I am mad, but that is okay

La mort de Loizerolles by Francois-Simon Loizerolles (French)

Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères by Charlotte Robespierre (French, English excerpt)

“All those words — justice for the people, rights of man, social contract, French Revolution, Republic, democracy, humanity, civilization, religion, progress — for Grantaire came very close to having no meaning whatsoever. He could not take them seriously. Scepticism, that dry rot of the intellect, had left him with not a single idea intact. He lived with irony. This was his fundamental premise: ‘There’s only one sure thing, my full glass.’ He derided any self-sacrifice on the part of anyone, father or brother, Loizerolles or the younger Robespierre. ‘A lot of good it’s done them to end up dead!’ he would cry. He used to say about the crucifix, ‘That was a good piece of carpentry.’” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

The very first thing we learn about Grantaire is that he’s cynical to a fault, and we’re provided with an itemized list of things that he thinks are particularly pointless. These are important receipts because later Grantaire will list off a bunch of things he supposedly cares about to impress Enjolras, and it’s almost the same list as these things he apparently tells everyone all the time that he thinks are stupid... He’s so embarrassing sometimes. But, anyway, Hugo makes reference to a couple specific stories from pop culture of the time to serve as specific examples of people Grantaire finds particularly pointless. Loizerolles and Robespierre were both people who died in Paris in the late 1700’s, who sacrificed themselves out of love and became immortalized by plenty of newspaper articles, operas, and books written about them by the survivors they left behind. 

When Grantaire makes fun of Loizerolles, he’s talking about the lawyer Jean-Simon Aved de Loizerolles. This guy was famously imprisoned along with his son, the poet Francois-Simon, during the Reign of Terror and it was commonly believed that when the guards came looking for a Loizerolles, he stepped up and took his son’s place at the guillotine to save his son’s life. It was later discovered that he was probably the one who was supposed to be executed after all, but it was a well known story at the time about a father’s selfless love. There was even a one-act opera about it called Loizerolles ou L'héroïsme paternel that premiered at the Théâtre des Amis de la Patrie on Christmas day 1795, and according to this review I found (link) it was apparently pretty accurate to how the papers talked about the story. That is to say, extremely heroic and sensationalized. Later, within Grantaire’s lifetime, the son of Loizerolles survived and wrote a poem, La mort de Loizerolles, about his dad (originally published in 1813, republished with additional material in 1828) that also memorialized this sensational, fictional version of events (link). Grantaire will always prefer a juicy story over a true story.

The younger Robespierre mentioned here does not refer to our boy Maximilien Robespierre, but his younger brother Augustin Robespierre. When the Reign of Terror was coming to a close and Maximilien Robespierre’s execution was decided, Augustin reportedly volunteered to be executed as well instead of forsaking his brother. It’s kind of funny that our first example is an execution that was perpetuated by Robespierre and the other execution was targeted at Robespierre. I have to imagine this was an intentional contrast, emphasizing that people all over the political spectrum are martyring themselves for their loved ones and it means equally nothing to Grantaire. (And also Jesus, who is not really on the French political spectrum but also famously sacrificed himself and does not get Grantaire’s respect for it. We’ll get back to him in a minute, put a pin in it for now.)

Basically all these people voluntarily went to their own execution out of love for someone else, and Victor Hugo tells us, in detail, just how stupid Grantaire thinks they are for doing that. Before, y’know, Grantaire will do exactly that himself by the end of the novel. For most of his time in the novel, Grantaire claims to be devoted to Enjolras entirely, but we watch him repeatedly fail to really understand Enjolras or the kind of ideas that Enjolras represents. And it’s because of this fundamental difference: Enjolras would die for something and Grantaire wouldn’t. Grantaire’s whole character arc is leading him to understanding the power of legacy and love and the point of being alive, which will ironically culminate in him finally dying for something. So when Grantaire makes fun of Loizerolles or Robespierre or Jesus, Victor Hugo is immediately foreshadowing that Grantaire is going to become that exact kind of person.

Henri IV’s Hunting Party by Charles Collé (English, English song)

“A womanizer and a gambler, often drunk, he liked to annoy these young idealists by constantly singing to himself, to the tune of ‘Long Live Henri IV’, ‘I loves the girls and I loves good wine.’” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

These are two lines from ‘Long Live Henri IV’ or ‘Vive Henri IV’ as heard in the three-act comedy Henri IV’s Hunting Party (La Partie de Chasse de Henri IV) by Charles Collé, though the melody is far older and actually served as a leitmotif for French royalty in various plays throughout the 19th century. Including Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty! The tune was used as the unofficial anthem of France during the Bourbon Restoration period with different lyrics and during the French Revolution to rally support for the royalist cause and praise the monarchy. So obviously Grantaire is being a little shit and singing this very royalist song but specifically only the parts from the theatre version about wine and womanizing and not the actual pro-monarchy stuff, just to be annoying. It’s so silly. What an absolutely dumb thing for him to do for no good reason. Classic Grantaire.

The Argonautica by Apollonius Rhodius (English, French)

Tenth Nemean Ode by Pindar (English)

“There are men who seemingly are born to be the verso, the inverse, the reverse. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Eudamidas, Hephaestion, Pechméja. Their existence depends on being fronted by another man. Their names follow on and are never written without the conjunction ‘and’ in front of them. Their lives do not belong to them. They are the adjunct of a fate that is not theirs. Grantaire was one of these men. He was the reverse of Enjolras.” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

Alright, here we go. In his introduction, Grantaire is compared to a whole list of guys known for being a counterpart to another guy, the “reverse of Enjolras,” though in his case the bond is unreciprocated. I’m going to speedily cover all of them here except for one (Pylades) which I’m saving for later because that one comes back at the end in a more significant way. 

The first on the list is Pollux. Castor and Pollux are twin half-brothers with the same mother but different fathers. Pollux has a god for a father (usually Zeus) and Castor has a mortal for a father (usually Tyndareus, king of Sparta). If you’re familiar with the myth of Leda and the swan, these are two of the kids that come after that. Castor and Pollux make appearances in several stories but they’re hardly ever the main characters. Take The Agonautica, for example. In that story, they’re just two of the ensemble of guys on the Argo. They get one standout moment when the Argo lands on an island with a king that challenges everyone to box him and since Pollux is supposedly an excellent boxer he volunteers for the match and wins (except he punches the king to death so drama ensues anyway). This obviously doesn’t have that much to do with the comparison being made here in Les Mis, though we are told elsewhere that Grantaire is good at boxing, but it is representative of the way that these two characters always seem to pop up as a duo. I found that the two of them are referenced pretty frequently as an iconic duo in French newspapers at the time. And the first translation of The Argonautica from Greek to French was done by Jean-Jacques-Antoine Caussin de Perceval in 1796, so it would still be pretty contemporary. I’m including it here because it was probably a large part of the zeitgeist regarding the two and for the boxing factoid.

However, I’d say the main myth that’s exclusively about these two characters is probably the origin story of the constellation Gemini. Pindar covers it in one of his Victory Odes, telling the story of Pollux choosing to give up his immortal place on Olympus to give his dying brother half his godliness so that he wouldn’t go to Hades alone. I’m sure this isn’t foreshadowing for anything that might happen in Les Mis.

