Gold Coins and Wedding Rings

Looking back on our time bookpacking, one of the most exciting locations we visited was the church of Saint Louis du Marais. At this church, notable sequences in both A Tale of Two Cities and Les Miserables unfold!

In A Tale of Two Cities, Monsieur the Marquis, a heartless French aristocrat, strikes and kills a poor boy with his carriage at this site. “With wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashed through the streets and swept round corners, with women screaming before it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out of the way. At last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of the wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices, and the horse reared and plunged” (Dickens 114). At this moment, a child is murdered by the rich man, who then shows no remorse; “ It is extraordinary to me,’ said he, ‘that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children”, and then “He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell” (115). Needless to say, this is a truly loathesome man. Flippantly paying a grieving father a gold coin for the loss of his son is utterly despicable. His complete lack of respect for the lower class is alarming and disgusting. Spoiler alert, Monsieur the Marquis is killed later for his actions- woohoo!

The Marquis by Harry Furniss

Alternatively, in Les Miserables, Cosette and Marius are wedded within the very same church. Readers of the foreword will note that this wedding date, February 17th 1833, is no coincidence: “Marius and Cosette’s wedding night- which was the date of Hugo’s first night with the actress Juliette Drouet, when ‘I awoke with love’, which began a liaison that lasted for fifty years” (Tombs XXV). Regardless of the scandalous origin of the date of this union, Hugo describes the day of the ceremony with “ It had been a wonderful day. It was not the fairy-tale wedding dreamed of by the grandfather, a fantastic spectacle with a riot of cherubim and cupids above their heads of the bridal pair, a marriage scene to grace a door panel, but it was charming and delightful” (Hugo 1219). He clarifies after that this is because weddings were rushed in those days and there is too much fuss. This is ironic because upon entering the church, I saw nothing but beauty and luxury- how could this not be a fairytale? You can feel the aura of warmth in the place even though it is made of cool stone, and imagining the moment at which Cosette and Marius become a married couple is such a lovely sight.

It is fascinating to me that in these two stories, such different displays of intense emotion are shown. For A Tale of Two Cities, some of the worst moments of humanity are shown in this part. The desperation and hopelessness of the crowd in tandem with the selfishness and lack of respect of the Marquis highlight some of the most horrible aspects of mankind. A polar opposite is drawn in Les Miserables. With this wedding, what a beautiful and light display of human compassion is observed!

Interestingly enough, in the books there exists one slight parallel: the loss of a child. While in Dickens’ story, a little boy is cruelly murdered, a different (and certainly less gruesome) kind of loss is felt by Valjean and Guillenormand, Marius’ grandfather who behaves as a father. For Valjean and Guillenormand, their children are given up for one another. They become, at the altar, a union separate from their parents. They no longer will rely on their nuclear family, as they are starting their own, and Cosette takes Marius’ last name. It is within Valjean that a deep sadness brews with the loss of his little girl, which is only intensified by his loneliness without a wife or family or friends; He feels the loss intensely whereas Guillenormand is more gleefully celebratory of this union. While the father in A Tale of Two Cities physically loses his son, these parental figures in Les Miserables lose their children in a different kind of way. 

Now this area shows little trace of the stage on which these stories are set. The nearby fountain described by Hugo is nowhere to be found, but one can easily spot a cluster of metro stations and a spectacularly gaudy carousel in the square today. Although it takes a bit of brain power, if you stand on these stone streets, you can still picture the evil striking of the nameless boy and if you float into the church, you can imagine the pomp of the wedding. In the echoes of Saint Louis du Marais, you may even hear Cosette and Marius whispering their “I do’s”. 

Following a Snotty Finale

If you asked me the last time I cried, like REALLY cried, I would tell you just a couple of weeks ago when I was finishing up Les Miserables. With 16 pages to go, I was a hyperventilating MESS wiping my nose on a nearby shirt (like a heathen) and trying to flip through the ending without getting tears on the pages. Please laugh at this video proof- I think its hilarious. I beg of you to read this book yourself so you can see exactly why I was sniffling and sobbing, but I shall let you in on a bit of it to understand a little of how Hugo sets up the ending.

