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Enter theatre marketing genius Grantaire, who tells Enjolras that if he wants people to Courfeyrac and Marius are liaison officers. He's fighting for marriage equality, but the evidence overwhelmingly points to the fact that. Marius and Enjolras were studying for the BAR exam in law while Cosette was as Éponine and Grantaire defining their own relationship in a more certain way. At that time, likewise, Gabrielle was working on finishing a marketing degree. enjolras | les miserables (, , ) | See more ideas about Frases, gets outcasted by her marriage and K gets insights into improving her life. .. I want a twitter just to follow Sensitive Enjolras Les Miserables Marius, Les Miserables Funny Ardor Tomorrow is entering the Chinese market Stewardship Today.
Beginning of a Great Malady V. Taken Prisoner VII. The Veterans themselves can be Happy IX. Mines and Miners II. Treasure Trove IV. A Rose in Misery V. Jondrette comes near Weeping X. The Use made of M. Jondrette makes his Purchases XVI. The Trap XXI. Couple these two ideas which contain, the one all the furnace, the other all the dawn; strike these two sparks together, Paris, childhood; there leaps out from them a little being.
Homuncio, Plautus would say. This little being is joyous. He has not food every day, and he goes to the play every evening, if he sees good.
He has no shirt on his body, no shoes on his feet, no roof over his head; he is like the flies of heaven, who have none of these things. He is from seven to thirteen years of age, he lives in bands, roams the streets, lodges in the open air, wears an old pair of trousers of his father's, which descend below his heels, an old hat of some other father, which descends below his ears, a single suspender of yellow listing; he runs, lies in wait, rummages about, wastes time, blackens pipes, swears like a convict, haunts the wine-shop, knows thieves, calls gay women thou, talks slang, sings obscene songs, and has no evil in his heart.
This is because he has in his heart a pearl, innocence; and pearls are not to be dissolved in mud. So long as man is in his childhood, God wills that he shall be innocent. If one were to ask that enormous city: Let us not exaggerate, this cherub of the gutter sometimes has a shirt, but, in that case, he owns but one; he sometimes has shoes, but then they have no soles; he sometimes has a lodging, and he loves it, for he finds his mother there; but he prefers the street, because there he finds liberty.
He has his own games, his own bits of mischief, whose foundation consists of hatred for the bourgeois; his peculiar metaphors: This curious money, which receives the name of loques -- rags -- has an invariable and well-regulated currency in this little Bohemia of children. Lastly, he has his own fauna, which he observes attentively in the corners; the lady-bird, the death's-head plant-louse, the daddy-long-legs, "the devil," a black insect, which menaces by twisting about its tail armed with two horns.
He has his fabulous monster, which has scales under its belly, but is not a lizard, which has pustules on its back, but is not a toad, which inhabits the nooks of old lime-kilns and wells that have run dry, which is black, hairy, sticky, which crawls sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly, which has no cry, but which has a look, and is so terrible that no one has ever beheld it; he calls this monster "the deaf thing.
Another pleasure consists in suddenly prying up a paving- Page 3 stone, and taking a look at the wood-lice.Show People Clip: "Les Miserables" Star Aaron Tveit on Filming His Epic Death Scene as Enjolras
Each region of Paris is celebrated for the interesting treasures which are to be found there. There are ear-wigs in the timber-yards of the Ursulines, there are millepeds in the Pantheon, there are tadpoles in the ditches of the Champs-de-Mars. As far as sayings are concerned, this child has as many of them as Talleyrand. He is no less cynical, but he is more honest. He is endowed with a certain indescribable, unexpected joviality; he upsets the composure of the shopkeeper with his wild laughter.
He ranges boldly from high comedy to farce.
A funeral passes by. Among those who accompany the dead there is a doctor. A grave man, adorned with spectacles and trinkets, turns round indignantly: On crossing that magic threshold, he becomes transfigured; he was the street Arab, he becomes the titi. Theatres are a sort of ship turned upside down with the keel in the air.
It is in that keel that the titi huddle together. The titi is to the gamin what the moth is to the larva; the same being endowed with wings and soaring. It suffices for him to be there, with his radiance of happiness, with his power of enthusiasm and joy, with his hand-clapping, which resembles a clapping of wings, to confer on that narrow, dark, fetid, sordid, unhealthy, hideous, abominable keel, the name of Paradise.
