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Les Misérables by Victor HugoObserver Classic Books

BONUS

SECTION

Observer

www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, August 14, 2013 - Page 21

going back to first causes, chides from its heightof a demi-science, the agitation of the publicsquare.If we listen to this school, “The riots which com-plicated the affair of 1830 deprived that greatevent of a portion of its purity. The Revolution ofJuly had been a fine popular gale, abruptly fol-lowed by blue sky. They made the cloudy sky re-appear. They caused that revolution, at first soremarkable for its unanimity, to degenerate into aquarrel. In the Revolution of July, as in all progressaccomplished by fits and starts, there had beensecret fractures; these riots rendered them per-ceptible. It might have been said: ‘Ah! this is bro-ken.’ After the Revolution of July, one was sen-sible only of deliverance; after the riots, one wasconscious of a catastrophe.“All revolt closes the shops, depresses the funds,throws the Exchange into consternation, suspendscommerce, clogs business, precipitates failures;no more money, private fortunes rendered uneasy,public credit shaken, industry disconcerted, capi-tal withdrawing, work at a discount, fear every-where; counter-shocks in every town. Hence gulfs.It has been calculated that the first day of a riotcosts France twenty millions, the second day forty,the third sixty, a three days’ uprising costs onehundred and twenty millions, that is to say, if onlythe financial result be taken into consideration, itis equivalent to a disaster, a shipwreck or a lostbattle, which should annihilate a fleet of sixty shipsof the line.“No doubt, historically, uprisings have theirbeauty; the war of the pavements is no less gran-diose, and no less pathetic, than the war of thick-ets: in the one there is the soul of forests, in theother the heart of cities; the one has Jean Chouan,the other has a Jeanne. Revolts have illuminatedwith a red glare all the most original points of theParisian character, generosity, devotion, stormygayety, students proving that bravery forms partof intelligence, the National Guard invincible, biv-ouacs of shopkeepers, fortresses of street urchins,contempt of death on the part of passers-by.Schools and legions clashed together. After all,between the combatants, there was only a differ-ence of age; the race is the same; it is the samestoical men who died at the age of twenty for theirideas, at forty for their families. The army, al-ways a sad thing in civil wars, opposed prudenceto audacity. Uprisings, while proving popular in-trepidity, also educated the courage of the bour-geois.“This is well. But is all this worth the bloodshed?And to the bloodshed add the future darkness,progress compromised, uneasiness among the bestmen, honest liberals in despair, foreign absolut-ism happy in these wounds dealt to revolution byits own hand, the vanquished of 1830 triumphingand saying: ‘We told you so!’ Add Paris enlarged,possibly, but France most assuredly diminished.Add, for all must needs be told, the massacreswhich have too often dishonored the victory oforder grown ferocious over liberty gone mad. Tosum up all, uprisings have been disastrous.”Thus speaks that approximation to wisdom withwhich the bourgeoisie, that approximation to thepeople, so willingly contents itself.For our parts, we reject this word uprisings as toolarge, and consequently as too convenient. Wemake a distinction between one popular move-ment and another popular movement. We do notinquire whether an uprising costs as much as abattle. Why a battle, in the first place? Here thequestion of war comes up. Is war less of a scourgethan an uprising is of a calamity? And then, areall uprisings calamities? And what if the revolt ofJuly did cost a hundred and twenty millions? Theestablishment of Philip V. in Spain cost Francetwo milliards. Even at the same price, we shouldprefer the 14th of July. However, we reject thesefigures, which appear to be reasons and whichare only words. An uprising being given, we ex-amine it by itself. In all that is said by thedoctrinarian objection above presented, there isno question of anything but effect, we seek thecause.We will be explicit.

is basest; the beings who prowl outside of allbounds, awaiting an occasion, bohemians, va-grants, vagabonds of the cross-roads, those whosleep at night in a desert of houses with no otherroof than the cold clouds of heaven, those who,each day, demand their bread from chance andnot from toil, the unknown of poverty and noth-ingness, the bare-armed, the bare-footed, belongto revolt. Whoever cherishes in his soul a secretrevolt against any deed whatever on the part ofthe state, of life or of fate, is ripe for riot, and, assoon as it makes its appearance, he begins toquiver, and to feel himself borne away with thewhirlwind.Revolt is a sort of waterspout in the social atmo-sphere which forms suddenly in certain conditionsof temperature, and which, as it eddies about,mounts, descends, thunders, tears, razes, crushes,demolishes, uproots, bearing with it great naturesand small, the strong man and the feeble mind,the tree trunk and the stalk of straw. Woe to himwhom it bears away as well as to him whom itstrikes! It breaks the one against the other.It communicates to those whom it seizes an inde-scribable and extraordinary power. It fills the first-comer with the force of events; it converts every-thing into projectiles. It makes a cannon-ball of arough stone, and a general of a porter.If we are to believe certain oracles of crafty po-litical views, a little revolt is desirable from thepoint of view of power. System: revolt strength-ens those governments which it does not over-throw. It puts the army to the test; it consecratesthe bourgeoisie, it draws out the muscles of thepolice; it demonstrates the force of the socialframework. It is an exercise in gymnastics; it isalmost hygiene. Power is in better health after arevolt, as a man is after a good rubbing down.Revolt, thirty years ago, was regarded from stillother points of view.There is for everything a theory, which proclaimsitself “good sense”; Philintus against Alcestis;mediation offered between the false and the true;explanation, admonition, rather haughty extenua-tion which, because it is mingled with blame andexcuse, thinks itself wisdom, and is often onlypedantry. A whole political school called “thegolden mean” has been the outcome of this. Asbetween cold water and hot water, it is the luke-warm water party. This school with its false depth,all on the surface, which dissects effects without