“During the last months of spring and the first months of summer 1833, the occasional passer-by in the Marais, shopkeepers, people idling at the doorways, noticed an old man, neatly dressed in black, who every day at the same time, towards nightfall, emerged from Rue de l’Homme-Arme, on the Rue Ste-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie side, walked past Blancs-Manteux up to Rue Culture-Ste-Catherine, and at Rue de-l’Echarpe turned left to Rue St. Louis” (1273).

This man, of course, is an aging Jean Valjean. After Marius and Cosette have been married, they live happily ever after at Marius’ grandfathers’ house. Valjean is allowed to visit every night if he so chooses. When Valjean discloses his true identity to Marius and does not have Cosette’s company, he finds himself an outcast in his family. Although he is allowed to visit Cosette once a day, he slowly begins to come less and less as Marius grows more protective. He eventually stops coming for fear that he does not deserve to keep her in his life as an ex-con and she does not care for him now that she has a husband. As a class, we mapped this path that Valjean walks from his home (which is near the modern-day historically Gay part of the Marais), deeper into the city to the Pontmercy's house.

Here we can see part of the path Valjean took! This is the Rue Ste-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie.

“Little by little, the old man ceased to go as far as the corner of Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire. He would stop halfway, in Rue St-Louis, sometimes a little further off, sometimes a little closer. One day he stopped at the corner of Rue Culture-Ste-Catherine and looked towards Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire from a distance. Then he silently shook his head, as if denying himself something, and he turned back” (1274).

One of the intersections Valjean does not go past when he walks to visit Cosette and Marius, but turns back.

This part of the story completely broke my heart because Valjean’s sacrifice has left him with nothing and no one can truly understand him. “The local women said, ‘He’s simple-minded.’ Children would follow after him laughing” (1274). Imagining Valjean, a strong man in an aging body, make this long journey everyday until he is broken by it is absolutely heart wrenching. It is a popular street and the Marais has always been a busy part of town; I can very clearly see this white-haired man with folds in his neck and a bent back struggling to make his way through crowds to visit his only family, only to decide it is pointless.

When he is living his final moments, Cosette and Marius visit him full of love and guilt that they should not have stayed away. They share a beautiful moment where Valjean soothes all of their thoughts and holds them both as he passes on. Although he has suffered throughout his entire life, always placing especially Cosette’s wellbeing before his own, he continues to choose love and forgiveness. To choose light everyday is incredibly hard, and yet Valjean can serve as an example for all of us. Although I heaved hilariously ridiculous sobs, I also smiled. This ending truly is remarkable and one I could re-read for hours, so I am so appreciative of being able to visit the sites of Valjean’s lonesome walk, but moreover, the places where he decided to love from afar and to forgive without bounds.

Deck the Halls with Boughs of Hugo

Would Victor Hugo celebrate Christmas? This may seem like a silly question (who cares, Tori?), but our in-class conversations following our visits to many different churches in Paris have spurred interest in Hugo's religious beliefs. Les Miserables is a Christian-charged text- featuring biblically inspired characters, highlighting spaces of worship, and even directly talking about God- but the book itself feels more appreciative of spirituality than organized religion. He offers conflicting tidbits about Christianity and he talks critically of religion as an institution especially when he delves into the convent that Valjean and Cosette take refuge in. I also relate to this complex relationship with Christianity, but I choose to celebrate Christmas every year. If I invited Hugo to the Coleman family Christmas, would he come?

When first mentioning the sisters of the monastery, he declares “This book is a drama whose main character is the infinite. Man is the second character” (460). Coming from a man who is critical of the Christian church whilst writing at length about it, this is a particularly interesting statement. What is Hugo’s Infinite? Is it God or another force? Hugo uses the convent in Les Miserables as a vehicle for readers to understand his concept of the infinite. “This is not a place to develop certain ideas at unreasonable length; nevertheless, while abiding absolutely by our reservations, strictures and even censures, we must say that every time we encounter in man the infinite, well or ill understood, we have a feeling of respect. There is in a synagogue, the mosque, the pagoda, the wigwam, a hideous aspect that we loathe and a sublime aspect that we revere'' (Hugo 460). One can see from this passage that the Infinite is a feeling, not a person or a God. Like admiring the stained glass in the Place Saint-Gervais or appreciating the turquoise tile in the Grand Mosque, there is a certain kind of beauty that is appreciated by all- even if you are not affiliated with the religion itself; it is not just a materialistic notion of surface-level beauty, but also a moving feeling that one can only really ascribe to the Infinite. We can see that Hugo is a spiritual man, with both a reverence and distaste for religion, and he believes in the collective. I believe based on the text that he admires the common human struggle to search for destiny and he indugles in the goodness that is found in a unity. In many ways I can relate to this outlook.