Bestow on an individual the useless and deprive him of the necessary, and you have the gamin. Page 4 The gamin is not devoid of literary intuition. His tendency, and we say it with the proper amount of regret, would not constitute classic taste. He is not very academic by nature. Thus, to give an example, the popularity of Mademoiselle Mars among that little audience of stormy children was seasoned with a touch of irony.
The gamin called her Mademoiselle Muche -- "hide yourself. The gamin of Paris is Rabelais in this youth. He is not content with his trousers unless they have a watch- pocket. He is not easily astonished, he is still less easily terrified, he makes songs on superstitions, he takes the wind out of exaggerations, he twits mysteries, he thrusts out his tongue at ghosts, he takes the poetry out of stilted things, he introduces caricature into epic extravaganzas.
It is not that he is prosaic; far from that; but he replaces the solemn vision by the farcical phantasmagoria.
- Marius Pontmercy
- Enjolras/Grantaire Fic Recs
If Adamastor were to appear to him, the street Arab would say: Paris alone Page 5 has this in its natural history. The whole of the monarchy is contained in the lounger; the whole of anarchy in the gamin. This pale child of the Parisian faubourgs lives and develops, makes connections, "grows supple" in suffering, in the presence of social realities and of human things, a thoughtful witness. He thinks himself heedless; and he is not. He looks and is on the verge of laughter; he is on the verge of something else also.
The little fellow will grow up. Of what clay is he made? Of the first mud that comes to hand. A handful of dirt, a breath, and behold Adam. It suffices for a God to pass by. A God has always passed over the street Arab. Fortune labors at this tiny being. By the word "fortune" we mean chance, to some extent. That pigmy kneaded out of common earth, ignorant, unlettered, giddy, vulgar, low. Will that become an Ionian or a Boeotian?
Wait, currit rota, the Spirit of Paris, that demon which creates the children of chance and the men of destiny, reversing the process of the Latin potter, makes of a jug an amphora. Urbis amator, like Fuscus; ruris amator, like Flaccus. To roam thoughtfully about, that is to say, to lounge, is a fine employment of time in the eyes of the philosopher; particularly in that rather illegitimate species of campaign, which is tolerably ugly but odd and composed of two natures, which surrounds certain great cities, notably Paris.
To study the suburbs is to study the amphibious animal. End of the trees, beginning of the roofs; end of the grass, beginning of the Page 6 pavements; end of the furrows, beginning of the shops, end of the wheel-ruts, beginning of the passions; end of the divine murmur, beginning of the human uproar; hence an extraordinary interest.
Hence, in these not very attractive places, indelibly stamped by the passing stroller with the epithet: He who writes these lines has long been a prowler about the barriers of Paris, and it is for him a source of profound souvenirs. That close-shaven turf, those pebbly paths, that chalk, those pools, those harsh monotonies of waste and fallow lands, the plants of early market-garden suddenly springing into sight in a bottom, that mixture of the savage and the citizen, those vast desert nooks where the garrison drums practise noisily, and produce a sort of lisping of battle, those hermits by day and cut-throats by night, that clumsy mill which turns in the wind, the hoisting-wheels of the quarries, the tea-gardens at the corners of the cemeteries; the mysterious charm of great, sombre walls squarely intersecting immense, vague stretches of land inundated with sunshine and full of butterflies, -- all this attracted him.
There is hardly any one on earth who is not acquainted with those singular spots, the Glaciere, the Cunette, the hideous wall of Grenelle all speckled with balls, Mont-Parnasse, the Fosseaux- Loups, Aubiers on the bank of the Marne, Mont-Souris, the Tombe-Issoire, the Pierre-Plate de Chatillon, where there is an old, exhausted quarry which no longer serves any purpose except to raise mushrooms, and which is closed, on a level with the ground, by a trap-door of rotten planks.
The campagna of Rome is one idea, the banlieue of Paris is another; to behold nothing but fields, houses, or trees in what a stretch of country offers us, is to remain on the surface; all aspects of things are thoughts of God. The spot where a plain effects its junction with a city is always stamped with a certain piercing melancholy. Nature and humanity both appeal to you at the same time there. Local originalities there make their appearance.
