#sewers digression

[cliozaur]

It's amusing how Hugo portrays the sewers as a terra incognita, implying that the sewer system somehow emerged naturally and remained unknown until 1805 (but he will write about the history of sewers in the next chapters).

He provides such a detailed description of the filth inundation of 1802 that I immediately wanted to see how it correlates with the map of Paris (there are many good maps available of the Paris sewer system). Then there's the intricate description of sewer openings from which various pestilences were believed to spread. And when I read this "The popular imagination seasoned the sombre Parisian sink with some indescribably hideous intermixture of the infinite," it reminded me of the Infinite from the convent digression, and I couldn't help but start giggling.

And now, a man ironically named Bruneseau is about to venture into the sewers. I'm intrigued.

[cliozaur]

The best part of today's chapter: "This network of cellars has its immemorial population of prowlers, rodents, swarming in greater numbers than ever; from time to time, an aged and veteran rat risks his head at the window of the sewer and surveys the Parisians; but even these vermin grow tame, so satisfied are they with their subterranean palace."

[cliozaur]

The contrast is striking: from the beautiful and romanticized deaths to the inventive escape, and then to profound reflections on the utility of human faeces. Here we find ourselves in the sewers, surrounded mostly by that. Hugo laments how Parisians squander this resource by discarding it into the sea instead of utilizing it as fertilizer.

Some years back, I translated Vaclav Smil's book on energy and civilization, so I'm afraid I know more about fertilizers than I'd like. In short, using human waste directly as fertilizer isn't a great idea. It can contaminate the soil and pollute it with alkali and salt. Additionally, its nitrogen content is quite low. That's why Europeans paid a premium “to collect the dung of petrels and penguins,” to be precise, to collect guano from islands like Ichaboe—during Hugo's time, more than 300,000 tonnes of guano were exported from there, as it contained a much higher percentage of nitrogen.

And it’s so amusing to read that “Parisian guano being the richest of all.” But I’m afraid, it was not rich enough in terms of nitrogen content.

Nevertheless, the last few paragraphs describing "Paris beneath another Paris" are enthralling. The subterranean world of sewers with its own streets, squares, and crossroads—it's both organic, like coral, and artificial, akin to a city or a man-made labyrinth. This bleak depiction slightly echoes the digression about mines and miners, although that focused on intellectual and moral subversion rather than material mines. But it still feels as if there is a connection between sewers and mines.

[cliozaur]

Hugo’s method of measuring governments’ achievements by the length of sewers they’ve built ­— there is something Freudian in it (Louis Philippe’s sewers were the longest).

We did not ask for this, but Hugo still told us about technical peculiarities and difficulties related to the construction of the sewers. It seems the rosy picture painted in the previous chapter of clean, straightened sewers was an exaggeration. The reality remained foul and hazardous—so, be prepared; it won't be a stroll for Jean Valjean. The popular saying 'to descend into the sewer is to enter the grave' reveals the grim state of these tunnels.  

I am glad that Hugo finally mentioned cholera, although not in the context of the 1832 epidemic and the impending dangers for Valjean and Marius. Frankly, the chapter's title is somewhat misleading: upon reading it, I found nothing about 'future progress.' Instead, I encountered a lot of nineteenth-century nonsense about miasms in the air and healthy water.

[cliozaur]

It appears that Hugo harbours conflicting feelings about the modernization of sewers. As a proponent of Progress, he should find it gratifying: well-organized, straightened, and no longer dark. Even the police reports show increased respect towards it. My favourite image depicting the present 'respectable' state of the sewer is that of contented, well-fed rats peering through its windows: “This network of cellars has its immemorial population of prowlers, rodents, swarming in greater numbers than ever; from time to time, an aged and veteran rat risks his head at the window of the sewer and surveys the Parisians; but even these vermin grow tame, so satisfied are they with their subterranean palace.”

However, Hugo as a Romantic writer seems to feel nostalgic for the previous state of affairs. My dear Villon is mentioned again: he would hardly recognize this place now that it's lost its former sombre mystery.

Hugo uses the term 'transmutation' from alchemy (the same in the original French text) to describe these changes, highlighting the magical aspect of this process. He also labels it a revolution, likening old man Bruneseau to a revolutionary in this transformation.

[cliozaur]

This section is truly captivating! It reads more engagingly than an exotic travelogue. And believe it or not, Bruneseau and his team's sewer adventures are more thrilling than Livingstone's exploits in Africa. Their seven-year exploration of sewers was an ingenious plan because this way these guys avoided the massacre of the Napoleonic wars. Not that this expedition was any less perilous: just think about people fainting in the foul air and nearly drowning in excrement. Yet, amidst the dangers, they discovered both fascinating and appalling things! Appalling, like in-pace, and unexpected, such as finding an orangutan's skeleton. Additionally, they stumbled upon valuable treasures like precious stones, gold, and silver. It's intriguing to learn that parts of the fifteenth-century sewers are more resilient than more recent constructions. The party’s greatest accomplishment was cleaning, disinfecting, and organizing the sewers.

The final paragraph, vividly describing the horrid state of the sewers before the inspection, serves as a perfect metaphor for the ancien régime. Hugo implies that this era has been left behind, which is good news for Valjean and Marius.

[cliozaur]

The one in which Hugo once again employs an oriental discourse and digs deeply into the material and moral essence of sewers. He compares the plan of Parisian sewers with “eccentric oriental alphabet” with “the misshapen letters.” Always exoticize what you cannot quite understand!

Here, the parallels drawn between sewers and mines, connected through their association with criminal elements, are vivid. My favourite piece is this: “here and there are breathing-holes, where Villon within converses with Rabelais without” – Villon, a poet and convicted criminal who could hide in sewers, and Rabelais, who just got his inspiration from some criminal elements, and thus he is positioned “without” but still in communication with such figures like Villon.

In the part about “the sincerity of foulness,” Hugo refers to what I would call excremental archaeology. When one encounters someone's excrement, there's little else that person can hide. On the other hand, sewers, the receptacles of all filth, serve as the perfect haven for murderers to conceal trace of their crimes, and to which dirty water “in which bloody hands have been washed flows,” but once all these things end up there, it reveals the truth about what transpired.