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Full Online Book HomeLong StoriesLes Miserables - Volume III - BOOK SEVENTH - PATRON MINETTE - Chapter III. Babet, Gueulemer, Claquesous, and Montparnasse
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Les Miserables - Volume III - BOOK SEVENTH - PATRON MINETTE - Chapter III. Babet, Gueulemer, Claquesous, and Montparnasse Post by :kmcvay Category :Long Stories Author :Victor Hugo Date :March 2011 Read :2688

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Les Miserables - Volume III - BOOK SEVENTH - PATRON MINETTE - Chapter III. Babet, Gueulemer, Claquesous, and Montparnasse

A quartette of ruffians, Claquesous, Gueulemer, Babet, and Montparnasse
governed the third lower floor of Paris, from 1830 to 1835.

Gueulemer was a Hercules of no defined position. For his lair he had
the sewer of the Arche-Marion. He was six feet high, his pectoral muscles
were of marble, his biceps of brass, his breath was that of a cavern,
his torso that of a colossus, his head that of a bird. One thought
one beheld the Farnese Hercules clad in duck trousers and a cotton
velvet waistcoat. Gueulemer, built after this sculptural fashion,
might have subdued monsters; he had found it more expeditious to
be one. A low brow, large temples, less than forty years of age,
but with crow's-feet, harsh, short hair, cheeks like a brush, a beard
like that of a wild boar; the reader can see the man before him.
His muscles called for work, his stupidity would have none of it.
He was a great, idle force. He was an assassin through coolness.
He was thought to be a creole. He had, probably, somewhat to do
with Marshal Brune, having been a porter at Avignon in 1815.
After this stage, he had turned ruffian.

The diaphaneity of Babet contrasted with the grossness of Gueulemer.
Babet was thin and learned. He was transparent but impenetrable.
Daylight was visible through his bones, but nothing through his eyes.
He declared that he was a chemist. He had been a jack of all trades.
He had played in vaudeville at Saint-Mihiel. He was a man of purpose,
a fine talker, who underlined his smiles and accentuated his gestures.
His occupation consisted in selling, in the open air, plaster busts
and portraits of "the head of the State." In addition to this,
he extracted teeth. He had exhibited phenomena at fairs,
and he had owned a booth with a trumpet and this poster:
"Babet, Dental Artist, Member of the Academies, makes physical
experiments on metals and metalloids, extracts teeth, undertakes
stumps abandoned by his brother practitioners. Price: one tooth,
one franc, fifty centimes; two teeth, two francs; three teeth,
two francs, fifty. Take advantage of this opportunity."
This Take advantage of this opportunity meant: Have as many teeth
extracted as possible. He had been married and had had children.
He did not know what had become of his wife and children. He had
lost them as one loses his handkerchief. Babet read the papers,
a striking exception in the world to which he belonged. One day,
at the period when he had his family with him in his booth on wheels,
he had read in the Messager, that a woman had just given birth to a child,
who was doing well, and had a calf's muzzle, and he exclaimed:
"There's a fortune! my wife has not the wit to present me with a child
like that!"

Later on he had abandoned everything, in order to "undertake Paris."
This was his expression.

Who was Claquesous? He was night. He waited until the sky was daubed
with black, before he showed himself. At nightfall he emerged from
the hole whither he returned before daylight. Where was this hole?
No one knew. He only addressed his accomplices in the most absolute
darkness, and with his back turned to them. Was his name Claquesous?
Certainly not. If a candle was brought, he put on a mask.
He was a ventriloquist. Babet said: "Claquesous is a nocturne
for two voices." Claquesous was vague, terrible, and a roamer.
No one was sure whether he had a name, Claquesous being a sobriquet;
none was sure that he had a voice, as his stomach spoke more
frequently than his voice; no one was sure that he had a face,
as he was never seen without his mask. He disappeared as though he
had vanished into thin air; when he appeared, it was as though he
sprang from the earth.

A lugubrious being was Montparnasse. Montparnasse was a child;
less than twenty years of age, with a handsome face, lips like cherries,
charming black hair, the brilliant light of springtime in his eyes;
he had all vices and aspired to all crimes.

The digestion of evil aroused in him an appetite for worse. It was
the street boy turned pickpocket, and a pickpocket turned garroter.
He was genteel, effeminate, graceful, robust, sluggish, ferocious.
The rim of his hat was curled up on the left side, in order to make
room for a tuft of hair, after the style of 1829. He lived by robbery
with violence. His coat was of the best cut, but threadbare.
Montparnasse was a fashion-plate in misery and given to the commission
of murders. The cause of all this youth's crimes was the desire
to be well-dressed. The first grisette who had said to him:
"You are handsome!" had cast the stain of darkness into his heart,
and had made a Cain of this Abel. Finding that he was handsome,
he desired to be elegant: now, the height of elegance is idleness;
idleness in a poor man means crime. Few prowlers were so dreaded
as Montparnasse. At eighteen, he had already numerous corpses
in his past. More than one passer-by lay with outstretched arms
in the presence of this wretch, with his face in a pool of blood.
Curled, pomaded, with laced waist, the hips of a woman, the bust
of a Prussian officer, the murmur of admiration from the boulevard
wenches surrounding him, his cravat knowingly tied, a bludgeon
in his pocket, a flower in his buttonhole; such was this dandy of
the sepulchre.

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