Melbourne Observer. 121205B. December 5, 2012. Part B. Pages 17-44

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Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

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www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, December 5, 2012 - Page 25

cussion among the gossips of the Rue des VignesSaint–Marcel.A few days later, it chanced that Jean Valjeanwas sawing some wood, in his shirt-sleeves, inthe corridor. The old woman was in the cham-ber, putting things in order. She was alone.Cosette was occupied in admiring the wood as itwas sawed. The old woman caught sight of thecoat hanging on a nail, and examined it. Thelining had been sewed up again. The goodwoman felt of it carefully, and thought she ob-served in the skirts and revers thicknesses ofpaper. More thousand-franc bank-bills, no doubt!She also noticed that there were all sorts ofthings in the pockets. Not only the needles,thread, and scissors which she had seen, but abig pocket-book, a very large knife, and — asuspicious circumstance — several wigs of vari-ous colors. Each pocket of this coat had the airof being in a manner provided against unex-pected accidents.Thus the inhabitants of the house reached thelast days of winter.

hand, often a silver coin, and walked rapidlyaway. This had its disadvantages. He began tobe known in the neighborhood under the nameof the beggar who gives alms.The old principal lodger, a cross-looking crea-ture, who was thoroughly permeated, so far asher neighbors were concerned, with the inquisi-tiveness peculiar to envious persons, scrutinizedJean Valjean a great deal, without his suspect-ing the fact. She was a little deaf, which ren-dered her talkative. There remained to her fromher past, two teeth,— one above, the other be-low,— which she was continually knockingagainst each other. She had questioned Cosette,who had not been able to tell her anything, sinceshe knew nothing herself except that she hadcome from Montfermeil. One morning, this spysaw Jean Valjean, with an air which struck theold gossip as peculiar, entering one of the unin-habited compartments of the hovel. She fol-lowed him with the step of an old cat, and wasable to observe him without being seen, througha crack in the door, which was directly oppositehim. Jean Valjean had his back turned towardsthis door, by way of greater security, no doubt.The old woman saw him fumble in his pocketand draw thence a case, scissors, and thread;then he began to rip the lining of one of the skirtsof his coat, and from the opening he took a bit ofyellowish paper, which he unfolded. The oldwoman recognized, with terror, the fact that itwas a bank-bill for a thousand francs. It was thesecond or third only that she had seen in thecourse of her existence. She fled in alarm.A moment later, Jean Valjean accosted her, andasked her to go and get this thousand-franc billchanged for him, adding that it was his quarterlyincome, which he had received the day before.“Where?” thought the old woman. “He did notgo out until six o’clock in the evening, and thegovernment bank certainly is not open at thathour.” The old woman went to get the billchanged, and mentioned her surmises. Thatthousand-franc note, commented on and multi-plied, produced a vast amount of terrified dis-

he walked with no less indecision than Cosette.He protected her, and she strengthened him.Thanks to him, she could walk through life;thanks to her, he could continue in virtue. Hewas that child’s stay, and she was his prop. Oh,unfathomable and divine mystery of the bal-ances of destiny!

Continued on Page 26

●●●●● Victor Hugo

The first story contained, as we have said, nu-merous chambers and several attics, only oneof which was occupied by the old woman whotook charge of Jean Valjean’s housekeeping; allthe rest was uninhabited.It was this old woman, ornamented with thename of the principal lodger, and in reality in-trusted with the functions of portress, who hadlet him the lodging on Christmas eve. He hadrepresented himself to her as a gentleman ofmeans who had been ruined by Spanish bonds,who was coming there to live with his little daugh-ter. He had paid her six months in advance, andhad commissioned the old woman to furnish thechamber and dressing-room, as we have seen.It was this good woman who had lighted the firein the stove, and prepared everything on theevening of their arrival.Week followed week; these two beings led ahappy life in that hovel.Cosette laughed, chattered, and sang from day-break. Children have their morning song as wellas birds.It sometimes happened that Jean Valjeanclasped her tiny red hand, all cracked with chil-blains, and kissed it. The poor child, who wasused to being beaten, did not know the meaningof this, and ran away in confusion.At times she became serious and stared at herlittle black gown. Cosette was no longer in rags;she was in mourning. She had emerged frommisery, and she was entering into life.Jean Valjean had undertaken to teach her toread. Sometimes, as he made the child spell, heremembered that it was with the idea of doingevil that he had learned to read in prison. Thisidea had ended in teaching a child to read. Thenthe ex-convict smiled with the pensive smile ofthe angels.He felt in it a premeditation from on high, thewill of some one who was not man, and he be-came absorbed in revery. Good thoughts havetheir abysses as well as evil ones.To teach Cosette to read, and to let her play, thisconstituted nearly the whole of Jean Valjean’sexistence. And then he talked of her mother,and he made her pray.She called him father, and knew no other namefor him.He passed hours in watching her dressing andundressing her doll, and in listening to her prattle.Life, henceforth, appeared to him to be full ofinterest; men seemed to him good and just; heno longer reproached any one in thought; he sawno reason why he should not live to be a very oldman, now that this child loved him. He saw awhole future stretching out before him, illumi-nated by Cosette as by a charming light. Thebest of us are not exempt from egotisticalthoughts. At times, he reflected with a sort of joythat she would be ugly.This is only a personal opinion; but, to utter ourwhole thought, at the point where Jean Valjeanhad arrived when he began to love Cosette, it isby no means clear to us that he did not need thisencouragement in order that he might perse-vere in well-doing. He had just viewed the mal-ice of men and the misery of society under anew aspect — incomplete aspects, which un-fortunately only exhibited one side of the truth,the fate of woman as summed up in Fantine,and public authority as personified in Javert. Hehad returned to prison, this time for having doneright; he had quaffed fresh bitterness; disgustand lassitude were overpowering him; even thememory of the Bishop probably suffered a tem-porary eclipse, though sure to reappear later onluminous and triumphant; but, after all, that sa-cred memory was growing dim. Who knowswhether Jean Valjean had not been on the eveof growing discouraged and of falling oncemore? He loved and grew strong again. Alas!

VOLUME II

COSETTE

BOOK FOURTH.—

THE GORBEAU HOVEL

CHAPTER III

TWO MISFORTUNES MAKE

ONE PIECE OF GOOD FORTUNE

Continued From Last Week

CHAPTER IV

THE REMARKS OF THE

PRINCIPAL TENANT

Jean Valjean was prudent enough never to goout by day. Every evening, at twilight, he walkedfor an hour or two, sometimes alone, often withCosette, seeking the most deserted side alleysof the boulevard, and entering churches at night-fall. He liked to go to Saint–Medard, which isthe nearest church. When he did not take Cosettewith him, she remained with the old woman; butthe child’s delight was to go out with the goodman. She preferred an hour with him to all herrapturous tete-a-tetes with Catherine. He heldher hand as they walked, and said sweet thingsto her.It turned out that Cosette was a very gay littleperson.The old woman attended to the housekeepingand cooking and went to market.They lived soberly, always having a little fire,but like people in very moderate circumstances.Jean Valjean had made no alterations in the fur-niture as it was the first day; he had merely hadthe glass door leading to Cosette’s dressing-room replaced by a solid door.He still wore his yellow coat, his black breeches,and his old hat. In the street, he was taken for apoor man. It sometimes happened that kind-hearted women turned back to bestow a sou onhim. Jean Valjean accepted the sou with a deepbow. It also happened occasionally that he en-countered some poor wretch asking alms; thenhe looked behind him to make sure that no onewas observing him, stealthily approached theunfortunate man, put a piece of money into his