In the afternoon, extraordinary noises broke outin Paris. They resembled shots and the clamorsof a multitude.Father Mabeuf raised his head. He saw a gar-dener passing, and inquired:—“What is it?”The gardener, spade on back, replied in the mostunconcerned tone:—“It is the riots.”“What riots?”“Yes, they are fighting.”“Why are they fighting?”“Ah, good Heavens!” ejaculated the gardener.“In what direction?” went on M. Mabeuf.“In the neighborhood of the Arsenal.”Father Mabeuf went to his room, took his hat,mechanically sought for a book to place underhis arm, found none, said: “Ah! truly!” and wentoff with a bewildered air.

●●●●● Victor Hugo

“You know well that people refuse me.”M. Mabeuf opened his bookcase, took a long lookat all his books, one after another, as a fatherobliged to decimate his children would gaze uponthem before making a choice, then seized onehastily, put it in under his arm and went out. Hereturned two hours later, without anything underhis arm, laid thirty sous on the table, and said:—“You will get something for dinner.”From that moment forth, Mother Plutarque saw asombre veil, which was never more lifted, de-scend over the old man’s candid face.On the following day, on the day after, and on theday after that, it had to be done again.M. Mabeuf went out with a book and returnedwith a coin. As the second-hand dealers perceivedthat he was forced to sell, they purchased of himfor twenty sous that for which he had paid twentyfrancs, sometimes at those very shops. Volumeby volume, the whole library went the same road.He said at times: “But I am eighty;” as though hecherished some secret hope that he should arriveat the end of his days before reaching the end ofhis books. His melancholy increased. Once, how-ever, he had a pleasure. He had gone out with aRobert Estienne, which he had sold for thirty-fivesous under the Quai Malaquais, and he returnedwith an Aldus which he had bought for forty sousin the Rue des Gres.—“I owe five sous,” he said,beaming on Mother Plutarque. That day he hadno dinner.He belonged to the Horticultural Society. His des-titution became known there. The president of thesociety came to see him, promised to speak tothe Minister of Agriculture and Commerce abouthim, and did so.—“Why, what!” exclaimed theMinister, “I should think so! An old savant! a bota-nist! an inoffensive man! Something must be donefor him!” On the following day, M. Mabeuf re-ceived an invitation to dine with the Minister.Trembling with joy, he showed the letter to MotherPlutarque. “We are saved!” said he. On the dayappointed, he went to the Minister’s house. Heperceived that his ragged cravat, his long, squarecoat, and his waxed shoes astonished the ushers.No one spoke to him, not even the Minister. Aboutten o’clock in the evening, while he was still wait-ing for a word, he heard the Minister’s wife, abeautiful woman in a low-necked gown whom hehad not ventured to approach, inquire: “Who isthat old gentleman?” He returned home on foot atmidnight, in a driving rain-storm. He had sold anElzevir to pay for a carriage in which to go thither.He had acquired the habit of reading a few pagesin his Diogenes Laertius every night, before hewent to bed. He knew enough Greek to enjoy thepeculiarities of the text which he owned. He hadnow no other enjoyment. Several weeks passed.All at once, Mother Plutarque fell ill. There isone thing sadder than having no money with whichto buy bread at the baker’s and that is having nomoney to purchase drugs at the apothecary’s. Oneevening, the doctor had ordered a very expensivepotion. And the malady was growing worse; anurse was required. M. Mabeuf opened his book-case; there was nothing there. The last volumehad taken its departure. All that was left to himwas Diogenes Laertius. He put this unique copyunder his arm, and went out. It was the 4th ofJune, 1832; he went to the Porte Saint–Jacques,to Royal’s successor, and returned with one hun-dred francs. He laid the pile of five-franc pieceson the old serving-woman’s nightstand, and re-turned to his chamber without saying a word.On the following morning, at dawn, he seated him-self on the overturned post in his garden, and hecould be seen over the top of the hedge, sittingthe whole morning motionless, with drooping head,his eyes vaguely fixed on the withered flower-beds. It rained at intervals; the old man did notseem to perceive the fact.

VOLUME IV.SAINT-DENIS.BOOK NINTH -

WHITHER THEY ARE GOING.THE IDYL IN THE RUE PLUMET AND THE

EPIC IN THE RUE SAINT-DENISCHAPTER IIIM. MABEUF

Continued From Last Week

Continued on Page 22

BOOK TENTH -THE FIFTH OF JUNE, 1932

CHAPTER ITHE SURFACE OF THE QUESTION

Of what is revolt composed? Of nothing and ofeverything. Of an electricity disengaged, little bylittle, of a flame suddenly darting forth, of a wan-dering force, of a passing breath. This breath en-counters heads which speak, brains which dream,souls which suffer, passions which burn, wretch-edness which howls, and bears them away.Whither?At random. Athwart the state, the laws, athwartprosperity and the insolence of others.Irritated convictions, embittered enthusiasms,agitated indignations, instincts of war which havebeen repressed, youthful courage which has beenexalted, generous blindness; curiosity, the tastefor change, the thirst for the unexpected, the sen-timent which causes one to take pleasure in read-ing the posters for the new play, and love, theprompter’s whistle, at the theatre; the vague ha-treds, rancors, disappointments, every vanitywhich thinks that destiny has bankrupted it; dis-comfort, empty dreams, ambitious that are hedgedabout, whoever hopes for a downfall, some out-come, in short, at the very bottom, the rabble, thatmud which catches fire,— such are the elementsof revolt. That which is grandest and that which

