#lm 1.1.13

[bewareofitalics]

The Bishop of Digne 🤝 The Tin Woodman of Oz:

Why not record this almost divine infantilism, evidence as it is of goodness? Puerile trifles, if you like; childishness, but sublime childishness such as that of Saint Francis of Assisi and Marcus Aurelius. One day he actually twisted his ankle trying to avoid treading on an ant.

...

Thereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road, and when he saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as not to harm it. The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything.

And hey, they've both been illustrated by John R. Neill!

[irishcomplexion]

He seated himself on a wooden bench, with his back against a decrepit vine; he gazed at the stars, past the puny and stunted silhouettes of his fruit-trees. This quarter of an acre, so poorly planted, so encumbered with mean buildings and sheds, was dear to him, and satisfied his wants. What more was needed by this old man, who divided the leisure of his life, where there was so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night? Was not this narrow enclosure, with the heavens for a ceiling, sufficient to enable him to adore God in his most divine works, in turn? Does not this comprehend all, in fact? and what is there left to desire beyond it? A little garden in which to walk, and immensity in which to dream. At one’s feet that which can be cultivated and plucked; over head that which one can study and meditate upon: some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky.

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

Round 2, Matchup 6: I.i.10 vs I.i.13

[lesmisletters-daily]

What He Believed

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.1.13

We are not obliged to sound the Bishop of D—— on the score of orthodoxy. In the presence of such a soul we feel ourselves in no mood but respect. The conscience of the just man should be accepted on his word. Moreover, certain natures being given, we admit the possible development of all beauties of human virtue in a belief that differs from our own.

What did he think of this dogma, or of that mystery? These secrets of the inner tribunal of the conscience are known only to the tomb, where souls enter naked. The point on which we are certain is, that the difficulties of faith never resolved themselves into hypocrisy in his case. No decay is possible to the diamond. He believed to the extent of his powers. <i>“Credo in Patrem,”</i> he often exclaimed. Moreover, he drew from good works that amount of satisfaction which suffices to the conscience, and which whispers to a man, “Thou art with God!”

The point which we consider it our duty to note is, that outside of and beyond his faith, as it were, the Bishop possessed an excess of love. It was in that quarter, <i>quia multum amavit</i>,—because he loved much—that he was regarded as vulnerable by “serious men,” “grave persons” and “reasonable people”; favorite locutions of our sad world where egotism takes its word of command from pedantry. What was this excess of love? It was a serene benevolence which overflowed men, as we have already pointed out, and which, on occasion, extended even to things. He lived without disdain. He was indulgent towards God’s creation. Every man, even the best, has within him a thoughtless harshness which he reserves for animals. The Bishop of D—— had none of that harshness, which is peculiar to many priests, nevertheless. He did not go as far as the Brahmin, but he seemed to have weighed this saying of Ecclesiastes: “Who knoweth whither the soul of the animal goeth?” Hideousness of aspect, deformity of instinct, troubled him not, and did not arouse his indignation. He was touched, almost softened by them. It seemed as though he went thoughtfully away to seek beyond the bounds of life which is apparent, the cause, the explanation, or the excuse for them. He seemed at times to be asking God to commute these penalties. He examined without wrath, and with the eye of a linguist who is deciphering a palimpsest, that portion of chaos which still exists in nature. This reverie sometimes caused him to utter odd sayings. One morning he was in his garden, and thought himself alone, but his sister was walking behind him, unseen by him: suddenly he paused and gazed at something on the ground; it was a large, black, hairy, frightful spider. His sister heard him say:—

“Poor beast! It is not its fault!”

Why not mention these almost divinely childish sayings of kindness? Puerile they may be; but these sublime puerilities were peculiar to Saint Francis d’Assisi and of Marcus Aurelius. One day he sprained his ankle in his effort to avoid stepping on an ant. Thus lived this just man. Sometimes he fell asleep in his garden, and then there was nothing more venerable possible.

Monseigneur Bienvenu had formerly been, if the stories anent his youth, and even in regard to his manhood, were to be believed, a passionate, and, possibly, a violent man. His universal suavity was less an instinct of nature than the result of a grand conviction which had filtered into his heart through the medium of life, and had trickled there slowly, thought by thought; for, in a character, as in a rock, there may exist apertures made by drops of water. These hollows are uneffaceable; these formations are indestructible.