CHAPTER V

A FIVE-FRANC PIECE FALLS ON THE

GROUND AND PRODUCES A TUMULT

Near Saint–Medard’s church there was a poorman who was in the habit of crouching on thebrink of a public well which had been con-demned, and on whom Jean Valjean was fondof bestowing charity. He never passed this manwithout giving him a few sous. Sometimes hespoke to him. Those who envied this mendicantsaid that he belonged to the police. He was anex-beadle of seventy-five, who was constantlymumbling his prayers.One evening, as Jean Valjean was passing by,when he had not Cosette with him, he saw thebeggar in his usual place, beneath the lanternwhich had just been lighted. The man seemedengaged in prayer, according to his custom, andwas much bent over. Jean Valjean stepped up tohim and placed his customary alms in his hand.The mendicant raised his eyes suddenly, staredintently at Jean Valjean, then dropped his headquickly. This movement was like a flash of light-ning. Jean Valjean was seized with a shudder. Itseemed to him that he had just caught sight, bythe light of the street lantern, not of the placidand beaming visage of the old beadle, but of awell-known and startling face. He experiencedthe same impression that one would have onfinding one’s self, all of a sudden, face to face,in the dark, with a tiger. He recoiled, terrified,petrified, daring neither to breathe, to speak, toremain, nor to flee, staring at the beggar whohad dropped his head, which was enveloped ina rag, and no longer appeared to know that hewas there. At this strange moment, an instinct— possibly the mysterious instinct of self-pres-ervation,— restrained Jean Valjean from utter-ing a word. The beggar had the same figure, thesame rags, the same appearance as he had ev-ery day. “Bah!” said Jean Valjean, “I am mad!I am dreaming! Impossible!” And he returnedprofoundly troubled.He hardly dared to confess, even to himself,that the face which he thought he had seen wasthe face of Javert.That night, on thinking the matter over, he re-gretted not having questioned the man, in orderto force him to raise his head a second time.On the following day, at nightfall, he went back.The beggar was at his post. “Good day, my goodman,” said Jean Valjean, resolutely, handing hima sou. The beggar raised his head, and repliedin a whining voice, “Thanks, my good sir.” Itwas unmistakably the ex-beadle.Jean Valjean felt completely reassured. He be-gan to laugh. “How the deuce could I havethought that I saw Javert there?” he thought.“Am I going to lose my eyesight now?” And hethought no more about it.A few days afterwards,— it might have been ateight o’clock in the evening,— he was in hisroom, and engaged in making Cosette spellaloud, when he heard the house door open andthen shut again. This struck him as singular. Theold woman, who was the only inhabitant of thehouse except himself, always went to bed atnightfall, so that she might not burn out her


From Page 25

candles. Jean Valjean made a sign to Cosette tobe quiet. He heard some one ascending thestairs. It might possibly be the old woman, whomight have fallen ill and have been out to theapothecary’s. Jean Valjean listened.The step was heavy, and sounded like that of aman; but the old woman wore stout shoes, andthere is nothing which so strongly resembles thestep of a man as that of an old woman. Never-theless, Jean Valjean blew out his candle.He had sent Cosette to bed, saying to her in alow voice, “Get into bed very softly”; and as hekissed her brow, the steps paused.Jean Valjean remained silent, motionless, withhis back towards the door, seated on the chairfrom which he had not stirred, and holding hisbreath in the dark.After the expiration of a rather long interval, heturned round, as he heard nothing more, and, ashe raised his eyes towards the door of his cham-ber, he saw a light through the keyhole. Thislight formed a sort of sinister star in the black-ness of the door and the wall. There was evi-dently some one there, who was holding a candlein his hand and listening.Several minutes elapsed thus, and the light re-treated. But he heard no sound of footsteps, whichseemed to indicate that the person who had beenlistening at the door had removed his shoes.Jean Valjean threw himself, all dressed as hewas, on his bed, and could not close his eyes allnight.At daybreak, just as he was falling into a dozethrough fatigue, he was awakened by the creak-ing of a door which opened on some attic at theend of the corridor, then he heard the samemasculine footstep which had ascended thestairs on the preceding evening. The step wasapproaching. He sprang off the bed and appliedhis eye to the keyhole, which was tolerablylarge, hoping to see the person who had madehis way by night into the house and had listenedat his door, as he passed. It was a man, in fact,who passed, this time without pausing, in frontof Jean Valjean’s chamber. The corridor wastoo dark to allow of the person’s face being dis-tinguished; but when the man reached the stair-case, a ray of light from without made it standout like a silhouette, and Jean Valjean had acomplete view of his back. The man was oflofty stature, clad in a long frock-coat, with acudgel under his arm. The formidable neck andshoulders belonged to Javert.Jean Valjean might have attempted to catchanother glimpse of him through his window open-ing on the boulevard, but he would have beenobliged to open the window: he dared not.It was evident that this man had entered with akey, and like himself. Who had given him thatkey? What was the meaning of this?When the old woman came to do the work, atseven o’clock in the morning, Jean Valjean casta penetrating glance on her, but he did not ques-tion her. The good woman appeared as usual.As she swept up she remarked to him:—“Possibly Monsieur may have heard some onecome in last night?”At that age, and on that boulevard, eight o’clockin the evening was the dead of the night.“That is true, by the way,” he replied, in themost natural tone possible. “Who was it?”“It was a new lodger who has come into thehouse,” said the old woman.“And what is his name?”“I don’t know exactly; Dumont, or Daumont, orsome name of that sort.”“And who is this Monsieur Dumont?”The old woman gazed at him with her little pole-cat eyes, and answered:—“A gentleman of property, like yourself.”Perhaps she had no ulterior meaning. JeanValjean thought he perceived one.When the old woman had taken her departure,he did up a hundred francs which he had in acupboard, into a roll, and put it in his pocket. Inspite of all the precautions which he took in thisoperation so that he might not be heard rattlingsilver, a hundred-sou piece escaped from hishands and rolled noisily on the floor.When darkness came on, he descended andcarefully scrutinized both sides of the boulevard.He saw no one. The boulevard appeared to beabsolutely deserted. It is true that a person canconceal himself behind trees.He went up stairs again.“Come.” he said to Cosette.He took her by the hand, and they both went out.

An observation here becomes necessary, in viewof the pages which the reader is about to peruse,and of others which will be met with further on.The author of this book, who regrets the neces-sity of mentioning himself, has been absent fromParis for many years. Paris has been trans-formed since he quitted it. A new city has arisen,which is, after a fashion, unknown to him. Thereis no need for him to say that he loves Paris:Paris is his mind’s natal city. In consequence ofdemolitions and reconstructions, the Paris of hisyouth, that Paris which he bore away religiouslyin his memory, is now a Paris of days gone by.He must be permitted to speak of that Paris asthough it still existed. It is possible that when theauthor conducts his readers to a spot and says,“In such a street there stands such and such ahouse,” neither street nor house will any longerexist in that locality. Readers may verify the factsif they care to take the trouble. For his own part,he is unacquainted with the new Paris, and hewrites with the old Paris before his eyes in anillusion which is precious to him. It is a delight tohim to dream that there still lingers behind himsomething of that which he beheld when he wasin his own country, and that all has not vanished.So long as you go and come in your native land,you imagine that those streets are a matter ofindifference to you; that those windows, thoseroofs, and those doors are nothing to you; thatthose walls are strangers to you; that those treesare merely the first encountered haphazard; thatthose houses, which you do not enter, are use-less to you; that the pavements which you treadare merely stones. Later on, when you are nolonger there, you perceive that the streets aredear to you; that you miss those roofs, thosedoors; and that those walls are necessary to you,those trees are well beloved by you; that youentered those houses which you never entered,every day, and that you have left a part of yourheart, of your blood, of your soul, in those pave-ments. All those places which you no longerbehold, which you may never behold again, per-chance, and whose memory you have cherished,take on a melancholy charm, recur to your mindwith the melancholy of an apparition, make theholy land visible to you, and are, so to speak, thevery form of France, and you love them; andyou call them up as they are, as they were, andyou persist in this, and you will submit to nochange: for you are attached to the figure ofyour fatherland as to the face of your mother.May we, then, be permitted to speak of the pastin the present? That said, we beg the reader totake note of it, and we continue.Jean Valjean instantly quitted the boulevard andplunged into the streets, taking the most intri-cate lines which he could devise, returning onhis track at times, to make sure that he was notbeing followed.This manoeuvre is peculiar to the hunted stag.On soil where an imprint of the track may beleft, this manoeuvre possesses, among otheradvantages, that of deceiving the huntsmen andthe dogs, by throwing them on the wrong scent.In venery this is called false re-imbushment.The moon was full that night. Jean Valjean wasnot sorry for this. The moon, still very close tothe horizon, cast great masses of light andshadow in the streets. Jean Valjean could glidealong close to the houses on the dark side, andyet keep watch on the light side. He did not,perhaps, take sufficiently into consideration thefact that the dark side escaped him. Still, in thedeserted lanes which lie near the Rue Poliveau,he thought he felt certain that no one was fol-lowing him.Cosette walked on without asking any questions.The sufferings of the first six years of her lifehad instilled something passive into her nature.Moreover,— and this is a remark to which weshall frequently have occasion to recur,— shehad grown used, without being herself aware ofit, to the peculiarities of this good man and to thefreaks of destiny. And then she was with him,and she felt safe.Jean Valjean knew no more where he was go-ing than did Cosette. He trusted in God, as shetrusted in him. It seemed as though he also wereclinging to the hand of some one greater thanhimself; he thought he felt a being leading him,though invisible. However, he had no settledidea, no plan, no project. He was not even abso-lutely sure that it was Javert, and then it mighthave been Javert, without Javert knowing that