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Observer Classic BooksFrom Page 21 been ripe for commotion. As we have said, the

great city resembles a piece of artillery; when itis loaded, it suffices for a spark to fall, and theshot is discharged. In June, 1832, the spark wasthe death of General Lamarque.Lamarque was a man of renown and of action.He had had in succession, under the Empire andunder the Restoration, the sorts of bravery requi-site for the two epochs, the bravery of the battle-field and the bravery of the tribune. He was aseloquent as he had been valiant; a sword was dis-cernible in his speech. Like Foy, his predecessor,after upholding the command, he upheld liberty;he sat between the left and the extreme left, be-loved of the people because he accepted thechances of the future, beloved of the populacebecause he had served the Emperor well; he was,in company with Comtes Gerard and Drouet, oneof Napoleon’s marshals in petto. The treaties of1815 removed him as a personal offence. He hatedWellington with a downright hatred which pleasedthe multitude; and, for seventeen years, he ma-jestically preserved the sadness of Waterloo, pay-ing hardly any attention to intervening events. Inhis death agony, at his last hour, he clasped to hisbreast a sword which had been presented to himby the officers of the Hundred Days. Napoleonhad died uttering the word army, Lamarque utter-ing the word country.His death, which was expected, was dreaded bythe people as a loss, and by the government as anoccasion. This death was an affliction. Like ev-erything that is bitter, affliction may turn to re-volt. This is what took place.On the preceding evening, and on the morning ofthe 5th of June, the day appointed for Lamarque’sburial, the Faubourg Saint–Antoine, which theprocession was to touch at, assumed a formidableaspect. This tumultuous network of streets wasfilled with rumors. They armed themselves as bestthey might. Joiners carried off door-weights oftheir establishment “to break down doors.” Oneof them had made himself a dagger of a stocking-weaver’s hook by breaking off the hook and sharp-ening the stump. Another, who was in a fever “toattack,” slept wholly dressed for three days. Acarpenter named Lombier met a comrade, whoasked him: “Whither are you going?” “Eh! well,I have no weapons.” “What then?” “I’m going tomy timber-yard to get my compasses.” “Whatfor?” “I don’t know,” said Lombier. A certainJacqueline, an expeditious man, accosted somepassing artisans: “Come here, you!” He treatedthem to ten sous’ worth of wine and said: “Haveyou work?” “No.” “Go to Filspierre, between theBarriere Charonne and the Barriere Montreuil, andyou will find work.” At Filspierre’s they foundcartridges and arms. Certain well-known leaderswere going the rounds, that is to say, running fromone house to another, to collect their men. AtBarthelemy’s, near the Barriere du Trone, atCapel’s, near the Petit–Chapeau, the drinkers ac-costed each other with a grave air. They wereheard to say: “Have you your pistol?” “Under myblouse.” “And you?” “Under my shirt.” In the RueTraversiere, in front of the Bland workshop, andin the yard of the Maison–Brulee, in front of tool-maker Bernier’s, groups whispered together.Among them was observed a certain Mavot, whonever remained more than a week in one shop, asthe masters always discharged him “because theywere obliged to dispute with him every day.”Mavot was killed on the following day at the bar-ricade of the Rue Menilmontant. Pretot, who wasdestined to perish also in the struggle, secondedMavot, and to the question: “What is your object?”he replied: “Insurrection.” Workmen assembledat the corner of the Rue de Bercy, waited for acertain Lemarin, the revolutionary agent for theFaubourg Saint–Marceau. Watchwords were ex-changed almost publicly.On the 5th of June, accordingly, a day of mingledrain and sun, General Lamarque’s funeral pro-cession traversed Paris with official militarypomp, somewhat augmented through precaution.Two battalions, with draped drums and reversedarms, ten thousand National Guards, with theirswords at their sides, escorted the coffin. Thehearse was drawn by young men. The officers ofthe Invalides came immediately behind it, bear-ing laurel branches. Then came an innumerable,strange, agitated multitude, the sectionaries of theFriends of the People, the Law School, the Medi-cal School, refugees of all nationalities, and Span-ish, Italian, German, and Polish flags, tricoloredhorizontal banners, every possible sort of banner,children waving green boughs, stone-cutters andcarpenters who were on strike at the moment,printers who were recognizable by their paper

