Victor Hugo (1802-1885), der große Literat der französischen Hochromantik, musste 1851 Frankreich verlassen und lebte bis 1870 in Belgien, Jersey und Guernsey. Die Jahre im Exil wurden zu seiner literarisch fruchtbarsten Zeit.

Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK FIFTH. THE DESCENT***CHAPTER I. THE HISTORY OF A PORGRESS IN BLACK GLASS TRINKETS***And in the meantime, what had become of that mother who according to the people at Montfermeil, seemed to have abandoned her child? Where was she? What was she doing?After leaving her little Cosette with the Thenardiers, she had continued her journey, and had reached M. sur M.This, it will be remembered, was in 1818.Fantine had quitted her province ten years before. M. sur M. had changed its aspect. While Fantine had been slowly descending from wretchedness to wretchedness, her native town had prospered.About two years previously one of those industrial facts which are the grand events of small districts had taken place.This detail is important, and we regard it as useful to develop it at length; we should almost say, to underline it.[...]***BOOK SIXTH. JAVERT***CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNING OF REPOSE***M. Madeleine had Fantine removed to that infirmary which he had established in his own house. He confided her to the sisters, who put her to bed. A burning fever had come on. She passed a part of the night in delirium and raving. At length, however, she fell asleep.On the morrow, towards midday, Fantine awoke. She heard some one breathing close to her bed; she drew aside the curtain and saw M. Madeleine standing there and looking at something over her head. His gaze was full of pity, anguish, and supplication. She followed its direction, and saw that it was fixed on a crucifix which was nailed to the wall.Thenceforth, M. Madeleine was transfigured in Fantine's eyes. He seemed to her to be clothed in light. He was absorbed in a sort of prayer. She gazed at him for a long time without daring to interrupt him. At last she said timidly:--"What are you doing?"M. Madeleine had been there for an hour. He had been waiting for Fantine to awake. He took her hand, felt of her pulse, and replied:"How do you feel?""Well, I have slept," she replied; "I think that I am better, It is nothing."He answered, responding to the first question which she had put to him as though he had just heard it:"I was praying to the martyr there on high."[...]