Melbourne Observer. 130508B. May 8, 2013. Part B. Pages 17-24, 77-84

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CHAPTER IITREASURE TROVE

Les Misérables by Victor HugoObserver Classic Books

BONUS

SECTION

Observer

www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, May 8, 2013 - Page 19

Marius had not left the Gorbeau house. He paidno attention to any one there.At that epoch, to tell the truth, there were no otherinhabitants in the house, except himself and thoseJondrettes whose rent he had once paid, without,moreover, ever having spoken to either father,mother, or daughters. The other lodgers had movedaway or had died, or had been turned out in de-fault of payment.One day during that winter, the sun had shownitself a little in the afternoon, but it was the 2d ofFebruary, that ancient Candlemas day whosetreacherous sun, the precursor of a six weeks’ coldspell, inspired Mathieu Laensberg with these twolines, which have with justice remained clas-sic:—Qu’il luise ou qu’il luiserne,L’ours rentre dans en sa caverne.Whether the sunshines brightly or dim, the bear returns to his cave.Marius had just emerged from his: night was fall-ing. It was the hour for his dinner; for he had beenobliged to take to dining again, alas! oh, infirmi-ties of ideal passions!He had just crossed his threshold, where Ma’amBougon was sweeping at the moment, as she ut-tered this memorable monologue:—“What is there that is cheap now? Everything isdear. There is nothing in the world that is cheapexcept trouble; you can get that for nothing, thetrouble of the world!”Marius slowly ascended the boulevard towardsthe barrier, in order to reach the Rue Saint–Jacques. He was walking along with droopinghead.All at once, he felt some one elbow him in thedusk; he wheeled round, and saw two young girlsclad in rags, the one tall and slim, the other alittle shorter, who were passing rapidly, all out ofbreath, in terror, and with the appearance of flee-ing; they had been coming to meet him, had notseen him, and had jostled him as they passed.Through the twilight, Marius could distinguishtheir livid faces, their wild heads, their dishev-elled hair, their hideous bonnets, their ragged pet-ticoats, and their bare feet. They were talking asthey ran. The taller said in a very low voice:—“The bobbies have come. They came near nab-bing me at the half-circle.” The other answered:“I saw them. I bolted, bolted, bolted!”Through this repulsive slang, Marius understoodthat gendarmes or the police had come near ap-prehending these two children, and that the latterhad escaped.They plunged among the trees of the boulevardbehind him, and there created, for a few minutes,in the gloom, a sort of vague white spot, then dis-appeared.Marius had halted for a moment.He was about to pursue his way, when his eyelighted on a little grayish package lying on theground at his feet. He stooped and picked it up. Itwas a sort of envelope which appeared to containpapers.“Good,” he said to himself, “those unhappy girlsdropped it.”He retraced his steps, he called, he did not findthem; he reflected that they must already be faraway, put the package in his pocket, and went offto dine.On the way, he saw in an alley of the RueMouffetard, a child’s coffin, covered with a blackcloth resting on three chairs, and illuminated by acandle. The two girls of the twilight recurred tohis mind.“Poor mothers!” he thought. “There is one thingsadder than to see one’s children die; it is to seethem leading an evil life.”Then those shadows which had varied his melan-choly vanished from his thoughts, and he fell backonce more into his habitual preoccupations. Hefell to thinking once more of his six months oflove and happiness in the open air and the broaddaylight, beneath the beautiful trees of Luxem-bourg.“How gloomy my life has become!” he said tohimself. “Young girls are always appearing to me,only formerly they were angels and now they areghouls.”

seeing Marius fall into this melancholy state, heended by saying to him: “I see that you have beensimply an animal. Here, come to the Chaumiere.”Once, having confidence in a fine September sun,Marius had allowed himself to be taken to theball at Sceaux by Courfeyrac, Bossuet, andGrantaire, hoping, what a dream! that he might,perhaps, find her there. Of course he did not seethe one he sought.—“But this is the place, all thesame, where all lost women are found,” grumbledGrantaire in an aside. Marius left his friends atthe ball and returned home on foot, alone, throughthe night, weary, feverish, with sad and troubledeyes, stunned by the noise and dust of the merrywagons filled with singing creatures on their wayhome from the feast, which passed close to him,as he, in his discouragement, breathed in the ac-rid scent of the walnut-trees, along the road, inorder to refresh his head.He took to living more and more alone, utterlyoverwhelmed, wholly given up to his inward an-guish, going and coming in his pain like the wolfin the trap, seeking the absent one everywhere,stupefied by love.On another occasion, he had an encounter whichproduced on him a singular effect. He met, in thenarrow streets in the vicinity of the Boulevard desInvalides, a man dressed like a workingman andwearing a cap with a long visor, which allowed aglimpse of locks of very white hair. Marius wasstruck with the beauty of this white hair, and scru-tinized the man, who was walking slowly and asthough absorbed in painful meditation. Strange tosay, he thought that he recognized M. Leblanc.The hair was the same, also the profile, so far asthe cap permitted a view of it, the mien identical,only more depressed. But why these workingman’sclothes? What was the meaning of this? What sig-nified that disguise? Marius was greatly aston-ished. When he recovered himself, his first im-pulse was to follow the man; who knows whetherhe did not hold at last the clue which he was seek-ing? In any case, he must see the man near athand, and clear up the mystery. But the idea oc-curred to him too late, the man was no longerthere. He had turned into some little side street,and Marius could not find him. This encounteroccupied his mind for three days and then waseffaced. “After all,” he said to himself, “it wasprobably only a resemblance.”

on a deserted boulevard. They do not seem to bemen but forms composed of living mists; onewould say that they habitually constitute one masswith the shadows, that they are in no wise dis-tinct from them, that they possess no other soulthan the darkness, and that it is only momentarilyand for the purpose of living for a few minutes amonstrous life, that they have separated from thenight.What is necessary to cause these spectres to van-ish? Light. Light in floods. Not a single bat canresist the dawn. Light up society from below.