The Iliad by Homer (English)

“There are men who seemingly are born to be the verso, the inverse, the reverse. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Eudamidas, Hephaestion, Pechméja.” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

Next up we have Patroclus, of Achilles and Patroclus fame. There are a lot of references to The Iliad throughout the revolutionary parts of Les Mis, but Grantaire isn’t around for any of the epic battle scenes that get compared to the Trojan War. He’s just an unrequited version of this guy who is primarily known for being a doomed companion who dies for Achilles.

People have been arguing since time immemorial whether Achilles and Patroclus had a romantic or platonic relationship. Aeschines says it’s obviously gay and Homer is a coward for not saying they’re gay (link). Xenophon says no they’re just friends and also Orestes and Pylades are just friends too, you people don’t know what friends are like (link). Plato reports that Phaedrus says it’s gay but only if Achilles bottoms and Aeschylus is dead wrong for saying Achilles tops when he’s such an obvious twink (link). Aeschylus apparently had strong feelings about Achilles as a gay top but unfortunately his Iliad fanfic Myrmidones is mostly lost to time. Hundreds of years later, in Benoît de Sainte-Maure’s classic medieval epic poem Roman de Troie verses 13163-13194, Hector specifically mentions Achilles and Patroclus have sex but is really homophobic about it and implies that the gods are using him to punish Achilles for being gay* (link). In the 17th century, Shakespeare has Achilles and Patroclus cameo as lovers in Troilus and Cressida (link), though the nature of this cameo is also debated, along with Shakespeare’s own sexuality. There are countless, very prolific people from history weighing in on this for over a thousand years and none of them agree. This discourse will last forever.

So idk how Victor Hugo interprets it, but he chose to use this relationship to characterize how Grantaire feels about Enjolras. Make of that what you will.

*=Hector very notably loses his fight against Achilles right after he says this, so uhhh I guess the gods said gay rights after all?

The Aeneid by Virgil (English)

“Episode of Nisus and Euryalus” Hours of Idleness by Lord Byron (English)

“There are men who seemingly are born to be the verso, the inverse, the reverse. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Eudamidas, Hephaestion, Pechméja.” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

Nisus and Euryalus are minor characters in book 5 and 9 of The Aeneid who die tragically together. Hmmm, this dying together thing is starting to seem like a theme on this list. In her Les Mis dissertation, Grace Eloise Ebberly highlights the parallels between Nisus’ death scene and Grantaire’s later on, adding another layer to the foreshadowing in this introduction (link). 

In general, Nisus and Euryalus are inseparable companions and, like Patroclus and Achilles, there is a lot of ambiguity in the ancient source material about whether these two were meant to be lovers or very good friends. In 1807, Lord Byron devoted an entire poem in his Hours of Idleness to Nisus and Euryalus, paraphrasing just their parts in The Aeneid. And, well, it’s Lord Byron, so obviously it’s full of queer undertones. Actually, in the same year, on July 5, 1807, he wrote a letter to his friend Elizabeth Bridget Pigot where he uses a reference to Nisus and Euryalus as if it’s recognizable shorthand for being gay and in love (link). Very interesting. He also mentions Orestes and Pylades as gay shorthand too, but just keep putting a pin in that for now. I promise we’ll come back to it.

And, just for the record, Victor Hugo was almost definitely familiar with the Byron version. Not only was Byron generally a huge force in the Romantic movement, Victor Hugo wrote an obituary for Byron after his passing in 1824 (link) where he expresses admiration for his poetry and says he wishes they could have been friends. It’s actually very sweet, even though he can’t resist doing literary criticism of Byron’s poetic transitions and over-the-top character descriptions during his obituary lmfao. Never change, Victor Hugo.

Toxaris by Lucian (English)

On Friendship by Michel de Montaigne (English)

Testament of Eudamidas by Poussin (link)

“There are men who seemingly are born to be the verso, the inverse, the reverse. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Eudamidas, Hephaestion, Pechméja.” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

Eudamidas is one of the lesser known guys on this list by modern standards, but he would’ve been pretty familiar in Grantaire’s time. The story of Eudamidas was originally told by Lucian of Samasota in ~160 AD, then retold in French by the Renaissance philosopher Montaigne in his 1580 essay On Friendship, and then it inspired the 1644-1648 painting Testament of Eudamidas by Poussin (link), which had a massive resurgence in popularity in the late 18th century and brought Eudamidas back into the pop consciousness of Revolutionary era Parisians (link). 

As for the story itself, Eudamidas had two significant friends: Aretaeus of Corinth and Charixenus of Sicyon. Both of them were richer than him and so Eudamidas left the care of his elderly mother and unmarried daughter to them in his will. When he died, only Aretaeus was still alive, but he reportedly honored the will, took in Eudamidas’s family, and cared for them as if they were his own. It’s a bit of an outlier in Grantaire’s list since there are no battles or glorious mutual deaths at the end of it, but it still has a lot to say about what it means to devote your life to someone and know that devotion is reciprocated, especially when one of you dies. 

The most famous French translation by Michel de Montaigne was published after the death of his own close friend and platonic soulmate La Boétie, and I think it goes particularly hard on that theme. By his own account, he was using his writing to work through the loss of the single most significant relationship in his life. And the conclusion he came to is that Eudamidas was doing his friends a favor by asking for their help, not the other way around. That true friendship means you wouldn’t begrudgingly take on responsibilities for your friend, but that you’d be happy for those responsibilities because they give you a chance to demonstrate how much you love your friend. That’s genuinely really sweet. Sometimes we want our friends to inconvenience us: to ask us for that trip to the airport or to cover dinner for them or to help them move. It means they trust us and that we can show them how much that trust is met with our love in return. 

And that’s, fundamentally, the relationship that Grantaire cannot have with Enjolras. This trust, this joy at asking or being asked to do things for someone else just to make their life easier, is not there. Oof.

The Anabasis of Alexander by Arrian (English)

Life of Alexander by Plutarch (English)

“There are men who seemingly are born to be the verso, the inverse, the reverse. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Eudamidas, Hephaestion, Pechméja.” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

Hephaestion was the childhood friend and lifelong companion of Alexander the Great, with a relationship that was often compared to Achilles and Patroclus by historians and also by Alexander himself. A lot. If you learn one thing from this reference, it should be that Alexander the Great absolutely kinned Achilles. According to Plutarch 8.2-3, he even slept with a copy of The Iliad under his pillow… though this might not be strictly true, Plutarch is a little flexible with historical accuracy (link, link). But I like to believe it, because it’s funny. And, yet again, just like with Achilles and Patroclus, it’s not really agreed upon whether Alexander and Hephaestion were best friends or lovers. I could list sources weighing in on both sides here as well, but honestly it would be redundant because a lot of the discourse comes down to the constant comparisons between the two and the Patrochilles relationship. So it’s essentially the same discourse again. Arrian and Plutarch wrote two of the major ancient biographies that cover the life of Alexander, and neither of them say anything specific about the nature of the relationship, though they both mention Achilles and Patroclus a lot. What they do make clear is just how important this relationship was to the both of them. When Hephaestion suddenly died at age 32, “Alexander’s grief was uncontrollable” (Plutarch) and he actually died within a year too.

If you’re starting to see a pattern in the doomed, ambiguously gay guys that Grantaire is being compared to… Yeah. That’s kind of the vibe here. One example could’ve been a coincidence, but Victor Hugo is really making this a pattern.