he was Jean Valjean. Was not he disguised?Was not he believed to be dead? Still, queerthings had been going on for several days. Hewanted no more of them. He was determinednot to return to the Gorbeau house. Like the wildanimal chased from its lair, he was seeking ahole in which he might hide until he could findone where he might dwell.Jean Valjean described many and varied laby-rinths in the Mouffetard quarter, which was al-ready asleep, as though the discipline of theMiddle Ages and the yoke of the curfew stillexisted; he combined in various manners, withcunning strategy, the Rue Censier and the RueCopeau, the Rue du Battoir–Saint-Victor and theRue du Puits l’Ermite. There are lodging housesin this locality, but he did not even enter one,finding nothing which suited him. He had nodoubt that if any one had chanced to be upon histrack, they would have lost it.As eleven o’clock struck from Saint–Etienne-du-Mont, he was traversing the Rue de Pontoise,in front of the office of the commissary of po-lice, situated at No. 14. A few moments later,the instinct of which we have spoken abovemade him turn round. At that moment he sawdistinctly, thanks to the commissary’s lantern,which betrayed them, three men who were fol-lowing him closely, pass, one after the other,under that lantern, on the dark side of the street.One of the three entered the alley leading to thecommissary’s house. The one who marched attheir head struck him as decidedly suspicious.

- Continued on Page 35

Page 26 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Jardin des Plantes and were on their way to theright bank.These four shadows were the four men.Jean Valjean shuddered like the wild beast whichis recaptured.One hope remained to him; it was, that the menhad not, perhaps, stepped on the bridge, and hadnot caught sight of him while he was crossingthe large illuminated space, holding Cosette bythe hand.In that case, by plunging into the little street be-fore him, he might escape, if he could reach thetimber-yards, the marshes, the market-gardens,the uninhabited ground which was not built upon.It seemed to him that he might commit himselfto that silent little street. He entered it.“Come, child,” he said to Cosette; and he madehaste to quit the Rue Pontoise.He took a circuit, turned into the Passage desPatriarches, which was closed on account ofthe hour, strode along the Rue de l’Epee-deBoisand the Rue de l’Arbalete, and plunged into theRue des Postes.At that time there was a square formed by theintersection of streets, where the College Rollinstands today, and where the Rue Neuve–Sainte-Genevieve turns off.It is understood, of course, that the Rue Neuve–Sainte-Genevieve is an old street, and that aposting-chaise does not pass through the Ruedes Postes once in ten years. In the thirteenthcentury this Rue des Postes was inhabited bypotters, and its real name is Rue des Pots.The moon cast a livid light into this open space.Jean Valjean went into ambush in a doorway,calculating that if the men were still followinghim, he could not fail to get a good look at them,as they traversed this illuminated space.In point of fact, three minutes had not elapsedwhen the men made their appearance. Therewere four of them now. All were tall, dressed inlong, brown coats, with round hats, and hugecudgels in their hands. Their great stature andtheir vast fists rendered them no less alarmingthan did their sinister stride through the dark-ness. One would have pronounced them fourspectres disguised as bourgeois.They halted in the middle of the space andformed a group, like men in consultation. Theyhad an air of indecision. The one who appearedto be their leader turned round and pointed hast-ily with his right hand in the direction which JeanValjean had taken; another seemed to indicatethe contrary direction with considerable obsti-nacy. At the moment when the first man wheeledround, the moon fell full in his face. Jean Valjeanrecognized Javert perfectly.

BOOK FIFTH.— FOR A BLACK HUNT,

A MUTE PACK

THE ZIGZAGS OF STRATEGY

CHAPTER II

IT IS LUCKY THAT THE PONT

D’AUSTERLITZ BEARS CARRIAGES

Uncertainty was at an end for Jean Valjean: for-tunately it still lasted for the men. He took ad-vantage of their hesitation. It was time lost forthem, but gained for him. He slipped from underthe gate where he had concealed himself, andwent down the Rue des Postes, towards the re-gion of the Jardin des Plantes. Cosette was be-ginning to be tired. He took her in his arms andcarried her. There were no passers-by, and thestreet lanterns had not been lighted on accountof there being a moon.He redoubled his pace.In a few strides he had reached the Goblet pot-teries, on the front of which the moonlight ren-dered distinctly legible the ancient inscription:—De Goblet fils c’est ici la fabrique;14Venez choisir des cruches et des broos,Des pots a fleurs, des tuyaux, de la brique.A tout venant le Coeur vend des Carreaux.14 This is the factory of Goblet Junior:Come choose your jugs and crocks,Flower-pots, pipes, bricks.The Heart sells Diamonds to every comer.He left behind him the Rue de la Clef, then theFountain Saint–Victor, skirted the Jardin desPlantes by the lower streets, and reached thequay. There he turned round. The quay was de-serted. The streets were deserted. There wasno one behind him. He drew a long breath.He gained the Pont d’Austerlitz.Tolls were still collected there at that epoch.He presented himself at the toll office andhanded over a sou.“It is two sous,” said the old soldier in charge ofthe bridge. “You are carrying a child who canwalk. Pay for two.”He paid, vexed that his passage should havearoused remark. Every flight should be an im-perceptible slipping away.A heavy cart was crossing the Seine at the sametime as himself, and on its way, like him, to theright bank. This was of use to him. He couldtraverse the bridge in the shadow of the cart.Towards the middle of the Bridge, Cosette,whose feet were benumbed, wanted to walk.He set her on the ground and took her hand again.The bridge once crossed, he perceived sometimber-yards on his right. He directed his coursethither. In order to reach them, it was necessaryto risk himself in a tolerably large unshelteredand illuminated space. He did not hesitate.Those who were on his track had evidently lostthe scent, and Jean Valjean believed himself tobe out of danger. Hunted, yes; followed, no.A little street, the Rue du Chemin–Vert-Saint–Antoine, opened out between two timber-yardsenclosed in walls. This street was dark and nar-row and seemed made expressly for him. Be-fore entering it he cast a glance behind him.From the point where he stood he could see thewhole extent of the Pont d’Austerlitz.Four shadows were just entering on the bridge.These shadows had their backs turned to the

CHAPTER III

TO WIT, THE PLAN OF PARIS IN 1727

To Wit, the Plan of Paris in 1727

Three hundred paces further on, he arrived at apoint where the street forked. It separated intotwo streets, which ran in a slanting line, one tothe right, and the other to the left.Jean Valjean had before him what resembledthe two branches of a Y. Which should hechoose? He did not hesitate, but took the one onthe right.Why?Because that to the left ran towards a suburb,that is to say, towards inhabited regions, and theright branch towards the open country, that is tosay, towards deserted regions.However, they no longer walked very fast.Cosette’s pace retarded Jean Valjean’s.He took her up and carried her again. Cosettelaid her head on the shoulder of the good manand said not a word.He turned round from time to time and lookedbehind him. He took care to keep always on thedark side of the street. The street was straight inhis rear. The first two or three times that heturned round he saw nothing; the silence wasprofound, and he continued his march some-what reassured. All at once, on turning round,he thought he perceived in the portion of thestreet which he had just passed through, far offin the obscurity, something which was moving.He rushed forward precipitately rather thanwalked, hoping to find some side-street, to makehis escape through it, and thus to break his scentonce more.He arrived at a wall.This wall, however, did not absolutely preventfurther progress; it was a wall which bordered atransverse street, in which the one he had takenended.Here again, he was obliged to come to a deci-sion; should he go to the right or to the left.