I see many similarities between Christian education and the Convent of Perpetual Adoration in Les Miserables. Hugo discusses the complexities within places of education and religion in this section: “When speaking of convents- those places of error but also of innocence, of misguidedness but also of good intentions, of ignorance but also of devotion, of torture but also of martyrdom- almost always you have to say yes and no” (469). As Hugo describes here, organized religion can be both enlightening and ensnaring- traits I have observed in my time at Catholic schools as well. While I learned many amazing things during my educational journey, I also found that I was misled.

I grew up in private Catholic schooling where your education included receiving Catholic sacraments. On my birthday in second grade, I turned 8 and received my first communion! As a baptized and confirmed Catholic, I am now perfectly content as an agnostic. There are nuances and different schools of thought that rely on the devotee being knowledgeable and being given a choice, but what if that growing child is not offered a choice or cannot wrap their head around the huge big questions that either “side”- either organized religion or THE VOID- ask? As a kid, one cannot grasp an alternative when presented with a black-and-white teaching. This has led me to develop a respectfully critical and complex relationship with the Catholic Church.

 I have a specific memory of riding home with my mom after school and detailing one of my days in the sixth grade. I talked about what online typing games we were playing in the computer lab, that I joined in volleyball at lunch, and shared with her that I learned that abortion was absolutely and always wrong. My mother offered me another perspective. I am pro choice. I continued on to two separate private Catholic schools where I could receive an incredible education and get into schools like USC. Again and again I found similar stories: abstinence is the only option, gay love is wrong, etc. However confusing these teachings were to navigate as a growing adult, I cannot place blame on my schools for failing to show me the freedom of choices. These are the same institutions that helped me to learn my ABC’s and lead with the Golden Rule. I attended obligatory mass and prayed when asked to pray with slight frustration at the convenience of it all, but always washing these grievances down with the nectar of a brilliant education. I have nothing to complain about.

Do I reproach Catholic spaces after feeling partially betrayed by the teachings? Funnily enough, I feel no resentment, just resolution that I know what I know and that is all I know. I have my own thoughts and opinions, but I can still feel the Infinite everyday without a Bible or a rosary. With that being said, I think churches are beautiful and I can understand the magic in a space of worship without believing devoutly. During my time at USC I have wandered into several nearby churches just to feel the energy that they possess. I even recently visited my elementary school church (as pictured above) just to sit and admire that infinite. Seeing the spaces in Paris has been particularly exhilarating, as that aura feels even more palpable in historic spaces. After attending school-mandated masses twice a month for 12 years, I recognize that I do not believe in Catholicism, but I appreciate the beauty of the space in which people can observe the Infinite. Older now, I know that I can feel the infinite without pledging myself to a religion, just like Hugo.

To answer my earlier question, I think Hugo’s definition of the Infinite is an amalgamation of a lot of things. It is goodness, it is humanity, it is potential, it is peace but it is also the endless effort of trying. It is change. There cannot be goodness without darkness, so I believe despair to also be Infinite. Is religion not also fundamentally composed of the fear of being without love, salvation, and community? The Infinite is not limited to a church; it can be seen in the loving eyes of strangers observing a giggling baby toddle to her mother’s open arms, or when people who “can’t sing '' raise their voices to a choir during a concert set list. The Infinite is connection above all else.