In 1815, as we think we have already said, he reached his seventy-fifth birthday, but he did not appear to be more than sixty. He was not tall; he was rather plump; and, in order to combat this tendency, he was fond of taking long strolls on foot; his step was firm, and his form was but slightly bent, a detail from which we do not pretend to draw any conclusion. Gregory XVI., at the age of eighty, held himself erect and smiling, which did not prevent him from being a bad bishop. Monseigneur Welcome had what the people term a “fine head,” but so amiable was he that they forgot that it was fine.

When he conversed with that infantile gayety which was one of his charms, and of which we have already spoken, people felt at their ease with him, and joy seemed to radiate from his whole person. His fresh and ruddy complexion, his very white teeth, all of which he had preserved, and which were displayed by his smile, gave him that open and easy air which cause the remark to be made of a man, “He’s a good fellow”; and of an old man, “He is a fine man.” That, it will be recalled, was the effect which he produced upon Napoleon. On the first encounter, and to one who saw him for the first time, he was nothing, in fact, but a fine man. But if one remained near him for a few hours, and beheld him in the least degree pensive, the fine man became gradually transfigured, and took on some imposing quality, I know not what; his broad and serious brow, rendered august by his white locks, became august also by virtue of meditation; majesty radiated from his goodness, though his goodness ceased not to be radiant; one experienced something of the emotion which one would feel on beholding a smiling angel slowly unfold his wings, without ceasing to smile. Respect, an unutterable respect, penetrated you by degrees and mounted to your heart, and one felt that one had before him one of those strong, thoroughly tried, and indulgent souls where thought is so grand that it can no longer be anything but gentle.

As we have seen, prayer, the celebration of the offices of religion, alms-giving, the consolation of the afflicted, the cultivation of a bit of land, fraternity, frugality, hospitality, renunciation, confidence, study, work, filled every day of his life. <i>Filled</i> is exactly the word; certainly the Bishop’s day was quite full to the brim, of good words and good deeds. Nevertheless, it was not complete if cold or rainy weather prevented his passing an hour or two in his garden before going to bed, and after the two women had retired. It seemed to be a sort of rite with him, to prepare himself for slumber by meditation in the presence of the grand spectacles of the nocturnal heavens. Sometimes, if the two old women were not asleep, they heard him pacing slowly along the walks at a very advanced hour of the night. He was there alone, communing with himself, peaceful, adoring, comparing the serenity of his heart with the serenity of the ether, moved amid the darkness by the visible splendor of the constellations and the invisible splendor of God, opening his heart to the thoughts which fall from the Unknown. At such moments, while he offered his heart at the hour when nocturnal flowers offer their perfume, illuminated like a lamp amid the starry night, as he poured himself out in ecstasy in the midst of the universal radiance of creation, he could not have told himself, probably, what was passing in his spirit; he felt something take its flight from him, and something descend into him. Mysterious exchange of the abysses of the soul with the abysses of the universe!

He thought of the grandeur and presence of God; of the future eternity, that strange mystery; of the eternity past, a mystery still more strange; of all the infinities, which pierced their way into all his senses, beneath his eyes; and, without seeking to comprehend the incomprehensible, he gazed upon it. He did not study God; he was dazzled by him. He considered those magnificent conjunctions of atoms, which communicate aspects to matter, reveal forces by verifying them, create individualities in unity, proportions in extent, the innumerable in the infinite, and, through light, produce beauty. These conjunctions are formed and dissolved incessantly; hence life and death.

He seated himself on a wooden bench, with his back against a decrepit vine; he gazed at the stars, past the puny and stunted silhouettes of his fruit-trees. This quarter of an acre, so poorly planted, so encumbered with mean buildings and sheds, was dear to him, and satisfied his wants.

What more was needed by this old man, who divided the leisure of his life, where there was so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night? Was not this narrow enclosure, with the heavens for a ceiling, sufficient to enable him to adore God in his most divine works, in turn? Does not this comprehend all, in fact? and what is there left to desire beyond it? A little garden in which to walk, and immensity in which to dream. At one’s feet that which can be cultivated and plucked; over head that which one can study and meditate upon: some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky.