Télephe by Jean-Joseph de Pechméja (French)

“There are men who seemingly are born to be the verso, the inverse, the reverse. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Eudamidas, Hephaestion, Pechméja.” (Les Mis 3.4.1)

Last on this list of guys is the most contemporary reference in Grantaire’s time: the French author Jean-Joseph de Pechméja and his doctor friend Jean Baptiste Léon Dubreuil. Professionally, Pechméja was probably best known for publishing radical anti-slavery passages in Raynal's Histoire des deux indes and his socialist Utopian novel Télephe, which tells the story of Hercules’ son Telephus and was published the year before Pechméja died in 1785. He also dedicated the book to Dubreuil (“Le respect, la tendresse, offrent cet hommag e, à la vertu austèlc, à l'amitié généreuse, à la puissance conservatrice”). 

Pechméja and Dubreuil were lifelong friends who moved to Paris and lived together for at least a decade, reportedly sharing finances and everything else. Very cute. In 1785, Dubreuil got sick and died, then Pechméja died a few days later. The two were buried under the same tombstone. A translation of the engraving on that tombstone was roughly: “Here lie two friends: Esteem, gratitude, and the tenderest friendship have erected this monument for them.” I actually had to go on a bit of a deep dive about this tombstone because I was seeing people repeat this quote a lot, but I couldn’t find any evidence of it actually existing when I checked out the graveyard’s catalogue of headstones. Turns out, this is because the tombstone was repossessed and destroyed by the state during the Reign of Terror. Oh no! (link) 

At first glance, you might get the impression this is kind of an obscure reference, but not so! While searching through newspapers and literature from the time, I found so many references to these guys all the way through the 1860’s. They were a hot topic! Even Benjamin Franklin had a copy of Pechméja’s book (link). I found a few letters to the editor in the Journal de Paris where someone from Saint-Germain en Laye wrote in to report on the extraordinary friendship exhibited by these two men (og letter on August 11, 1785 (link) and a follow up letter on August 23, 1785 (link)). This is the earliest version of the story I could find without looking too hard, and it has a lot of elements that are used in every subsequent retelling, like calling them a modern day Orestes and Pylades. A lot of people do that. For example, the 1813 poem, La Forêt de Saint-Germain (link), also calls them the Orestes and Pylades of their time, as does this L'Industriel de Saint-Germain-en Laye article from July 30, 1852 (link) covering the anniversary of the hospital in Saint-Germain. The two of them were principle benefactors of the hospital “who provided, says Dulaure, an example of this friendship offered to us by fabulous Greece, in Orestes and Pilades.” Then another article from L'Industriel de Saint-Germain-en Laye in December 12, 1857 (link) describes things to see on a Historic Walk near Paris which concludes with the story of Pechméja and Dubreuil, calling them a modern day Orestes and Pylades and Nisus and Euryalus! So, yeah, it’s probably not a coincidence that all these guys who are always being compared to each other are all together on the list Victor Hugo has made here in Les Mis. They are basically the guys to reference in early-to-mid 1800’s France when you want to describe a super epic friendship between two men. 

So, overall, whether you interpret all of the guys from this list as friends or lovers or a mix of both, the important thing is that all of these men were utterly devoted to another person. They are remembered for the sacrifices they made out of love for their most important person. But Grantaire scoffs and makes sarcastic asides about people who do that, and that’s why his yearning for a connection like Pollux or Patroclus is not ever going to be reciprocated. He’s scrambling to make an authentic connection when he cannot be authentic to save his life. This list is essentially Victor Hugo executing a particularly devastating combo move to hammer home why Grantaire is fundamentally incapable of getting the love he craves. And he won’t be able to until he finally understands why all these men gave their lives for their companion. But that comes later.

The Bible, Book of Ecclesiastes (English)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘Ecclesiastes says: “All is vanity.” I agree with that fellow, who probably never existed. Not wanting to go about stark-naked, Zero clothed himself in vanity. O vanity!’” (Les Mis 3.4.4) “He used to say about the crucifix, ‘That was a good piece of carpentry.’” (Les Mis 3.4.1) “[Grantaire:] ‘Ah! there’s no morality on this earth, I call to witness the myrtle, symbol of love, the laurel, symbol of war, the silly old olive, symbol of peace, the apple tree that almost choked Adam on one of its pips, and the fig tree, grand-papa of petticoats.’” (Les Mis 4.12.2)

Much like with Enjolras and the Book of Ezekiel, we’ve got another Victor Hugo-assigned Bible passage for Grantaire: Ecclesiastes. I asked my friend who went to Catholic school to give me the rundown on Ecclesiastes (thanks Jared!) and it sounds like a good fit for Grantaire. It’s got a lot of philosophy that circles themes of heaviness, devotion, depression, and nihilism. It can be skeptical and contrary, and people still debate whether the ultimate theme is that God gives life meaning or that life has no meaning. Even if you haven’t read the book, you’ve probably run into some reference to it. Several idioms like “nothing new under the sun” come from Ecclesiastes and it has its fingerprints all over so much of Western literature, from Shakespeare to Tolstoy to Hemingway. So that’s cool!

Grantaire makes a few other irreverent jokes about the Bible throughout Les Mis that are not based on Ecclesiastes (the part in his introduction where he makes fun of Jesus for dying, later when he jokes about God being broke, when he calls Adam’s fig leaf the “grand-papa of petticoats”, etc.) so he’s likely generally familiar with its content at large. He actually invokes a lot of religions throughout the book - he’ll talk about Islam, Olympus, and Christianity all in the same breath. But I still think Ecclesiastes deserves a special shout out because it’s the subject of a drunken monologue Grantaire gives for 3 WHOLE PAGES. He starts by invoking the line from Ecclesiastes about how “all is vanity” and most of the subsequent allusions are examples of the ways that people are fools for vanity - dressing up their vocabulary or station in life just to feel like they’re better than other people, when in fact this belief in their own superiority makes them terrible. Basically, life is pointless and everyone is terrible. An appropriate theme for Grantaire’s long drunk rambling about how he wants to drink to forget life, yeesh. He is so not okay. 

One last note before we get into it, but I cannot figure out this thing Grantaire says about Zero clothing himself in vanity. It might be a typo for Zeno, but I really couldn’t find anything in Zeno’s paradoxes or the history of stoicism that would specifically relate to this line either. It could also be a joke about the concept of the number zero I guess. Idk, I’m at a loss. I feel like sometimes Grantaire just says things. 

The Animal Kingdom Vol. 3 by Georges Cuvier and Pierre-Andre Latreille (French)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘a woodlouse is a pterygibranchia.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

This is part of a long list Grantaire rattles off making fun of people for calling simple things big words to sound smarter or more important. Most of these examples are basic synonyms, but this one is a very specific reference to the French zoologist Pierre-Andre Latreille, who did pretty significant early work in the classification of insects, including this defunct term for a subclass of isopod crustaceans. Early efforts to create a system of taxonomy for animals tended to ignore insects altogether, but in the early 1800’s there was a sudden boom in zoologists attempting to figure out how to classify them, Latreille included (link). There wasn’t one agreed-upon method of subdividing insects at the time, so lots of books and pamphlets were getting published in such quick succession that often even the zoologists that agreed with each other would miss the latest updates and publish conflicting systems. Le Règne Animal (The Animal Kingdom) was a massive project by French naturalist Georges Cuvier to classify the entire animal kingdom using comparative anatomy. The 1817 first edition used Latreille’s sixth system of crustacean classification, which included the ptérygibranche, but by its second printing Latreille had already moved on to a new system of classification and the term was removed from the book. So we know literally the exact book Grantaire would have read to see this word. 

