#lm 3.7.2

[scuttleton]

LM 3.7.2

Back to my savior, "The Lowest Depths". It's nice being able to enjoy some pros about the sewers of society after having to endure everything with Marius and Tholomyès. I don't know how long it will last but I'm determined to enjoy it while I can.

They are brutally voracious, that is to say, ravenous, not tyrant-like but tiger-like.

This is a really neat comparison. Tyrants are in positions of power, or else there's nothing for them to be a tyrant over. They are noticeable, and they are often times aware of the law, but above the law because of the power they wield. Tigers, well, there is no law to a tiger. You can try to catch a tiger that's roaming a city and lock it up because it's a danger to others, but the tiger has no sense of right and wrong. No morals. A tiger is a tiger and it will attack and eat whenever it feels like it. And you certainly won't know there's a tiger stalking you down until it's already upon you. No overt, controlling power being exercised, just a silent threat that could come at you at any given moment if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We have just seen, in Book Four, one of the chambers of the upper mine, of the great political, revolutionary and philosophical tunnel. There, as we have just said, everything is noble, honourable, admirable, honest. There, certainly, mistakes might be made, mistakes are made, but so much heroism is involved, any erring is to be respected. All the work done there has a name: Progress. The moment has come to take a glimpse at other depths, hideous depths.

Ooh are we about to get the antithesis to the Amis?

I wonder for what reason we have departed from Marius and are going to investigate the criminal underworld. It is probably going to be a surprise tool that will help us later so to speak, but I wonder for what. I feel like it would be odd for us not to return to Marius and his love story after we're done here, even though I would love to hope otherwise, so I'm assuming this relates back to that in some way. Unless we go to the Amis after this, and then circle back to Marius after that? Since those in this third level, so to speak, have been pretty much directly compared to the Amis as being their opposites, this could be setting the stage for some sort of conflict between the two groups. Alternatively, since Marius had his dealings with the Amis, perhaps he'll next have his dealings with the antithesis group. He sort of rejected the Amis... I can't really foresee him accepting the offerings of terrible criminals, but also... He's dumb sometimes. He might get tricked by them or something. Or maybe Lanoire gets accosted by bad guys, and the idiot stops lurking around and does something and that's how they actually properly come to interact.

There's a variety of ways this could go. Could very well be a secret nth option I'm not even aware of.

As usual, I guess I'll find out.

[secretmellowblog]

not many people know this but when Hugo was talking about the “lowest mines” of society he was actually referring to Reddit

[les-mis-daily-doodles]

destroy the evil!!

[lmchaptertitlebracket]

III.vii.2 Le bas-fond

Which is your favorite translation of this chapter title?

The Lowest Depth

The Bottom

The Lowest Depths

The Lowest Level

The Dregs

Voting ended onJan 7, 2025

The Lowest Depth: Wilbour, Gray

The Bottom: Wraxall

The Lowest Depths: Hapgood, FMA, Donougher

The Lowest Level: Denny

The Dregs: Rose

[patron-minette]

“The Lowest Depths” are where we now stand.

Whatever dwells here is not human, at least not upon first glance. The animalistic descriptors and repeated use of “they” separates “us” from these “almost beasts, almost phantoms”. Through this, Hugo is able to completely ‘Other’ the inhabitants of this “great cavern of evil”.

In this darkness the very things that define humanity— social order, human thought, philosophy, revolution, progress— are undermined. Thus, we find ourselves now existing beneath society, trapped in a cavern where destruction is the sole purpose.

In the absence of any societal structure, the plunging darkness that harbours chaos and hatred then gives birth to crime. Here then, there is only “theft, prostitution, murder, assassination”. Delving far below the tunnels of Marat and Babeuf, we are now rubbing shoulders with Cartouche and Schinderhannes— two notorious, real-life criminals of the age— and also two likely figures of inspiration for the fictional rogues of the Patron-Minette. (x)

At the bottom of this vault we are greeted by Satan himself: Pierre François Lacenaire. This real murderer was perhaps the most famous French criminal of the nineteenth-century. Rather ironically in relation to this chapter, Lacenaire also proclaimed himself to be a poet and philosopher. He even worked on vaudeville plays and wrote his own memoirs from prison!… Yet, he presently stands in a cavern that Hugo states “knows no philosophers; its dagger has never cut a pen”...

The chapter concludes with a chilling revelation that these terrifying demons, phantoms, and beasts were (contrary to the statement at the beginning of this chapter) all once human: being made from the same “clay” and sharing “the same flesh in the present, the same ashes afterwards”. However, what separates us from them in these social mines is “incurable blackness”, a dark force of ignorance (and, to a lesser extent, misery) that breeds crime and creates monstrous figures.

One last point: there is an undeniable presence of sensation, spectacle, and theatricality within these horrifying depths. Although we are repulsed by such monsters, are we not also drawn in and captivated by them to a certain extent (or perhaps that is just me)? Anyhow, let us keep this in mind as we prepare for some new introductions tomorrow.

[dolphin1812]

A quick note: @patron-minette has lots of analysis and resources on this digression, so please look there if you'd like more information!