Does celebrating Christmas feel strange if one is not religious? I believe that Christmas is a day to celebrate the birth of Christ, but more importantly, it is about feeling the Infinite. Like Hugo, religion to me is a complex phenomenon that I both have a true respect for but also a distaste and confusion. I too can understand that absolutism can be damaging, but moderation can be freeing. My family is not religious, nor am I, and we have always been comfortable in that. My family still celebrates Christmas, despite none of us being particularly religious. We don’t just put up a meager branch and do a quiet gift exchange. Our Christmas involves hosting the entire family but both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, a mountain of presents leaking from beneath the tallest tree into the next rooms, a crackling fire warming your back as you sit and listen to the four conversations being held at once. Christmas for me is about the sacredness of connection, not about the system of Christianity or even the belief in nativity. It is a moment of respect and scrutiny for religion and for tradition, but more importantly, it is about the energies humans bring to cultivate a connected space. Like in the stained glass in a church, the Infinite is felt in my home. In the same way that Hugo respects and indulges in moderation to the spirituality of religion to reach the Infinite, I think he would celebrate Christmas. If I could invite him, Victor Hugo would come to the Coleman family Christmas.

The Pour Barricade of Rue de la Chanvrerie

We all know the Seven Wonders of the World, but one of the less celebrated miracles of Earth is the weather in Paris. I have been repeatedly taunted by the weather app as I have set out for our adventures umbrella-less only to find that the “10% chance of rain” has become instead a torrential downpour, comically complete with booming thunder and zaps of lightning. Under looming slate-colored clouds ready to drench us at any moment, we persevered in the face of fickle weather to bookpack! Today (the 4th) we have found the sites of two exceptional moments in Les Miserables: the bridge where Javert commits suicide and the Society of the ABC’s barricade where the revolutionaries fight for freedom! I will be focusing on discovering the barricade in this blog.

To begin, to aid in his storytelling, Hugo includes descriptions that point out where exactly the barricade was constructed by the young scholars. Hugo writes “-those who want to picture to themselves with reasonable accuracy the blocks of houses that stood at the time near Pointe St-Eustache at the north-east corner of Paris’s Les Halles, where today Rue Rambuteau begins, have only to imagine the letter N with Rue St-Denis running along the top of it and Les Halles along the base, and the two vertical legs representing Rude de La Grande Truanderie and Rue de la Chanvrerie, with Rue de la Petite-Truanderie running obliquely between them” (974). Interestingly enough, this is quite a ways away from the Latin Quarter where these revolutionary students would have lived. Below, you can observe where we have marked in our copy of the map used at the time of Hugo’s writing where this would be.

Here is the map from the 1800s that was used by Hugo at the time of Les Mis

Setting out in a light rain, we walked from the Seine to the barricade. Along this quick journey, the drizzle became an stormy shower, but nothing will deter bookpackers who are on the case! Although much has changed from the 19th century, there are still some roads that a modern bookpacker can use to identify the whereabouts of the barricade. We walked through the cobblestone streets underscored by the harsh patter of rain on umbrellas and the occasional clap of thunder looking for the location of our brave ill-fated heroes’ final battle. Using the Rue de La Petite-Truanderie and its intersection with both Rue Mondetour and Rue de la Grande-Truanderie, we were able to find where the Corinthe tavern and barricade were built and destroyed.

Screenshot of our destination today- check out those street names!

This 1848 Rue de la Chanvrerie barricade was not terribly tall, a less intimidating barricade when compared to the St-Antoine and the Fauborg du Temple barricades of 1932, but it was solid. It was first erected to be about 6 or 7 feet high, mainly from cobblestones and casks adorned with jagged pieces from carts (we can observe this on page 993). Hugo paints a vivid image as to its overnight improvement; “The insurgents under Enjolras’s supervision- for Marius no longer paid attention to anything- had made good use of the night. The barricade had been not only repaired but enlarged. It had been made two feet higher. Iron bars stuck in between the cobblestones looked like couched lances. All sorts of added debris brought from all around gave it a more intricately meshed exterior. The redoubt had been cleverly reworked into a defence wall on the inside and a tangled thicket on the outside” (1057). It is an impressive structure, with its two separate barricade walls, to envision. The two streets blockaded are pictured below!

