Editing Volume 3/Book 1/Chapter 2

Les Mis&eacute;rables,  Volume 3: Marius, Book First: Paris Studied in its Atom, Chapter 2: Some of his Particular Characteristics<br />
(Tome 3: Marius, Livre premier: Paris &eacute;tudi&eacute; dans son atome, Chapitre 2: Quelques-uns de ses signes particuliers)

==General notes on this chapter==

==French text==


 
Le gamin de Paris, c'est le nain de la g&eacute;ante.

 
N'exag&eacute;rons point, ce ch&eacute;rubin du ruisseau a quelquefois une chemise
mais alors il n'en a qu'une; il a quelquefois des souliers, mais alors
ils n'ont point de semelles; il a quelquefois un logis, et il l'aime,
car il y trouve sa m&egrave;re; mais il pr&eacute;f&egrave;re la rue, parce qu'il y trouve la
libert&eacute;. Il a ses jeux &agrave; lui, ses malices &agrave; lui dont la haine des
bourgeois fait le fond; ses m&eacute;taphores &agrave; lui; &ecirc;tre mort, cela s'appelle
''manger des pissenlits par la racine;'' ses m&eacute;tiers &agrave; lui, amener des
fiacres, baisser les marchepieds des voitures, &eacute;tablir des p&eacute;ages d'un
c&ocirc;t&eacute; de la rue &agrave; l'autre dans les grosses pluies, ce qu'il appelle faire
''des ponts des arts'', crier les discours prononc&eacute;s par l'autorit&eacute; en
faveur du peuple fran&ccedil;ais, gratter l'entre-deux des pav&eacute;s; il a sa
monnaie &agrave; lui, qui se compose de tous les petits morceaux de cuivre
fa&ccedil;onn&eacute; qu'on peut trouver sur la voie publique. Cette curieuse monnaie,
qui prend le nom de ''loques'', a un cours invariable et fort bien r&eacute;gl&eacute;
dans cette petite boh&egrave;me d'enfants.

 
Enfin il a sa faune &agrave; lui, qu'il observe studieusement dans des coins;
la b&ecirc;te &agrave; bon Dieu, le puceron t&ecirc;te-de-mort, le faucheux, le &laquo;diable&raquo;,
insecte noir qui menace en tordant sa queue arm&eacute;e de deux cornes. Il a
son monstre fabuleux qui a des &eacute;cailles sous le ventre et qui n'est pas
un l&eacute;zard, qui a des pustules sur le dos et qui n'est pas un crapaud,
qui habite les trous des vieux fours &agrave; chaux et des puisards dess&eacute;ch&eacute;s,
noir, velu, visqueux, rampant, tant&ocirc;t lent, tant&ocirc;t rapide, qui ne crie
pas, mais qui regarde, et qui est si terrible que personne ne l'a jamais
vu; il nomme ce monstre &laquo;le sourd&raquo;. Chercher des sourds dans les
pierres, c'est un plaisir du genre redoutable. Autre plaisir, lever
brusquement un pav&eacute;, et voir des cloportes. Chaque r&eacute;gion de Paris est
c&eacute;l&egrave;bre par les trouvailles int&eacute;ressantes qu'on peut y faire. Il y a des
perce-oreilles dans les chantiers des Ursulines, il y a des mille-pieds
au Panth&eacute;on, il y a des t&ecirc;tards dans les foss&eacute;s du Champ de Mars.

 
Quant &agrave; des mots, cet enfant en a comme Talleyrand. Il n'est pas moins
cynique, mais il est plus honn&ecirc;te. Il est dou&eacute; d'on ne sait quelle
jovialit&eacute; impr&eacute;vue; il ahurit le boutiquier de son fou rire. Sa gamme va
gaillardement de la haute com&eacute;die &agrave; la farce.

 
Un enterrement passe. Parmi ceux qui accompagnent le mort, il y a un
m&eacute;decin.&mdash;Tiens, s'&eacute;crie un gamin, depuis quand les m&eacute;decins
reportent-ils leur ouvrage?

 
Un autre est dans une foule. Un homme grave, orn&eacute; de lunettes et de
breloques, se retourne indign&eacute;:&mdash;Vaurien, tu viens de prendre &laquo;la
taille&raquo; &agrave; ma femme.

 
&mdash;Moi, monsieur! fouillez-moi.

 

==English text==

 
The gamin&mdash;the street urchin&mdash;of Paris is the dwarf of the giant.
 
Let us not exaggerate, this cherub of the gutter sometimes has a shirt,
but, in that case, he owns but one; he sometimes has shoes, but then they
have no soles; he sometimes has a lodging, and he loves it, for he finds
his mother there; but he prefers the street, because there he finds
liberty. He has his own games, his own bits of mischief, whose foundation
consists of hatred for the bourgeois; his peculiar metaphors: to be dead
is to eat dandelions by the root; his own occupations, calling
hackney-coaches, letting down carriage-steps, establishing means of
transit between the two sides of a street in heavy rains, which he calls
making the bridge of arts, crying discourses pronounced by the authorities
in favor of the French people, cleaning out the cracks in the pavement; he
has his own coinage, which is composed of all the little morsels of worked
copper which are found on the public streets. This curious money, which
receives the name of loques&mdash;rags&mdash;has an invariable and
well-regulated currency in this little Bohemia of children.

 
Lastly, he has his own fauna, which he observes attentively in the
corners; the lady-bird, the death's-head plant-louse, the daddy-long-legs,
"the devil," a black insect, which menaces by twisting about its tail
armed with two horns. He has his fabulous monster, which has scales under
its belly, but is not a lizard, which has pustules on its back, but is not
a toad, which inhabits the nooks of old lime-kilns and wells that have run
dry, which is black, hairy, sticky, which crawls sometimes slowly,
sometimes rapidly, which has no cry, but which has a look, and is so
terrible that no one has ever beheld it; he calls this monster "the deaf
thing." The search for these "deaf things" among the stones is a joy of
formidable nature. Another pleasure consists in suddenly prying up a
paving-stone, and taking a look at the wood-lice. Each region of Paris is
celebrated for the interesting treasures which are to be found there.
There are ear-wigs in the timber-yards of the Ursulines, there are
millepeds in the Pantheon, there are tadpoles in the ditches of the
Champs-de-Mars.

 
As far as sayings are concerned, this child has as many of them as
Talleyrand. He is no less cynical, but he is more honest. He is endowed
with a certain indescribable, unexpected joviality; he upsets the
composure of the shopkeeper with his wild laughter. He ranges boldly from
high comedy to farce.

 
A funeral passes by. Among those who accompany the dead there is a doctor.
"Hey there!" shouts some street urchin, "how long has it been customary for
doctors to carry home their own work?"

 
Another is in a crowd. A grave man, adorned with spectacles and trinkets,
turns round indignantly: "You good-for-nothing, you have seized my wife's
waist!"&mdash;"I, sir? Search me!"

==Translation notes==

==Textual notes==

==Citations==
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