[cliozaur]

By Chapter XIII, I can understand the irritation of those reading the Brick for the first time, expecting to encounter some of the main characters, only to find themselves immersed in the bishop’s credo. Personally, I don't mind, but I sympathize with first-time readers. Here are some thoughts on this chapter:

So, just in case anyone still had doubts, Hugo once again hints that Bishop Myriel’s faith is far from orthodoxy.

He is an interesting character: on one hand, we learn about his excessive love for all living creatures, making him akin to Francis d’Assisi and Marcus Aurelius. On the other hand, Hugo mentions that in his youth, M. Myriel was “a passionate, and, possibly, a violent man.” I’m absolutely intrigued and want to know more about his youth, and especially what happened to him in Italy that led him to become a priest. I also want to know what his sister was doing at the time when he was married and leading a passionate and violent life. I suspect that she did not have the chance to experience her share of passions. Therefore, I think it’s unfair to deprive her of little comforts at the dusk of her life.

The details about the peculiarity of the bishop’s faith mirror Hugo’s own views about faith and religion extensively enunciated in the convent digression in the second volume.

An elderly bishop who finds his happiness in the garden is just the first of many others in the Brick for whom a garden is a happy place. If I am not mistaken, there is an essay about imagery of the garden in Les Misérables in a volume about the book and adaptations.  

[pureanonofficial]

LES MIS LETTERS IN ADAPTATION - What He Believed, LM 1.1.13 (Les Miserables 1925)

What more was needed by this old man, who divided the leisure of his life, where there was so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night? Was not this narrow enclosure, with the heavens for a ceiling, sufficient to enable him to adore God in his most divine works, in turn? Does not this comprehend all, in fact? and what is there left to desire beyond it? A little garden in which to walk, and immensity in which to dream. At one’s feet that which can be cultivated and plucked; over head that which one can study and meditate upon: some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky.

[mariuspompom]

mindfulness exercises by bishop myriel ❤️

[thevagueambition]

Les Mis 1.1.12 thoughts

Hugo wouldn't have liked the prosperity gospel, lmao

I get the sense that most of his rant about success being mistaken as deserved success by sheer virtue of being success is vagueing about various contemporaries

In particular, a household manager so rich when he retired he was made finance minister surely must be referring to some specific person/event lmao

I've taken to reading some chapters outloud to my boyfriend and during this chapter he went "I understand why this book is so long if [Hugo] always has to describe the same thing five different ways" which. I mean he's not wrong lol. I do really like those repeating metaphors of Hugo's, though

[dolphin1812]

I was not expecting to spend today learning that Myriel doesn’t like bugs, but also hates hurting them because they’re living things.

Like, his response to seeing an ant is:

“One day he sprained his ankle in his effort to avoid stepping on an ant.”

But he finds spiders so terrifying to look at that he says “it’s not is fault” it looks like that?

It’s kind of funny that’s how he convinces himself to respect all life.

[vapaus-ystavyys-tasaarvo]

Catching up with Les Mis Letters since I haven't really managed to keep up properly this week:

1.1.10

The sun was setting, and had almost touched the horizon when the Bishop arrived at the excommunicated spot. With a certain beating of the heart, he recognized the fact that he was near the lair. He strode over a ditch, leaped a hedge, made his way through a fence of dead boughs, entered a neglected paddock, took a few steps with a good deal of boldness, and suddenly, at the extremity of the waste land, and behind lofty brambles, he caught sight of the cavern.

It was a very low hut, poor, small, and clean, with a vine nailed against the outside.

Near the door, in an old wheel-chair, the armchair of the peasants, there was a white-haired man, smiling at the sun.

^ This is a long passage to quote but I just HAD to highlight the writing here. Hugo's way of playing with the expectation and subversion makes his text just so much fun to read. The build up to the reveal of a monster, using language that's full of connotations: lair, wasteland, cavern... and then the simple, harmless reality.

It doesn't even matter that you can see it coming, it still works, because it demonstrates Myriel's mindset without spelling it out.

