Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the ninety-second 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.

>> Brie Carlisle: To bite at a time books where we read you your favorite

classics, one byte at a time. my name is Bre

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>> Brie Carlisle: Values today well be

continuing.

Les miserables by Victor

Hugo chapter

three the ankle

chain must have undergone a certain preparatory

manipulation to be thus broken with a blow from a

hammer towards

the end of October. In that same year,

1823, the inhabitants of

Toulon beheld the entry into their port

after heavy weather, and for the purpose

of repairing some damages of the ship Orion,

which was employed later at Brest as a school

ship, and which then formed a part of the

mediterranean squadron. This

vessel, battered as it was for the sea, had handled

it roughly, produced a fine effect as it entered

the roads. It flew some

colors, which procured for it the regulation salute of

eleven guns, which it returned

shot for shot, total

22. It has been

calculated that what with salvos, royal and

military politeness, courteous exchanges of

uproar, signals of etiquette,

formalities of roadsteads and citadels,

sunrises and sunsets,

saluted every day by all the fortresses and all

ships of war, openings and closings

of ports, etcetera, the civilized

world, discharged all over the earth in the course

of four and 20 hours,

150,000 useless shots

at six francs, the shot that comes to

900,000 francs a day, 300

millions a year, which vanish in smoke.

This is a mere detail. All

this time, the poor were dying of hunger.

The year 1823 was what the restoration

called the epoch of the Spanish War.

This war contained many events in one

and a quantity of peculiarities.

A grand family affair for the house of Bourbon,

the branch of France succoring and protecting the branch

of Madrid, that is to say, performing an

act devolving on the elder, an apparent return

to our national traditions, complicated by

servitude and by subjection to the cabinets of the

north. Monsieur le duc

d'Englemine, surnamed by the liberal

sheets, the hero of Andijar, compressing in

a triumphal attitude that was somewhat contradicted by his

peaceable air. The ancient and

very powerful terrorism of the Holy Office, at

variance with the chimerical terrorism of the liberals.

The sanchalots resuscitated to

the great terror of dowagers under the

name of Descamycedos, monarchy,

opposing an obstacle to progress described as

anarchy. the theories of 89 roughly

interrupted in the SAP, a european halt

called to the french idea which was making the tour of the

world. Beside the son of France is

Generalissimo the prince de

Kerregnen. Afterwards, Charles

Albert, enrolling himself in that crusade of

kings against people as a volunteer with

grenadier epaulettes of red, worsted the

soldiers of the empire, setting out on a fresh campaign.

But aged, saddened after

eight years of repose. And under the white

cockade, the tricolored standard waved

abroad by a heroic handful of frenchmen, as the

white standard had been 30 years earlier. At

Koblenz, monks mingled with our

troops. A spirit of liberty and of

novelty brought to its senses by bayonets

principles, slaughtered by cannonades. France,

undoing by her arms that which she had done by her mind.

In addition to this, hostile leaders

sold soldiers hesitating cities,

besieged by millions, no military

perils, and yet possible explosions,

as in every mine, which is surprised

and invaded. But little

bloodshed, little honor won.

Shame for some, glory for no one.

Such was this war made by the princes, descended

from Louis XIV and conducted by generals

who had been under Napoleon. Its

sad fate was to recall neither the grand war

nor grand politics. Some feats

of arms were serious. A taking of

Trocadero, among others, was a fine

military action. But after all,

we repeat the trumpets of this war. Give back a cracked

sound. The whole effect was

suspicious. History approves of France for

making a difficulty about accepting this false triumph.

It seemed evident that certain spanish

officers charged with resistance yielded too easily.

The idea of corruption was connected with the victory.

It appears as though generals, and not battles, had been

won, and the conquering soldier returned

humiliated. A debasing war, in

short, in which the bank of France could be read in the folds

of the flag. Soldiers of the war of

1808, on whom Saragossa had fallen in formidable,

ruinous, frowned in 1823 at the

easy surrender of citadels, and began to regret

palafox. It is the nature of France

to prefer to have rostopchine rather

than balustros in front of her.

From a still more serious point of view,

and one which it is also proper to insist upon

here. This war which wounded the military spirit

of France, enraged the democratic

spirit of it, was an enterprise of

enthrallment. In that campaign,

the object of the french soldier, the son of

democracy, was the conquest of yoke. For others,

a hideous contradiction. France is

made to arouse the soul of nations, not to

stifle it all. The revolutions of Europe since

1792 are, the french revolution

liberty darts raised from France. That is

a solar fact. Blind is he who will not

see. It was Bonaparte who said it.

The war of 1823, an

outrage of the generous spanish nation, was then

at the same time an outrage on the French

Revolution. It was France who committed this

monstrous violence by foul means.

For with the exception of wars of

liberation, everything that armies do is by

foul means. The words passive

obedience indicate an army

is a strange masterpiece of combination, where force results from

an enormous sum of impotence. Thus is

war made by humanity against humanity,

despite humanity explained. As for

the Bourbons, the war of 1823 was

fatal to them. They took it for

success. They did not perceive the danger that

lies in having an idea. Slain to order, they

went astray in their innocence to such a degree that they

introduced the immense enfeeblement of a crime into their

establishment. As an element of strength,

the spirit of the ambush entered into their politics.