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He glanced to the right. The fragmentary lanewas prolonged between buildings which wereeither sheds or barns, then ended at a blind al-ley. The extremity of the cul-desac was distinctlyvisible,— a lofty white wall.He glanced to the left. On that side the lane wasopen, and about two hundred paces further on,ran into a street of which it was the affluent. Onthat side lay safety.At the moment when Jean Valjean was medi-tating a turn to the left, in an effort to reach thestreet which he saw at the end of the lane, heperceived a sort of motionless, black statue atthe corner of the lane and the street towardswhich he was on the point of directing his steps.It was some one, a man, who had evidently justbeen posted there, and who was barring the pas-sage and waiting.Jean Valjean recoiled.The point of Paris where Jean Valjean foundhimself, situated between the Faubourg Saint–Antoine and la Rapee, is one of those whichrecent improvements have transformed from topto bottom,— resulting in disfigurement accord-ing to some, and in a transfiguration accordingto others. The market-gardens, the timber-yards,and the old buildings have been effaced. To-day, there are brand-new, wide streets, arenas,circuses, hippodromes, railway stations, and aprison, Mazas, there; progress, as the readersees, with its antidote.Half a century ago, in that ordinary, populartongue, which is all compounded of traditions,which persists in calling the Institut les Quatre–Nations, and the Opera–Comique Feydeau, theprecise spot whither Jean Valjean had arrivedwas called le Petit Picpus. The Porte Saint–Jacques, the Porte Paris, the Barriere desSergents, the Porcherons, la Galiote, lesCelestins, les Capucins, le Mail, la Bourbe,l’Arbre de Cracovie, la Petite–Pologne — theseare the names of old Paris which survive amidthe new. The memory of the populace hoversover these relics of the past.Le Petit–Picpus, which, moreover, hardly everhad any existence, and never was more than theoutline of a quarter, had nearly the monkish as-pect of a Spanish town. The roads were not muchpaved; the streets were not much built up. Withthe exception of the two or three streets, of whichwe shall presently speak, all was wall and soli-tude there. Not a shop, not a vehicle, hardly acandle lighted here and there in the windows;all lights extinguished after ten o’clock. Gar-dens, convents, timber-yards, marshes; occa-sional lowly dwellings and great walls as highas the houses.Such was this quarter in the last century. TheRevolution snubbed it soundly. The republicangovernment demolished and cut through it. Rub-bish shoots were established there. Thirty yearsago, this quarter was disappearing under the eras-ing process of new buildings. To-day, it has beenutterly blotted out. The Petit–Picpus, of whichno existing plan has preserved a trace, is indi-cated with sufficient clearness in the plan of1727, published at Paris by Denis Thierry, RueSaint–Jacques, opposite the Rue du Platre; andat Lyons, by Jean Girin, Rue Merciere, at thesign of Prudence. Petit–Picpus had, as we havejust mentioned, a Y of streets, formed by theRue du Chemin–Vert-Saint–Antoine, whichspread out in two branches, taking on the left thename of Little Picpus Street, and on the right thename of the Rue Polonceau. The two limbs ofthe Y were connected at the apex as by a bar;this bar was called Rue Droit–Mur. The RuePolonceau ended there; Rue Petit–Picpus passedon, and ascended towards the Lenoir market. Aperson coming from the Seine reached the ex-tremity of the Rue Polonceau, and had on hisright the Rue Droit–Mur, turning abruptly at aright angle, in front of him the wall of that street,and on his right a truncated prolongation of theRue Droit–Mur, which had no issue and wascalled the Cul-deSac Genrot.It was here that Jean Valjean stood.As we have just said, on catching sight of thatblack silhouette standing on guard at the angleof the Rue Droit–Mur and the Rue Petit–Picpus,he recoiled. There could be no doubt of it. Thatphantom was lying in wait for him.What was he to do?The time for retreating was passed. That whichhe had perceived in movement an instant be-fore, in the distant darkness, was Javert and hissquad without a doubt. Javert was probably al-ready at the commencement of the street atwhose end Jean Valjean stood. Javert, to all ap

of a three-story house?He gave up all idea of climbing by means of thedrain-pipe, and crawled along the wall to getback into the Rue Polonceau.When he reached the slant of the wall where hehad left Cosette, he noticed that no one couldsee him there. As we have just explained, hewas concealed from all eyes, no matter fromwhich direction they were approaching; besidesthis, he was in the shadow. Finally, there weretwo doors; perhaps they might be forced. Thewall above which he saw the linden-tree and theivy evidently abutted on a garden where hecould, at least, hide himself, although there wereas yet no leaves on the trees, and spend theremainder of the night.Time was passing; he must act quickly.He felt over the carriage door, and immediatelyrecognized the fact that it was impracticableoutside and in.He approached the other door with more hope;it was frightfully decrepit; its very immensityrendered it less solid; the planks were rotten; theiron bands — there were only three of them —were rusted. It seemed as though it might bepossible to pierce this worm-eaten barrier.On examining it he found that the door was not adoor; it had neither hinges, cross-bars, lock, norfissure in the middle; the iron bands traversed itfrom side to side without any break. Throughthe crevices in the planks he caught a view ofunhewn slabs and blocks of stone roughly ce-mented together, which passers-by might stillhave seen there ten years ago. He was forced toacknowledge with consternation that this appar-ent door was simply the wooden decoration of abuilding against which it was placed. It was easyto tear off a plank; but then, one found one’s selfface to face with a wall.

passers-by. This practice of filling up corners ofthe wall is much in use in Paris.This mass was about five feet in height; the spaceabove the summit of this mass which it wasnecessary to climb was not more than fourteenfeet.The wall was surmounted by a flat stone with-out a coping.Cosette was the difficulty, for she did not knowhow to climb a wall. Should he abandon her?Jean Valjean did not once think of that. It wasimpossible to carry her. A man’s whole strengthis required to successfully carry out these sin-gular ascents. The least burden would disturbhis centre of gravity and pull him downwards.A rope would have been required; Jean Valjeanhad none. Where was he to get a rope at mid-night, in the Rue Polonceau? Certainly, if JeanValjean had had a kingdom, he would have givenit for a rope at that moment.All extreme situations have their lightningflashes which sometimes dazzle, sometimes il-luminate us.Jean Valjean’s despairing glance fell on the streetlantern-post of the blind alley Genrot.At that epoch there were no gas-jets in the streetsof Paris. At nightfall lanterns placed at regulardistances were lighted; they were ascended anddescended by means of a rope, which traversedthe street from side to side, and was adjusted ina groove of the post. The pulley over which thisrope ran was fastened underneath the lantern ina little iron box, the key to which was kept by thelamp-lighter, and the rope itself was protectedby a metal case.Jean Valjean, with the energy of a supremestruggle, crossed the street at one bound, en-tered the blind alley, broke the latch of the littlebox with the point of his knife, and an instantlater he was beside Cosette once more. He hada rope. These gloomy inventors of expedientswork rapidly when they are fighting against fa-tality.We have already explained that the lanterns hadnot been lighted that night. The lantern in theCul-deSac Genrot was thus naturally extinct, likethe rest; and one could pass directly under itwithout even noticing that it was no longer in itsplace.Nevertheless, the hour, the place, the darkness,Jean Valjean’s absorption, his singular gestures,his goings and comings, all had begun to renderCosette uneasy. Any other child than she wouldhave given vent to loud shrieks long before. Shecontented herself with plucking Jean Valjean bythe skirt of his coat. They could hear the soundof the patrol’s approach ever more and moredistinctly.“Father,” said she, in a very low voice, “I amafraid. Who is coming yonder?”“Hush!” replied the unhappy man; “it is Ma-dame Thenardier.”Cosette shuddered. He added:—“Say nothing. Don’t interfere with me. If youcry out, if you weep, the Thenardier is lying inwait for you. She is coming to take you back.”Then, without haste, but without making a use-less movement, with firm and curt precision,the more remarkable at a moment when thepatrol and Javert might come upon him at anymoment, he undid his cravat, passed it roundCosette’s body under the armpits, taking carethat it should not hurt the child, fastened thiscravat to one end of the rope, by means of thatknot which seafaring men call a “swallow knot,”took the other end of the rope in his teeth, pulledoff his shoes and stockings, which he threw overthe wall, stepped upon the mass of masonry,and began to raise himself in the angle of thewall and the gable with as much solidity andcertainty as though he had the rounds of a ladderunder his feet and elbows. Half a minute hadnot elapsed when he was resting on his knees onthe wall.Cosette gazed at him in stupid amazement, with-out uttering a word. Jean Valjean’s injunction,and the name of Madame Thenardier, hadchilled her blood.All at once she heard Jean Valjean’s voice cry-ing to her, though in a very low tone:—“Put your back against the wall.”She obeyed.“Don’t say a word, and don’t be alarmed,” wenton Jean Valjean.And she felt herself lifted from the ground.Before she had time to recover herself, she wason the top of the wall.Jean Valjean grasped her, put her on his back,took her two tiny hands in his large left hand, lay