I love this chapter so much and I don't even know if I have the energy to get into all the reasons why. The fact that it's such a great response to the first nine chapters, the counter-argument to Myriel. How it perfectly sets up the themes of the novel; on the one hand the message of goodness and charity, on the other the harsh fact that it will never be enough. That in fact violence and terror are inherent in society already and the present system must be destroyed to get rid of them, even if there's no peaceful way to do it. That the violence against the status quo isn't any more violent than the status quo itself.

And that is tragic, and it is difficult to accept, but that doesn't make it less true. He doesn't shy away from mentioning the painful facts about the former prince. But he also reminds you that this is not a valid argument against pursuing justice. You can and should weep for all the children, not just those who were born into privilege.

And it humanises Myriel more than any other chapter, reminds you that he has natural human flaws and biases and pettiness. He wasn't just born perfect. He had those unpleasant instincts, but he did his best to conquer them.

Then there's the tragedy of this scene! As others have pointed out, these two could have been friends, could have given each other so much, but they were kept apart by prejudice on both sides until it was too late. Myriel's slightly hypocritical prejudice that kept him away despite his belief in giving everyone a chance, including bandits! And it's understandable because it's a result of his own background, but it is what it is all the same. And on the other hand G's equally understandable prejudice against bishops, that still lead him to misjudge Myriel and never try to reach out to this person who was doing so much work that G would undoubtedly have approved of.

(Sidenote: shout out to Myriel for having the right instinct not to get defensive about G's wrongful accusations and end up arguing over irrelevant things rather than what really mattered in G's final moments. Especially since he was basically mirroring Myriel's own thoughts so it would have been one of those dumb "no I agree with you!" kind of arguments.)

Both of them isolated for their beliefs, both of them missing the opportunity to find some camaraderie and understanding in each other, even despite their differences in opinion. It hurts.

1.1.12

Don't have a lot to say right now about 1.1.12, but I have to point out that "this infectious virtue is avoided" is a great line

Also the whole speech about success has so many bangers, as others have mentioned

Is the duck reference another pun on canard btw?

1.1.13

one of those strong, thoroughly tried, and indulgent souls where thought is so grand that it can no longer be anything but gentle.

love this concept

some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky.

love this line

[fremedon]

Brickclub I.1.13, “What He Believed”

Old men in gardens! Actually we had one two chapters ago--the bishop met G. in the little uncultivated garden around his house, which I think makes it the first significant scene of Old Men in Gardens. Men in gardens, in this book, are always good and trustworthy people; here Hugo pretty much spells that out and tells us why.

The contrast between the bishop’s slow reform from “passionate, even violent” youth into “universal tenderness” and the sudden, even violent change that is asked of Valjean and Javert--that succeeds with one, but never comfortably, and that kills the other--is heartbreaking. Violent, stupid young men born into the bishop’s class can spend their whole lives slowly perfecting their characters. For misérables, moral opportunity might be as rare and unexpected as any other sort of opportunity.

Stray observations:

--Is the bishop the only character we see find comfort in contemplating the stars? We will see Valjean and Javert both perceive the night sky as a threat, and little Cosette as a source of terror. Does anyone else stargaze like this on-page?

--Hugo’s statement about Creation works equally well as an outline of how the book is constructed:

“He reflected on the magnificent union of atoms, which give visible forms to Nature, revealing forces by recognizing them, creating individualities in unity, proportions in extension, the innumerable in the infinite, and through light producing beauty.”

[pilferingapples]

LM 1.1.13

Oh wow, time for Hugo to deploy his deepest insults against Myriel's detractors: "serious", "sober",  "reasonable".   Dire accusations from a Romantic!  True he hasn't called anyone "moderate"yet, but you know he's barely controlling himself! Such language! 

"we admit the possible development of all beauties of human virtue in a belief that differs from our own" --I'm not sure exactly how it reads in the original--I mean , I can read the French on it, but this is a question of Tone and I'm not nearly good enough to Get that-- but I love the ambiguity of this line. Given that Hugo was openly Not Catholic by this point, obviously Myriel's faith is different from his own---but to anyone who didn't know or care much about the personal faith practices of the author, or just wants to read the narrator as Not Hugo, it could also just mean Myriel's particular approach to the Catholic faith. 