Hugo describes this Les Halles area as being full of tenements, and calls them “dark” and “cramped”. This part of town was dirty and grubby, but the law kept a steady watch on it. Today it is an entirely different scene to behold. Les Halles features an assortment of small cafes overshadowed by an ugly Westfield mall & bustling metro station. Given that not much has been kept of the “Old France” and there are many new streets, it took a considerable amount of imagination for me to visualize what this battle would have looked like. When comparing this particular adventure to endeavors where our destinations still retain old monuments or other tangible, standing glimpses into the past, this location required considerable mental imaging to envision. With the rain pouring down, I closed my eyes and envisioned climbing those stone steps of the barricade to peer across at the guardsmen. I pictured Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac directing their fellow freedom fighters outside, while Javert awaits his demise inside. I thought of Grantaire drinking in his corner, accompanied by Pere Mabeuf’s ghost. I saw Marius’ unknowing kiss for Eponine as she died protecting him at the barricade. All of these moments from the story were from a past that no longer presses on the minds of the present, but continues to influence us to this very day.

Rue Mondetour! One of the intersecting roads to the barricade.

Within minutes of reaching the barricade, the clouds stopped their crying and Helios began to shine again. The stony streets glowed as the sun reflected her beams, the whipping winds slowed to a gentle breeze. The people folded their umbrellas, laughing at the impermanence of the stormy conditions. Just as quickly as a barricade is built, it can be torn down. How quickly a life can become a ghost, but what a pleasure it is to believe in something and to enact real, rippling change! “ You can hardly tell, an hour after a storm, that this fair beauty, the day, has wept” (Hugo 1093).

Learning to Loiter

In Edmund White’s “The Flaneur: A Stroll Through the Paradoxes of Paris”, the author identifies the defining characteristic of Parisians: they like to loiter! “The flâneur is by definition endowed with enormous leisure, someone who can take off a morning or afternoon for undirected ambling. since a specific goal or a close rationing of time is antithetical to the true spirit of the flâneur”( White 2). White names “flaneurs” to be the continuers of a long legacy of French metropolitans to wander leisurely through the city. For centuries, flaneurs have mapped out Paris, learning as they walk through all of Her winding alleyways and observe her colorful inhabitants.

In our expeditions as a unit, I have taken in much of Paris, but I also recognize that this is not what White talks of when he references the lifestyle of the flaneur. A flaneur wanders, takes their time, and perhaps does not even have an end destination. Although I have greatly enjoyed soaking in Paris, and many different sides of Paris, with our outings, I know that I still have to learn how to loiter if I would like to access the most truthful Parisian experience.

Unfortunately since joining this trip, I have gotten pink eye (??? why), a sore throat, and finally a savage headache/cold combo! What horrid luck! Due to my illness(es), I had to take a sick day- in other words, I found fabulous flaneur freetime. With no goal in sight, except for a Farmacy*, I began my loitering. After leaving my accommodation, I bravely and resolutely decided to turn right with nothing but a dream. Immediately I began to people watch; I noticed a pair of tourists turn into a small neighborhood clothing store, an older man smoking a cigarette with his knees crossed surveying the street with a dutiful gaze, a van full of French militarymen (many of whom stared at me right back with a slightly different intention I can imagine) tumble by, and many more characters. I had left making the careful and conscious decision to abandon my beloved headphones in favor of hearing the chatter and hubbub of the streets. I listened to the melodic conversations of passing locals- from lovingly bickering parents to excitedly chattering girls who repeated “Barbie '' amongst a flurry of other words. I heard the small cars scooter by with putt’s and brrr’s, fellow flaneur feet scuff the pavement, and the cafes bustle on every street.

Although I could barely swallow, my eyes were tearing up, and my nose was runny, I was thoroughly content. To me, it was obvious I was not a local, so I was surprised when a middle-aged woman paused me on the street to inquire about something. She confidently purred “excusamoi” with the intention of asking a question but upon seeing my deer-in-headlights expression as I coughed out an American “oh! I-”, she cut me off with an eyeroll and a French scoff before brushing past me. Yes, I was mildly insulted, but I also was mildly pleased. Like a flaneur, I was a part of the community, of the crowd!