1830 had its germ. In 1823,

the spanish campaign became in their councils an argument

for force and for adventures. By right, divine

France, having re established el Renero in Spain,

might well have reestablished the absolute king at

home. They fell into the alarming error

of taking the obedience of the soldier for the consent of the

nation. Such confidence

is the ruin of thrones. It is

not permitted to fall asleep, either in the shadow of a

machinel tree, nor in the shadow of an army.

Let us return to the ship Orion.

During the operations of the army commanded by the prince

Generalissimo, a squadron had been cruising

in the Mediterranean. We have just stated that the

Orion belonged to this fleet and that accidents

of the sea had brought it into port at Toulon.

The presence of a vessel of war in a port has something

about it which attracts and engages a crowd.

It is because it is great, and the crowd

loves what is great. A ship of the

line is one of the most magnificent combinations of the genius

of man with the powers of nature. A ship

of the line is composed at the same time of the

heaviest and the lightest of possible matter, for it

deals at, ah, one and the same time with three forms of

solid, liquid and fluid,

and it must do battle with all three. It has

eleven claws of iron with which to seize the granite on the bottom

of the sea, and more wings and more

antennae than winged insects to catch the wind in

the clouds. Its breath pours out through

its 120 cannons as through enormous

trumpets and replies proudly to the

thunder. The ocean seeks to lead it

astray in the alarming sameness of its billows.

But the vessel has its

compass, which counsels it and

always shows it the north. In the blackest

nights, its lanterns supply the place of the

stars. Thus, against the

wind it has its cordage and its canvas

against the water, wood against the

rocks, its iron brass and lead

against the shadows, its light against

immensity. A ah, needle. If one

wishes to form an idea of all those gigantic proportions

which, taken as a whole, constitute the ship of the

line, one has only to enter one of the six

story covered construction stocks in the ports of

Brest or Toulon. The vessels in

process of construction are under a bell glass. There, as it

were. This colossal beam is

a yard. That great column of wood which

stretches out on the earth as far as eye can reach, is the main

mast, taking it from its root in

the stalks to its tip in the clouds. It is

60 fathoms long, and its diameter at

its base is 3ft. The

english mainmast rises to a height of 217ft

above the waterline. The navy of our

fathers employed cables. Ours

employs chains. The simple pile of

chains on a ship of 100 guns is 4ft high,

20ft in breadth and 8ft in

depth. And how much wood is required to make

this ship? 3000

m³. It is a floating

forest. And moreover, let this be borne

in mind. It is only a question here of the military

vessel 40 years ago of the simple sailing

vessel. Steam, then in its infancy,

has since added new miracles to that prodigy, which is called a war

vessel. At the present time, for

example, the mixed vessel with a screw is a surprising

machine, propelled by 3000

canvas and by an engine of 2500

hp. Not to mention these new

marvels. The ancient vessel of Christopher

Columbus and de Ruyter is one of the masterpieces of

man. It is as inexhaustible in force

as is the infinite in gales. It

stores up the wind in its sails. It is

precise in the immense vagueness of the billows.

It floats and it rains.

There comes an hour, nevertheless, when the gale breaks that

60 foot yard like a straw. When the

wind bends that mast 400ft tall,

when that anchor, which weighs tens of thousands,

is twisted in the jaws of the waves like a fisherman's hook in the

jaws of a pike. When those monstrous

cannons utter plaintive and futile roars,

which the hurricane bears forth into the void and into the

night, when all that power and all

that majesty are engulfed in a power and majesty which are

superior. Every time that

immense force is displayed to culminate in an immense feebleness,

it affords men food for thought.

Hence, in the ports, curious people abound around these marvelous

machines of war and of navigation. Without being

able to explain perfectly to themselves why.

Every day, accordingly, from morning until night,

the quays sluices and the jetties of the port

of Toulon were covered with a multitude of idlers

and loungers, as they say in Paris,

whose business consisted in staring at the Orion.

The Orion was a ship that had been ailing for a long

time. In the course of its previous cruises,

thick layers of barnacles had collected on its keel to such

a degree as to deprive it of half its speed.

It had gone into the dry dock the year before this

in order to have the barnacles scraped off.

Then it had put to sea again. But

this cleaning had affected the bolts of the keel.

In the neighborhood of the Bearlik Isles, the sides had

been strained and had opened. And as

the plating in those days was not of sheet iron,

the vessel had sprung a league. A

violent equinoctial gale had come up, which

had first staved in a grating and a porthole on the larboard

side and damaged to the foretop gallant

shrouds. In consequence of these injuries,

the Orion had run back to Toulon. It

anchored near the arsenal. It was fully

equipped, and repairs were begun. The hull

had received no damage on the starboard, but some of

the planks had been unnailed here and there, according to custom

to permit of air entering the hold.

One morning, the crowd which was gazing at it witnessed an

accident. The crew was

busy bending the sails. The top man, who

had to take the upper corner of the main topsail on the starboard, lost

his balance. He was seen to waver.