the Caesars, there was no insurrection, but therewas Juvenal.The facit indignatio replaces the Gracchi.Under the Caesars, there is the exile to Syene;there is also the man of the Annales. We do notspeak of the immense exile of Patmos who, onhis part also, overwhelms the real world with aprotest in the name of the ideal world, who makesof his vision an enormous satire and casts onRome–Nineveh, on Rome–Babylon, on Rome–Sodom, the flaming reflection of the Apocalypse.John on his rock is the sphinx on its pedestal; wemay understand him, he is a Jew, and it is He-brew; but the man who writes the Annales is ofthe Latin race, let us rather say he is a Roman.As the Neros reign in a black way, they should bepainted to match. The work of the graving-toolalone would be too pale; there must be pouredinto the channel a concentrated prose which bites.Despots count for something in the question ofphilosophers. A word that is chained is a terribleword. The writer doubles and trebles his stylewhen silence is imposed on a nation by its mas-ter. From this silence there arises a certain mys-terious plenitude which filters into thought andthere congeals into bronze. The compression ofhistory produces conciseness in the historian. Thegranite solidity of such and such a celebrated proseis nothing but the accumulation effected by thetyrant.Tyranny constrains the writer to conditions of di-ameter which are augmentations of force. TheCiceronian period, which hardly sufficed forVerres, would be blunted on Caligula. The lessspread of sail in the phrase, the more intensity inthe blow. Tacitus thinks with all his might.The honesty of a great heart, condensed in justiceand truth, overwhelms as with lightning.Be it remarked, in passing, that Tacitus is not his-torically superposed upon Caesar. The Tiberii werereserved for him. Caesar and Tacitus are two suc-cessive phenomena, a meeting between whomseems to be mysteriously avoided, by the One who,when He sets the centuries on the stage, regu-lates the entrances and the exits. Caesar is great,Tacitus is great; God spares these two greatnessesby not allowing them to clash with one another.The guardian of justice, in striking Caesar, mightstrike too hard and be unjust. God does not will it.The great wars of Africa and Spain, the pirates ofSicily destroyed, civilization introduced into Gaul,into Britanny, into Germany,— all this glory cov-ers the Rubicon. There is here a sort of delicacyof the divine justice, hesitating to let loose uponthe illustrious usurper the formidable historian,sparing Caesar Tacitus, and according extenuat-ing circumstances to genius.Certainly, despotism remains despotism, evenunder the despot of genius. There is corruptionunder all illustrious tyrants, but the moral pest isstill more hideous under infamous tyrants. In suchreigns, nothing veils the shame; and those whomake examples, Tacitus as well as Juvenal, slapthis ignominy which cannot reply, in the face, moreusefully in the presence of all humanity.Rome smells worse under Vitellius than underSylla. Under Claudius and under Domitian, thereis a deformity of baseness corresponding to therepulsiveness of the tyrant. The villainy of slavesis a direct product of the despot; a miasma ex-hales from these cowering consciences whereinthe master is reflected; public powers are unclean;hearts are small; consciences are dull, souls arelike vermin; thus it is under Caracalla, thus it isunder Commodus, thus it is under Heliogabalus,while, from the Roman Senate, under Caesar,there comes nothing but the odor of the dung whichis peculiar to the eyries of the eagles.Hence the advent, apparently tardy, of theTacituses and the Juvenals; it is in the hour forevidence, that the demonstrator makes his appear-ance.But Juvenal and Tacitus, like Isaiah in Biblicaltimes, like Dante in the Middle Ages, is man; riotand insurrection are the multitude, which is some-times right and sometimes wrong.In the majority of cases, riot proceeds from amaterial fact; insurrection is always a moral phe-nomenon. Riot is Masaniello; insurrection,Spartacus. Insurrection borders on mind, riot onthe stomach; Gaster grows irritated; but Gaster,assuredly, is not always in the wrong. In ques-tions of famine, riot, Buzancais, for example,holds a true, pathetic, and just point of departure.Nevertheless, it remains a riot. Why? It is be-cause, right at bottom, it was wrong in form. Shyalthough in the right, violent although strong, itstruck at random; it walked like a blind elephant;it left behind it the corpses of old men, of women,and of children; it wished the blood of inoffensive

and innocent persons without knowing why. Thenourishment of the people is a good object; tomassacre them is a bad means.All armed protests, even the most legitimate, eventhat of the 10th of August, even that of July 14th,begin with the same troubles. Before the right getsset free, there is foam and tumult. In the begin-ning, the insurrection is a riot, just as a river is atorrent. Ordinarily it ends in that ocean: revolu-tion. Sometimes, however, coming from thoselofty mountains which dominate the moral hori-zon, justice, wisdom, reason, right, formed of thepure snow of the ideal, after a long fall from rockto rock, after having reflected the sky in its trans-parency and increased by a hundred affluents inthe majestic mien of triumph, insurrection is sud-denly lost in some quagmire, as the Rhine is in aswamp.All this is of the past, the future is another thing.Universal suffrage has this admirable property,that it dissolves riot in its inception, and, by giv-ing the vote to insurrection, it deprives it of itsarms. The disappearance of wars, of street warsas well as of wars on the frontiers, such is theinevitable progression. Whatever To-day may be,To-morrow will be peace.However, insurrection, riot, and points of differ-ence between the former and the latter,— thebourgeois, properly speaking, knows nothing ofsuch shades. In his mind, all is sedition, rebellionpure and simple, the revolt of the dog against hismaster, an attempt to bite whom must be pun-ished by the chain and the kennel, barking, snap-ping, until such day as the head of the dog, sud-denly enlarged, is outlined vaguely in the gloomface to face with the lion.Then the bourgeois shouts: “Long live the people!”This explanation given, what does the movementof June, 1832, signify, so far as history is con-cerned? Is it a revolt? Is it an insurrection?It may happen to us, in placing this formidableevent on the stage, to say revolt now and then, butmerely to distinguish superficial facts, and alwayspreserving the distinction between revolt, theform, and insurrection, the foundation.This movement of 1832 had, in its rapid outbreakand in its melancholy extinction, so much gran-deur, that even those who see in it only an upris-ing, never refer to it otherwise than with respect.For them, it is like a relic of 1830. Excited imagi-nations, say they, are not to be calmed in a day. Arevolution cannot be cut off short. It must needsundergo some undulations before it returns to astate of rest, like a mountain sinking into the plain.There are no Alps without their Jura, nor Pyreneeswithout the Asturias.This pathetic crisis of contemporary history whichthe memory of Parisians calls “the epoch of theriots,” is certainly a characteristic hour amid thestormy hours of this century. A last word, beforewe enter on the recital.The facts which we are about to relate belong tothat dramatic and living reality, which the historian sometimes neglects for lack of time andspace. There, nevertheless, we insist upon it, islife, palpitation, human tremor. Petty details, aswe think we have already said, are, so to speak,the foliage of great events, and are lost in the dis-tance of history. The epoch, surnamed “of the ri-ots,” abounds in details of this nature. Judicialinquiries have not revealed, and perhaps have notsounded the depths, for another reason than his-tory. We shall therefore bring to light, among theknown and published peculiarities, things whichhave not heretofore been known, about facts overwhich have passed the forgetfulness of some, andthe death of others. The majority of the actors inthese gigantic scenes have disappeared; beginningwith the very next day they held their peace; butof what we shall relate, we shall be able to say:“We have seen this.” We alter a few names, forhistory relates and does not inform against, butthe deed which we shall paint will be genuine. Inaccordance with the conditions of the book whichwe are now writing, we shall show only one sideand one episode, and certainly, the least known atthat, of the two days, the 5th and the 6th of June,1832, but we shall do it in such wise that thereader may catch a glimpse, beneath the gloomyveil which we are about to lift, of the real form ofthis frightful public adventure.

