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Les Misérables

Book by Victor Hugo · 50 quotes · Men, Les Misérables, Victor Hugo

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Les Misérables Quotes

“Are you what is called a happy man? Well! you are sad every day. Each day has its own great grief or its little care. Yesterday you were trembling for a health that is dear to you, to-day you fear for your own; to-morrow it will be anxiety about money, the day after to-morrow the diatribe of a slanderer, the day after that, the misfortune of some friend; then the prevailing weather, then something that has been broken or lost, then a pleasure with which your conscience and your vertebral column reproach you; again, the course of public affairs. This without reckoning in the pains of the heart. And so it goes on. One cloud is dispelled, another forms. There is hardly one day out of a hundred which is wholly joyous and sunny. And you belong to that small class who are happy! As for the rest of mankind, stagnating night rests upon them.”

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“At the same time, if there is infinity outside us is there not infinity within us? Are not these two infinities (a horrifying plural!) superimposed one upon the other, and is not the second infinity so to speak subjugated to the first, its mirror and its echo, an abyss that is concentric with another abyss? Is it not also intelligent? Does it not think, love and desire? If both infinities are intelligent, then each has in principle a Will, and there is an I in the higher infinity just as there is in the lower. That lower I is the soul, and the higher I is God. To establish in the mind a contact between the higher and the lower Infinities, this is to pray.”

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“Succeed: theory. Prosperity argues capacity. Win in the lottery, and behold! you are a clever man. He who triumphs is venerated. Be born with a silver spoon in your mouth! everything lies in that. Be lucky, and you will have all the rest; be happy, and people will think you great. […] Contemporary admiration is nothing but short-sightedness. […] The common herd is an old Narcissus who adores himself, and who applauds the vulgar herd.”

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“If they had had a different neighbour, one less sel-absorbed and more concerned for others, a man of normal, charitable instincts, their desperate state would not have gone unnoticed, their distress-signals would have been heard, and perhaps they would have been rescued by now. Certainly they appeared utterly depraved, corrupt, vile and odious; but it is rare for those who have sunk so low not to be degraded in the process, and there comes a point, moreover, where the unfortunate and the infamous are grouped together, merged in a single, fateful world. They are les misérables - the outcasts, the underdogs. And who is to blame? Is it not the most fallen who have most need for charity?”

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“Relegated as he was to a corner and as though sheltered behind the billiard table, the soldiers, their eyes fixed upon Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat the order: 'Take aim!' when suddenly they heard a powerful voice cry out beside them, 'Vive la Republique! Count me in.' Grantaire was on his feet. The immense glare of the whole combat he had missed and in which he had not been, appeared in the flashing eyes of the transfigured drunkard. He repeated, 'Vive la Republique!' crossed the room firmly, and took his place in front of the muskets beside Enjolras. 'Two at one shot,' he said. And, turning toward Enjolras gently, he said to him, 'Will you permit it?' Enjolras shook his hand with a smile. The smile had not finished before the report was heard. Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained backed up against the wall is if the bullets had nailed him there. Except that his head was tilted. Grantaire, struck down, collapsed at his feet.”

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“What about me?’ said Grantaire. ‘I’m here.’ ‘You?’ ‘Yes, me.’ ‘You? Rally Republicans! You? In defence of principles, fire up hearts that have grown cold!’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Are you capable of being good for something?’ ‘I have the vague ambition to be,’ said Grantaire. ‘You don’t believe in anything.’ ‘I believe in you.’ ‘Grantaire, will you do me a favour?’ ‘Anything. Polish your boots.’ ‘Well, don’t meddle in our affairs. Go and sleep off the effects of your absinthe.’ ‘You’re heartless, Enjolras.’ ‘As if you’d be the man to send to the Maine gate! As if you were capable of it!’ ‘I’m capable of going down Rue des Grès, crossing Place St-Michel, heading off along Rue Monsieur-le-Prince, taking Rue de Vaugirard, passing the Carmelite convent, turning into Rue d’Assas, proceeding to Rue du Cherche-Midi, leaving the Military Court behind me, wending my way along Rue des Vieilles-Tuileries, striding across the boulevard, following Chaussée du Maine, walking through the toll-gate and going into Richefeu’s. I’m capable of that. My shoes are capable of that.’ ‘Do you know them at all, those comrades who meet at Richefeu’s?' ‘Not very well. But we’re on friendly terms.’ ‘What will you say to them?’ ‘I’ll talk to them about Robespierre, of course! And about Danton. About principles.’ ‘You?’ ‘Yes, me. But I’m not being given the credit I deserve. When I put my mind to it, I’m terrific. I’ve read Prudhomme, I’m familiar with the Social Contract, I know by heart my constitution of the year II. “The liberty of the citizen ends where the liberty of another citizen begins.” Do you take me for a brute beast? I have in my drawer an old promissory note from the time of the Revolution. The rights of man, the sovereignty of the people, for God’s sake! I’m even a bit of an Hébertist. I can keep coming out with some wonderful things, watch in hand, for a whole six hours by the clock.’ ‘Be serious,’ said Enjolras. ‘I mean it,’ replied Grantaire. Enjolras thought for a few moments, and with the gesture of a man who had come to a decision, ‘Grantaire,’ he said gravely, ‘I agree to try you out. You’ll go to the Maine toll-gate.’ Grantaire lived in furnished lodgings very close to Café Musain. He went out, and came back five minutes later. He had gone home to put on a Robespierre-style waistcoat. ‘Red,’ he said as he came in, gazing intently at Enjolras. Then, with an energetic pat of his hand, he pressed the two scarlet lapels of the waistcoat to his chest. And stepping close to Enjolras he said in his ear, ‘Don’t worry.’ He resolutely jammed on his hat, and off he went.”