- Continued on Page 36


In order to understand what follows, it is requi-site to form an exact idea of the Droit–Mur lane,and, in particular, of the angle which one leaveson the left when one emerges from the RuePolonceau into this lane. Droit–Mur lane wasalmost entirely bordered on the right, as far asthe Rue Petit–Picpus, by houses of mean as-pect; on the left by a solitary building of severeoutlines, composed of numerous parts whichgrew gradually higher by a story or two as theyapproached the Rue Petit–Picpus side; so thatthis building, which was very lofty on the RuePetit–Picpus side, was tolerably low on the sideadjoining the Rue Polonceau. There, at the angleof which we have spoken, it descended to sucha degree that it consisted of merely a wall. Thiswall did not abut directly on the Street; it formeda deeply retreating niche, concealed by its twocorners from two observers who might havebeen, one in the Rue Polonceau, the other in theRue Droit–Mur.Beginning with these angles of the niche, thewall extended along the Rue Polonceau as faras a house which bore the number 49, and alongthe Rue Droit–Mur, where the fragment wasmuch shorter, as far as the gloomy buildingwhich we have mentioned and whose gable itintersected, thus forming another retreating anglein the street. This gable was sombre of aspect;only one window was visible, or, to speak morecorrectly, two shutters covered with a sheet ofzinc and kept constantly closed.The state of the places of which we are heregiving a description is rigorously exact, and willcertainly awaken a very precise memory in themind of old inhabitants of the quarter.The niche was entirely filled by a thing whichresembled a colossal and wretched door; it wasa vast, formless assemblage of perpendicularplanks, the upper ones being broader than thelower, bound together by long transverse stripsof iron. At one side there was a carriage gate ofthe ordinary dimensions, and which had evi-dently not been cut more than fifty years previ-ously.A linden-tree showed its crest above the niche,and the wall was covered with ivy on the side ofthe Rue Polonceau.In the imminent peril in which Jean Valjeanfound himself, this sombre building had about ita solitary and uninhabited look which temptedhim. He ran his eyes rapidly over it; he said tohimself, that if he could contrive to get inside it,he might save himself. First he conceived anidea, then a hope.In the central portion of the front of this building,on the Rue Droit–Mur side, there were at all thewindows of the different stories ancient cisternpipes of lead. The various branches of the pipeswhich led from one central pipe to all these littlebasins sketched out a sort of tree on the front.These ramifications of pipes with their hundredelbows imitated those old leafless vine-stockswhich writhe over the fronts of old farm-houses.This odd espalier, with its branches of lead andiron, was the first thing that struck Jean Valjean.He seated Cosette with her back against a stonepost, with an injunction to be silent, and ran tothe spot where the conduit touched the pave-ment. Perhaps there was some way of climbingup by it and entering the house. But the pipe wasdilapidated and past service, and hardly hung toits fastenings. Moreover, all the windows of thissilent dwelling were grated with heavy iron bars,even the attic windows in the roof. And then, themoon fell full upon that facade, and the manwho was watching at the corner of the streetwould have seen Jean Valjean in the act of climb-ing. And finally, what was to be done withCosette? How was she to be drawn up to the top

From Page 26 earances, was acquainted with this little laby-rinth, and had taken his precautions by sendingone of his men to guard the exit. These sur-mises, which so closely resembled proofs,whirled suddenly, like a handful of dust caughtup by an unexpected gust of wind, through JeanValjean’s mournful brain. He examined the Cul-deSac Genrot; there he was cut off. He exam-ined the Rue Petit–Picpus; there stood a senti-nel. He saw that black form standing out in re-lief against the white pavement, illuminated bythe moon; to advance was to fall into this man’shands; to retreat was to fling himself into Javert’sarms. Jean Valjean felt himself caught, as in anet, which was slowly contracting; he gazedheavenward in despair.

CHAPTER IV

THE GROPINGS OF FLIGHT

CHAPTER V

WHICH WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE WITH

GAS LANTERNS

At that moment a heavy and measured soundbegan to be audible at some distance. JeanValjean risked a glance round the corner of thestreet. Seven or eight soldiers, drawn up in aplatoon, had just debouched into the RuePolonceau. He saw the gleam of their bayonets.They were advancing towards him; these sol-diers, at whose head he distinguished Javert’stall figure, advanced slowly and cautiously. Theyhalted frequently; it was plain that they weresearching all the nooks of the walls and all theembrasures of the doors and alleys.This was some patrol that Javert had encoun-tered — there could be no mistake as to thissurmise — and whose aid he had demanded.Javert’s two acolytes were marching in theirranks.At the rate at which they were marching, and inconsideration of the halts which they were mak-ing, it would take them about a quarter of anhour to reach the spot where Jean Valjean stood.It was a frightful moment. A few minutes onlyseparated Jean Valjean from that terrible preci-pice which yawned before him for the third time.And the galleys now meant not only the galleys,but Cosette lost to him forever; that is to say, alife resembling the interior of a tomb.There was but one thing which was possible.Jean Valjean had this peculiarity, that he car-ried, as one might say, two beggar’s pouches: inone he kept his saintly thoughts; in the other theredoubtable talents of a convict. He rummagedin the one or the other, according to circum-stances.Among his other resources, thanks to his nu-merous escapes from the prison at Toulon, hewas, as it will be remembered, a past master inthe incredible art of crawling up without ladderor climbing-irons, by sheer muscular force, byleaning on the nape of his neck, his shoulders,his hips, and his knees, by helping himself onthe rare projections of the stone, in the right angleof a wall, as high as the sixth story, if need be; anart which has rendered so celebrated and soalarming that corner of the wall of theConciergerie of Paris by which Battemolle, con-demned to death, made his escape twenty yearsago.Jean Valjean measured with his eyes the wallabove which he espied the linden; it was abouteighteen feet in height. The angle which itformed with the gable of the large building wasfilled, at its lower extremity, by a mass of ma-sonry of a triangular shape, probably intendedto preserve that too convenient corner from therubbish of those dirty creatures called the


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Page 36 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Observer Crossword Solution No 28

