Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the seventy-fifth chapter of Les Miserables.

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>> Speaker A: Take a look, in the book and let's see

what we can find.

Take it chapter by chapter. One

fight M at a time

so many adventures and

mountains we can climb

to give word for word, line by

line, one bite at a time.

>> Brie Carlisle: Welcome to bite at a time books where we read you your

favorite classics one byte at a time. my name is

Bre Carlisle and I love to read and wanted to

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>> Brie Carlisle: We are part of the bite at.

>> Brie Carlisle: A Time books productions network. If youd also

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>> Brie Carlisle: Values today well be

continuing.

Les Miserable by Victor Hugo

chapter five the quid obscurum

of battles everyone

is acquainted with the first phase of this battle,

a beginning which was troubled,

uncertain, hesitating, menacing to

both armies, but still more so for

the English than for the French. It had rained

all night. The earth had been cut up by the

downpour. The water had accumulated here and there

in the hollows of the plain, as if in casks.

At some points the gear of the artillery carriages

was buried up to the axles. The circingles

of the horses were dripping with liquid mud. If

the wheat and rye trampled down by this cohort of

transports on the march, had not filled in the ruts

and, strewn a litter beneath the wheels, all

movement, particularly in the valleys

in the direction of Papelotte, would have been impossible.

The affair began late. Napoleon, as

weve already explained, was in the habit of keeping all his artillery

well in hand, like a pistol, aiming

it. Now, at one point now at another of

the battle, and it had been his wish to wait

until the horse batteries could move and gallop

freely. In order to do that, it was

necessary that the sun should come out and dry the soil.

But the sun did not make its appearance. It

was no longer the rendezvous of Austerlitz. When the

first cannon was fired, the english general, Colville,

looked at his watch and noted that it was 35

minutes past eleven. The action was

begun furiously, with more fury,

perhaps, than the emperor would have wished. By

the left wing of the French resting on Hougoumont.

At the same time, Napoleon attacked the center.

By hurling Couot's brigade on Le High Saint

and Ney pushed forward the right wing of the French. Against the

left wing of the English, which rested on

Papelotte. The attack on Hougoumont was something of

a feint. The battle was to draw

Wellington thither and to make him swerve

to the left. This plan would have succeeded

if the four companies of the english guards

and the brave Belgians of Perpentures division had not

held the position solidly. And

Wellington, instead of massing his troops

there, could confine himself to dispatching thither

as, reinforcements. Only four more companies of

guards and one battalion from Brunswick.

The attack of the right wing of the French on Papylot was

calculated, in fact, to overthrow the

English left, to cut off the road to Brussels,

to mar the passage against possible Prussians.

To force Mont Saint Jean to turn Wellington back on

Hougoumont. Thence on brain

liot, then, son Haldeman,

nothing easier. With the exception of

a few incidents, this attack succeeded.

Pablot was taken. The hainsaint was

carried. A detail to be noted.

There was in the english infantry,

particularly in Kemps brigade, a great many

raw recruits. These young soldiers were

valiant in the presence of our redoubtable infantry.

Their inexperience extricated them intrepidly from

the dilemma. They performed particularly

excellent service as skirmishers. The soldier

skirmisher left somewhat to himself,

become, so to speak, his own

general. These recruits displayed some

of the french ingenuity and fury. This

novice of an infantry had dash. This

displeased Wellington. After the taking

of La Haye saint, the battle wavered.

There is, in this day, an obscure

interval from midday to 04:00.

The middle portion of this battle is almost indistinct

and participates in the sombreness of the hand to hand

conflict. Twilight reigns over it.

We perceive vast fluctuations in that fog,

a dizzy mirage. Paraphernalia of war

almost unknown today. Pendant

callbacks floating sabortaches,

cross belts, carriage boxes for grenades.

Husser dolmens, red boots with a thousand

wrinkles. Heavy shakos garlanded with

torsades. The almost black infantry of

Brunswick mingled with the scarlet infantry of

England. The english soldiers with great

white circular pads on the slopes of their shoulders. For

epaulets. The hanoverian light horse, with their

oblong casks of leather. With brass

hands and red horsetails. The

scotch, with their bare knees and plaids. The

great white gaiters of our grenadiers.

Pictures, not strategic lines.

What Salvatore Rosa requires, not what is

suited to the needs of Gribberwell. A certain

amount of tempest is always mingled with the battle.

Quid obscurum, quid divinum. Each

historian traces to some extent the

particular feature which pleases him. Amid this pell

mell. Whatever may be the

combinations of the generals. the shock of armed masses

has an incalculable ebb. During the

action, the plans of the two leaders enter into each other. And

become mutually thrown out of shape. Such a point

of the field of battle devours more combatants than such

another. Just as more or less

spongy soils soak up more or less quickly the

water which is poured on them, it becomes necessary

to pour out more soldiers than one would like. A

series of expenditures which are the unforeseen.

The line of battle waves and undulates like a

thread. The trails of blood gush

illogically. The fronts of the armies waver.

The regiments form capes and gulfs. As they enter

and withdraw. All the ass reefs are

continually moving in front of each other. Where the

infantry stood, the artillery arrives. The

cavalry rushes in. Where the artillery was, the

battalions are like smoke. There was something

there. Seek it.

It has disappeared. The open spots change,

place. The somber folds advance and

retreat. A sort of wind from the sepulchre

pushes forward, hurls back, distends

and disperses these tragic multitudes.

What is a fray? An oscillation.

The immobility of a mathematical plan expresses

a minute, not a day. In

order to depict a battle, there is required one of those

powerful painters who have chaos in their brushes.

Rembrandt is better than van der Muhlen. Van der

Muhlen, exact at noon, lies at 03:00.

Geometry is deceptive. The hurricane

alone is trustworthy. That is what

confers on fallard the right to contradict

Polybius. Let us add, that there is

a certain instant when the battle degenerates

into a combat, becomes specialized

and disperses in innumerable detailed feats.

Which, to borrow the expression of Napoleon

himself, belongs rather to the biography of

the regiments than to the history of the army.

The historian has in this case the evident

right to sum up the whole he cannot do more

than seize the principal outlines of the struggle, and it

is not given to any one narrator, however

conscientious he may be, to fix

absolutely the form of that horrible cloud which

is called a battle. This which

is true of all great armed encounters, is

particularly applicable to Waterloo.

Nevertheless, at a certain moment in the afternoon, the

battle came to a point. Thank

you for joining Byte at a time books today while we read a

bite of one of your favorite classics. Again,

my name is Brie Carlisle, and I hope you come back

tomorrow for the next bite of Les

Miserable.

>> Brie Carlisle: Dont forget to sign up for our

newsletter@byteadatimebooks.com, comma and

check out the shop. You can check out the show notes

or our website, byteaditimebooks.com,

for the rest of the links for our show. wed love to hear from

you on social media as well.

>> Speaker D: Many adventures and

mountains we can climb.

take it worth a word, line.

>> Speaker A: By line, one bite at a time.