There is such a thing as an uprising, and there issuch a thing as insurrection; these are two sepa-rate phases of wrath; one is in the wrong, the otheris in the right. In democratic states, the only oneswhich are founded on justice, it sometimes hap-pens that the fraction usurps; then the whole risesand the necessary claim of its rights may proceedas far as resort to arms. In all questions whichresult from collective sovereignty, the war of thewhole against the fraction is insurrection; the at-tack of the fraction against the whole is revolt;according as the Tuileries contain a king or theConvention, they are justly or unjustly attacked.The same cannon, pointed against the populace,is wrong on the 10th of August, and right on the14th of Vendemiaire. Alike in appearance, funda-mentally different in reality; the Swiss defend thefalse, Bonaparte defends the true. That whichuniversal suffrage has effected in its liberty andin its sovereignty cannot be undone by the street.It is the same in things pertaining purely to civili-zation; the instinct of the masses, clear-sightedtoday, may be troubled tomorrow. The same furylegitimate when directed against Terray and ab-surd when directed against Turgot. The destruc-tion of machines, the pillage of warehouses, thebreaking of rails, the demolition of docks, the falseroutes of multitudes, the refusal by the people ofjustice to progress, Ramus assassinated by stu-dents, Rousseau driven out of Switzerland andstoned,— that is revolt. Israel against Moses, Ath-ens against Phocian, Rome against Cicero,— thatis an uprising; Paris against the Bastille,— that isinsurrection. The soldiers against Alexander, thesailors against Christopher Columbus,— this isthe same revolt; impious revolt; why? BecauseAlexander is doing for Asia with the sword thatwhich Christopher Columbus is doing for Americawith the compass; Alexander like Columbus, isfinding a world. These gifts of a world to civili-zation are such augmentations of light, that allresistance in that case is culpable. Sometimes thepopulace counterfeits fidelity to itself. The massesare traitors to the people. Is there, for example,anything stranger than that long and bloody pro-test of dealers in contraband salt, a legitimatechronic revolt, which, at the decisive moment, onthe day of salvation, at the very hour of popularvictory, espouses the throne, turns intochouannerie, and, from having been an insurrec-tion against, becomes an uprising for, sombremasterpieces of ignorance! The contraband saltdealer escapes the royal gibbets, and with a rope’send round his neck, mounts the white cockade.“Death to the salt duties,” brings forth, “Long livethe King!” The assassins of Saint–Barthelemy,the cut-throats of September, the manslaughterersof Avignon, the assassins of Coligny, the assas-sins of Madam Lamballe, the assassins of Brune,Miquelets, Verdets, Cadenettes, the companionsof Jehu, the chevaliers of Brassard,— behold anuprising. La Vendee is a grand, catholic uprising.The sound of right in movement is recognizable,it does not always proceed from the trembling ofexcited masses; there are mad rages, there arecracked bells, all tocsins do not give out the soundof bronze. The brawl of passions and ignorancesis quite another thing from the shock of progress.Show me in what direction you are going. Rise, ifyou will, but let it be that you may grow great.There is no insurrection except in a forward di-rection. Any other sort of rising is bad; every vio-lent step towards the rear is a revolt; to retreat isto commit a deed of violence against the humanrace. Insurrection is a fit of rage on the part oftruth; the pavements which the uprising disturbsgive forth the spark of right. These pavementsbequeath to the uprising only their mud. Dantonagainst Louis XIV. is insurrection; Hebert againstDanton is revolt.Hence it results that if insurrection in given casesmay be, as Lafayette says, the most holy of du-ties, an uprising may be the most fatal of crimes.There is also a difference in the intensity of heat;insurrection is often a volcano, revolt is often onlya fire of straw.Revolt, as we have said, is sometimes foundamong those in power. Polignac is a rioter; CamilleDesmoulins is one of the governing powers.Insurrection is sometimes resurrection.The solution of everything by universal suffragebeing an absolutely modern fact, and all historyanterior to this fact being, for the space of fourthousand years, filled with violated right, and thesuffering of peoples, each epoch of history bringswith it that protest of which it is capable. Under Continued on Page 99

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CHAPTER IITHE ROOT OF THE MATTER

CHAPTER IIIA BURIAL; AN OCCASION

TO BE BORN AGAIN

In the spring of 1832, although the cholera hadbeen chilling all minds for the last three monthsand had cast over their agitation an indescribableand gloomy pacification, Paris had already long

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, August 14, 2013 - Page 23www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Victoria Pictorial Richmond.Historic Photo Collection

●●●●● Cremorne Gardens. Circa 1861.●●●●● Yarra Park School. Circa 1907.