●●●●● Victor Hugo

When a crime was in quest of arms, they under-let their accomplices. They kept a troupe of ac-tors of the shadows at the disposition of all under-ground tragedies.They were in the habit of assembling at nightfall,the hour when they woke up, on the plains whichadjoin the Salpetriere. There they held their con-ferences. They had twelve black hours beforethem; they regulated their employment accord-ingly.Patron–Minette,— such was the name which wasbestowed in the subterranean circulation on theassociation of these four men. In the fantastic,ancient, popular parlance, which is vanishing dayby day, Patron–Minette signifies the morning, thesame as entre chien et loup — between dog andwolf — signifies the evening. This appellation,Patron–Minette, was probably derived from thehour at which their work ended, the dawn beingthe vanishing moment for phantoms and for theseparation of ruffians. These four men were knownunder this title. When the President of the Assizesvisited Lacenaire in his prison, and questionedhim concerning a misdeed which Lacenaire de-nied, “Who did it?” demanded the President.Lacenaire made this response, enigmatical so faras the magistrate was concerned, but clear to thepolice: “Perhaps it was Patron–Minette.”A piece can sometimes be divined on the enun-ciation of the personages; in the same manner aband can almost be judged from the list of ruffi-ans composing it. Here are the appellations towhich the principal members of Patron–Minetteanswered,— for the names have survived in spe-cial memoirs.Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille.Brujon. [There was a Brujon dynasty; we cannotrefrain from interpolating this word.]Boulatruelle, the road-mender already introduced.Laveuve.Finistere.Homere–Hogu, a negro.Mardisoir. (Tuesday evening.)Depeche. (Make haste.)Fauntleroy, alias Bouquetiere (the Flower Girl).Glorieux, a discharged convict.Barrecarrosse (Stop-carriage), called MonsieurDupont.L’Esplanade-du-Sud.Poussagrive.Carmagnolet.Kruideniers, called Bizarro.Mangedentelle. (Lace-eater.)Les-pieds-en-l’Air. (Feet in the air.)Demi–Liard, called Deux–Milliards.Etc., etc.We pass over some, and not the worst of them.These names have faces attached. They do notexpress merely beings, but species. Each one ofthese names corresponds to a variety of thosemisshapen fungi from the under side of civiliza-tion.Those beings, who were not very lavish with theircountenances, were not among the men whomone sees passing along the streets. Fatigued bythe wild nights which they passed, they went offby day to sleep, sometimes in the lime-kilns,sometimes in the abandoned quarries ofMontmatre or Montrouge, sometimes in the sew-ers. They ran to earth.What became of these men? They still exist. Theyhave always existed. Horace speaks of them:Ambubaiarum collegia, pharmacopolae, mendici,mimae; and so long as society remains what it is,they will remain what they are. Beneath the ob-scure roof of their cavern, they are continuallyborn again from the social ooze. They return,spectres, but always identical; only, they no longerbear the same names and they are no longer inthe same skins. The individuals extirpated, the tribesubsists.They always have the same faculties. From thevagrant to the tramp, the race is maintained in itspurity. They divine purses in pockets, they scentout watches in fobs. Gold and silver possess anodor for them. There exist ingenuous bourgeois,of whom it might be said, that they have a “steal-able” air. These men patiently pursue these bour-geois. They experience the quivers of a spider atthe passage of a stranger or of a man from thecountry.These men are terrible, when one encounters them,or catches a glimpse of them, towards midnight,

BOOK SEVENTH - PATRON MINETTECHAPTER IV

COMPOSITION OF THE TROUPEContinued From Last Week

Continued on Page 20

BOOK EIGHTH.— THE WICKED POOR MANCHAPTER I

MARIUS, WHILE SEEKING A GIRL IN ABONNET, ENCOUNTERS A MAN IN A CAP

Summer passed, then the autumn; winter came.Neither M. Leblanc nor the young girl had againset foot in the Luxembourg garden. Thenceforth,Marius had but one thought,— to gaze once moreon that sweet and adorable face. He sought con-stantly, he sought everywhere; he found nothing.He was no longer Marius, the enthusiasticdreamer, the firm, resolute, ardent man, the bolddefier of fate, the brain which erected future onfuture, the young spirit encumbered with plans,with projects, with pride, with ideas and wishes;he was a lost dog. He fell into a black melan-choly. All was over. Work disgusted him, walkingtired him. Vast nature, formerly so filled withforms, lights, voices, counsels, perspectives, ho-rizons, teachings, now lay empty before him. Itseemed to him that everything had disappeared.He thought incessantly, for he could not do other-wise; but he no longer took pleasure in histhoughts. To everything that they proposed to himin a whisper, he replied in his darkness: “What isthe use?”He heaped a hundred reproaches on himself.“Why did I follow her? I was so happy at the meresight of her! She looked at me; was not that im-mense? She had the air of loving me. Was notthat everything? I wished to have, what? Therewas nothing after that. I have been absurd. It ismy own fault,” etc., etc. Courfeyrac, to whom heconfided nothing,— it was his nature,— but whomade some little guess at everything,— that washis nature,— had begun by congratulating him onbeing in love, though he was amazed at it; then,

Page 20 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Observer Classic BooksFrom Page 19 heed to them, that, on the preceding evening, he