Baudelaire describes the flaneur with their relationship to the community; “The crowd is his domain, as the air is that of the bird or the sea of the fish. His passion and creed is to wed the crowd. For the perfect flâneur, for the passionate observer, it's an immense pleasure to take up residence in multiplicity, in whatever is seething, moving, evanescent and infinite: you're not at home, but you feel at home everywhere; you see everyone, you're at the centre of everything yet you remain hidden from everybody —these are just a few of the minor pleasures of those independent, passionate, impartial minds whom language can only awkwardly define” (1). These lines particularly resonated with me, as this concept is both so familiar and uncomfortable to me. It is widely known that humans need community and connection to live meaningful lives, but as an introvert, I know that I would like a balance of being seen and being alone. But perhaps alone means something metaphorical as well; can you drain your “social battery” if you become part of the crowd and lose your identity in favor of the flaneur lifestyle. If you are a part of the domain itself, are you present or more isolated than ever?

Anonymity gives us both great confidence in belonging and deep sadness in isolation. White comes to a similar sentiment with the following lines: “Imagine dying and being grateful you'd gone to heaven, until one day (or one century) it dawned on you that your main mood was melancholy, although you were constantly convinced that happiness lay just around the next corner. That's something like living in Paris for years, even decades. It's a mild hell so comfortable that it resembles heaven” (5). I can see how LA and Paris are akin in this ideology. Sometimes it feels as though a city can swallow you whole whilst deceiving you into thinking you are actually finding yourself. Like living in any city, I have no doubt that Parisians experience both great happiness from their home and also great confusion as the character of the city interacts with their identity. As a transplant, I cannot judge the flaneur lifestyle until I can fully understand it- which I sense would take weeks, months, or even years!

After a brief pitstop at a computer lounge and coffee counter, I marched onward to behold a beautiful Farmacy*. When I felt the relief flood my body, I knew it would be a while before I could truly embrace the art of the loiterer. I was happier to find my destination than to enjoy my sickly scamper through the city streets. The lights atop the shop made my eyes water- but was it the cold or was it… tears? Like a kid in a candy shop I surveyed my destination with wonder; such beautiful packaging and such intriguing verbiage that, again, I could not understand a lick of. Leaving hugging my Strepsils lozenges and my Sudafed with the gentleness and euphoria similar to that of cradling a newborn child, I thought to myself, “ I have lots to learn from the flaneurs”.

The only picture I took on my adventure!

*let the record show to continue the alliteration, I made the conscious decision to make this an F and not a PH

Do You Hear The People Sing?

From Oklahoma to Jagged Little Pill, I am an avid lover of musicals: classical or contemporary, original or jukebox, Broadway or West End. As a performer myself, I have watched, listened to, and loved hundreds of musical theatre shows, ergo it is very rare when I do not know much about a production- the musical of Les Miserables is one such exception!

The Opening Set!

Truthfully, I’m not sure if it was initial inoffensive disinterest, given the massive success of the staged version (afterall, anything that is so universally lauded is rarely as GroUnDBreAkinG as hyped up to be), or if I just forgot about the tried and true tale when I began to dive deeper and deeper into the musical theatre canon, uncovering more new pieces. Regardless, I was ecstatic to begin learning about Les Miserables when reading this summer and quickly realized why this beautiful story is so appreciated. I can offer an interesting perspective on the stage production, having read the book first without exposing myself to the musical!

All in all, it is impossible to ignore the pure genius it took in crafting a stage production of such an intense, winding, and iconic story. To take a 1306 page novel from the 1860s and to condense it into a 2-act, 2.5 hour musical is a feat beyond belief! I was intrigued to see what the writers- Claude Michel-Schoenberg, Alain Boublil, and Jean-Marc Natel- focused on for the musical. When examining the stage production, I was pleased to find it was quite true to the text, with a slight shift in focus on Eponine that the book did not delve into and minor adjustments to the story for the sake of dramatization. In the Hugo book, the text is divided into 3 different volumes: Fantine, Cosette, and Marius. Because of this, I was expecting for Valjean’s and Javert’s supporting character cast to include these three, but I found that Cosette’s character was made less significant than Eponine’s- a perplexing shift from the original story.