She was still trembling.“Are you sleepy?” said Jean Valjean.“I am very cold,” she replied.A moment later she resumed:—“Is she still there?”“Who?” said Jean Valjean.“Madame Thenardier.”Jean Valjean had already forgotten the meanswhich he had employed to make Cosette keepsilent.“Ah!” said he, “she is gone. You need fear noth-ing further.”The child sighed as though a load had been liftedfrom her breast.The ground was damp, the shed open on allsides, the breeze grew more keen every instant.The goodman took off his coat and wrapped itround Cosette.“Are you less cold now?” said he.“Oh, yes, father.”“Well, wait for me a moment. I will soon beback.”He quitted the ruin and crept along the largebuilding, seeking a better shelter. He cameacross doors, but they were closed. There werebars at all the windows of the ground floor.Just after he had turned the inner angle of theedifice, he observed that he was coming to somearched windows, where he perceived a light.He stood on tiptoe and peeped through one ofthese windows. They all opened on a tolerablyvast hall, paved with large flagstones, cut up byarcades and pillars, where only a tiny light andgreat shadows were visible. The light came froma taper which was burning in one corner. Theapartment was deserted, and nothing was stir-ring in it. Nevertheless, by dint of gazing in-tently he thought he perceived on the groundsomething which appeared to be covered with awinding-sheet, and which resembled a humanform. This form was lying face downward, flaton the pavement, with the arms extended in theform of a cross, in the immobility of death. Onewould have said, judging from a sort of serpentwhich undulated over the floor, that this sinisterform had a rope round its neck.The whole chamber was bathed in that mist ofplaces which are sparely illuminated, whichadds to horror.

the gloom.The building was a sort of ruin, where dis-mantled chambers were distinguishable, one ofwhich, much encumbered, seemed to serve asa shed.The large building of the Rue Droit–Mur, whichhad a wing on the Rue Petit–Picpus, turned twofacades, at right angles, towards this garden.These interior facades were even more tragicthan the exterior. All the windows were grated.Not a gleam of light was visible at any one ofthem. The upper story had scuttles like prisons.One of those facades cast its shadow on theother, which fell over the garden like an im-mense black pall.No other house was visible. The bottom of thegarden was lost in mist and darkness. Neverthe-less, walls could be confusedly made out, whichintersected as though there were more cultivatedland beyond, and the low roofs of the RuePolonceau.Nothing more wild and solitary than this gardencould be imagined. There was no one in it, whichwas quite natural in view of the hour; but it didnot seem as though this spot were made for anyone to walk in, even in broad daylight.Jean Valjean’s first care had been to get hold ofhis shoes and put them on again, then to stepunder the shed with Cosette. A man who is flee-ing never thinks himself sufficiently hidden. Thechild, whose thoughts were still on theThenardier, shared his instinct for withdrawingfrom sight as much as possible.Cosette trembled and pressed close to him. Theyheard the tumultuous noise of the patrol search-ing the blind alley and the streets; the blows oftheir gun-stocks against the stones; Javert’s ap-peals to the police spies whom he had posted,and his imprecations mingled with words whichcould not be distinguished.At the expiration of a quarter of an hour it seemedas though that species of stormy roar were be-coming more distant. Jean Valjean held hisbreath.He had laid his hand lightly on Cosette’s mouth.However, the solitude in which he stood was sostrangely calm, that this frightful uproar, closeand furious as it was, did not disturb him by somuch as the shadow of a misgiving. It seemedas though those walls had been built of the deafstones of which the Scriptures speak.All at once, in the midst of this profound calm, a

fresh sound arose; a sound as celestial, divine,ineffable, ravishing, as the other had been hor-rible. It was a hymn which issued from thegloom, a dazzling burst of prayer and harmonyin the obscure and alarming silence of the night;women’s voices, but voices composed at oneand the same time of the pure accents of virginsand the innocent accents of children,— voiceswhich are not of the earth, and which resemblethose that the newborn infant still hears, andwhich the dying man hears already. This songproceeded from the gloomy edifice which tow-ered above the garden. At the moment when thehubbub of demons retreated, one would havesaid that a choir of angels was approachingthrough the gloom.Cosette and Jean Valjean fell on their knees.They knew not what it was, they knew not wherethey were; but both of them, the man and thechild, the penitent and the innocent, felt that theymust kneel.These voices had this strange characteristic, thatthey did not prevent the building from seemingto be deserted. It was a supernatural chant in anuninhabited house.While these voices were singing, Jean Valjeanthought of nothing. He no longer beheld the night;he beheld a blue sky. It seemed to him that hefelt those wings which we all have within us,unfolding.The song died away. It may have lasted a longtime. Jean Valjean could not have told. Hours ofecstasy are never more than a moment.All fell silent again. There was no longer any-thing in the street; there was nothing in the gar-den. That which had menaced, that which hadreassured him,— all had vanished. The breezeswayed a few dry weeds on the crest of thewall, and they gave out a faint, sweet, melan-choly sound.

down flat on his stomach and crawled along ontop of the wall as far as the cant. As he hadguessed, there stood a building whose roof startedfrom the top of the wooden barricade and de-scended to within a very short distance of theground, with a gentle slope which grazed thelinden-tree. A lucky circumstance, for the wallwas much higher on this side than on the streetside. Jean Valjean could only see the ground ata great depth below him.He had just reached the slope of the roof, andhad not yet left the crest of the wall, when aviolent uproar announced the arrival of the pa-trol. The thundering voice of Javert was au-dible:—“Search the blind alley! The Rue Droit–Mur isguarded! so is the Rue Petit–Picpus. I’ll answerfor it that he is in the blind alley.”The soldiers rushed into the Genrot alley.Jean Valjean allowed himself to slide down theroof, still holding fast to Cosette, reached thelinden-tree, and leaped to the ground. Whetherfrom terror or courage, Cosette had not breatheda sound, though her hands were a little abraded.

●●●●● To Be Continued Next Week

J U V E N I L E M A R S H A L S S H U F F L E S A B R A D I N G

E O Y I F S E Y E A G L E L A G P O B N A

E U C A L Y P T E A S E D O F F O C C U P I E D P L A Y A C T S

R A O S P E D T R T E M P T T D A B E T S U S

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

L L E P S O M R N V I L E R E U N A R K S R S

I M P L O R E X M E N T H E C E G R E T S U N A T I V E S

A W I G N I T E E O R C H I D S X M I D A I R S X

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

A L S I O R L E A F I E R M R B L C A

S C U L P T O R S I S S U E R T I N S E T L I F E S T Y L E

W S A P E A R L R E A L I G N M E T E L L I N

E V E N T F U L P S A L M S D A G R E E N E C Y L I N D E R

D D R L P V U F E L L S E R A W M D A

I N C L I N E R E E N T E R S S Y R I N G E S H E M M I N G

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

H E R E T I C I D I O T M I N E D S A N T O E A R T H E D

R M T E N T S N I M P N R O E C O V A L S R L

O N S P E C E E G G O N I D A H O R A Y O N P P L A Z A S

I T H E A P E E G O S L M A T E R E P E E W T

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

E E A S I D E T T N N E C O H W R I T S I A

I D E A S E T A R R A G O N R E L A P S E S T P L A I D

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

H E Y D A Y T W I N G A B R A H A M A N T E O U N E A S Y

X H E C H O O E L L A M S P I N R A N O N M U

S P R A I N A I N A N E N O O K S M E D A L E N O B O D Y

E B A L L I N N G O D E O R B E A D D L E E A

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

X E R M A T A E R G A T B E G O O F N N R

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

A R V N I T N D A Z E D N T S W W O A

N O N F A T A L T H R A S H T X I G L O O S P I C A D O R S

D E I D A S I A O V A T I O N R U E D N R R E

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

O N E H B T T E A C A K E M I I E T N

I M P E A C H L O C H R E S N R O B I N B M A R A U D S

E X H E R E I N I S T E T S O N L G A B L E S B L

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

U C R E F E R U N S W A M I E E B E G U N E S

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

N N V M A U L L M T H E F T P T N O A H B D O

M A D W O M A N E P I L O G U E L I V E B A I T M A N H O L E S

E I K L C D F N B A R O N N X G M T O E S

T R A P E Z E S H A Y F E V E R E G G S H E L L Y E A R S D A Y

CHAPTER VI

THE BEGINNING OF AN ENIGMA

Jean Valjean found himself in a sort of gardenwhich was very vast and of singular aspect; oneof those melancholy gardens which seem madeto be looked at in winter and at night. This gar-den was oblong in shape, with an alley of largepoplars at the further end, tolerably tall foresttrees in the corners, and an unshaded space inthe centre, where could be seen a very large,solitary tree, then several fruit-trees, gnarled andbristling like bushes, beds of vegetables, a melonpatch, whose glass frames sparkled in the moon-light, and an old well. Here and there stood stonebenches which seemed black with moss. Thealleys were bordered with gloomy and very erectlittle shrubs. The grass had half taken posses-sion of them, and a green mould covered therest.Jean Valjean had beside him the building whoseroof had served him as a means of descent, apile of fagots, and, behind the fagots, directlyagainst the wall, a stone statue, whose muti-lated face was no longer anything more than ashapeless mask which loomed vaguely through