had jostled the Jondrette girls on the boulevard,without recognizing them, for it had evidentlybeen they, and it was with great difficulty that theone who had just entered his room had awakenedin him, in spite of disgust and pity, a vague recol-lection of having met her elsewhere.Now he saw everything clearly. He understoodthat his neighbor Jondrette, in his distress, exer-cised the industry of speculating on the charity ofbenevolent persons, that he procured addresses,and that he wrote under feigned names to peoplewhom he judged to be wealthy and compassion-ate, letters which his daughters delivered at theirrisk and peril, for this father had come to such apass, that he risked his daughters; he was playinga game with fate, and he used them as the stake.Marius understood that probably, judging fromtheir flight on the evening before, from theirbreathless condition, from their terror and fromthe words of slang which he had overheard, theseunfortunate creatures were plying some inexpli-cably sad profession, and that the result of thewhole was, in the midst of human society, as it isnow constituted, two miserable beings who wereneither girls nor women, a species of impure andinnocent monsters produced by misery.Sad creatures, without name, or sex, or age, towhom neither good nor evil were any longer pos-sible, and who, on emerging from childhood, havealready nothing in this world, neither liberty, norvirtue, nor responsibility. Souls which blossomedout yesterday, and are faded today, like those flow-ers let fall in the streets, which are soiled withevery sort of mire, while waiting for some wheelto crush them. Nevertheless, while Marius bent apained and astonished gaze on her, the young girlwas wandering back and forth in the garret withthe audacity of a spectre. She kicked about, with-out troubling herself as to her nakedness. Occa-sionally her chemise, which was untied and torn,fell almost to her waist. She moved the chairsabout, she disarranged the toilet articles whichstood on the commode, she handled Marius’clothes, she rummaged about to see what therewas in the corners.“Hullo!” said she, “you have a mirror!”And she hummed scraps of vaudevilles, as thoughshe had been alone, frolicsome refrains which herhoarse and guttural voice rendered lugubrious.An indescribable constraint, weariness, and hu-miliation were perceptible beneath this hardihood.Effrontery is a disgrace.Nothing could be more melancholy than to seeher sport about the room, and, so to speak, flitwith the movements of a bird which is frightenedby the daylight, or which has broken its wing. Onefelt that under other conditions of education anddestiny, the gay and over-free mien of this younggirl might have turned out sweet and charming.Never, even among animals, does the creatureborn to be a dove change into an osprey. That isonly to be seen among men.Marius reflected, and allowed her to have her way.She approached the table.“Ah!” said she, “books!”A flash pierced her glassy eye. She resumed, andher accent expressed the happiness which she feltin boasting of something, to which no human crea-ture is insensible:—“I know how to read, I do!”She eagerly seized a book which lay open on thetable, and read with tolerable fluency:—“— General Bauduin received orders to take thechateau of Hougomont which stands in the middleof the plain of Waterloo, with five battalions ofhis brigade.”She paused.“Ah! Waterloo! I know about that. It was a battlelong ago. My father was there. My father hasserved in the armies. We are fine Bonapartists inour house, that we are! Waterloo was against theEnglish.”She laid down the book, caught up a pen, and ex-claimed:—“And I know how to write, too!”She dipped her pen in the ink, and turning toMarius:—“Do you want to see? Look here, I’m going towrite a word to show you.”And before he had time to answer, she wrote on asheet of white paper, which lay in the middle ofthe table: “The bobbies are here.”Then throwing down the pen:—“There are no faults of orthography. You can look.We have received an education, my sister and I.We have not always been as we are now. We werenot made —”Here she paused, fixed her dull eyes on Marius,

this wynter season. When I say to you that I begyou to accept the dedication of my drama which Idesire to make to you and of all those that I shallmake, is to prove to you how great is my ambi-tion to have the honor of sheltering myself underyour protection, and of adorning my writings withyour name. If you deign to honor me with the mostmodest offering, I shall immediately occupy my-self in making a piesse of verse to pay you mytribute of gratitude. Which I shall endeavor to ren-der this piesse as perfect as possible, will be sentto you before it is inserted at the beginning of thedrama and delivered on the stage.To Monsieurand Madame Pabourgeot,My most respectful complements,Genflot, man of letters.P. S. Even if it is only forty sous.Excuse me for sending my daughter and not pre-senting myself, but sad motives connected withthe toilet do not permit me, alas! to go out.Finally, Marius opened the fourth letter. The ad-dress ran: To the benevolent Gentleman of thechurch of Saint–Jacquesdu-haut-Pas. It containedthe following lines:—Benevolent Man: If you deign to accompany mydaughter, you will behold a misserable calamity,and I will show you my certificates.At the aspect of these writings your generous soulwill be moved with a sentiment of obvious be-nevolence, for true philosophers always feel livelyemotions.Admit, compassionate man, that it is necessaryto suffer the most cruel need, and that it is verypainful, for the sake of obtaining a little relief, toget oneself attested by the authorities as thoughone were not free to suffer and to die of inanitionwhile waiting to have our misery relieved. Desti-nies are very fatal for several and too prodigal ortoo protecting for others.I await your presence or your offering, if youdeign to make one, and I beseech you to acceptthe respectful sentiments with which I have thehonor to be,truly magnanimous man,your very humbleand very obedient servant,P. Fabantou, dramatic artist.After perusing these four letters, Marius did notfind himself much further advanced than before.In the first place, not one of the signers gave hisaddress.Then, they seemed to come from four differentindividuals, Don Alveras, Mistress Balizard, thepoet Genflot, and dramatic artist Fabantou; butthe singular thing about these letters was, that allfour were written by the same hand.What conclusion was to be drawn from this, ex-cept that they all come from the same person?Moreover, and this rendered the conjecture all themore probable, the coarse and yellow paper wasthe same in all four, the odor of tobacco was thesame, and, although an attempt had been made tovary the style, the same orthographical faults werereproduced with the greatest tranquillity, and theman of letters Genflot was no more exempt fromthem than the Spanish captain.It was waste of trouble to try to solve this pettymystery. Had it not been a chance find, it wouldhave borne the air of a mystification. Marius wastoo melancholy to take even a chance pleasantrywell, and to lend himself to a game which thepavement of the street seemed desirous of play-ing with him. It seemed to him that he was play-ing the part of the blind man in blind man’s buffbetween the four letters, and that they were mak-ing sport of him.Nothing, however, indicated that these letters be-longed to the two young girls whom Marius hadmet on the boulevard. After all, they were evi-dently papers of no value. Marius replaced themin their envelope, flung the whole into a cornerand went to bed. About seven o’clock in the morn-ing, he had just risen and breakfasted, and wastrying to settle down to work, when there came asoft knock at his door.As he owned nothing, he never locked his door,unless occasionally, though very rarely, when hewas engaged in some pressing work. Even whenabsent he left his key in the lock. “You will berobbed,” said Ma’am Bougon. “Of what?” saidMarius. The truth is, however, that he had, oneday, been robbed of an old pair of boots, to thegreat triumph of Ma’am Bougon.There came a second knock, as gentle as the first.“Come in,” said Marius.The door opened.“What do you want, Ma’am Bougon?” askedMarius, without raising his eyes from the booksand manuscripts on his table.

A voice which did not belong to Ma’am Bougonreplied:—“Excuse me, sir —”It was a dull, broken, hoarse, strangled voice, thevoice of an old man, roughened with brandy andliquor.Marius turned round hastily, and beheld a younggirl.