Page 7 Any one who, like ourselves, has wandered about in these solitudes contiguous to our faubourgs, which may be designated as the limbos of Paris, has seen here and there, in the most desert spot, at the most unexpected moment, behind a meagre hedge, or in the corner of a lugubrious wall, children grouped tumultuously, fetid, muddy, dusty, ragged, dishevelled, playing hide-and-seek, and crowned with corn-flowers.
All of them are little ones who have made their escape from poor families. The outer boulevard is their breathing space; the suburbs belong to them. There they are eternally playing truant. There they innocently sing their repertory of dirty songs. There they are, or rather, there they exist, far from every eye, in the sweet light of May or June, kneeling round a hole in the ground, snapping marbles with their thumbs, quarrelling over half-farthings, irresponsible, volatile, free and happy; and, no sooner do they catch sight of you than they recollect that they have an industry, and that thev must earn their living, and they offer to sell you an old woollen stocking filled with cockchafers, or a bunch of lilacs.
These encounters with strange children are one of the charming and at the same time poignant graces of the environs of Paris. Sometimes there are little girls among the throng of boys, -- are they their sisters? They can be seen devouring cherries among the wheat.
In the evening they can be heard laughing. These groups, warmly illuminated by the full glow of midday, or indistinctly seen in the twilight, occupy the thoughtful man for a very long time, and these visions mingle with his dreams. Paris, centre, banlieue, circumference; this constitutes all the earth to those children. They never venture beyond this. They can no more escape from the Parisian atmosphere than fish can escape from the water.
For them, nothing exists two leagues beyond the barriers: The statistics give an average of two hundred and sixty homeless children picked up annually at that period, by the police patrols, in unenclosed lands, in houses in process of construction, and under the arches of the bridges. One of these nests, which has become famous, produced "the swallows of the bridge of Arcola.
All crimes of the man begin in the vagabondage of the child. The Game of Marbles. Let us make an exception in favor of Paris, nevertheless.
In a relative measure, and in spite of the souvenir which we have just recalled, the exception is just. While in any other great city the vagabond child is a lost man, while nearly everywhere the child left to itself is, in some sort, sacrificed and abandoned to a kind of fatal immersion in the public vices which devour in him honesty and conscience, the street boy of Paris, we insist on this point, however defaced and injured on the surface, is almost intact on the interior.
It is a magnificent thing to put on record, and one which shines forth in the splendid probity of our popular revolutions, that a certain incorruptibility results from the idea which exists in the air of Paris, as salt exists in the water of the ocean. To breathe Paris preserves the soul. What we have just said takes away nothing of the anguish of heart which one experiences every time that one meets one Page 9 of these children around whom one fancies that he beholds floating the threads of a broken family.
In the civilization of the present day, incomplete as it still is, it is not a very abnormal thing to behold these fractured families pouring themselves out into the darkness, not knowing clearly what has become of their children, and allowing their own entrails to fall on the public highway. Hence these obscure destinies. This is called, for this sad thing has given rise to an expression, "to be cast on the pavements of Paris. A little of Egypt and Bohemia in the lower regions suited the upper spheres, and compassed the aims of the powerful.
The hatred of instruction for the children of the people was a dogma. What is the use of "half-lights"? Such was the countersign. Now, the erring child is the corollary of the ignorant child. Besides this, the monarchy sometimes was in need of children, and in that case it skimmed the streets.
The idea was a good one. But let us consider the means. There can be no fleet, if, beside the sailing ship, that plaything of the winds, and for the purpose of towing it, in case of necessity, there is not the vessel which goes where it pleases, either by means of oars or of steam; the galleys were then to the marine what steamers are to-day. Therefore, galleys were necessary; but the galley is moved only by the galley-slave; hence, galley-slaves were required.
Colbert had the commissioners of provinces and the parliaments make as many convicts as possible. The magistracy showed a great deal of complaisance in the matter.
A man kept his hat on in the presence of a procession -- it was a Huguenot attitude; he was sent to the galleys. A child was encountered in the streets; provided that he was fifteen years of age and did not know where he was to sleep, he was sent to the galleys.