CHAPTER VII

CONTINUATION OF THE ENIGMA

The night wind had risen, which indicated that itmust be between one and two o’clock in themorning. Poor Cosette said nothing. As she hadseated herself beside him and leaned her headagainst him, Jean Valjean had fancied that shewas asleep. He bent down and looked at her.Cosette’s eyes were wide open, and her thought-ful air pained Jean Valjean.


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●●●●● A Christmas dinner given to Australian soldiers in 1943 by the Royal Park CampWomen's Auxillary.

Trivia ChallengeAnswer: Seagull

PARWAN.(FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.)The district is all alive again with the har-

vest, and teams are rushing in hay in tons, Thebustle is really a good sight, and speaks well forthe success of the farmers, who for long enoughcon templated a failure, through want of r.ain.

Mr. G. Vallence has four teams bringing inthree and four loads each per day, from earlymorn till late at night.

A very pleasant evening was spent at theAustral Grain Mills on Monday last, to cel-ebrate the wedding of Mr and Mrs Peterson,which took place last Saturday. The lads roundassembled in force and gave a good exhibitionof their skill on the kerosene tins, and were in-vited to partake of supper, in honour of the oc-casion. Songs and reci tation were indulged inuntil a late hour, all wishing the new couple longlife and happiness.

Mr. R. Watson and Mr. A. Green have de-cided to "weld" their fortunes together by a part-nership in the blacksmith and wheelwright trade.

The recent rains have filled the Parwan la-goon outside the railway gates on the main road,and carters have to take a good sweep to avoidit when going to the weighbridge.

EXFORDOn Sunday afternoon last, in Christ Church,

Melton, His Grace Archbishop Clarke held aconfirmation service, when 38 presented them-selves.

The Archbishop's address to the confirmeeswas very interesting. The church was crowded.

The choir led the singing heartily, under theable hands of Mrs Perry Martin, who presided'at the organ. His Grace met the members of theVestry after the service, and then returned toMelbourne by motor car.

100 Years AgoBacchus Marsh Express

Saturday, December 7, 1912

■ Actor Burt Reynolds’s moustache has 400Facebook friends.

■ Cataglottism. Kissing using the tongue,French kissing.

■ What kind of bird was first to attach in AlfredHitcock’s The Birds?

■ Observer reader Betty Jeffrey of Glenburnhas mailed in this recipe for Lemon Jelly Slice.■ For Base: 1½ cups S.R. flour, ½ cup sugar, 1egg, 4oz melted butter.Mix all together and press into lamington tin.Bake in moderate oven for 15 minutes.■ Topping: 1 cup sugar, sauce of 2 lemons, 2heaped tablespoons custard powder, 2 cups coldwater.Mix sugar, custard powder with lemon juice andwater in saucepan, stir over low heat until thickand clear.Pour over base in tin, while both still warm.Sprinkle with coconut. Leave in tin until cool.

■ Seen in Strathmore: “5 days a week mybody is a temple The other two, it's an amuse-ment park.”

■ “A hug is the perfect gift; one size fits all,and nobody minds if you exchange it.”■ Dolphins can stay alert and active for 15days or more by sleeping by sleeping with onehalf of their brain at a time.■ A synonym is a word you use if you can'tspell the other one.■ Is a castrated pig disgruntled?

■ Yesterday (Tuesday, December 4). We hopeObserver reader John Vertigan celebrated instyle. Media man Craig Hutchison also cel-ebrated a birthday.■ Wednesday, December 5. Happy 65th birth-day to Observer reader Pam Holt of Grovedale.Birthday greetings to Observer fan Tess Lezard.Robert Williamson is 53.■ Thursday, December 6. Observer reader PatBurke of Noble Park is 72 today. Special wishesto Melbourne writer Clairfe Halliday.■ Friday, December 7. Observer reader NeilSmith of Watsonia is 81 today.■ Saturday, December 8. Observer readerThomas Moore of Ferntree Gully is 70. Ob-server fan Megan Castran celebrates today.Natalie Brooks is 24.■ Sunday, December 9. Happy birthday toMelbourne entertainer Dorothy Baker. DougGolden is 53.■ Monday, December 10. Happy 73rd birthdayto Observer reader Patricia Keogh of Ivanhoe.James Liotta blows out candles today.■ Tuesday, December 11. Happy 64th birthdayto Observer reader Faye Hartshorne of PortMelbourne. Observer reader

■ Melbourne food-theatre-furniture-sportsidentity John Parker is gearing up for Christ-mas, says close friend Sue Deenim who sends afestive cheerio.■ Cheerio to Natasha Stipanov of Xanadu.■ A special cheerio to Sally Freud at her newaddress.■ Only two more Observers until Christmas.■ Coburg-born James Hogan, CEO and Presi-dent of Etihad Airways, has been named CAPA(Centre for Aviation) ‘Executive of the Year’.Congratulations!

■ A young girl walked up to her mother whowas washing the dishes and began to stare ather hair.

The girl cleared her throat and sweetly asked:“Mum, why do you have some grey strands inyour hair?”

Her mother caused and looked at her daugh-ter, “Well, every time you are naughty and dis-obey me, I get one strand of grey hair. So if youwant me to look young and pretty, you need tobe good and always do what I tell you to,” sheexplained, before quickly returning to washingthe dishes.

The little girl stood there thinking. She clearedher throat again and asked, “Why is Grandma’shair all grey?”

ARIES (MAR 21 - APR 20)You have far too much time on your hands and are sure to find some mischief. Visitorsare also forecast which should give you cause to visit a very familiar old hauntingground.TAURUS (APR 21 - MAY 21)Try to tell a family member that secret you have been keeping under wraps. They willtake it better than you realise, especially if you tell them everything rather than parts,as you did previously.GEMINI (MAY 22 - JUNE 21)Love proves hard work as a pretty face just keeps insisting on playing games and youmay well feel like you are going round in circles. Don't fret. The planets bring you allthe answers you're seeking.CANCER (JUNE 22 - JULY 23)You're feeling in two minds as to how this week's going. Where do we start with a signsuch as you. State how you feel. It's the key to you getting what you want.LEO (JULY 24 - AUG 23)Not only have you improved your life in leaps and bounds over the last few months butyou have also helped your loved ones to feel more at ease with themselves too. Welldone!VIRGO (AUG 24 - SEPT 23)An argument that is still simmering from last weekend can be put to rest as informationwhich a friend brings your way lets them see that maybe they were a little judgmentalafter all.LIBRA (SEPT 24 - OCT 23)What you're thinking of doing is written all over your face and some quiet time isneeded so you may get the most from what is clearly a successful week, if you allowit to be.SCORPIO (OCT 24 - NOV 22)Family haven't been making it easy for you to talk about how you feel as they urge youto do what looks right instead of what feels right to you. This all changes today myfriend.SAGITTARIUS (NOV 23 - DEC 21)Don't tell others gossip or you could end up finding your own dirty laundry being aired.News of an ex gives you reason to smile and reason to move on. At last Sagittarius, atlast.CAPRICORN (DEC 22 - JAN 20)Education is well starred and those of you who are thinking about adding any newskills to your list should be able to proceed with confidence. A new flirtation turnsserious. Wear blue for luck today.AQUARIUS (JAN 21 - FEB 19)You may find it hard to work with any speed today so try to work on a beginning and anending so that you can make sense of what you've done.Energy levels improve as youfocus.PISCES (FEB 20 - MARCH 20)New ways to do your work should see you being able to tie up your day with muchmore speed and agility. As your confidence improves, so do your offers, as todayshould soon prove.