That evening, as he was undressing preparatoryto going to bed, his hand came in contact, in thepocket of his coat, with the packet which he hadpicked up on the boulevard. He had forgotten it.He thought that it would be well to open it, andthat this package might possibly contain the ad-dress of the young girls, if it really belonged tothem, and, in any case, the information neces-sary to a restitution to the person who had lost it.He opened the envelope.It was not sealed and contained four letters, alsounsealed.They bore addresses.All four exhaled a horrible odor of tobacco.The first was addressed: “To Madame, Madamela Marquise de Grucheray, the place opposite theChamber of Deputies, No.—”Marius said to himself, that he should probablyfind in it the information which he sought, andthat, moreover, the letter being open, it was prob-able that it could be read without impropriety.It was conceived as follows:—Madame la Marquise: The virtue of clemency andpiety is that which most closely unites sosiety.Turn your Christian spirit and cast a look of com-passion on this unfortunate Spanish victim of loy-alty and attachment to the sacred cause of legiti-macy, who has given with his blood, consecratedhis fortune, evverything, to defend that cause, andtoday finds himself in the greatest missery. Hedoubts not that your honorable person will grantsuccor to preserve an existence exteremely pain-ful for a military man of education and honor fullof wounds, counts in advance on the humanitywhich animates you and on the interest whichMadame la Marquise bears to a nation so unfor-tunate. Their prayer will not be in vain, and theirgratitude will preserve theirs charming souvenir.My respectful sentiments, with which I have thehonor to beMadame,Don Alvares, Spanish Captainof Cavalry, a royalist whohas take refuge in France,who finds himself on travellsfor his country, and theresources are lacking him tocontinue his travells.No address was joined to the signature. Mariushoped to find the address in the second letter,whose superscription read: A Madame, Madamela Comtesse de Montvernet, Rue Cassette, No.9. This is what Marius read in it:—Madame la Comtesse: It is an unhappy mother ofa family of six children the last of which is onlyeight months old. I sick since my last confine-ment, abandoned by my husband five months ago,haveing no resources in the world the most fright-ful indigance.In the hope of Madame la Comtesse, she has thehonor to be, Madame, with profound respect,Mistress Balizard.Marius turned to the third letter, which was a pe-tition like the preceding; he read:—Monsieur Pabourgeot, Elector, wholesale stock-ing merchant,Rue Saint–Denis on the corner of the Rue auxFers.I permit myself to address you this letter to begyou to grant me the pretious favor of yoursimpaties and to interest yourself in a man of let-ters who has just sent a drama to the Theatre–Francais. The subject is historical, and the actiontakes place in Auvergne in the time of the Em-pire; the style, I think, is natural, laconic, and mayhave some merit. There are couplets to be sungin four places. The comic, the serious, the unex-pected, are mingled in a variety of characters,and a tinge of romanticism lightly spread throughall the intrigue which proceeds misteriously, andends, after striking altarations, in the midst ofmany beautiful strokes of brilliant scenes.My principal object is to satisfi the desire whichprogressively animates the man of our century,that is to say, the fashion, that capritious and bi-zarre weathervane which changes at almost ev-ery new wind.In spite of these qualities I have reason to fearthat jealousy, the egotism of priviliged authors,may obtaine my exclusion from the theatre, for Iam not ignorant of the mortifications with whichnew-comers are treated.Monsiuer Pabourgeot, your just reputation as anenlightened protector of men of litters emboldensme to send you my daughter who will explain ourindigant situation to you, lacking bread and fire in Continued on Page 81

CHAPTER IIIQUADRIFRONS

CHAPTER IVA ROSE IN MISERY

A very young girl was standing in the half-opendoor. The dormer window of the garret, throughwhich the light fell, was precisely opposite thedoor, and illuminated the figure with a wan light.She was a frail, emaciated, slender creature; therewas nothing but a chemise and a petticoat uponthat chilled and shivering nakedness. Her girdlewas a string, her head ribbon a string, her pointedshoulders emerged from her chemise, a blond andlymphatic pallor, earth-colored collar-bones, redhands, a half-open and degraded mouth, missingteeth, dull, bold, base eyes; she had the form of ayoung girl who has missed her youth, and the lookof a corrupt old woman; fifty years mingled withfifteen; one of those beings which are both feebleand horrible, and which cause those to shudderwhom they do not cause to weep.Marius had risen, and was staring in a sort of stu-por at this being, who was almost like the formsof the shadows which traverse dreams.The most heart-breaking thing of all was, that thisyoung girl had not come into the world to behomely. In her early childhood she must even havebeen pretty. The grace of her age was still strug-gling against the hideous, premature decrepitudeof debauchery and poverty. The remains of beautywere dying away in that face of sixteen, like thepale sunlight which is extinguished under hideousclouds at dawn on a winter’s day.That face was not wholly unknown to Marius. Hethought he remembered having seen it somewhere.“What do you wish, Mademoiselle?” he asked.The young girl replied in her voice of a drunkenconvict:—“Here is a letter for you, Monsieur Marius.”She called Marius by his name; he could not doubtthat he was the person whom she wanted; but whowas this girl? How did she know his name?Without waiting for him to tell her to advance,she entered. She entered resolutely, staring, witha sort of assurance that made the heart bleed, atthe whole room and the unmade bed. Her feetwere bare. Large holes in her petticoat permittedglimpses of her long legs and her thin knees. Shewas shivering.She held a letter in her hand, which she presentedto Marius.Marius, as he opened the letter, noticed that theenormous wafer which sealed it was still moist.The message could not have come from a dis-tance. He read:—My amiable neighbor, young man: I have learnedof your goodness to me, that you paid my rent sixmonths ago. I bless you, young man. My eldestdaughter will tell you that we have been without amorsel of bread for two days, four persons andmy spouse ill. If I am not deseaved in my opin-ion, I think I may hope that your generous heartwill melt at this statement and the desire will sub-jugate you to be propitious to me by daigning tolavish on me a slight favor.I am with the distinguished consideration whichis due to the benefactors of humanity,—Jondrette.P.S. My eldest daughter will await your orders,dear Monsieur Marius.This letter, coming in the very midst of the mys-terious adventure which had occupied Marius’thoughts ever since the preceding evening, waslike a candle in a cellar. All was suddenly illumi-nated.This letter came from the same place as the otherfour. There was the same writing, the same style,the same orthography, the same paper, the sameodor of tobacco.There were five missives, five histories, five sig-natures, and a single signer. The Spanish CaptainDon Alvares, the unhappy Mistress Balizard, thedramatic poet Genflot, the old comedian Fabantou,were all four named Jondrette, if, indeed, Jondrettehimself were named Jondrette.Marius had lived in the house for a tolerably longtime, and he had had, as we have said, but veryrare occasion to see, to even catch a glimpse of,his extremely mean neighbors. His mind was else-where, and where the mind is, there the eyes arealso. He had been obliged more than once to passthe Jondrettes in the corridor or on the stairs; butthey were mere forms to him; he had paid so little