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“But, sceptic that he was, he had one fanatical devotion, not for an idea, a creed, an art or a science, but for a man — for Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras. The anarchic questioner of all beliefs had attached himself to the most absolute of all that circle of believers. Enjolras had conquered him not by any force of reason but by character. It is a not uncommon phenomenon. The sceptic clinging to a believer is something as elementary as the law of complementary colours. We are drawn to what we lack. No one loves daylight more than a blind man. The dwarf adores the drum-major. The toad has its eyes upturned to Heaven, and for what? — to watch the flight of the birds. Grantaire, earthbound in doubt, loved to watch Enjolras soaring in the upper air of faith. He needed Enjolras. Without being fully aware of it, or seeking to account for it himself, he was charmed by that chaste, upright, inflexible, and candid nature. Instinctively he was attracted to his opposite. His flabby, incoherent, and shapeless thinking attached itself to Enjolras as to a spinal column. He was in any case a compound of apparently incompatible elements, at once ironical and friendly, affectionate beneath his seeming indifference. His mind could do without faith, but his heart could not do without friendship: a profound contradiction, for affection in itself is faith. Such was his nature. There are men who seem born to be two-sided. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Ephestion. They can live only in union with the other who is their reverse side; their name is one of a pair, always preceded by the conjunction "and"; their lives are not their own; they are the other side of a destiny which is not theirs. Grantaire was one of those, the reverse side of Enjolras. Truly the satellite of Enjolras, he formed one of that circle of young men, went everywhere with them and was only happy in their company. His delight was to see those figures moving amid the mists of wine, and they bore with him because of his good humour. Enjolras, the believer, despised the sceptic and soberly deplored the drunkard. His attitude towards him was one of pitying disdain. Grantaire was an unwelcome Ephestion. But, roughly treated though he was by Enjolras, harshly repulsed and rejected, he always came back, saying of him: "What a splendid statue!”

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“Анжольрас, стоявший с ружьем в руке на гребне заграждения, поднял свое прекрасное строгое лицо. Анжольрас, как известно, был из породы спартанцев и пуритан. Он умер бы при Фермопилах вместе с Леонидом и сжег бы Дрохеду вместе с Кромвелем. – Грантер! – крикнул он. – Пойди куда-нибудь, проспись. Здесь место опьянению, а не пьянству. Не позорь баррикаду. Эти гневные слова произвели на Грантера необычайное впечатление. Ему словно выплесну-ли стакан холодной воды в лицо. Он, казалось, сразу протрезвился, сел, облокотился на стол возле окна, с невыразимой кротостью взглянул на Анжольраса и сказал: – Позволь мне поспать здесь. – Ступай для этого в другое место! – крикнул Анжольрас. Но Грантер, не сводя с него нежного и мутного взгляда, проговорил: – Позволь мне тут поспать, пока я не умру. Анжольрас презрительно взглянул на него. – Грантер! Ты неспособен ни верить, ни думать, ни хотеть, ни жить, ни умирать. – Вот ты увидишь, – серьезно сказал Грантер. Он пробормотал еще несколько невнятных слов, потом его голова тяжело упала на стол, и мгновение спустя он уже спал, что довольно обычно для второй стадии опьянения, к которому его резко и безжалостно подтолкнул Анжольрас.”

