Ten Little Chances to be Free (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tenlittlebullets) wrote2008-02-14 07:37 pm
tenlittlebullets) wrote2008-02-14 07:37 pm
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Translations of the snippets from the last post.
Another character trait of M. Gillenormand, according to a note found in Victor Hugo's papers:
"He had a very learned cousin, an entomologist, the Abbé Gillenormand, whom the emperor Alexander had wanted to see, and at whose home His Imperial Majesty had arrived too late--they were burying the Abbé, who had died of a fever he caught two days before the day when His Majesty had judged it best to come. He was furious with this cousin because of that. He had never forgiven him for having died before receiving the visit of the emperor of Russia."
Another of Hugo's notes:
"There was a series of Nicolettes. They would say in the house:
The new Nicolette.
The former Nicolette.
The Nicolette of the Directory.
The Nicolette from the time of Buonaparte."
His daughter was a child whom we will speak of shortly, the only person in his family who had survived; she was an old virtue, an incombustible prude, one of the most pointed noses and one of the most obtuse spirits one could ever see. ...A certain bigoted devotion. Bigotry is nothing else but the castration of the intelligence. The virtues that result from it resemble the chastity of a eunuch, and have just as much merit.
In an abandoned version, Victor Hugo, instead of revealing to Gillenormand the contents of Marius' little box, revealed to Marius the contents of the pockets of one of Gillenormand's frock coats.
One day he [Marius] saw in the house a servant looking for M. Gillenormand.
"What do you want with him?" asked Thomas. [Marius had at first been named Thomas.]
"Monsieur has given me one of his old coats," answered the servant. "He did not remember that there were some papers in the pockets, and I'm looking for him to give them back to him."
"Give them to me," said Thomas, "I'll return them."
The servant gave him the papers; Thomas threw them negligently into a drawer. At the moment when he was about to close the drawer, his gaze fell on these old papers and he recognized his father's handwriting.
They were his father's letters, the same ones that he had seen so many times M. Gillenormand put in his pocket without reading them. Curiosity overtook him, and another instinct perhaps drove him.
"Let's see what they are," he said, and he unfolded one and read it.
--
An omitted continuation of Valjean and Cosette's conversation from the chapter "The rose perceives that it is an engine of war."
[...he asked Cosette, "Aren't you going to put on your dress and your hat, you know the ones?"
This happened in Cosette's room. Cosette turned towards the wardrobe where her schoolgirl clothes were hanging.
"That disguise!" she said. "Father, what do you want me to do with that? Oh, the idea! No, I'll never put on those horrors again. With that machine on my head, I look like Madame Mad-Dog."]
"Well," said Jean Tréjean, "give them to me."
"Oh, gladly, Father," cried Cosette, "but what will you do with them?"
"That's my business."
"I understand, Father. They're for the poor."
"Yes," he replied, "they're for the poor."
Jean Tréjean retired early that night. He took "those horrors" into his room, and when he was alone, he took the poor merino dress and the poor plush hat, those horrors, spread them out on his pallet with a painful smile, and kissed them, then his white head fell on these cast-offs, and if there had been somebody in the room at that moment, he would have heard the good old man sobbing. His heart was bursting: he could not have said what it was... He felt as one would feel in front of the clothing of his dead child.
He locked this dress and hat in an armoire which he never opened, and when he had put away the key to this armoire, it seemed to him that it was a tomb he had just closed, and that he had put his happiness inside it.
"He had a very learned cousin, an entomologist, the Abbé Gillenormand, whom the emperor Alexander had wanted to see, and at whose home His Imperial Majesty had arrived too late--they were burying the Abbé, who had died of a fever he caught two days before the day when His Majesty had judged it best to come. He was furious with this cousin because of that. He had never forgiven him for having died before receiving the visit of the emperor of Russia."
Another of Hugo's notes:
"There was a series of Nicolettes. They would say in the house:
The new Nicolette.
The former Nicolette.
The Nicolette of the Directory.
The Nicolette from the time of Buonaparte."
His daughter was a child whom we will speak of shortly, the only person in his family who had survived; she was an old virtue, an incombustible prude, one of the most pointed noses and one of the most obtuse spirits one could ever see. ...A certain bigoted devotion. Bigotry is nothing else but the castration of the intelligence. The virtues that result from it resemble the chastity of a eunuch, and have just as much merit.
In an abandoned version, Victor Hugo, instead of revealing to Gillenormand the contents of Marius' little box, revealed to Marius the contents of the pockets of one of Gillenormand's frock coats.
One day he [Marius] saw in the house a servant looking for M. Gillenormand.
"What do you want with him?" asked Thomas. [Marius had at first been named Thomas.]
"Monsieur has given me one of his old coats," answered the servant. "He did not remember that there were some papers in the pockets, and I'm looking for him to give them back to him."
"Give them to me," said Thomas, "I'll return them."
The servant gave him the papers; Thomas threw them negligently into a drawer. At the moment when he was about to close the drawer, his gaze fell on these old papers and he recognized his father's handwriting.
They were his father's letters, the same ones that he had seen so many times M. Gillenormand put in his pocket without reading them. Curiosity overtook him, and another instinct perhaps drove him.
"Let's see what they are," he said, and he unfolded one and read it.
--
An omitted continuation of Valjean and Cosette's conversation from the chapter "The rose perceives that it is an engine of war."
[...he asked Cosette, "Aren't you going to put on your dress and your hat, you know the ones?"
This happened in Cosette's room. Cosette turned towards the wardrobe where her schoolgirl clothes were hanging.
"That disguise!" she said. "Father, what do you want me to do with that? Oh, the idea! No, I'll never put on those horrors again. With that machine on my head, I look like Madame Mad-Dog."]
"Well," said Jean Tréjean, "give them to me."
"Oh, gladly, Father," cried Cosette, "but what will you do with them?"
"That's my business."
"I understand, Father. They're for the poor."
"Yes," he replied, "they're for the poor."
Jean Tréjean retired early that night. He took "those horrors" into his room, and when he was alone, he took the poor merino dress and the poor plush hat, those horrors, spread them out on his pallet with a painful smile, and kissed them, then his white head fell on these cast-offs, and if there had been somebody in the room at that moment, he would have heard the good old man sobbing. His heart was bursting: he could not have said what it was... He felt as one would feel in front of the clothing of his dead child.
He locked this dress and hat in an armoire which he never opened, and when he had put away the key to this armoire, it seemed to him that it was a tomb he had just closed, and that he had put his happiness inside it.
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He locked this dress and hat in an armoire which he never opened, and when he had put away the key to this armoire, it seemed to him that it was a tomb he had just closed, and that he had put his happiness inside it.
Awwww. ;_______;
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That amused me. XD
Aw, poor Valjean. :(
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Thank you for sharing these!