Craft


Victoria Pictorial CaravansHistoric Photo Collection

●●●●● Caravan interior, 1957.●●●●● Caravan in Toorak-South Yarra. 1958.

●●●●● George and Doris Canning sitting at the table inside their caravan,while holidaying in Port Lincoln. 1940.

●●●●● Customised caravan. 1945. ●●●●● Hillman station wagon with caravan. 1965.

●●●●● Caravans on foreshore at Mooloolaba Beach, 1966 ●●●●● Campsite with caravans and annexes

●●●●● Caravans, holdiaying at Normanville, 1930.


Caravans, Camping and Touring



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Dig this: long time for short cut

Yellowglen re-engages heritage

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Wines & Liqueurs

withDavidEllis

withDavidEllis

■ It may have been a wonderfullyrich agricultural area adored by farm-ers, but for early traders thePeloponnese Peninsula making up thesouthern-most part of mainland Greece,was anything but adored as it dividedthe Ionian and Adriatic Seas from theAegean Sea, and therefore Athens, theGreek Islands and Turkey.

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Periander, the Tyrant of Corinth, asearly as 602BC thought about cutting acanal across the little isthmus for shipsto sail through, but deciding that thatwas all too hard, built instead an inge-nious stone roadway across the narrowneck of land.

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While quite admirable it was hugelylabor-intensive, and in subsequent yearsmany others pondered the need for acanal, including Julius Caesar who wasmurdered before he could get started.And his successor Caligula in 40AD

■ It is not often a wine company will’fess up that they’ve let their eye offthe ball, but Yellowglen has done justthat – and is doing something very posi-tive about it.

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“So over the past year we’ve re-viewed every element of Yellowglen.We’ve re-engaged with founder IanHome to uncover the depth and heri-tage of the brand, we’ve reviewed ourbranding and packaging, and we haveintroduced new wines… including therecent release of the Exceptional Vin-tage XV wines one of our greatestachievements to date.”

There’s a 2002, a 2004 and a 2012in this new range, the 2002 a drop thatshows the extraordinary quality Aus-tralia can achieve with our sparklings– as Michelle Terry says “this is theultimate showcase of Yellowglen’shallmark refined and delicate charac-ters, enriched with layered complex-ity.”

Made with fruit from the AdelaideHills’ Piccadilly Valley, it was givennine years on yeast lees in bottle in thecompany’s cold cellars; you’ll find itintense yet elegant, with floral notesleading to a rich and complex palate,and with a delicate bead and fresh, lin-gering finish. Pay $49.99 for that nextvery special celebration.

One to note■ Although it was taken over byFerngrove Wines in 2008, MargaretRiver maker Killerby has continuedto concentrate on “small winery”techniques and philosophies that it’sgained an enviable reputation forsince its founding in 1973.

And that reputation flows throughwith the release of their Killerby2010 Premium Series Chardonnay,a rewarding drop with limey citrus,stonefruit, ginger and zesty lemonflavours, and a long and pleasant fin-ish. A nice drop at $30 to enjoy withcrumbed veal cutlets and a seasonalgarden salad.

Pictured■ Great sparkling that ignites a fas-cinating past.■ Excellent choice with crumbedveal cutlets and a seasonal gardensalad.

We’re archived on http://v intnews.com

was howled-down by advisors who be-lieved that because the Ionian andAdriatic Seas were more northerly thanthe Aegean, they must therefore behigher than the Aegean, and when anycanal was opened water would rushthrough and flood the Aegean.

When Emperor Nero came along hepooh-poohed such theories, and in67AD drew-up plans for a cutting andcanal 70m deep from its hilltop to itswater’s deepest point, recruited no lessthan 6,000 slaves, brought in an orches-tra, and while the music played, and tomuch applause, turned the first sod him-self with a golden pick.

But with ebbing public support be-cause of his strange behaviour, Nerocommitted suicide soon after, and workon the canal came to an abrupt halt.

It was not until centuries later thatthe Greek government got serious againabout a canal across the Corinth isth-mus, and digging began in earnest in1881. The Corinth Canal finally openedon October 28 1893.

It is 6.3km long, 21m wide and itswaters 8m deep. From the water’s sur-face to its highest point the sheer rockwalls of the canal rise 63m high, andthe canal is spanned by two roadbridges and a rail bridge… and remark-ably at each end, roads on pontoons thatlink the Greek mainland to thePeloponnese ‘sink’ into trenches dug afurther several metres into the bed ofthe canal to allow ships to pass overthem. While it’s narrow and shallow, theCorinth Canal is still a useful water-way today for some 12,000 small cargovessels, boutique-size cruise ships, andpleasure boats travelling each year be-tween the Adriatic and Ionian Seas andthe Aegean – saving them over 700kmin travel and the need to round the of-ten-dangerous Cape Maleas in the verysouth of the Peninsula.

The Peloponnese is a taste of trueGreece and a highly popular holidaydestination with its patchwork olivegroves, vineyards and citrus orchardssprinkled with ancient towns, monas-teries, palaces, ruined castles, forts,spas at old Sparta, and reminders ofsome of the bloodiest battles of old-time Greece.

And it is home to Ancient Olympiawhere Emperor Nero once competedand –strangely – won every medal. Healso regularly sang and played his lyrein a theatre there, ordering the doorslocked so no-one could leave during histhree-hour performances.