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“There are marble-workers at the Barrière du Maine, and painters and workers in the sculptors' studios. They're keen, on the whole, but inclined to blow hot and cold. I don't know what's got into them recently. They seem to have lost interest, they spend their whole time playing dominoes. It's important for someone to go and talk to them, and talk bluntly. Their place is the Café Richefeu and they're always there between twelve and one. It needs a puff of air to brighten up those members. I was going to ask that dreamy character, Marius, but he doesn't come here any more. So I need someone for the Barrière du Maine, and I've no one to send." "There's me," said Grantaire. "I'm here." "You?" "Why not?" "You'll go out and preach republicanism, rouse up the half-hearted in the name of principle?" "Why shouldn't I?" "Would you be any good at it?" "I'd quite like to try," said Grantaire. "But you don't believe in anything?" "I believe in you." "Grantaire, do you really want to do me a service?" "Anything you like — I'd black your boots." "Then keep out of our affairs. Stick to your absinthe.”

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“He was Antinous, wild. You would have said, seeing the thoughtful reflection of his eye, that he had already, in some preceding existence, been through the revolutionary apocalypse. He knew its tradition like an eyewitness. He knew every little detail of that great thing. A pontifical and warrior nature, strange in a youth. He was officiating and militant; from the immediate point of view, a soldier of democracy; above the movement of the time, a priest of the ideal.”

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“The audacity of a fine death always affects men. As soon as Enjolras folded his arms and accepted his end, the din of strife ceased in the room, and this chaos suddenly stilled into a sort of sepulchral solemnity. The menacing majesty of Enjolras disarmed and motionless, appeared to oppress this tumult, and this young man, haughty, bloody, and charming, who alone had not a wound, who was as indifferent as an invulnerable being, seemed, by the authority of his tranquil glance, to constrain this sinister rabble to kill him respectfully. His beauty, at that moment augmented by his pride, was resplendent, and he was fresh and rosy after the fearful four and twenty hours which had just elapsed, as though he could no more be fatigued than wounded. It was of him, possibly, that a witness spoke afterwards, before the council of war: "There was an insurgent whom I heard called Apollo." A National Guardsman who had taken aim at Enjolras, lowered his gun, saying: "It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower.”

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“Pongámonos de acuerdo en qué es la igualdad, pues si la libertad es la cima, la igualdad es la base. La igualdad, ciudadanos, no es que toda la vegetación esté enrasada, una sociedad de hierbas largas y de robles bajos; un vecindario de envidias que se castren entre sí; es, en el ámbito civil, que todas las aptitudes tengan las mismas oportunidades; en el ámbito político, es que todos los votos valgan lo mismo; en el ámbito religioso, es que todas las conciencias tengan los mismos derechos. La Igualdad tiene un órgano: la instrucción gratuita y obligatoria. El derecho al alfabeto, por ahí es por donde hay que empezar. La escuela primaria obligatoria para todos; la escuela secundaria brindada a todos, ésa es la ley. De la escuela idéntica sale la sociedad igual. ¡La enseñanza, sí! ¡Luz! ¡Luz! Todo viene de la luz y todo va a la luz. Ciudadanos, el siglo XIX es grande, pero el siglo XX será feliz. Y ya no pasará nada que tenga que ver con la historia vieja; no tendremos ya que temer, como ahora, una conquista, una invasión, una usurpación, una rivalidad a mano armada de naciones, una interrupción de la civilización que dependa de un matrimonio de reyes, de un nacimiento en el seno de las tiranías hereditarias, de un reparto de pueblos obra de un congreso, de un desmembramiento porque se hunda una dinastía, de un combate entre dos religiones que choquen de frente como dos carneros del reino de la oscuridad, en el puente de lo infinito; no tendremos ya que temer la hambruna, ni la explotación, ni la prostitución fruto de la desesperación ni el desvalimiento, ni la miseria fruto del paro, ni el patíbulo, ni la espada, ni las batallas, ni todos los robos de salteador del azar en el bosque de los acontecimientos. Casi podríamos decir que ya no habrá acontecimientos. Los hombres serán felices. El género humano cumplirá su ley como cumple la suya el globo terrestre; se restablecerá la armonía entre el alma y el astro; el alma gravitará en torno a la verdad igual que el astro en torno a la luz.”

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“If there is anything terrible, if there exists a reality which surpasses dreams, it is this: to live, to see the sun; to be in full possession of virile force; to possess health and joy; to laugh valiantly; to rush towards a glory which one sees dazzling in front of one; to feel in one’s breast lungs which breathe, a heart which beats, a will which reasons; to speak, think, hope, love; to have a mother, to have a wife, to have children; to have the light—and all at once, in the space of a shout, in less than a minute, to sink into an abyss; to fall, to roll, to crush, to be crushed; to see ears of wheat, flowers, leaves, branches; not to be able to catch hold of anything; to feel one’s sword useless, men beneath one, horses on top of one; to struggle in vain, since one’s bones have been broken by some kick in the darkness; to feel a heel which makes one’s eyes start from their sockets; to bite horses’ shoes in one’s rage; to stifle, to yell, to writhe; to be beneath, and to say to one’s self, “But just a little while ago I was a living man!”

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