I noticed immediately that while Cosette sings her brief “I Want” song as a child (“Castle on a Cloud”), her character does not sing another song that is her own; Her next three tunes are duets and trios with Valjean and Marius (as well as Eponine) while also centering around her adoration for a man. As Professor Chater raised in class, this is notable as it paints her character as a woman who cannot exist alone, but solely in relation to men. I thought this was fascinating because the writers of the musical imposed a similar tragedy onto Eponine, as she only sings about her frustration at being invisible to Marius; after all of her suffering to help him, she is killed at the barricades and passes away in his arms, ultimately dying for the sacrifices she has given to a man who pays her no mind. Eponine is also clad in men's clothes, as if her dressing like a man will aid in earning Marius' affection. Other minor alterations to the plot, including a complete dis-inclusion of Marius’ family and an inflation of Gavroche’s ties to all characters and shift in the sewer scenes, were prominent as well to the reader of Les Miserable, but none so highlighted as the discrepancies between the women in the text and on the stage. Ultimately, I believe this to be a symptom of the general state of musical theatre in the 80’s. Of course, this does not absolve these critiques, but in understanding the whole condition of gender across musical theatre history, this is not a uniquely Les Mis frustration, nor is this prioritization of the male perspective unlike the book.

Despite noticing these things, I loved the musical and I had a wonderful time viewing the production! There is nothing like taking in such a timeless piece that has earned its spot in the most legendary musicals of all time with such a high production value, especially for my first time seeing the show. I thought the score was incredible and the actors were very strong with standout performances by the actors portraying Jean Valjean, Javert, and Fantine.

As a theatre major who has trained in voice and taken many classes on theatrical storytelling (amongst other performance related aspects), I had a lot of fun drawing connections through the music especially! Prior to watching the show, I was familiar with a few tunes- such as “On My Own” and “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables”- but generally unknowledgeable of the score. I noticed immediately in “Prologue/Look Down” that both of these songs are referenced.

The first example of this is when the melody to “On My Own”, a song sung by Eponine in the second act detailing her tragic invisibility to Marius, is played beneath Valjean’s release from prison. In this instance, the melody plays as underscoring for when Valjean is ostracized for being a convict following his freeing from the prison hulks. He sings about being alone and continuing to be punished when all he did was steal a loaf of bread for his sister’s ailing children. I thought this melodic comparison was very smart because when Eponine sings this song, she focuses in on her loneliness and her preserving desire to help Marius despite his blindness to her heartache. Both of these characters have faced intense hardship and have been sentenced to lives of struggle under the law. These characters are also akin in the sense that despite their suffering, they are benevolent and caring figures who have simply been dealt bad cards; Where Valjean becomes a self-made millionaire while incognito, sponsoring not just Cosette but also the villagers of their towns even when he lives frugally, Eponine works to help Marius in any way she can- even foiling her own father to keep him and Cosette safe. As Eponine and Fantine sing to Valjean when he passes away, “To love another person is to see the face of God”.

“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables”, a ballad cried by Marius when he realizes he is the only Friend of the ABC that is left living after the battle at the barricade, is referenced when Valjean is shown kindness by the Priest of Digne when he is pardoned for stealing his silver. Like the Priest forgave the ex-convict and saved Valjean’s soul “for God”, Valjean reciprocates this generosity when he rescues a dying Marius from the barricade. A significant aspect of “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” is Marius’ survivor's guilt when he believes he should have died alongside his friends for his actions in the revolution, which in turn is mirrored by Valjean’s belief that he deserves to suffer a life of punishment for taking advantage of an altruistic man even when he is shown kindness. Both men were shown divine kindness and in turn, grew to be better people.

Although these are just two examples of comparisons the musical makes, the story is peppered with analogies and references. I also enjoyed dissecting the production design choices; for example, when we were introduced to Cosette and Valjean’s house, it struck me that the gate between their lodgings and the street wrapped around only half of the area. By doing this, they left both a practical walk way and a playing space for actors, but more importantly, this was significant as it helps the audience visualize the giving nature of Valjean; his doors are always open, even when it can leave him vulnerable. This also helped to show the fine balance between the world of the poor and those living with a comfortable income. By walking past the divide you are automatically in the world of the peasants- notable as it shows the speed at which one can come into or come out of wealth. This also shows that Cosette and Valjean belong to both worlds.

What a pleasure it was to see this musical of such artistry! Although I have a few criticisms as a woman and a modern viewer informed with a well-rounded knowledge of musicals, I thoroughly enjoyed our evening at the Stephen Sondheim Theater and had so much fun tying together the references in the piece. I cannot wait to see what the rest of our class brings and I hope you’ll continue to follow me on this journey!

Bows!