The Peloponnese’s pleasant beachesare washed by aqua-blue waters undersunny Mediterranean skies; accommo-dation ranges from budget to 4- and 5-star, and dining on local delicacies isexcellent in sunny outdoor cafés.

Travel agents can help you withtravel arrangements and accommoda-tion.

●●●●● Construction workers who largely dug the canal by hand in the late 19th century.

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Observer Crossword Solution No 19

Woe to the defenceless beings who surround him!Work, wages, bread, fire, courage, good will, allfail him simultaneously. The light of day seemsextinguished without, the moral light within; inthese shadows man encounters the feebleness ofthe woman and the child, and bends them vio-lently to ignominy.Then all horrors become possible. Despair is sur-rounded with fragile partitions which all open oneither vice or crime.Health, youth, honor, all the shy delicacies of theyoung body, the heart, virginity, modesty, that epi-dermis of the soul, are manipulated in sinister wiseby that fumbling which seeks resources, whichencounters opprobrium, and which accomodatesitself to it. Fathers, mothers, children, brothers,sisters, men, women, daughters, adhere and be-come incorporated, almost like a mineral forma-tion, in that dusky promiscuousness of sexes, re-lationships, ages, infamies, and innocences. Theycrouch, back to back, in a sort of hut of fate. Theyexchange woe-begone glances. Oh, the unfortu-nate wretches! How pale they are! How cold theyare! It seems as though they dwelt in a planetmuch further from the sun than ours.This young girl was to Marius a sort of messen-ger from the realm of sad shadows. She revealedto him a hideous side of the night.Marius almost reproached himself for the preoc-cupations of revery and passion which had pre-vented his bestowing a glance on his neighbors upto that day. The payment of their rent had been amechanical movement, which any one would haveyielded to; but he, Marius, should have done bet-ter than that. What! only a wall separated himfrom those abandoned beings who lived gropinglyin the dark outside the pale of the rest of the world,he was elbow to elbow with them, he was, in somesort, the last link of the human race which theytouched, he heard them live, or rather, rattle inthe death agony beside him, and he paid no heedto them! Every day, every instant, he heard them walkingon the other side of the wall, he heard them go,and come, and speak, and he did not even lend anear! And groans lay in those words, and he did noteven listen to them, his thoughts were elsewhere,given up to dreams, to impossible radiances, toloves in the air, to follies; and all the while, hu-man creatures, his brothers in Jesus Christ, hisbrothers in the people, were agonizing in vainbeside him! To Be Continued Next Week

the envelope, saying as she did so:—“Dieu de Dieu! how my sister and I have hunted!And it was you who found it! On the boulevard,was it not? It must have been on the boulevard?You see, we let it fall when we were running. Itwas that brat of a sister of mine who was so stu-pid. When we got home, we could not find it any-where. As we did not wish to be beaten, as that isuseless, as that is entirely useless, as that is ab-solutely useless, we said that we had carried theletters to the proper persons, and that they hadsaid to us: ‘Nix.’ So here they are, those poor let-ters! And how did you find out that they belongedto me? Ah! yes, the writing. So it was you that wejostled as we passed last night. We couldn’t see.I said to my sister: ‘Is it a gentleman?’ My sistersaid to me: ‘I think it is a gentleman.’”In the meanwhile she had unfolded the petitionaddressed to “the benevolent gentleman of thechurch of Saint–Jacquesdu-Haut–Pas.”“Here!” said she, “this is for that old fellow whogoes to mass. By the way, this is his hour. I’ll goand carry it to him. Perhaps he will give us some-thing to breakfast on.”Then she began to laugh again, and added:—“Do you know what it will mean if we get a break-fast today? It will mean that we shall have hadour breakfast of the day before yesterday, ourbreakfast of yesterday, our dinner of today, andall that at once, and this morning. Come! Parbleu!if you are not satisfied, dogs, burst!”This reminded Marius of the wretched girl’s er-rand to himself. He fumbled in his waistcoatpocket, and found nothing there.The young girl went on, and seemed to have noconsciousness of Marius’ presence.“I often go off in the evening. Sometimes I don’tcome home again. Last winter, before we camehere, we lived under the arches of the bridges.We huddled together to keep from freezing. Mylittle sister cried. How melancholy the water is!When I thought of drowning myself, I said tomyself: ‘No, it’s too cold.’ I go out alone, when-ever I choose, I sometimes sleep in the ditches.Do you know, at night, when I walk along the bou-levard, I see the trees like forks, I see houses, allblack and as big as Notre Dame, I fancy that thewhite walls are the river, I say to myself: ‘Why,there’s water there!’ The stars are like the lampsin illuminations, one would say that they smokedand that the wind blew them out, I am bewildered,

as though horses were breathing in my ears; al-though it is night, I hear hand-organs and spin-ning-machines, and I don’t know what all. I thinkpeople are flinging stones at me, I flee withoutknowing whither, everything whirls and whirls.You feel very queer when you have had no food.”And then she stared at him with a bewildered air.By dint of searching and ransacking his pockets,Marius had finally collected five francs sixteensous. This was all he owned in the world for themoment. “At all events,” he thought, “there ismy dinner for today, and tomorrow we will see.”He kept the sixteen sous, and handed the fivefrancs to the young girl.She seized the coin.“Good!” said she, “the sun is shining!”And, as though the sun had possessed the prop-erty of melting the avalanches of slang in herbrain, she went on:—“Five francs! the shiner! a monarch! in this hole!Ain’t this fine! You’re a jolly thief! I’m yourhumble servant! Bravo for the good fellows! Twodays’ wine! and meat! and stew! we’ll have aroyal feast! and a good fill!”She pulled her chemise up on her shoulders, madea low bow to Marius, then a familiar sign withher hand, and went towards the door, saying:—“Good morning, sir. It’s all right. I’ll go and findmy old man.”As she passed, she caught sight of a dry crust ofbread on the commode, which was moulding thereamid the dust; she flung herself upon it and bitinto it, muttering:—“That’s good! it’s hard! it breaks my teeth!”Then she departed.

