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Lucchesi
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| | Miserable world (9th Dec 22 at 4:36am UTC) | | Father Fauchelevent, in addition to the honor of which we have just spoken and of which he was not aware, was also rewarded by his good deeds, in the first place, by the pleasure of what he had done, and in the second place, by the fact that his work was shared out, thus lightening his own burden; Finally, he was so fond of smoking that he lived with M. Madeleine, which made it more convenient for him to smoke, and he consumed three times as much tobacco as he had ever consumed before, and his interest was as intense as it had been in the past, because the tobacco was supplied by M. Madeleine. The nuns ignored the name Uldim, and they called Jean Valjean "Confiscator.". Had the nuns had the discernment of Javert, they might have found that when the gardening of the garden required an errand, it was always Father Fauchelevent, the old, sick, lame one, who went outside, and never the other, and they did not notice this at all, perhaps because they were not good at detecting when they looked into the eyes of God at all times. Maybe it's because they prefer to spend their energy snooping on each other. Jean Valjean, fortunately, remained still. Javert had been watching the region for more than a month. The convent seemed to Jean Valjean an island surrounded on all sides by precipices. Those four walls are his sphere of activity from now on. There he could see the sky, which was comfortable enough for him,silk ficus tree, and the sight of Cosette was pleasant enough for him. For him, a very quiet life began again. He lived with old Fauchelevent in the shabby house at the bottom of the garden. The ruined house was built of broken bricks and tiles. It was still there in 1845. We know that there were three rooms in it. It was bare and had nothing but walls. The principal room had been yielded by Fauchelevent to M. Madeleine, against Jean Valjean's will. On the wall of the main room, apart from the two nails for the lap-sash and the basket, there was only one note issued by the royalists in 1993, which was nailed to the fireplace. The Vendee ticket had been nailed to the wall by the former gardener, an old Juan, who had died in the convent and had been succeeded by Fauchelevent. (1) vend vendèe, a coastal region in western France, where nobles and monks rebelled at the beginning of the bourgeois revolution in the eighteenth century. (2) chouan, the nickname of Jean Cottereau, the leader of the counter-revolutionary rebellion in the northwestern provinces of France, commonly known as Jean chouan. Jean Valjean worked all day in the garden and was very useful. He had been a pruner before, and being a gardener was just what he wanted. We remember that he had many methods and tricks for cultivating plants. He can use it now. The fruit trees were almost all wild, artificial plant wall panels ,outdoor palm trees, and he grafted them to produce delicious fruit. Cosette had permission to visit him for an hour every day. As the nuns were all sad and he was kind, the child compared them and loved him all the more. Every day, at a certain time, she came to the hut. As soon as she came in, the poor house became a paradise. Jean Valjean's face brightened with joy, and his own happiness was increased by the thought that he could make Cosette happy. There is something so touching about the joy we give people that it is not always weaker than the light source like the general reflection, but when it returns to us, it will be more brilliant. During the recess, Jean Valjean watched Cosette from a distance as she played and ran, and he could distinguish her laughter from the laughter of many others. For now Cosette could laugh. Even the face of Cosette had changed to some extent. The look of melancholy has gone. Laughter is sunshine, which can eliminate the winter color on people's faces. Cosette, who had never been beautiful, had become more attractive. She said a lot of sensible little things in her tender child's voice. When the interval was over and Cosette returned to her class, Jean Valjean looked at the window of her room, and in the middle of the night he rose and looked at the window of her bedroom. The convent, like Cosette, was in Jean Valjean's mind to support and complete the work of the bishop. It is true that good character often leads to conceit and complacency. There is a bridge built by the devil.
When Jean Valjean was left at the Convent of the Petit-Picpus, he had, perhaps, unconsciously approached that place and that bridge. Whenever he had compared himself with the Bishop, he had always been able to recognize his own unworthiness, and bow his head; but lately he had begun to compare himself with others, and had become complacent. Who knows? He may gradually return to the path of hate. The convent restrained him on the slope. The convent was the second place he saw where people were imprisoned. In his youth, at the beginning of his life, and even then, until recently, he had seen another kind of place of imprisonment, a kind of place of extreme cruelty, where he had always felt that the harsh laws were the sins of the law and the injustice of punishment. Now, after the galleys, he saw the convent, and he thought to himself that he had been a member of the galleys, and now he was a spectator of the convent, as it were, and he compared the two in his mind with perplexity. Sometimes, he leaned his hands on the handle of the hoe, and with the bottomless whirl of his thoughts, he thought slowly into the depths. He remembered his old companions, and how miserable their lives were. They had to get up at dawn and toil until late at night. They had almost no time to sleep. They slept on camp beds with only two inches of mattresses. In those big sleeping rooms, there were fires only in the most difficult months of the year; They wore ugly red prison clothes, and were blessed with a pair of coarse trousers on hot days and a coarse woolen sweater on cold days; they only had wine and meat to eat when they were "doing heavy work.". They had no names, they were numbered, as if personalities were but numbers; they lowered their eyes,faux ficus tree, spoke in whispers, shaved their hair, and lived under sticks and in humiliation. hacartificialtree.com | |
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