●●●●● Richmond. 1873.

●●●●● Richmond. 1873. ●●●●● Richmond. 1873.

●●●●● Temperance Hall, Richmond. ●●●●● Richmond Racecourse. 1934

●●●●● Richmond. 1873.

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Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, August 14, 2013 - Page 25www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

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www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, August 14, 2013 - Page 97

MARGARET RIVER BLEND

ObserverMelbourne Wines & Liqueurs with

DavidEllis

■ Most who head off to Southern Af-rica armed with bravado and binocu-lars, do so in the hope of bagging intheir cameras the Big Five – lion, leop-ard, elephant, Cape buffalo and rhino.

Not all achieve their goal. For thosewhose holiday packages see them con-tained to the safely beaten track of thenational parks, up-close sightings ofbeasts large and small can be the elec-trifying moments of a lifetime, but see-ing all Big Five in limited time in theseplaces is never assured.

For those who’ve booked them-selves into private game reserves, how-ever, sightings can be more up-close,more productive in terms of animalsightings, are more likely to includecoming upon those Big Five.

In fact some private reserves evenboast a money-back guarantee you willsee their Big Five.

Elephants abound irrespective, andit’s not unusual to be stopped on theroad in a national park or private re-serve by several score of these lum-bering beasts, that never appear to bein any kind of a hurry.

Buffalo sightings are also frequent,and eagle-eyed rangers and guides willinvariably reward you with a good fewrhino sightings, and a lion or three torack-up the pulse-thumping gasp-fac-tor. Plus abundant giraffe, zebra, kudu,hippo, warthog and, well, you nameit… South Africa’s Kruger NationalPark, alone has an extraordinary 851

■ Forester Estate in WesternAustralia’s Margaret River has re-leased a very delightful 2011 CabernetMerlot that’s 48% Cabernet Sauvignon,41% Merlot and with a 6% splash ofMalbec and slightly lower 5% PetitVerdot.

Fruit was sourced from severalneighbouring properties in the Yallingupsub-region in the most northerly part ofMargaret River, and crushed in smallopen fermenters to mature for eighteenmonths in French oak barriques.

The result is a rewardingly full-flavoured wine with identifiable black-berry, mulberry and blackcurrant fruit,hints of cocoa and a long dark-choco-laty finish. A lovely drop now, it’s alsoshowing all the potential to developeven further over the next five years.

Pay $23.99 and match it with pennepasta and a meaty tomato sauce.

One to note■ We confess to a particular love: In-dian cuisine matched with a chilledRosé from Andrew Margan in the NSWHunter Valley.

His latest release, the 2013 MarganShiraz Saignee Rosé is a grand drop totake along to your favourite Indian eat-ery, with aromas of fresh strawberriesand candyfloss bouncing forth as itpours into the glass, and beautiful can-died red fruit flavours and a soft dryfinish on the palate. Great value at $18for that next Indian nosh-up.

Another to note■ An enjoyable and nicely pricedwhite is a 2012 Margaret River Bark-ing Tree Sauvignon Blanc Semillonthat’s recently been released throughthe Local Liquor Stores of Indepen-dent Liquor Retailers.

With nice full-on tropical fruit andzesty lemon flavours and a freshcrisp acidity, at $14.99 this is a re-warding drop to enjoy with fish andsalads, or if you like a bit of fire,with Thai chilli prawns. Local Li-quor Stores have over 250 membersmainly across Eastern Australia; tofind a store hop ontowww.localliquor.com.au/storefinder

Pictured■ Rewarding blend with pennepasta and a meaty tomato sauce.

■ Love it: Margan’s 2013 ShirazSaignee Rosé chilled with Indiancuisine.

●●●●● Girafe continue feeding Kruger National Park, oblivious to tourists around them.

ObserverMelbourne

Travellers’ Good Buys withDavidEllis

GOING WILD IN AFRICAN BIG HUNTspecies of mammals, reptiles, birds,amphibians and fish in its near 2-mil-lion hectares.

Which should be enough to sate thelust of the keenest of game-spotters. But what of leopards? Leopards arethe hardest to complete your Big Fiveslide-show, the more-so in nationalparks where tourist vehicles cannotventure off-road to access the deeperbush areas where these beasts preferto seek shade by day to sleep off a pre-vious night’s hunt.

In fact we’ve a mate in the travelindustry who says that in an astonish-ing near-20 visits to Kruger NationalPark, he’s never spotted all Big Fiveduring 2-day forays into the park.

In the private reserves, however, it’sthe operator’s land and they can do whatthey like with it, bushwhacking theirway off roads and tracks in their 4WDsin search of the most elusive of crea-tures – leopards included.

