The Man Who Laughs VICTOR HUGO PART 2 BOOK 2 CHAPTER 12 doc

The Man Who Laughs
VICTOR HUGO
PART 2
BOOK 2
CHAPTER 12
Ursus the Poet Drags on Ursus the
Philosopher

Then Dea entered. He looked at her, and saw nothing but her. This is love; one
may be carried away for a moment by the importunity of some other idea, but the
beloved one enters, and all that does not appertain to her presence immediately
fades away, without her dreaming that perhaps she is effacing in us a world.
Let us mention a circumstance. In "Chaos Vanquished," the word monstruo,
addressed to Gwynplaine, displeased Dea. Sometimes, with the smattering of
Spanish which every one knew at the period, she took it into her head to replace it
by quiero, which signifies, "I wish it." Ursus tolerated, although not without an
expression of impatience, this alteration in his text. He might have said to Dea, as
in our day Moessard said to Vissot, Tu manques de respect au repertoire.
"The Laughing Man."
Such was the form of Gwynplaine's fame. His name, Gwynplaine, little known at
any time, had disappeared under his nickname, as his face had disappeared under
its grin.
His popularity was like his visage a mask.
His name, however, was to be read on a large placard in front of the Green Box,
which offered the crowd the following narrative composed by Ursus:
"Here is to be seen Gwynplaine, deserted at the age of ten, on the night of the 29th
of January, 1690, by the villainous Comprachicos, on the coast of Portland. The
little boy has grown up, and is called now, THE LAUGHING MAN."
The existence of these mountebanks was as an existence of lepers in a leper-house,
and of the blessed in one of the Pleiades. There was every day a sudden transition
from the noisy exhibition outside, into the most complete seclusion. Every evening

they made their exit from this world. They were like the dead, vanishing on
condition of being reborn next day. A comedian is a revolving light, appearing one
moment, disappearing the next, and existing for the public but as a phantom or a
light, as his life circles round. To exhibition succeeded isolation. When the
performance was finished, whilst the audience were dispersing, and their murmur
of satisfaction was dying away in the streets, the Green Box shut up its platform, as
a fortress does its drawbridge, and all communication with mankind was cut off.
On one side, the universe; on the other, the caravan; and this caravan contained
liberty, clear consciences, courage, devotion, innocence, happiness, love all the
constellations.
Blindness having sight and deformity beloved sat side by side, hand pressing hand,
brow touching brow, and whispered to each other, intoxicated with love.
The compartment in the middle served two purposes for the public it was a stage,
for the actors a dining-room.
Ursus, ever delighting in comparisons, profited by the diversity of its uses to liken
the central compartment in the Green Box to the arradach in an Abyssinian hut.
Ursus counted the receipts, then they supped. In love all is ideal. In love, eating
and drinking together affords opportunities for many sweet promiscuous touches,
by which a mouthful becomes a kiss. They drank ale or wine from the same glass,
as they might drink dew out of the same lily. Two souls in love are as full of grace
as two birds. Gwynplaine waited on Dea, cut her bread, poured out her drink,
approached her too close.
"Hum!" cried Ursus, and he turned away, his scolding melting into a smile.
The wolf supped under the table, heedless of everything which did actually not
concern his bone.
Fibi and Vinos shared the repast, but gave little trouble. These vagabonds, half
wild and as uncouth as ever, spoke in the gipsy language to each other.
At length Dea re-entered the women's apartment with Fibi and Vinos. Ursus
chained up Homo under the Green Box; Gwynplaine looked after the horses, the
lover becoming a groom, like a hero of Homer's or a paladin of Charlemagne's. At

midnight, all were asleep, except the wolf, who, alive to his responsibility, now
and then opened an eye. The next morning they met again. They breakfasted
together, generally on ham and tea. Tea was introduced into England in 1678. Then
Dea, after the Spanish fashion, took a siesta, acting on the advice of Ursus, who
considered her delicate, and slept some hours, while Gwynplaine and Ursus did all
the little jobs of work, without and within, which their wandering life made
necessary. Gwynplaine rarely wandered away from the Green Box, except on
unfrequented roads and in solitary places. In cities he went out only at night,
disguised in a large, slouched hat, so as not to exhibit his face in the street.
His face was to be seen uncovered only on the stage.
The Green Box had frequented cities but little. Gwynplaine at twenty-four had
never seen towns larger than the Cinque Ports. His renown, however, was
increasing. It began to rise above the populace, and to percolate through higher
ground. Amongst those who were fond of, and ran after, strange foreign curiosities
and prodigies, it was known that there was somewhere in existence, leading a
wandering life, now here, now there, an extraordinary monster. They talked about
him, they sought him, they asked where he was. The laughing man was becoming
decidedly famous. A certain lustre was reflected on "Chaos Vanquished."
So much so, that, one day, Ursus, being ambitious, said,
"We must go to London."