Grand reign; grand century. Page 10 People whispered with terror monstrous conjectures as to the king's baths of purple. Barbier speaks ingenuously of these things. It sometimes happened that the exempts of the guard, when they ran short of children, took those who had fathers. The fathers, in despair, attacked the exempts.
In that case, the parliament intervened and had some one hung. One might almost say: Not every one who wishes to belong to it can do so. This word gamin was printed for the first time, and reached popular speech through the literary tongue, in It is in a little work entitled Claude Gueux that this word made its appearance. The horror was lively.
The word passed into circulation. The elements which constitute the consideration of the gamins for each other are very various. We have known and associated with one who was greatly respected and vastly admired because he had seen a man fall from the top of the tower of Notre-Dame; another, because he had succeeded in making his way into the rear courtyard where the statues of the dome of the Invalides had been temporarily deposited, and had "prigged" some lead from them; a third, because he had seen a diligence tip over; still another, because he "knew" a soldier who came near putting out the eye of a citizen.
This explains that famous exclamation of a Parisian gamin, a profound epiphonema, which the vulgar herd laughs at without comprehending, -- Dieu de Dieu! What ill-luck I do have! I have pronounced I'ave and fifth pronounced fift'. Surely, this saying of a peasant is a fine one: A man condemned to death is listening to his confessor in the tumbrel.
The child of Paris exclaims: To be strong-minded is an important item. To be present at executions constitutes a duty. He shows himself at the guillotine, and he laughs. He calls it by all sorts of pet names: In order not to lose anything of the affair, he scales the walls, he hoists himself to balconies, he ascends trees, he suspends himself to gratings, he clings fast to chimneys.
The gamin is born a tiler as he is born a mariner. A roof inspires him with no more fear than a mast. There is no festival which comes up to an execution on the Place de Greve. Samson and the Abbe Montes are the truly popular names. They hoot at the victim in order to encourage him. They sometimes admire him. Lacenaire, when a gamin, on seeing the hideous Dautin die bravely, uttered these words which contain a future: They have a tradition as to everybody's last garment.
It is known that Tolleron had a fireman's cap, Avril an otter cap, Losvel a round hat, that old Delaporte was bald and bare-headed, that Castaing was all ruddy and very handsome, that Bories had a romantic small beard, that Jean Martin kept on his suspenders, that Lecouffe and his mother quarrelled. Another, in Page 12 order to get a look at Debacker as he passed, and being too small in the crowd, caught sight of the lantern on the quay and climbed it. A gendarme stationed opposite frowned.
And, to soften the heart of the authorities he added: In the brotherhood of gamins, a memorable accident counts for a great deal. One reaches the height of consideration if one chances to cut one's self very deeply, "to the very bone. One of the things that the gamin is fondest of saying is: A squint is highly esteemed.
Nevertheless the police keep an eye on him, and the result is a highly dramatic situation which once gave rise to a fraternal and memorable cry; that cry which was celebrated aboutis a strategic warning from gamin to gamin; it scans like a verse from Homer, with a notation as inexpressible as the eleusiac chant of the Panathenaea, and in it one encounters again the ancient Evohe.
Here comes the bobby, here comes the p'lice, pick up your duds and be off, through the sewer with you! He does not hesitate to acquire, by no one knows what mysterious mutual instruction, all the talents which can be of use to the public; from tohe imitated the cry of the turkey; from tohe scrawled pears on the walls.
One summer evening, when Louis Philippe was returning home on foot, he saw a little fellow, no higher than his knee, perspiring and climbing up to draw a gigantic pear in charcoal on one of the pillars of the gate of Neuilly; the King, with that good-nature which came to him from Henry IV. The gamin loves uproar. A certain state of violence pleases him. He execrates "the cures. Nevertheless, whatever may be the Voltairianism of the small gamin, if the occasion to become a chorister presents itself, it is quite possible that he will accept, and in that case he serves the mass civilly.
There are two things to which he plays Tantalus, and which he always desires without ever attaining them: The gamin in his perfect state possesses all the policemen of Paris, and can always put the name to the face of any one which he chances to meet. He can tell them off on the tips of his fingers.