On a visit to Southern Africa ear-lier this year we had three days inKruger National Park followed by acouple in Sabi Sabi Private Game Re-serve, and while we had sighted fourof the Big Five in Kruger on numerousoccasions, those elusive leopards hadremained true to their reputation. But on a late afternoon’s game driveof our first day at Sabi Sabi we hadsighted lion, elephant, buffalo and rhinowithin an hour of setting out from ourlodge in an open LandRover, and thosefour plus many more species severaltimes over the next couple of hours asday-feeding animals began to settle forthe night, and nocturnal predatorsstarted stirring for their hunts. And a 6am start next morning re-warded almost instantly again, withelephants and rhinos, giraffes, war-thogs, wild dogs, buffalo and countlessscreeching birds sighted within virtu-ally minutes of leaving the lodge…Sabi Sabi is home to some 200 animalspecies indigenous to its area on theedge of Kruger National Park, and over350 bird species. Our Game Ranger at the wheel andTracker perched on the front of theLandRover constantly chatted back andforth about tracks and spoor sightings,and radio messages flooded in fromother early morning vehicles ofsightings and leads… including one thathad our Ranger quickly gunning theLandRover in the direction of deeperbush.

And there we came across the lastof our Big Five – a magnificent leop-ard sleeping in the morning shade of athorn bush, having we learned fromanother vehicle, killed a 4m rock py-thon the night before, devouring a thirdof it and leaving the remainder drapedhigh over a branch of a nearby tree forus to marvel at.

We’d achieved seeing our Big Fiveon one game drive less than 24 hoursafter arriving at Sabi Sabi.

And as exciting as the remainder ofthat three-hour morning drive would be,sighting that leopard would be a cer-tainly hard act to follow.

NEXT WEEK: Sabi Sabi – outthere at the front of the pack.

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Observer Crossword Solution No 19

young men who are thrust back pass the Austerlitzbridge with the hearse at a run, and the municipalguard, the carabineers rush up, the dragoons plytheir swords, the crowd disperses in all directions,a rumor of war flies to all four quarters of Paris,men shout: “To arms!” they run, tumble down,flee, resist. Wrath spreads abroad the riot as windspreads a fire.

caps, marching two by two, three by three, utter-ing cries, nearly all of them brandishing sticks,some brandishing sabres, without order and yetwith a single soul, now a tumultuous rout, again acolumn. Squads chose themselves leaders; a manarmed with a pair of pistols in full view, seemedto pass the host in review, and the files separatedbefore him. On the side alleys of the boulevards,in the branches of the trees, on balconies, in win-dows, on the roofs, swarmed the heads of men,women, and children; all eyes were filled withanxiety. An armed throng was passing, and a ter-rified throng looked on.The Government, on its side, was taking obser-vations. It observed with its hand on its sword.Four squadrons of carabineers could be seen inthe Place Louis XV. in their saddles, with theirtrumpets at their head, cartridge-boxes filled andmuskets loaded, all in readiness to march; in theLatin country and at the Jardin des Plantes, theMunicipal Guard echelonned from street to street;at the Halle-aux-Vins, a squadron of dragoons; atthe Greve half of the 12th Light Infantry, the otherhalf being at the Bastille; the 6th Dragoons at theCelestins; and the courtyard of the Louvre full ofartillery. The remainder of the troops were con-fined to their barracks, without reckoning the regi-ments of the environs of Paris. Power being un-easy, held suspended over the menacing multi-tude twenty-four thousand soldiers in the city andthirty thousand in the banlieue.Divers reports were in circulation in the cortege.Legitimist tricks were hinted at; they spoke of theDuc de Reichstadt, whom God had marked outfor death at that very moment when the populacewere designating him for the Empire. One per-sonage, whose name has remained unknown, an-nounced that at a given hour two overseers whohad been won over, would throw open the doorsof a factory of arms to the people. That whichpredominated on the uncovered brows of the ma-jority of those present was enthusiasm mingledwith dejection. Here and there, also, in that mul-titude given over to such violent but noble emo-tions, there were visible genuine visages of crimi-nals and ignoble mouths which said: “Let us plun-der!” There are certain agitations which stir upthe bottoms of marshes and make clouds of mudrise through the water. A phenomenon to which“well drilled” policemen are no strangers.

www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

From Page 22 The procession proceeded, with feverish slowness,from the house of the deceased, by way of theboulevards as far as the Bastille. It rained fromtime to time; the rain mattered nothing to thatthrong. Many incidents, the coffin borne round theVendome column, stones thrown at the Duc deFitz–James, who was seen on a balcony with hishat on his head, the Gallic cock torn from a popu-lar flag and dragged in the mire, a policemanwounded with a blow from a sword at the PorteSaint–Martin, an officer of the 12th Light Infan-try saying aloud: “I am a Republican,” the Poly-technic School coming up unexpectedly againstorders to remain at home, the shouts of: “Longlive the Polytechnique! Long live the Republic!”marked the passage of the funeral train. At theBastille, long files of curious and formidablepeople who descended from the Faubourg Saint–Antoine, effected a junction with the procession,and a certain terrible seething began to agitatethe throng.One man was heard to say to another: “Do yousee that fellow with a red beard, he’s the one whowill give the word when we are to fire.” It ap-pears that this red beard was present, at anotherriot, the Quenisset affair, entrusted with this samefunction.The hearse passed the Bastille, traversed the smallbridge, and reached the esplanade of the bridgeof Austerlitz. There it halted. The crowd, surveyedat that moment with a bird’seye view, would havepresented the aspect of a comet whose head wason the esplanade and whose tail spread out overthe Quai Bourdon, covered the Bastille, and wasprolonged on the boulevard as far as the PorteSaint–Martin. A circle was traced around thehearse. The vast rout held their peace. Lafayettespoke and bade Lamarque farewell. This was atouching and august instant, all heads uncovered,all hearts beat high.All at once, a man on horseback, clad in black,made his appearance in the middle of the groupwith a red flag, others say, with a pike surmountedwith a red liberty-cap. Lafayette turned aside hishead. Exelmans quitted the procession.This red flag raised a storm, and disappeared inthe midst of it. From the Boulevard Bourdon tothe bridge of Austerlitz one of those clamors whichresemble billows stirred the multitude. Two pro-digious shouts went up: “Lamarque to the Pan-theon!— Lafayette to the Town-hall!” Some