- I got curious to know if there even actually were large hairy spiders in France, but my Spider Search Skills have proven Inadequate and I honestly just don't know! But either way I'm frankly offended that Hugo or Myriel would think a spider needs pity, they are fabulous and Good Friends, How Very Dare.  "Not its fault" indeed!  Your FACE isn't its fault, Hugo. 

Anyway if someone can tell me about some Good Spiders in France, lemme know, on this blog We Love and Respect Arachnids. 

French: lui donnaient cet air ouvert et facile qui fait dire d'un homme: «C'est un bon enfant», et d'un vieillard: «C'est un bonhomme». FMA:

that open easy air which makes us say of a man  he is a good fellow and of an old man, he is a good man.

Hapgood:

that open and easy air which cause the remark to be made of a man, "He's a good fellow"; and of an old man, "He is a fine man. RoseL  that open, easygoing air that prompts people to describe a young man as "a good lad" and an old man as "a good old stick". 

...I feel like this is one of those passages where some Colloquial Meaning is being super lost in translation? 

- Of COURSE the Bishop has a Very Impressive Forehead XD

-Pope Gregory XVI was the pope from 1831-1846; Hugo is really not trying to make friends with Catholicism here >< 

- The big Interesting Thing to me in this chapter is Hugo sort of stealthily putting forward his own Theory of Animal Souls ; he had some complicated concepts of reincarnation, soul-relationships , and inherent Animal Beings that I've yet to find any clear explanation for , despite seeing him write about it a lot; it's all very Jeremy Bearimy and one of those things that clearly Makes Sense to Hugo, but I don't know if he ever tried to really clarify it; "big mood" is also  a major part of any Hugo philosophy,  and so many of his ideas depending enormously on trusting that people will just pick up the Vibe he's talking about.  I'm sorry for it , bc the Animal Soul Connection stuff is really interesting, and definitely Relevant to the symbolism in LM.  ..And also very Not Catholic Church Approved, I am aware XD   but at any rate it's certainly a major good point to Myriel that he also picks up on this inherent divine importance of animals! 

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 1.1.13 ‘What he believed‘

This is such a beautiful chapter.

Last chapter we divorced the text’s idea of religion from the doings of the Catholic church; this chapter we locate it in the garden. I think that’s true throughout this text: the church exists as a social institution, and often a social institution for good, but when characters are closest to this story’s notions of God, it’s always in nature and usually in gardens.

We have learned now a number of things we can hold against Myriel. This chapter brings us back to the lovely and luminous whole.

I’m fascinated by the passage that says young Myriel was passionate and even “violent,” and which goes on to explain how he became gentle because he chose to be. The results of this ongoing choice became as absolute and ineradicable as water eroding stone. It’s so counterintuitive, and it’s beautiful: this is a book where people can genuinely choose to change. Goodness isn’t about having always been mild and irreproachable.

If only Valjean had known.

And this passage:

One morning he was in his garden, and thought himself alone; but his sister was walking behind him; all at once he stopped and looked at something on the ground: it was a large, black, hairy, horrible spider. His sister heard him say:

“Poor thing! it is not his fault.”

I have a long list of disagreements with the Les Mis Reading Companion podcast, but one of the host’s more compelling points is about the use of spiders in the text: she connects them to ideas of fate and fatefulness.

If that’s true, this moment feels like the bishop remaining outside the dark fate that binds the other characters, looking ahead at the disasters that follow. If the spider metaphor is right, this passage is an expression of compassion for even the darkest pieces of what is to come.

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

Round 1, Matchup 14: I.i.13 vs I.i.14

[cliozaur]

A Kantian idyll for Bishop Myriel: "what is there left to desire beyond it? A little garden in which to walk, and immensity in which to dream. At one’s feet that which can be cultivated and plucked; over head that which one can study and meditate upon: some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky."

[pilferingapples]

!!! Neill illustrated LM? Somehow I'd missed that! Thank you for the info!:D

The Bishop of Digne 🤝 The Tin Woodman of Oz:

Why not record this almost divine infantilism, evidence as it is of goodness? Puerile trifles, if you like; childishness, but sublime childishness such as that of Saint Francis of Assisi and Marcus Aurelius. One day he actually twisted his ankle trying to avoid treading on an ant.

...

Thereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road, and when he saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as not to harm it. The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything.

And hey, they've both been illustrated by John R. Neill!