This is a very significant book, no doubt, but the word itself is from such a specific point in time, only made official in a specific number of books, about such a specific animal. I’ve seen some translations of Les Mis actually replace this word altogether because it’s so defunct and obscure. I have no idea why this is something Victor Hugo remembered and cared about enough to reference unless this is like the French 1800’s version of “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” But I have to guess that its hyper-specific nature is part of the joke here.

“Caligula” Lives of the Twelve Caesars  by Suetonius (English)

Ballad of the New Sir John Barleycorn (English excerpt)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘Kings make a plaything of human pride. Caligula appointed a horse as consul. Charles II knighted a Sir Loin. So now take pride of place between Consul Incitatus and Baron of Beef.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Still going on his rant about vanity, Grantaire makes reference to two infamous stories about corrupt monarchs using their unchecked power to do ridiculous things. 

First up, Emperor Caligula. Most of the information we know about Caligula comes from the historian Suetonius, whose account is not flattering. He talks at length about how much Caligula loved his favorite horse: he sent soldiers to quiet down neighborhoods so his horse’s sleep wouldn’t be disturbed, gave the horse furniture and a retinue of slaves, invited people to eat dinner with the horse, and intended to make the horse a Consul. Suetonius actually theorizes at the end of the chapter that someone might have drugged Caligula and gave him brain damage. You know you’ve hit a low point when the historian recording your life assumes you must have undiagnosed brain damage to explain your behavior. 

Second up, we’ve got the myth of Sir Loin. According to folklore, Charles II gave this name to an excellent cut of beef. Apparently the pun “Sir Loin” can be found in writing as early as 1630 (predating Charles II) and the term “a baron of beef” appears in Johnson’s Dictionary as early as 1775 so this is almost definitely not a real thing that happened. Yet again we can see that Grantaire does not always pick the most accurate sources for his pop culture drama. This one actually gave me quite the run-around because over and over again I kept finding sources from the 1800’s explaining this joke (link, link, link) and almost all of them claimed it was a verse from the Ballad of the New Sir John Barleycorn, but I cannot for the life of me find a full version of the song with this verse in it. But I know in my heart this has to be the source, because it’s a weird little folk song about alcohol! So of course Grantaire would know it! But idk, I’ll only ever know those couple of lines I guess. Maybe it is only those couple of lines? Truly a mystery.

Bacchus and Ariadne by Antoine-Jean Gros (1820) (link)

Portrait of Jean-Antoine Chapel by Antoine-Jean Gros (1824) (link)

Portrait of Madame Récamier by Antoine-Jean Gros (1825) (link)

Le Génie de la France anime les Arts, protège l'Humanité by Antoine-Jean Gros (1827) (link)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘However, I’ve always been witty. When I was a pupil of Gros, instead of messing about with paints I spent my time filching apples. Painting is an art of abstraction." (Les Mis 3.4.4)

This anecdote refers to the French painter Antoine-Jean Gros. He’s mostly known for his paintings of Napoleon and the fiery, expressive style of his brushstrokes that helped influence the early Romantic movement. He was also a student of Jacques Louis David, who helped inspire the popularity of mythology in visual art at the time, and Gros was very devoted to his master’s legacy. However, Gros is mostly being referenced here to set up a grammatical pun. In French, Grantaire ends his little story about studying art under Gros by saying “rapin est le mâle de rapine,” which is basically saying that he spent his time as an art student stealing apples because he knows that rapin (painter’s assistant) is the masculine form of rapine (thievery). Ohoho, tasteful chuckle. They just cut this joke entirely from most of the English versions lol. But, to be fair, I don’t know how I’d translate this joke either.

Anyway, this is obviously not a book or literary reference, but I had to include it because for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why everyone in the fandom thought Grantaire was a painter. Egg on my face. Turns out, beyond claiming to be a student at an artist’s studio here, Grantaire actually makes a lot of references to paintings or stories that are specifically made popular by paintings. I’ve already mentioned one (Testament of Eudamidas), but there are a few more coming up as well. No one else in the book does this nearly as much, it feels like an intentional choice by Victor Hugo, which is really cool. But, canonically, Grantaire spent more time stealing apples than painting, so everybody take note of that. 

I’m not sure exactly when Grantaire was supposedly a student in Gros’s studio. Students generally ranged in age from 15-20’s so, since Grantaire is 25 when he says this in 1828, that means Grantaire could’ve studied under him basically at any point between 1818-1827, though most likely early in that range. According to the 1857 obituary of the artist Eugine Goyet (link), Gros’s atelier had sixty students at least one year when Goyet studied there between 1816-1827. In 1820, another one of Gros’s students, Louis Boilly, made a charcoal sketch of at least 25 students currently studying in Gros’s studio (link). So it seems like the position wasn’t so exclusive that it would be completely unrealistic for Grantaire to have actually done this. It’s a bit of a brag because it was a pretty reputable studio, but it was also during Gros’s critical flop era, so Grantaire wouldn’t have assisted on any of Gros’s really famous pieces. I’ve included a list of the paintings Gros’s studio put out during the range of possible dates that Grantaire might’ve been assisting him. (Two of them even have fruit in it - the apples, oh no! Gros, watch out!) Personally, because of the earlier timeframe and the subject matter, I’m tempted to say Grantaire was around for the painting of Bacchus and Ariadne because… well, it’s Bacchus, god of wine, that’s too perfect. But I have no definitive proof. It’s just the vibes.

Speaking of vibes, of all the artists Victor Hugo could’ve name-dropped, another reason he might’ve chosen Gros was that the guy was famously depressed and eventually drowned himself in the Seine in 1835. So even though he’s not dead at this point in the book, a reader would know to associate Grantaire with that vibe. Especially during this drunken monologue where Grantaire keeps talking about how he hates life and happiness is a farce. If my friend was talking like this, I’d be worried. So, on top of getting a fun anecdote about Grantaire’s art studies, we get another bit of subtle foreshadowing that this guy will probably kill himself. All from a terrible pun about stealing apples. 

“Diogenes” Lives of Eminent Philosophers by Diogenes Laertius (English)

The School of Athens by Raphael (link)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘There are just as many vices in virtue as there are holes in Diogenes’ cloak.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4) “[Grantaire:] ‘In Paris even the rag-pickers are sybarites. Diogenes would just as soon have been a rag-picker on Place Maubert as a philosopher in Piraeus.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4) “[Grantaire:] ‘That pile of oyster-shells they call a library puts me off thinking. All that paper! All that ink! All that scribbling! The amount that’s been written! Which numbskull was it that said man was a featherless biped?’” (Les Mis 4.12.2)

It completely tracks that Grantaire reads up on Diogenes the Cynic, one of the founders of cynicism and a complete troll. This is probably his idol. Diogenes rejected materialism and lived in voluntary poverty for most of his life, so his cloak was famously tattered. Apparently he largely did this as a statement about the vanity of his fellow philosophers and their opulent, exclusive purple robes. So these first two quotes are both a good example of a thing with many holes, and a reference to someone who also thinks that other people are full of themselves and deserve to be mocked. It’s an economical reference. And it’s a fact that’s mostly immortalized in paintings! I told you there would be more painting references. Diogenes’ tattered cloak was depicted most memorably in Raphael’s The School of Athens. And, in fact, a tapestry copy of that very painting was commissioned by Louis XIV in 1689 and has hung in the French National Assembly Chamber since 1879 (link). This obviously would have been after Les Mis was published, but I think it helps demonstrate the presence this painting had in France at the time. 