young men, amid the declamations of the throng,harnessed themselves and began to drag Lamarquein the hearse across the bridge of Austerlitz andLafayette in a hackney-coach along the QuaiMorland.In the crowd which surrounded and cheeredLafayette, it was noticed that a German showedhimself named Ludwig Snyder, who died a cen-tenarian afterwards, who had also been in the warof 1776, and who had fought at Trenton underWashington, and at Brandywine under Lafayette.In the meantime, the municipal cavalry on theleft bank had been set in motion, and came to barthe bridge, on the right bank the dragoons emergedfrom the Celestins and deployed along the QuaiMorland. The men who were dragging Lafayettesuddenly caught sight of them at the corner of thequay and shouted: “The dragoons!” The dragoonsadvanced at a walk, in silence, with their pistolsin their holsters, their swords in their scabbards,their guns slung in their leather sockets, with anair of gloomy expectation.They halted two hundred paces from the littlebridge. The carriage in which sat Lafayette ad-vanced to them, their ranks opened and allowed itto pass, and then closed behind it. At that momentthe dragoons and the crowd touched. The womenfled in terror. What took place during that fatalminute? No one can say. It is the dark momentwhen two clouds come together. Some declarethat a blast of trumpets sounding the charge washeard in the direction of the Arsenal others that ablow from a dagger was given by a child to adragoon. The fact is, that three shots were sud-denly discharged: the first killed Cholet, chief ofthe squadron, the second killed an old deaf womanwho was in the act of closing her window, thethird singed the shoulder of an officer; a womanscreamed: “They are beginning too soon!” andall at once, a squadron of dragoons which had re-mained in the barracks up to this time, was seento debouch at a gallop with bared swords, throughthe Rue Bassompierre and the Boulevard Bourdon,sweeping all before them.Then all is said, the tempest is loosed, stones raindown, a fusillade breaks forth, many precipitatethemselves to the bottom of the bank, and passthe small arm of the Seine, now filled in, the tim-ber-yards of the Isle Louviers, that vast citadelready to hand, bristle with combatants, stakes aretorn up, pistol-shots fired, a barricade begun, the

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, August 14, 2013 - Page 99

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Be Continued Next Week

CHAPTER IVTHE EBULLITIONS OF FORMER DAYS

Nothing is more extraordinary than the first break-ing out of a riot. Everything bursts forth every-where at once. Was it foreseen? Yes. Was it pre-pared? No. Whence comes it? From the pave-ments. Whence falls it? From the clouds. Hereinsurrection assumes the character of a plot; thereof an improvisation. The first comer seizes a cur-rent of the throng and leads it whither he wills. Abeginning full of terror, in which is mingled a sortof formidable gayety. First come clamors, theshops are closed, the displays of the merchantsdisappear; then come isolated shots; people flee;blows from gun-stocks beat against portes co-cheres, servants can be heard laughing in thecourtyards of houses and saying: “There’s goingto be a row!”A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when this iswhat was taking place at twenty different spotsin Paris at once.In the Rue Sainte–Croix-dela-Bretonnerie, twentyyoung men, bearded and with long hair, entered adram-shop and emerged a moment later, carry-ing a horizontal tricolored flag covered withcrape, and having at their head three men armed,one with a sword, one with a gun, and the thirdwith a pike.In the Rue des Nonaindieres, a very well-dressedbourgeois, who had a prominent belly, a sonorousvoice, a bald head, a lofty brow, a black beard,and one of these stiff mustaches which will notlie flat, offered cartridges publicly to passers-by.In the Rue Saint–Pierre-Montmartre, men withbare arms carried about a black flag, on whichcould be read in white letters this inscription:“Republic or Death!” In the Rue des Jeuneurs,Rue du Cadran, Rue Montorgueil, Rue Mandar,groups appeared waving flags on which could bedistinguished in gold letters, the word section witha number.

Melbourne People Lifestyle Chelsea HeightsOfficial Opening

●●●●● Elaine Tucker, Pam Langford and Deborah Rudd●●●●● Patricia Jones, Donna Bauer, MLA for Carrum;

James Kelly, MD Lifestyle Communities; and Elise Barnes

●●●●● Margaret and Andrew Perkins with Maureen Perry

●●●●● Maria Munn, Steve Scicluna and Donna Axtell ●●●●● Dael Perlov, MLA for Carrum Donna Bauer, and James Kelly

●●●●● Peter and Paula Newman, with John Beveridge ●●●●● Todd Devine, David Bilston McGillen and Craig Dawson

●●●●● Michael Imbesi, Gauri Vohra and Paul Hamilton

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