and burst out laughing, saying, with an intonationwhich contained every form of anguish, stifled byevery form of cynicism:—“Bah!”And she began to hum these words to a gay air:—“J’ai faim, mon pere.” I am hungry, father.Pas de fricot. I have no food.J’ai froid, ma mere. I am cold, mother.Pas de tricot. I have no clothes.Grelotte, Lolotte!Lolotte! Shiver,Sanglote, Sob,Jacquot!” Jacquot!”She had hardly finished this couplet, when sheexexclaimed:—“Do you ever go to the play, Monsieur Marius? Ido. I have a little brother who is a friend of theartists, and who gives me tickets sometimes. ButI don’t like the benches in the galleries. One iscramped and uncomfortable there. There arerough people there sometimes; and people whosmell bad.”Then she scrutinized Marius, assumed a singularair and said:—“Do you know, Mr. Marius, that you are a veryhandsome fellow?”And at the same moment the same idea occurredto them both, and made her smile and him blush.She stepped up to him, and laid her hand on hisshoulder: “You pay no heed to me, but I knowyou, Mr. Marius. I meet you here on the stair-case, and then I often see you going to a personnamed Father Mabeuf who lives in the directionof Austerlitz, sometimes when I have been stroll-ing in that quarter. It is very becoming to you tohave your hair tumbled thus.”She tried to render her voice soft, but only suc-ceeded in making it very deep. A portion of herwords was lost in the transit from her larynx toher lips, as though on a piano where some notesare missing.Marius had retreated gently.“Mademoiselle,” said he, with his cool gravity,“I have here a package which belongs to you, Ithink. Permit me to return it to you.”And he held out the envelope containing the fourletters.She clapped her hands and exclaimed:—“We have been looking everywhere for that!”Then she eagerly seized the package and opened


A D J U S T A B L E D A S H O F F S C R U N C H I N G

D U P G U S O T L A S H R O M O

U N D E R G O S W O O L T U B A A G R A B B E D

L D I G T H U M P D E L D E R E R I D

T R E A T Y G R I N S S A Y E L G A R U S A B L E

E R Y E P R O N G S P I E S Y O D E L E K E S

R O S E F L O U T C A U S T I C S E A L S A D D S

E P I O U S Y A R D P U S S C O O P E

R E V E R E N T R A C I S T S L A D H Y D R A N T S

Y B U L K D E N T S C L I D O D O E R E

S E C O N D K H A K I C I A O L A D Y M E D A L S

U O N E R E A D S S R A T Y E A H N E T H

G R E Y D E R B Y M E L F R A U S K E W N O T A

A R R A B B I R E M I T S I F T S A W N M V

R E C E I V E S S O L I C I T L O A D T W O T I M E

Y I N I L M A L T K E E L S C A M E S S

T O A D S G U L F W R A I D O B O E L I E D

T I N J A U N T R A Y S C A B S A G O D A R

G S O R D I D M A X I I L I E N Y L O N R

C H A I N S L A B F E E S T A B R I P E O A T H

T A X E D E N I D S L A M I M I N T G N U S

D R O A K E A R L D H A L P A N G A D O

R E D E F I N E S E A M A R I S I N G B U L L I O N

U V F L E A S W O E S T E A T S M A N E T H

M E A D Y E S E S S A C K U P S L I N O D I V A

U R A G L E A K S L A Y S R O S S D A N N

P E K I N G D R A I N R O D E J E T S F O R G E D

R S A L E S T E E D T P I E S S I D E L

B A B Y T A L K E V E R O N C A L L K I N G D O M S

E S C O N E E D A M A C T M E L E E E

F L A N E P I C S S K I L I F T M A L L S M A M A

U R A M E T H E R E L I T E M A I L S M A P F

D O C T O R S E T O N L O S N A N N Y H O O P L A

D H B I L S D L N M A I N S E R E R

L E A F I E R O E D I T C O I N A L U G G A G E

E I L A N O U R A L E I L U S R

D E C R E E N I S I G A D G E T S S L E E V E L E S S

CHAPTER VA PROVIDENTIAL PEEP-HOLE

Marius had lived for five years in poverty, in des-titution, even in distress, but he now perceivedthat he had not known real misery. True miseryhe had but just had a view of. It was its spectrewhich had just passed before his eyes. In fact, hewho has only beheld the misery of man has seennothing; the misery of woman is what he mustsee; he who has seen only the misery of womanhas seen nothing; he must see the misery of thechild.When a man has reached his last extremity, hehas reached his last resources at the same time.

■ Who painted the Nebuchadnezzar series?

Observer Readers’ Club

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●●●●● Mothers Day SconesCourtesy: taste.com.au

Reader Recipes

Word Of The Week

Life’s Lessons

●●●●● Gala Day Celebrations, Mothers' Club Street Stall. Ballarat, 1935

Trivia Challenge

Answer: Arthur Boyd

100 Years AgoThe Colac Herald

Friday, May 9, 1913GENERAL NEWS

The new Presbyterian Church at Cobram, hasbeen completed at a cost of over £1500, and onSunday, the opening services were held.

It is estimated that through mis managementin the allotment of berths to inmmigrants, the Statehas lost between £9000 aiid £10,000 in the lastsix months.

Mr .E. Hairis, of Benalla West, while cuttinga log at the Reef Hills, cut right through his rightboot and cut away the flesh along the side of hisfoot, - bearing the bone in places.

The Canowie Pastoral Company (S.A), havesold Jack Johnson, the champion merino ram ofthe 1913 S. Minar of Graf Reinet, South Africafor 800 guineas. This constitutes a record for anySouth Australian bred ram.

Withins a few weeks of his arrival in England,after his tour with the British Isles Lawn Tennisteam, Mr J.Parke, the Irish champion, suistaineda severe bereavement through the death of hismother. Mr Parke was thus unable to attend thecomplimentary dinner given to the successfulDavis Cup team on 7th April.

The story of Melbourne's first bushranger 'seixuloit at Heidelberg was, in the words of an eyewitness, told by Mr W. Smithers Gadd in.Melbourne on Monday night. The men were pub-licly executed on the spot where the MelbourneGaol now stands. In the procession formed fromthe prison, they were each placed on a dias, andas the procession passed through the streets, eachman sat on his own coffin.