The people at this level are very quickly dehumanized as "demons" at the same time that their position in what is basically Hell is emphasized. Ugolino, mentioned in the first paragraph, was a medieval Italian noble, but he's more famous for being in Dante's Inferno. He's in the deepest circle of Hell (the 9th) that's reserved for traitors, suggesting that these people both suffer the most severe punishments (as one would while descending into Hell in the epic) and have committed the worst offenses. Unlike the tormented in Dante, though, these people suffer before they've committed crimes:

"They have a guide, necessity; and for all forms of satisfaction, appetite. They are brutally voracious, that is to say, ferocious, not after the fashion of the tyrant, but after the fashion of the tiger. From suffering these spectres pass to crime; fatal affiliation, dizzy creation, logic of darkness."

Necessity pushes them to crime, then, not inherent evil. Criminals have been compared to tigers several times before, but here, the animal is also contrasted with "the tyrant." Tyrants can be malicious when they harm people. Tigers, acting on necessity or responses that can't be communicated to people, cannot. The animal comparison dehumanizes the people who dwell at this layer, but it also implies that the fault for their crimes lies less with them - as they've been forced to behave this way out of necessity - and more with the environment itself. While Hugo's language can seem condescending (their "ignorance" is positioned as something "civilized" people like him - and we as his audience - can "fix," and he doesn't explore the question of agency in great depth), this was a significant stance in his time. Whether people were inherently criminal or society forced them to turn to crime was a major debate in his time (and aspects of that discussion linger today), so for him to clearly state his position was notable. It's not surprising, in a novel about how poverty made a man steal a loaf of bread and then the criminal justice system ruined his life, but it's important nonetheless. One could always read Valjean as a particularly noble exception, when in reality, a small amount of social support (the bishop's trust, hospitality, and gifts) were all that kept him from becoming part of this realm. This context doesn't justify Hugo's dehumanizing language, but it does offer another example of the tension between Hugo's insensitive and stereotypical depictions of the poor as a group and his sympathy for individual stories.

This isn't really analysis, but I love the phrase "its dagger [the dagger of this cavern] has never cut a pen." It offers a great historical detail for modern readers (pens were cut with knives) while also illustrating that the dagger there isn't for creation, but destruction. His indirect approach here (saying this instead of, for instance, "no one wrote anything about philosophy") feels quite evocative and poetic.

[cliozaur]

Hugo would have made an amazing horror writer. “The demon is vaguely outlined; each one is for himself. The I in the eyes howls, seeks, fumbles, and gnaws” – welcome to the world of nightmares! His creatures of this lowest underworld don’t even deserve to be called people; they are instead “spectres,” “almost beasts,” “almost phantoms,” man “becomes a dragon.” Even their ferociousness is not that “of the tyrant,” but that of an animal, “the tiger.” An amazing dehumanization!

On the other hand, Hugo’s depiction of the criminal world demonstrates a significant shift in the attitude towards crime and criminals compared to the early modern era. At that time no one would talk about the social causes of crime; it was simply seen as a manifestation of evil nature, often beyond redemption, and the criminal had to be publicly punished as a warning to others (there were no penitential institutions, even as a concept). In the nineteenth century, progressive people like Hugo already knew that crime was a result of social ills, such as ignorance and poverty. We have already read about it in the gamin digressions, where little gamins were portrayed as potential criminals. However, once a criminal reaches these lowest depths, they seem to be beyond any hope. Jean Valjean is a completely different type of criminal (according to the logic of this chapter, he was far from descending deep underground with his petty theft) with his own redemption arc. But it is crucial for Hugo to show the full spectrum of crime. The topic of crime and punishment fascinated him throughout his life.

This chapter is once again filled with beautiful imagery. I particularly appreciated the contrast between subversive revolutionary philosophy (existing on the upper levels of the underground world), with its idea of progress, and the chthonic criminality found in the lowest level, ignorant of the very idea of progress: “This cavern knows no philosophers; its dagger has never cut a pen. Its blackness has no connection with the sublime blackness of the inkstand. Never have the fingers of night which contract beneath this stifling ceiling, turned the leaves of a book nor unfolded a newspaper.” Revolutionary philosophy, which is all “pure, noble, dignified, honest,” is undermined by this darkness and chaos, whose “name is simply theft, prostitution, murder, assassination.”

[gavroche-le-moineau]

Collecting times that Hugo refers to misery as a mother (or step-mother*) because I like how the original concept album uses / twists this idea in the lyrics of the unused song "L'air de la misère". (The tune was used for "On My Own" in the Broadway production, but "L'air de la misère" was sung by Fantine, in addition to the equivalent of "I Dreamed a Dream".)

I'm working on my own translation of the lyrics with annotations but you can find a good translation with the original French here.

“De fermes et rares natures sont ainsi créées ; la misère, presque toujours marâtre, est quelquefois mère ; le dénûment enfante la puissance d’âme et d’esprit ; la détresse est nourrice de la fierté ; le malheur est un bon lait pour les magnanimes.” “Firm and rare natures are thus created; misery, almost always a step-mother, is sometimes a mother; destitution gives birth to might of soul and spirit; distress is the nurse of pride; unhappiness is a good milk for the magnanimous.” - LM 3.5.1

“Elles [les silhouettes farouches] ont deux mères, toutes deux marâtres, l’ignorance et la misère.” “They [the wild spectres] have two mothers, both step-mothers, ignorance and misery.” - LM 3.7.2

*Does anyone have theories as to why Hugo uses step-mother instead of mother for misery? The evil step-mother trope from fairy tales comes to mind, but so do misogynistic tropes of step-mothers as nagging/overbearing (which I'm sure is not unrelated to the first).