He studies their habits, and he has special notes on each one of them. He reads the souls of the police like an open book. He will tell you fluently and without flinching: That one imagines that he owns the Pont-Neuf, and he prevents people from walking on the cornice outside the parapet; that other has a mania for pulling person's ears; etc. Gaminerie is a shade of the Gallic spirit. Mingled with good sense, it sometimes adds force to the latter, as alcohol does to wine.
Sometimes it is a defect. Homer repeats himself eternally, granted; one may say that Voltaire plays the gamin. Camille Desmoulins was a native of the faubourgs. Championnet, who treated miracles brutally, rose from the pavements of Paris; he had, when a small lad, inundated the porticos of Saint-Jean de Beauvais, and of Saint-Etienne du Mont; he had addressed the shrine of Sainte-Genevieve familiarly to give orders to the phial of Saint Januarius.
The gamin of Paris is respectful, ironical, and insolent. He has villainous teeth, because he is badly fed and his stomach suffers, and handsome eyes because he has wit. If Jehovah himself were present, he would go hopping up the steps of paradise on one foot.
He is strong on boxing. All beliefs are possible to him.
Marius Pontmercy - Wikipedia
He plays in the gutter, and straightens himself up with a revolt; his effrontery persists even in the presence of grape-shot; he was a scapegrace, he is a hero; like the little Theban, he shakes the skin from the lion; Barra the drummer-boy was a gamin of Paris; he Shouts: This child of the puddle is also the child of the ideal.
Page 15 Measure that spread of wings which reaches from Moliere to Barra. To sum up the whole, and in one word, the gamin is a being who amuses himself, because he is unhappy. He assumes her name was "Ursula" after he finds a handkerchief she dropped. He finally sees where their house was and visits often, but doesn't really talk to anyone except the guard outside.
Then, one day, Cosette and Valjean were gone, he asks the guard, but has no idea where they moved.
Marius used to see them everyday, but now that they were gone, he falls into depression. She tells him she found Cosette's address, and leads him to the house. Marius, after some days of waiting, decides to write a page love letter to Cosette which she finds hidden under a stone. Cosette immediately falls in love and Marius reveals himself as a shadowy figure standing behind her. Their shared love blossoms for about six weeks, but Valjean shatters that bliss when he announces to Cosette that they will be leaving for England in a week.
Cosette tells Marius about the move, causing much distress for the pair. Marius goes to Gillenormand to try to reconcile and to get permission to marry Cosette. However, after Gillenormand suggests that Marius make Cosette his mistress, Marius storms out of the house, insulted.
Les Misérables: not as revolutionary as it seems
At this point, Marius saw no point in living, as Cosette was to move away. Marius drives them away by holding a torch to a powder keg, and threatens to blow up the barricade. She confesses to Marius that it was she who told him to go to the barricades, and saved his life because she wanted to die before him. She also tells him she has a letter for him.
She asks Marius to promise to kiss her on the forehead after she dies, which he agrees. The letter she had concealed is from Cosette, and reveals her whereabouts and when she will leave for England. Marius writes a letter back to Cosette, saying since she left again with no forwarding address, he would fulfill his promise and die for her.
He gives the letter to Gavrocheto deliver; however, Gavroche delivers the letter to Valjean. Valjean goes to the barricade to find Marius, disguised as a volunteer. When Valjean is tasked with executing Javert, Marius assumes that he has done so, and is a murderer. Rescue[ edit ] As the barricade falls, Marius has multiple head wounds and is shot in the collarbone.
Young Fantine Anne Hathaway is fired from one of his factories. On the streets, she sells her hair, then her molars, then her body. Cue the standout solo, I Dreamed a Dream. Like many of the big numbers in this film, it is shot in blistering, uncut closeup. With each actor you get a chance to see the smears of stage blood, the sweat, the tears caught in the eyelashes, the veins throbbing in the forehead on the high notes, the dirt, the spots, the drool, the snot, and the poverty stains on whatever remains of their teeth.
In a movie already determined to cover all its characters in filth, vomit and human excrement, this is a bit relentless. A historian can't complain about the past being shown to be dirty — it was — but it seems contrary to insist on gritty realism if you're going to have your cast express themselves exclusively in show tunes.