do not belong in town, sir?” replied thebourgeois, who was an oldish man; “well, fol-low me. I happen to be going in the direction ofthe court-house, that is to say, in the direction ofthe hotel of the prefecture; for the court-house isundergoing repairs just at this moment, and thecourts are holding their sittings provisionally inthe prefecture.”“Is it there that the Assizes are held?” he asked.

To Be Continued Next Issue

here tomorrow, will he not? tomorrow will be afestival day; tomorrow morning, sister, you mustremind me to put on my little cap that has laceon it. What a place that Montfermeil is! I tookthat journey on foot once; it was very long forme, but the diligences go very quickly! he willbe here tomorrow with Cosette: how far is itfrom here to Montfermeil?”The sister, who had no idea of distances, re-plied, “Oh, I think that he will be here tomor-row.”“To-morrow! tomorrow!” said Fantine, “I shallsee Cosette tomorrow! you see, good sister ofthe good God, that I am no longer ill; I am mad;I could dance if any one wished it.”A person who had seen her a quarter of an hourpreviously would not have understood thechange; she was all rosy now; she spoke in alively and natural voice; her whole face wasone smile; now and then she talked, she laughedsoftly; the joy of a mother is almost infantile.“Well,” resumed the nun, “now that you arehappy, mind me, and do not talk any more.”Fantine laid her head on her pillow and said in alow voice: “Yes, lie down again; be good, foryou are going to have your child; Sister Simpliceis right; every one here is right.”And then, without stirring, without even movingher head, she began to stare all about her withwide-open eyes and a joyous air, and she saidnothing more.The sister drew the curtains together again, hop-ing that she would fall into a doze. Betweenseven and eight o’clock the doctor came; nothearing any sound, he thought Fantine wasasleep, entered softly, and approached the bedon tiptoe; he opened the curtains a little, and, bythe light of the taper, he saw Fantine’s big eyesgazing at him.She said to him, “She will be allowed to sleepbeside me in a little bed, will she not, sir?”The doctor thought that she was delirious. Sheadded:—“See! there is just room.”The doctor took Sister Simplice aside, and sheexplained matters to him; that M. Madeleinewas absent for a day or two, and that in theirdoubt they had not thought it well to undeceivethe invalid, who believed that the mayor hadgone to Montfermeil; that it was possible, afterall, that her guess was correct: the doctor ap

proved.He returned to Fantine’s bed, and she went on:—“You see, when she wakes up in the morning, Ishall be able to say good morning to her, poorkitten, and when I cannot sleep at night, I canhear her asleep; her little gentle breathing willdo me good.”“Give me your hand,” said the doctor.She stretched out her arm, and exclaimed witha laugh:—“Ah, hold! in truth, you did not know it; I amcured; Cosette will arrive tomorrow.”The doctor was surprised; she was better; thepressure on her chest had decreased; her pulsehad regained its strength; a sort of life had sud-denly supervened and reanimated this poor,worn-out creature.“Doctor,” she went on, “did the sister tell youthat M. le Maire has gone to get that mite of achild?”The doctor recommended silence, and that allpainful emotions should be avoided; he pre-scribed an infusion of pure chinchona, and, incase the fever should increase again during thenight, a calming potion. As he took his depar-ture, he said to the sister:—“She is doing better; if good luck willed that themayor should actually arrive tomorrow with thechild, who knows? there are crises so astound-ing; great joy has been known to arrest mala-dies; I know well that this is an organic disease,and in an advanced state, but all those things aresuch mysteries: we may be able to save her.”

D O W N P O U R S O N G B I R D L Y N C H I N G C R E M A T E DI H U G A D E E E E R I E O N H O I I E ES H O P T A L K C H A S T I S E D A N D R U F F B L E A K E S TC S T Y E L L T W E R R O R E R E I R E M T EO D E S S A U A M E R I C A O S U I C I D E A H I G H E R

A E M O P E D S X R O B E D N N L A S S O U XS M A C K E D V S T A T I C O A V E N G E F M A M M O T H

P T N E V A D A D S H U T E Y E A R I G O U R T IP E R I O D S D N O O K S N X N E V E R H G S T R I N G

S O E I D R U P D A T E D A A A E E CS T A N D D O W N B I N D I I O O W L E T N U T R I E N T SA D U B G R A S N I M B L E R M I D I R N O IM E A N N E S S O G L I N G M L S E D U C E H E A D L O N GU M G E W A E C E D E D N L C M I D NR E A D E R S B E M O A N E D D E C R E A S E B U C K L E SA N O S U M O A R C G P I T M I L L T E UI N T E N S E A L B U M I D E A L C L I M B E A S E S U P

Y N A D E P T A I L L M O O H N E L U D E L SI M P A C T X S I D E S B R I A R E D G A R N R E A G A N

P C U T A H M U S E D N E L S A C A S T I N GW H I T E R M O P E C M E L I S S A M A C H P A D D L E DH D I N U I T U H B A P C N R C A B L E O OI C I N G N A L C A T R A Z O U T R A G E D R M E A L SR O H O G A N S R O E K O T D H I N D U T ER E M I T S T D I L I I N S T E P S I R I S N O R C H I D

N R C O I L V S I L O O R E N O T A G R A H DA R M A D A O R E S T S M A O R I A N G S T L B L A Z E D

O Q R A N G E I T A I K M S G I R O Y A L I AE L L I P S E M E D I A N O O N E A U D I O N E W N E S SX O R R I T E E N E N V S D P O K E E M YP L A C E B O D I S A B L E D S A B A T I N I C R A V A T SO F C S I W U S E O U L K N C D S N TS K E L E T O N A F I E L D B K C I N E M A C O V E R A G EE R D L S L I P R E A L I S E S E L F T L T MD Y S P E P S I A Z E B R A T Y N U R S E O V E R S E E R S

A L I V Z L P R E C A S T E K R E N OU N L A T C H O L E A V E R K R U C H E B M A R A C A S

G I N A T U R E N R E S P I T E U S P A C E S B DS T E N C I L R D E C A Y S R E S P R I T D T O O L K I T

Z E C E A S E X R C H E A T L N H E L E N E ER E A R M S L R E P L I C A S H E A V E H O O S A D I S MO R E M A L I O Z P A S T E C X M A A M G C AM I C H E N E R N E U R O S I S I R R I T A T E N U M E R O U SP D T I M P N N S P A R E D C B E L N N KS T E P S O N S S I D E A R M S E D M O N T O N D E N T I S T S

CHAPTER VII

THE TRAVELLER ON HIS ARRIVAL

TAKES PRECAUTIONS FOR DEPARTURE

It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening whenthe cart, which we left on the road, entered theporte-cochere of the Hotel de la Poste in Arras;the man whom we have been following up tothis moment alighted from it, responded with anabstracted air to the attentions of the people ofthe inn, sent back the extra horse, and with hisown hands led the little white horse to the stable;then he opened the door of a billiard-room whichwas situated on the ground floor, sat down there,and leaned his elbows on a table; he had takenfourteen hours for the journey which he hadcounted on making in six; he did himself the

melbourne observer. 120919b. september 19, 2012. part b. pages 17-36

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