Evelyn Mary Brotherton, four years of age, wasfound dead at Mount Barker (W.A.), with herskull fractured in many places. William Duck; alaborer, was arrested, and admitted having takenthe child to- the place where the bodywas found,andl hitting it several times with a stone.

■ A lifetime isn’t very long. Failoures are onlylessons.

■ Philogyny. love of women

Ingredients3 cups (450g) self-raising flour1 tsp caster sugarPinch salt50g butter, chopped1 1/4 cups (310ml) milkMilk, extra, to glazeBoysenberry or raspberry jam, to serveDouble cream, to serveMethodStep 1Preheat oven to 230°C. Sift the flour, sugar andsalt into a large bowl. Add the butter and use yourfingertips to rub the butter into the flour until itresembles fine breadcrumbs. Make a well in thecentre of the flour mixture.Step 2Pour the milk into the well and use a butter knifein a cutting action to stir until a soft but stickydough forms (add more milk if necessary to makethe dough soft).Step 3Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface; gen-tly knead until dough just comes together. Usefingertips to gently pat the dough into a 2cm-thickdisc.Step 4Lightly dust an oven tray with flour. Use a 5cm-diameter round pastry cutter dipped in flour tocut out scones. Arrange scones on the tray. Gen-tly brush the top of each scone with a little extramilk to glaze.Step 5Bake scones on the top shelf of preheated ovenfor 10-12 minutes or until golden brown and sconessound hollow when gently tapped. Turn sconesout onto a clean tea towel and cover lightly withanother tea towel. Serve scones warm or at roomtemperature with jam and cream, if desired.

■ Wednesday, May 8. Happy birthday EmmaLong.■ Thursday, May 9. Jana Wendt is 56.■ Friday, May 10. Observer subscriber Flo-rence Axford is 70. Luca Gonano is 27.■ Saturday, May 11. Matthew Newton is36.■ Sunday, May 12. Happy birthday to Observerreaders Damian Sleep and Jan Crowe. GlennRobbins is 56.■ Monday, May 13. Birthday honours toJanette Paterson, Geoff Willis and CatherineFogarty.■ Tuesday, May 14. Happy birthday MarcusHerman. Bob Jones blows out the candles to-day. Ada Nicodemou is 36.

■ Congratulations to Rachel D Taylor and theteam at The Production Company on theirsuccesses at The Green Room awards on Mon-day night (see Page 3).■ Hello to Horsham reader Denise Meikle.■ Get well wishes to Observer columnistYvonne Lawrence.

A

Your Stars with Christina La Cross


ARIES (MAR 21 - APR 20)You have the opportunity to throw yourself into your work and show those around you thatyou can work as part of a team. Doing so can dispel last month's gossip for good.TAURUS (APR 21 - MAY 21)You know we are never going to get on with everyone all the time, but because you'vefallen out with someone close to you, it hurts that much more. Not after this week'stransition.GEMINI (MAY 22 - JUNE 21)You've worked hard for what you want and it appears that this week contracts needsigning; your finances depend on it. Tell information you hold on a need to know basis.CANCER (JUNE 22 - JULY 23)Does it really make a difference to you what other people think you should do with yourlove life? I hope not Cancer, or it means you really have had that confidence knockedover recent months.LEO (JULY 24 - AUG 23)Jealousy in the family sees you being given bad advice. Don't act on others' instructions,but make up your own mind. You are, after all, the one who is going to have to live withthe consequences.VIRGO (AUG 24 - SEPT 23)You have not been as focused as you would like, but that was then and this is now. Usetoday to make a list of what has to be done. Progress is waiting to be made. But pride, yetagain, gets in your way.LIBRA (SEPT 24 - OCT 23)Many of you Librans are feeling the need to freshen up their lives and to make someimmediate changes. Do it! With this line up, you have the backing of the stars to succeed.SCORPIO (OCT 24 - NOV 22)I have to say Scorpio, that you never were a sign that did anything by halves.SAGITTARIUS (NOV 23 - DEC 21)Loved ones may look at you with a worried face as the very things that you seemed to beso content with last week, now seem to be the things you want to change.CAPRICORN (DEC 22 - JAN 20)Don't make more of a falling out than is necessary. You would be far better to carry on asif nothing had happened. Offers and words you hear tonight will tell you why this is so.AQUARIUS (JAN 21 - FEB 19)Focusing on the things you're good at and working out how you can turn your dreams intoa reality all make the future look very promising indeed. Rumours in the workplacereveal a new opening to you.PISCES (FEB 20 - MARCH 20)Give your best today, for there are hidden forces at work which can bring you opportunityfrom those you least expect. Asking for more in your career pays back tenfold at thistime.

Observer Winners

■ Winners of the double passes for LegallyBlonde performance at 1pm on Wednesday, May15, 2013 at the Princess Theatre, 163 SpringSt, Melbourne, are listed below. Tickets weremailed to the winners yesterday (Tues.) from theObserver office.■ Heather Bainbridge. 9 Berry St, Ballan,3342.■ Susan Webster. 5 Orford Rd, Ashburton,3147.■ Elizabeth McLellan. 142 Westwood Dr,Burnside, 3023.■ Marie Glennen. 17 Moreton Cres, Bun-doora, 3083.■ Heather Stockton. 11 McKillop Rd, MtEvelyn, 3796.

Answer: Tim Winton■ Who wrote ‘Cloudstreet’?

Wisdom

■ "All who have accomplished great things havehad a great aim; have fixed their gaze on a goalwhich was high, one which sometimes seemedimpossible." - Orison Swett Marden■ “Faith is an invisible and invincible magnet,and attracts to itself whatever it fervently desiresand calmly and persistently expects.” - RalphWaldo Trine■ “Faith is to believe what you do not see; thereward of this faith is to see what you believe.” -Saint Augustine■ “The size of your success is measured by thestrength of your desire; the size of your dream;and how you handle disappointment along theway.” - Robert Kiyosaki■ “Confront the dark parts of yourself, and workto banish them with illumination and forgiveness.Your willingness to wrestle with your demons willcause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, asa reminder of your strength.” - August Wilson


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Melbourne Observer. 130508B. May 8, 2013. Part B. Pages 17-24, 77-84