Later, in 4.12.2, Grantaire makes a pun about the library by referencing a famous debate between Plato and Diogenes. The one about man being a featherless biped. You might have heard this one before, it occasionally makes the rounds on tumblr for whatever inscrutable reason certain historical anecdotes gain tumblr immortality. We know about this little story because Diogenes Laertius (a different Diogenes) wrote about it in his biography of his namesake. Basically, “sans plume” can either mean without a feather or without a feather quill, so he’s essentially saying man can’t be a featherless biped because the people in the library are never without their feather quills.

Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare (English)

Le Mort de César by Voltaire (French)

Natural History, Book 34 by Pliny the Elder (English)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘Whom do you admire, the man killed or his killer? Caesar or Brutus? Generally people are in favour of the killer. Long live Brutus! He killed a man! That’s virtue for you. Virtue? Maybe, but madness too. These great men are strangely flawed. The Brutus who killed Caesar was fond of a statue of a little boy. This statue was by the Greek sculptor Strongylion, who also carved that figure of an Amazon known as the “Shapely-legged”, Eucnemos, which Nero took with him on his travels. This Strongylion left only two statues that put Nero and Brutus in agreement with each other.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4) “[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘There was in the great square in Corinth a statue carved by Silanion and recorded by Pliny. This statue represented Epistates. What did Epistates do? He invented a wrestler’s led hook. That sums up Greece and glory.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Next, Grantaire joins the club of Les Amis members who weigh in on Brutus. Enjolras remains the only uncritical stan because Grantaire’s opinion is closer to Combeferre’s, though of course he words his criticism more crudely. He mentions the famous Caesar stabbing incident, which was popularized by the Shakespeare play and its first French translation by Voltaire, but he actually goes into more detail about an art history anecdote from Pliny’s Natural History book 34. Basically, this supposedly great man (Brutus) and this infamously corrupt man (Nero) both love the same artist (Strongylion), so they’re perhaps more similar than people like to admit. Blah blah, everyone is terrible at the end of the day; there are no great men, only the best places to consume alcohol and forget life. Typical Grantaire doom spiral. 

It’s also another art reference, though we don’t have either of these statues anymore, just the references to them made by writers in antiquity. Pliny is definitely the main source for this anecdote, though the Roman poet Martial also describes the statue he calls “Brutus’s Boy” or “Brutus’s Favorite” (link). The archeologist Antonio Corso has a chapter in The Art of Praxiteles where he references other comparable statues with all the written descriptions of Strongylion’s work and gives an approximation of what they might have looked like, if you’re interested in that kind of stuff (link). Anyway, Grantaire is pretty judgy of Brutus on this front. He seems to imply this statue is a little young for Brutus lol, but it is also a canonical reference to men being attracted to men, so that’s cool. 

Later in the same drunken monologue, he brings up another statue by the artist Silanion, which is a reference to another anecdote from the same passage of Pliny’s Natural History. He really liked this book, or at least that one chapter about all the statues. I hadn’t previously read this part of Pliny’s Natural History, but I was familiar with his weird medical advice chapters. And considering Grantaire makes multiple references to having fits of hypochondria and hangs out a lot with pseudoscience-lover Joly, I think he’s probably at least dipped into the weird medical stuff too. I don’t have proof, this is just the vibes.

Ars Poetica by Horace (English)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘Everything obeys success, even grammar. Si volet usus, says Horace.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Ars Poetica is an influential critical poem that basically gives a list of advice on how to write poetry and plays. A few phrases from it are in common literary use now, like “in media res.” It had a general influence on European literature, but more so specifically on French drama. The particular line that Grantaire is quoting, from line 71, literally means something like “as usage dictates.” It’s not a particularly telling quote, but it’s fun to see that Grantaire reads some literary theory - he’s an artsy guy, he’s interested in the craft. He also references Horace again later, so it seems like this is an author he checks out frequently.

“Life of Phocion” Parallel Lives by Plutarch (English)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘You want me to start admiring nations? Which nation, if you please? Is it Greece? The Athenians, those Parisians of an earlier age, slew Phocion, another Coligny, and fawned on tyrants to such an extent that Anacephorus said of Pisistratus, “His urine attracts bees.” The most prominent man in Greece for fifty years was that grammarian Philetas, who was so small and puny he was obliged to weigh his shoes with lead so as not to be blown away by the wind.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Phocion only has a few written sources about him, and Plutarch’s coverage of him is definitely the most thorough, so we have a pretty good idea where Grantaire probably learned this anecdote. Victor Hugo has referenced a few other people well known from their chapters in Plutarch’s Parallel Lives too, so this tracks. Plutarch described Phocion “The Good” as a good man devoted to the state who was falsely accused of treason and executed. He likens this to Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, a man of integrity whose murder marked the beginning of the St Bartholomew's Day massacre in 1572 and the subsequent exodus of Huguenots from France. You can probably pick most of this up from context clues. Grantaire is just listing examples of good men or good politicians who weren’t appreciated in their time as an example of how the Athenians weren’t that great after all.

Bibliotheca by Diodorus Siculus (English, English)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘You want me to start admiring nations? Which nation, if you please? Is it Greece? The Athenians, those Parisians of an earlier age, slew Phocion, another Coligny, and fawned on tyrants to such an extent that Anacephorus said of Pisistratus, “His urine attracts bees.” The most prominent man in Greece for fifty years was that grammarian Philetas, who was so small and puny he was obliged to weigh his shoes with lead so as not to be blown away by the wind.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

This is kind of a weird one. Pisistratus is an Athenian tyrant from the 500’s BCE, but Anacephorus is just straight up not a guy. When you search for his name online you get literally no results except this exact Les Mis quote. According to the Donougher deluxe edition footnotes, this is possibly a reference to Ephorus instead, a Greek historian who wrote the first universal history which has since been lost. So obviously this exact quote can’t have been attributed to him either, but other ancient historians referenced his work extensively so Victor Hugo might be paraphrasing their work and crediting Ephorus but mistranscribing his name. It’s a stretch, but it’s my best guess.

Diodorus Siculus’s Bibliotheca, literally translated as Library, heavily relied on Ephorus’ research. He even called his work the Library to give credit to the fact that he was mostly compiling the research of other writers together in one place. In sections 9.2 and 9.4 he mentions short anecdotes about the people fawning over Pisistratus’ tyranny that are close enough to this joke that I opted to include them here, though they don’t have the exact line Grantaire uses about the urine attracting bees. Personally, I think that’s a Hugo original piss joke. Grantaire makes another piss joke about Queen Isabella and Jean Prouvaire also makes a piss joke about the Pissevache waterfall, so we know Victor Hugo is not above potty humor.

Anyway, piss joke aside, he ultimately does all this to contrast the people’s acceptance of Pisistratus with their condemnation of Phocion the Good. But tbh, in Pisistratus’ defense, he does sound pretty cool. He was constantly being exiled and coming back to rule again in kind of silly ways. Herodotus tells a story about how one time he hired this six foot tall lady he found in the countryside to pretend to be Athena and uber him into the city in a chariot so people would think he was blessed by Olympus (link). Idk, Grantaire, I think you have to admit that’s funny.