Your Stars with Christina La Cross

Funny Signs

●●●●● Observed in Eltham


On track to 150 years of Welsh history

Zesty bubbly for Christmas parties

ObserverMelbourne

Travellers’ Good Buys

ObserverMelbourne Wines & Liqueurs

withDavidEllis

withDavidEllis

■ When a group of Welsh business-men decided in 1863 to use steamengines to haul slate from the moun-tainous inland of Wales to exportwharves on the coast, there was muchchortling from cynics across the bor-der in England.

Amongst them was RobertStephenson, son of railway pioneerGeorge Stephenson and who like hisfather was a railway engineer and lo-comotive builder, and Isambard King-dom Brunel, the engineer responsiblefor England’s Great Western Railway.

The reason for their mirth was thatthey were building trains that wouldrun on tracks a generous 4-feet-8½-inches wide (1435mm) giving com-fort and speed for long passenger andfreight trains pulled by large and pow-erful locomotives, while the steamrailway proposed for Wales would runon puny, unstable things of under amere 2-feet (597mm.)

“Locomotives for such a narrowline will not have the power to haulwagons loaded with heavy slate,” thecritics scoffed. “It is all an unsafefolly.”

But with booming demand for slate,the Welsh ordered four Lilliputian-size steam engines for their FfestiniogRailway Company (in WelshRheilffyrdd Ffestiniog Ac Eryrl) – untilthen their “slate trains” were oper-ated by a simple combination ofhorse-power and gravity.

And as if the ghosts of those rail

■ The Adelaide Hills’ Wicks Estatehas released a couple of great dropsin time for Christmas – a 2010 Spar-kling Chardonnay Pinot Noir that’ll beideal with canapés as guests arrivefor Christmas day lunch or dinner, anda delightful 2012 Sauvignon Blanc forthose opting this year for a cold sea-food spread at the Festive table. Winemakers Tim Knappstein andLeigh Ratzmer fermented theChardonnay and Pinot Noir separatelyfor their bubbly, and then blended themto get exactly the combination offlavours they were looking for – a spar-kling drop with a wonderful zestyfreshness to get the party going, and apalate to go perfectly with a range ofcanapés or simply on its own in thelead-up to lunch or dinner. Their 2012 Sauvignon Blanc is oneof those easy-drinking wines that goesideally with lighter meals, in particu-lar seafoods, with typical tropical fruitand passionfruit to the fore and hintsof lime. The 2020 Sparkling is $25 and the2012 Sauvignon Blanc $18.

Pictured■ Start Christmas Day celebrationswith this.■ And enjoy this one with the Christ-mas turkey

One For Lunch■ Julie Barry never ceases toamuse us with the diversity of whim-sical, often irreverent, remarks shecomes up with about the excep-tional wines she makes under herequally whimsical (and excep-tional) Good Catholic Girl label.

One such regarded her JamesBrazill 2009 Clare Shiraz, a some-what full-bodied drop with wonder-ful aromas that jump from theglass: dark plums, chocolate andwarming spices especially, andwith a palate she says “makes italmost sinfully easy to drink.”

Certainly one of her best-ever,to which she attributes the fruit fromher Limerick vineyard at Armaghbeing the finest to date, and fortu-itously picked on March 7th which,according to Julie, happened to be“the feast day of St Celcius ofArmagh… “

We’ll take her Good CatholicGirl word for it, and while she sug-gests it goes particularly well withIrish Stew, we’d rather share it withturkey on Christmas Day. $30.

We’re archived onhttp://vintnews.com

pioneers are today rubbing the nosesof their detractors into the slate theirlittle trains once hauled, Ffestiniog isnow the world’s oldest surviving rail-way company, next March celebrates150 years since the introduction of itsfirst steam engine – and as a memberof The Great Little Trains of Wales isone of Britain’s major tourist attrac-tions, with its sister company theWelsh Highland Railway carrying300,000 guests a year between them.

And that tiny first steam engine,that was called Princess and whichwent into operation in 1863, is stillaround today, currently enjoying amake-over for those 150th anniver-sary celebrations after somewhat bi-zarrely being “conserved” since 1981in the bar of a Welsh pub.

When the “railway” first openedin 1832 slate mined from around themountains of North Wales was loadedinto rail wagons at Blaenau Ffestiniog,and allowed to free-run by gravity13½ miles (21.7km) downhill to thewharves of Porthmadog – with twobrakemen in a rear wagon controllingtheir speed.

And a horse was carried in anotherwagon called a “dandy,” to haul theeight empty wagons those 21-oddkilometres back up to the mines.

But such was world demand forWelsh slate, particularly for makingroofing tiles, that the rail companyrealised it needed to get its trains backinto the mountains faster than its horsescould haul them, and decided in 1863on its diminutive little steam engines.

They proved an instant success,and it’s known that many visitors toWales would also request a quite ille-gal ride into the mountains in the emptysteam-hauled slate wagons, prompt-ing the railway to build pint-sized pas-senger carriages that it added to itsslate trains to earn extra income fromlocals and tourists.

But by the 1940s new roofing ma-terials were replacing slate, manyoverseas markets had been lost dur-ing two world wars, tourists in the1930s had turned to the motor-car andcharabancs (long wheel-base, open-air sightseeing vehicles,) and the littletrains of the Ffestiniog Railway wereconsidered out-dated and run-down.

Thus the railway closed in 1946 –but dedicated rail enthusiasts refusedto see it die, and miraculously between1954 and 1982 re-opened it by largelyvolunteer labour section-by-sectionalong nine stations as a tourist line.

And as part of the track had beensubmerged when a new dam wasbuilt, they also had to construct a 4kmdeviation and blast a 280m long tun-nel through solid granite.

Three of the original steam engineswere also restored together with re-covered historic carriages and putback into service, while others includ-ing a unique double-ended Fairliewere more slowly restored for in-creasing tourist runs from Porthmadogthrough the spectacular SnowdoniaNational Park to Ffestiniog.

The first, Princess was not deemedcapable of running again and wasspruced up and “conserved” in the barof Spooner’s Pub in Porthmadog –where it remained until several weeksago, when it was moved to Londonfor a make-over to look nice for nextyear’s 150th anniversary celebrationsof the world’s first narrow gaugesteam railway.

Details on www.festrail.co.uk.

●●●●● Wales Ffestiniog Railway Fairlie at Porthmadog


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ShowBiz Social ClubAt Bentleigh Club

Monday night (Oct. 22)Photos: Gigi Hellmuth

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Fact File

NAME: Currumbin Sands Apartments

ADDRESS: 955 Gold Coast Hwy,

Palm Beach, Qld 4221

PHONE: (07) 5525 5000

FAX: (07) 5525 5099

CONTACT: Sherryl Stack

WEB: www.currumbinsands.com.au

E-MAIL: [email protected]

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Stay 7, Pay for 5 Nights

May - until June 24

Currumbin Sands holiday apartments are

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beach and here you can relax and enjoy the

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day apartment on the beachfront.

At Currumbin Sands you can surf the lo-

cal point break at the Alley, watch the kids

swim in the calm waters of the creek, fish

along the quiet river bank, walk barefoot

together along the ocean beach and make

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The Currumbin Sands resort itself enjoys

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Places To Go

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End of Year Christmas

Celebrations

Christmas Day Luncheon

December 25

Boutique Accommodation

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Healthy Living

Melbourne Observer. 121205B. December 5, 2012. Part B. Pages 17-44

Documents

Transcript of Melbourne Observer. 121205B. December 5, 2012. Part B. Pages 17-44