The multitude thronging the arsenal quay uttered a cry. the

mans head overbalanced his body. The man fell

around the yard with his hands outstretched towards the abyss.

On his way, he seized the foot rope,

first with one hand, then with the other,

and remained hanging from it. The sea

lay below him at a dizzy depth. The shock

of his fall had imparted to the foot rope a violent swinging

motion. The man swayed back and

forth at the end of that rope like a stone in a

sling. It was incurring a frightful risk to

go to his assistance. Not one of the

sailors, all fishermen of the coast, recently levied

for the service, dared to attempt it. In the

meantime, the unfortunate top man was losing his

strength. His anguish could not be discerned on

his face. But his exhaustion was

visible in every limb. His arms were

contracted in horrible twitchings. Every

effort which he made to reascend. Served to augment the

oscillations of the foot rope.

He did not shout for fear of

exhausting his strength. All were

awaiting the minute when he should release his hold on the rope.

And from instant to instant, heads were turned aside

that his fall might not be seen.

There are moments when a bit of rope, a

pole, the branch of a tree, is life

itself. And it is a terrible thing to see a

living being detach himself from it and fall like ripe

fruit. All at once a man

was seen climbing into the rigging. With the agility of a tiger

cat. This man was dressed in

red. He was a convict.

He wore a green cap. He was a life

convict. On arriving on a level with the top, a

gust of wind carried away his cap. And allowing a

perfectly white head to be seen. He was not a

young man. A convict, employed on

board with a detachment from the galleys. Had in fact, at the very

first instant, hastened to the officer of the

watch. And in the midst of the consternation and the

hesitation of the crew, while all the sailors

were trembling and drawing back, he had asked

the officers permission to risk his life to save the top

man. At an affirmative sign from the officer,

he had broken the chain riveted to his ankle with one blow of a

hammer. Then he had caught up a rope and had

dashed into the rigging. No one

noticed at the instant with what

ease that chain had been broken. It was only later

on that the incident was recalled. In a

twinkling, he was on the yard. He

paused for a few seconds and appeared to be measuring it with

his eye. 3 seconds. During which the breeze swayed. The top man

at the extremity of a thread seemed sentries to those

who were looking on. At last,

the convict raised his eyes to heaven and advanced a

step. The crowd drew a long

breath. He was seen to run out along

the yard. On arriving at the point, he fastened

the rope which he had brought to it. And allowed the other end to hang

down. Then he began to descend

the rope hand over hand.

And then. And the anguish was

indescribable. Instead of one man

suspended over the gulf, there were

two. One would have said it was

a spider coming to seize a flyde. Only here

the spider brought life, not death.

10,000 glances were fastened on this group.

Not a cry, not a word.

The same tremor contracted every brow.

All mouths held their breath as though they feared to add, the slightest

puff to the wind, which was swaying the two unfortunate men.

In the meantime, the convict had succeeded in lowering himself

to a position near the sailor. It was

high time. 1 minute more, and the

exhausted and despairing man would have allowed himself to fall into the

abyss. The convict had moored him

securely with a cord to which he clung with one hand while

he was working with the other. At, ah last, he was

seen to climb back on the yard and to drag the sailor

up after him. He held him there a

moment to allow him to recover his strength.

Then he grasped him in his arms and carried him

walking on the yard himself to the captain. And from there

to the main top, where he left him in the hands of his

comrades. At that moment, the

crowd broke into applause.

Old convict sergeants among them wept, and women

embraced each other on the quay. And all voices

were heard to cry with a sort of tender rage. Pardon

for that man. He in the meantime,

had immediately begun to make his descent, to rejoin his

detachment. In order to reach them the

more speedily he dropped into the rigging and ran along one of the lower

yards. All eyes were following

him. At a certain moment, fear

assailed them. Whether it was that he was

fatigued or that his head turned. They thought they saw

him hesitate and stagger. All

at once. The crowd uttered a loud shout.

A convict had fallen into the sea.

The fall was perilous. The frigate Agasiris,

was anchored alongside the Orion, and the poor convict

had fallen between the two vessels.

It was to be feared that he would slip under one or the other of

them. Four men flung themselves hastily

into the boat. The crowd cheered them on.

Anxiety again took possession of all souls.

The man had not risen to the surface.

He had disappeared in the sea without leaving a ripple,

as, though he had fallen into a cask of oil.

They sounded. They dived

in vain. The search was continued

until the evening. They did not even

find the body. On the following day, the

Toulon newspaper printed these lines. November

17, 1823. Yesterday,

a convict belonging to the detachment on board of the

Orion, on his return from rendering assistance to a

sailor, fell into the sea and was

drowned. The body has not yet been

found. It is supposed that it is

entangled among the piles of the arsenal point.

This man was committed under the number 9430

and his name was

Jean Valjean.

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.

>> Brie Carlisle: I hope you come back tomorrow,

>> Brie Carlisle: For the next bite of Le

Miserable.

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

newsletter@byteadatimebooks.com, 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 A: Many adventures and mountains

we can climb.

Take it worth the word, line by

line, one bite at a time.