Varia Historia, 9.14 by Aelian (English)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘You want me to start admiring nations? Which nation, if you please? Is it Greece? The Athenians, those Parisians of an earlier age, slew Phocion, another Coligny, and fawned on tyrants to such an extent that Anacephorus said of Pisistratus, “His urine attracts bees.” The most prominent man in Greece for fifty years was that grammarian Philetas, who was so small and puny he was obliged to weigh his shoes with lead so as not to be blown away by the wind.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Philitas was a Greek poet and literary scholar whose work only survives in fragments today. But that’s not important, what’s important is that he was reportedly super skinny and the Roman author Aelian wrote a little anecdote in his Varia Historia about how he was so comically frail he had to weigh his shoes with lead lest he be blown away by the wind. I found a pretty cool JSTOR article by Alan Cameron on why exactly this was a joke people made in ancient times (link) but I think regardless of the very specific context of Philitas as a comic subject, the silly mental image of this little guy being blown away by the wind is kind of a timeless joke.

The Diverting History of John Bull and Brother Jonathan by James Kirke Paulding (English)

“Advice to a Young Tradesman” by Benjamin Franklin (English)

🚨 Cotton is King by David Christy (English) 

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘And if I don’t admire John Bull, shall I admire Brother Jonathan? I don’t much care for that slave-owning brother. Take away “Time is money”, and what’s left of England? Take away “Cotton is king”, and what’s left of America?’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Grantaire’s anti-slavery rant, let’s gooo! Even though most of the boys reference the work of abolitionists (and Victor Hugo even compares them at one point to John Brown, high praise), Grantaire is the only one who actually mentions a disdain for slavery on the page. Gotta give credit where credit is due. Although… Grantaire is also the only member of the group who debatably says a racist slur too. I’m not a linguist so I don’t know all the historical context but the word he says in French when he talks about “the negro with his glass beads” a few sentences before this section seems to be pretty derogatory and at least one edition of Les Mis (Rose) straight up translated it as the n-word. Sigh. Every time Grantaire does something right (being an abolitionist) he fucks it up (saying a slur). C’mon man, get it together.

John Bull and Brother Jonathan were satirical terms used to refer to colonial England and America. The Diverting History of John Bull and Brother Jonathan is a good topical example of the two personas being used together to criticize the countries in question though Paulding went on to publish a lot of other satirical novellas using these caricatures (link). According to Webster’s Dictionary of the era, the term “John Bull” was first used in Arbuthnot’s satirical allegory The History of John Bull (1712). Brother Jonathan had its origins in the American Revolutionary War, originally in reference to Connecticut governor Jonathan Trumbull, but eventually shifted to become a national sobriquet instead of reference to a particular guy. 

Grantaire also characterizes England and America disparagingly using two idioms. “Time is money” is a concept that’s been around for a long long time, but Benjamin Franklin coined the particular wordage in his 1748 essay “Advice to a Young Tradesman.” Beyond the founding father stuff and the kite with the lightning, Benjamin Franklin was also famous for writing really sassy and catchy advice, and became the source of the particular wording of a lot of idioms we still use today (an apple a day, early to bed early to rise, etc). He also did a lot of other weird things like catfishing as a middle aged widow named Silence Dogood to get published as a teen. And he was probably in a pagan sex cult, but I really don’t have time to get into that. It’s possible Grantaire is just using the idiom without reading the source material, but it makes so much sense that he would enjoy Benjamin Franklin’s writing. Trust me.

And, lastly, ahem… 🚨 Grantaire saying “cotton is king” here is actually an anachronism! 🚨Ohohoho I’ve got you now,  Victor Hugo! The earliest recorded use of the phrase was in 1855. So while technically this is Victor Hugo making a mocking reference to the title of David Christy’s 1855 pro-slavery book Cotton is King, Grantaire shouldn’t be able to because the book hasn’t been written yet. So, uh, according to Les Mis, Grantaire actually came up with this phrase himself because he hates slavery that much. Wow, amazing.

The History of Peter the Great by Voltaire (English)

Essay on the Manners and Spirits of Nations by Voltaire (English)

“[Grantaire:] ‘Germany is all lymph, Italy is all bile. Shall we go into raptures about Russia? Voltaire admired it. He also admired China.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

The two books that Grantaire references here are the biography that Voltaire wrote about Peter the Great and his Essay on the Manners and Spirits of Nations, or Essai ser les moeurs et l’esprit des nations, which praised the achievements made by China at that point in time. This whole rant that Grantaire is going on about how Europeans aren’t inherently any better than other countries despite their vanity is a more sarcastic spin on the very genuine opinion at the heart of Voltaire’s Essai. Voltaire argued that Europe had a tendency to dismiss the wisdom and developments of other countries just because they were different. Grantaire is acknowledging this point, but really honing in on how this makes Europe look like an ignorant asshole instead of actually singing the praises of any other country. Grantaire would absolutely be one of those people who wears a “I hate everyone equally” shirt. He comes so close to a genuine criticism of Eurocentrism, but can’t help himself from backing off and making a cynical joke instead. I see why he frustrates Enjolras so much. He has so many valid criticisms and then he just shrugs and says something really defeatist instead of caring about literally anything.

“Anecdotes of Fashion” Curiosities of Literature, Vol. I by Isaac D’Israeli (English)

Memoirs of Louis XIV by Saint-Simon (English)

“[Grantaire:] ‘Now war, civilized war, reduces and subsumes all forms of banditry, from the brigandage of Spanish irregulars in the gorges of Mount Jaxa to marauding Comanches in Doubtful Pass. Bah! You’ll tell me that Europe’s nonetheless better than Asia? I agree that Asia is a joke. But I don’t really see that you peoples of the West can afford to mock the Grand Lama, having included in your manners and refinements all the complicated squalors of majesty, from Queen Isabella’s dirty shift to the Dauphin’s commode.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

The Isabella line refers to the legend that Isabella of Castile said she wouldn’t wash her underwear until the end of the siege of Granada. Which may have been conflated with a different legend that a different Isabella, Isabella Clara Eugenia, said she wouldn’t wash her underwear until the end of the siege of Ostend. There are written sources in the 19th century giving stories about both Isabellas as the source for why Isaballine is the name for a particular shade of pale-yellow (link, link), but honestly it seems like the story was more word-of-mouth folklore rather than something that came from a specific book. For reference, this is what isabelline color looks like (link). Get it? Because it’s like piss-stained underwear? Lmao, sorry to everyone who at some point actually bought and used the paint I found in that link. Unless it was to paint your bathroom. Actually, wait, that’s amazing. Brb, I’m going to call my landlord about something really quick.

As for the Dauphin’s commode, I did some digging and didn’t find a specific anecdote about any particular dauphin or their chamberpot. The Dauphin is a title given to the heir apparent to the throne of France, and for a while he was like the guy to mention when you were making reference to a generic fancy guy. For example, Huck Finn makes a joke about it, during the scene where two bandits are trying to one-up each other with fancy fake identities and one of them claims to be the Lost Dauphin of France, though a lot of editions change it to the more generic “duke” so modern audiences would get the joke. So my best guess is that this is just generally about fancy guys and the ornate chamber pots they had in Versailles and all their weird etiquette surrounding it. Idk, there was a weird amount of toilet drama in Versailles, the luxury of the furniture would definitely have generally been at odds with how reportedly filthy the place was, which is Grantaire’s general point here. The Duc de Saint-Simon wrote a lot of gossip about Versailles which are petty, dramatic, and were really popular at the time - and they have lots of toilet drama. These memoirs were massive! There’s so much detail and Saint-Simon is not a brief man. Apparently he’s really good at character work and building compelling snapshots of the time, but he has incredibly long diatribes about other random stuff breaking this info up. Hm, sounds like a certain someone we know. (...Honestly, I meant Grantaire, but this could also apply to Victor Hugo.) Anyway, I might be wrong! Someone please dm me if there’s a particularly juicy anecdote about the dauphin’s toilet that I couldn’t find.

Also, I don’t usually include really general historical references that aren’t about a particular story / didn’t have some kind of literature or dramaturgical footprint in Paris at the time, but at this point I feel compelled to point out when Grantaire is bullshitting. And he is bullshitting when he talks about the marauding Comanches in Doubtful Pass. I think he’s actually referencing the skirmishes that took place around this time in Doubtful Canyon, which is a part of Apache Pass and, as you might have guessed, is occupied by the Apache tribe not the Comanche tribe. He obviously only half remembers reading about them at all.

Life of Caesar by Plutarch (English)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘I am, I declare, a voluptuary, I eat at Richard’s at forty sous a head, I must have Persian carpets in which to roll naked Cleopatra!’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

In his biography Life of Caesar, Plutarch depicts a scene where Cleopatra has her servant Apollodorus wrap her up in a bed-sack or carpet and carry her in to sneakily visit Caesar. He’s so impressed with her boldness and cleverness that they have sex and he gives her some political favors she wanted. Cleopatra charming Caesar into becoming her political ally is widely reported, but the specific part about the bed-sack is a mistake specifically from the Plutarch version that later caught on. Grantaire makes a couple references to Plutarch’s biographies, so he’s definitely a fan. As a whole, I get the impression Grantaire cares less about strict historical accuracy and more about which historians really capture an iconic moment. 

Speaking of, I thought for sure this was going to be another painting reference because this exact moment, Plutarch inaccuracy and all, is captured in Jean-Léon Gérôme’s iconic Cleopatra and Caesar (link) which helped solidify the public memory of Cleopatra getting smuggled in a carpet. But I was totally wrong because the painting was actually finished 4 years after Les Mis was published and 34 years after Grantaire would be dead! French people in the mid-19th century just loved Plutarch I guess.

Hippocrates Refusing the Gifts of Artaxerxes by Anne-Louis Girodet (link)

“[Grantaire, drunk:] ‘Hands down, Aigle de Meaux! I’m utterly unimpressed by that gesture, of Hippocrates refusing Artaxerxes’ trifles. You’ve no need to quieten me. Besides, I feel sad.’” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Finally, we’re reaching the end of Grantaire’s long drunken rant about vanity… with another reference to a painting! Hippocrates Refusing the Gifts of Artaxerxes depicts a famous anecdote in which Hippocrates (of the Hippocratic Oath) demonstrates his medical ethics by turning down a bribery. There is an irony in Grantaire using this scene of unwavering moral integrity to describe Bossuet just telling him to shut up because he’s been yelling for too long. It adds a certain amount of gravitas to the situation that’s very unwarranted, and I think that’s part of why Grantaire says it. But he’s probably mostly referencing that flirty leg Hippocrates is giving in the painting. Bossuet must have been striking quite a pose when he turned to shush Grantaire here. 

“Fleuve du Tage” arrangement by Hector Berlioz (English, French song)

“Narcissus and Echo” Metamorphoses by Ovid (English)

“‘Echo, plaintive nymph,’ Grantaire sang under his breath.” (Les Mis 3.4.4)

Grantaire is singing a line from an 1810 song called “Fleuve du Tage” by Joseph Hélitas de Meun and Jean-Joseph Benoît Pollet, which is based on the story of the nymph Echo from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. In 1819, the composer Berlioz published an arrangement of the song which is much easier to find in recordings than the original, and since Berlioz was Victor Hugo’s friend I feel like he probably listened to his version anyway.

Grantaire references a couple different stories from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Apparently, the story collection was getting a bunch of new illustrated editions released around this time and, in her book on mythology and art history in Revolutionary Era France, Dorothy Johnson says that Metamorphoses attained a popularity “verging on mania” (link). I can only imagine that, faced with such rapidly changing times, a story collection about reckoning with transformation would feel really relevant.

The reference isn’t nearly as random as it sounds in English. In the line before this one, Bossuet is going off about property law, ending with a list of words that, in French, use assonance to create a sort of sing-songy effect: “domaniaires et domaniaux, hypothécaires et hypothécaux…” Hypothécaux ends in the sound “echo,” so Grantaire is playing off of this by echoing that sound with a reference to a song about Echo. It’s a very literary but bad pun. I actually saw a tumblr post about this line a while back (here) where someone said that Grantaire is basically pulling the equivalent of someone today who hears “let’s get down to business” and has to respond with “to defeat the Huns!” That is honestly the best explanation of what he’s doing here and I’m not going to try to describe it any other way.

Furthermore, in doing this pun under his breath as an echo while no one pays attention to him, he’s sort of reenacting the myth of Echo. Something he probably relates to because of, you know, the way he’s constantly trying to get Enjolras’s attention and failing miserably. The pun has layers.

Le Bal de Sceaux (The Ball at Sceaux) by Honoré de Balzac (English)

“Once, trusting in some lovely September sunshine, Marius allowed himself to be taken along by Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Grantaire to the [ball] at Sceaux, hoping - what a pipe dream! - that he might perhaps find her there. He did not, of course, see the girl he was looking for. ‘Yet this is the place where all lost women are to be found,’ Grantaire grumbled privately.” (Les Mis 3.8.1)

In LM 3.8.1, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Grantaire persuade Marius to go to a ball at Sceaux, a suburb of Paris. I think this part is probably a reference to Balzac’s novella The Ball at Sceaux, especially this little aside Grantaire says when Marius doesn’t find his mystery girl at the ball. The novella was a part of Le Comédie Humaine, which was a massive collection of popular novels and short stories by Honoré de Balzac depicting French society in the Bourbon Restoration and July Monarchy, providing social commentary through the mode of pop fiction.

The Ball at Sceaux came out in 1830, just in time for the boys to have read it before they dragged their morose friend out to party in the suburbs. The story follows Émilie de Fontaine, a beautiful daughter from a prominent family who has rejected all her previous suitors because they don’t meet her impossibly high standards. Then she goes to a Ball at Sceaux (title drop) and meets Maximilien de Longueville, who is as handsome and stylish as he is mysterious. Émilie becomes determined to figure out who he is, so she starts taking carriage rides through neighborhoods she thinks he might live in and goes back to the ball several times in hopes of running into him. Eventually through some wacky hijinx she does find him and they fall in love, but alas, Émilie discovers that Maximilien has been working as a salesclerk this whole time. She’s so horrified she breaks up with him on the spot. She marries her elderly uncle for his title instead, but then a few years later when she’s sitting there at a party with her 70-year-old husband she looks up and sees Maximilien walking in the door. Turns out he was actually a viscount who had selflessly given his inheritance to his siblings to save them from ruin and that’s why he’d been working in the shop. Now he’s unbelievably rich and hot and every girl in the room wants to marry Maximilien while Émilie’s sitting there watching him from afar thinking about how she once had the chance to marry him but she had said see you later boy, he wasn’t good enough for her. It’s literally the plot of Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne.

Anyway, it’s basically just a timely reference to young people having social and relationship drama at a ball. There’s a flattering comparison to be made between Maximilien and Marius: both young men from prestigious families living in poverty because of their principles. And a slightly less flattering comparison to be made between Émilie and Marius: instantly falling in love with a mysterious stranger who they know nothing about and running around town desperately trying to find them. The boys are apparently trying to Hallmark movie their bro into a meet-cute, and they’re disappointed it’s not working.

On the Principles of Political Morality by Maximilien Robespierre (English)

Discours sur l’organisation des Gardes nationales by Maximilien Robespierre (French)

“[Graintaire, trying to impress Enjolras:] ‘I’ll talk to them about Robespierre, of course! And about Danton. About principles.’” (Les Mis 4.1.6) “Grantaire lived in furnished lodgings very close to Café Musain. He went out, and came back five minutes later.  He had gone home to put on a Robespierre-style waistcoat. ‘Red,’ he said as he came in, gazing intently at Enjolras.” (Les Mis 4.1.6)

In LM 4.1.6, Grantaire lists a bunch of politicians and publications to Enjolras that he claims to be familiar with in an attempt to impress Enjolras. I talked about basically everything on this list in my Enjolras booklist, but it’s also somewhat informative about Grantaire’s reading habits as well. I mean, I do believe he read these things even if he doesn’t take them seriously. So I’m going to discuss them again!

One of the very first things we learn about Grantaire is how he publicly, repeatedly makes fun of Robespierre’s brother for dying alongside him because he cared about his political ideals. So it’s incredibly funny that he leads his pitch to Enjolras by how he’ll of course talk about Robespierre and his principles. He’s absolutely just trying to appeal to things he knows Enjolras likes. And then, to make things even more cringe, he runs home and it turns out he owns a Robespierre-style waistcoat (in red, of course) which he puts on and runs back to the Cafe for absolutely no reason but to make intense eye contact with Enjolras while pointing out his waistcoat before leaving to immediately fuck up the task Enjolras assigned him. Like… there is literally no reason he does any of this but to try and impress Enjolras and he bombs so hard. To make things worse, the task he volunteers for is to talk to the marble workers and painters! This is literally ex-painter’s assistant Grantaire’s assignment to win and he just can’t do it. This is so cringggge omg.

So, anyway, what is a Robespierre waistcoat? Apparently, it was a style like the one in this painting (link) with dramatic lapels that are really wide and flop outside of the coat almost to the shoulders. I have yet to see a version of the musical where Grantaire is actually wearing one of these, but he absolutely should! 

Speeches of Georges Jacques Danton (English)

“[Graintaire, trying to impress Enjolras:] ‘I’ll talk to them about Robespierre, of course! And about Danton. About principles.’” (Les Mis 4.1.6)

Another French revolutionary orator on Grantaire’s list to impress Enjolras. Enjolras never references Danton directly, but Grantaire thinks Enjolras likes him and I’m tempted to agree. Danton is another one of the main revolutionaries associated with Robespierre and The Terror. This is a bit of an easy guess for Grantaire, because we know Enjolras likes The Terror. Reportedly, Danton, unlike Robespierre and Saint-Just, never gave manuscripts to journalists and most of his speeches were extemporaneous. So despite being present for so much of history during this era, he doesn’t have as much published work to point to for this reference. Because of that and because this is such a minor reference, I decided not to look too hard and just included a collection of speeches compiled in 1910. Obviously that’s way after Enjolras and Grantaire would be dead, but the same speeches would’ve been available in their time, just printed in other places like Le Moniteur or whatever. Speaking of anachronistic Danton references, there’s a whole Hark! A Vagrant episode (321) about Danton, and in the description Kate Beaton also laments how the guy didn’t write anything down. You and me both, queen.

Révolutions de Paris edited by Louis-Marie Prudhomme - Several articles in translation (English)

Histoire generale et impartiale des erreurs, des fautes et des crimes commis pendant la Revolution francaise by Louis-Marie Prudhomme (French)

“[Graintaire, trying to impress Enjolras:] ‘But I’m not being given the credit I deserve. When I put my mind to it, I’m terrific. I’ve read Prudhomme, I’m familiar with the Social Contract, I know by heart my constitution of the year II.’” (Les Mis 4.1.6)

This is another one that Grantaire thinks Enjolras likes. Prudhomme ran one of the best-known revolutionary newspapers and a few books about the revolutionary period and The Terror. In a kind of funny turn of events, this one tangentially connects back to an earlier reference Grantaire made. Most notably, Prudhomme’s Histoire, roughly translated as Impartial Errors, Mistakes and Crimes Committed During the French Revolution, is a six volume account of the terrors and faults of the French National Convention. It has a passage that mentions Loizerolles died because of vindictive prison guards, which is apparently closer to the truth of what really happened than the version Grantaire references earlier (link). So if he read that particular part of Prudhomme’s work, he obviously didn’t care. 

The Social Contract by Jean-Jacques Rousseau (English)

“[Graintaire, trying to impress Enjolras:] ‘But I’m not being given the credit I deserve. When I put my mind to it, I’m terrific. I’ve read Prudhomme, I’m familiar with the Social Contract, I know by heart my constitution of the year II.’” (Les Mis 4.1.6)

I talk a bit in Enjolras’s booklist about how much he loves Jean-Jacques Rousseau - defending him for abandoning his children, referring to him by his first name like they’re friends, and giving a Social Contract 101 lesson at the barricade. Grantaire has definitely picked up on this, so he mentions that he’s familiar with it while he’s trying to impress Enjolras with how woke and well-read he is. Rousseau’s Social Contract is a huge influence on the politics of Les Amis in general and even though Grantaire doesn’t believe in that kind of stuff, it seems like he’s at least read up on it. Reportedly.

There is no Constitution of Year II!

“[Graintaire, trying to impress Enjolras:] ‘I’ve read Prudhomme, I’m familiar with the Social Contract, I know by heart my constitution of the year II. “The liberty of the citizen ends where the liberty of another citizen begins.” Do you take me for a brute beast? I have in my drawer an old promissory note from the time of the Revolution. The rights of man, the sovereignty of the people, for God’s sake!’” (Les Mis 4.1.6)

There was a Constitution of Year I (1793) and a Constitution of Year III (1795), but there was no Constitution of Year II! I nearly drove myself insane on this one, assuming I must be missing some really obscure, little-known fact from French history, but no. Grantaire’s just making shit up and paraphrasing the Declaration of Rights of Man and Citizen. This might just be a typo, but I like to believe it’s actually an in-universe character trait that sometimes Grantaire just says shit during his long rants and it’s completely wrong but no one notices because he’s been talking for eight whole minutes before he gets to his point. No wonder Enjolras isn’t impressed by Grantaire here. He would definitely notice this error. Embarrassing.

Le Père Duchesne edited by Jacques René Hébert - Several articles in translation (English)

“The Père Duchesne Supports the Terror,” Le Père Duchesne, no. 234 (English)

“[Graintaire, trying to impress Enjolras:] ‘The rights of man, the sovereignty of the people, for God’s sake!  I am even a bit of a Hébertist. I can keep coming out with some wonderful things, watch in hand, for a whole six hours by the clock.’” (Les Mis 4.1.6)

This one is an absolute delight to read and actually hysterical if this is the kind of rhetoric that Grantaire thinks will impress Enjolras. Genuinely lmao. The Hébertists were a political group associated with journalist Jacques René Hébert, the founder and editor of the irreverent radical newspaper Le Père Duchesne. They were proponents of extreme revolutionary ideas during the Reign of Terror, but their leadership was ultimately executed in 1794. Yet again, we have no concrete proof that Enjolras actually read Hébertist literature, but Grantaire certainly thinks this is the kind of thing that would be impressive to Enjolras.