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Les Misérables by Victor Hugo BOOK THE SEVENTH. CHAPTER VII THE TRAVELLER ON HIS ARRIVAL TAKES PRECAUTIONS FOR DEPARTURE
“Certainly, sir; you see, the prefecture of today was the bishop’s palace before the Revolution. M. de Conzie, who was bishop in ‘82, built a grand hall there. It is in this grand hall that the court is held.” On the way, the bourgeois said to him:— “If Monsieur desires to witness a case, it is rather late. The sittings generally close at six o’clock.” When they arrived on the grand square, however, the man pointed out to him four long windows all lighted up, in the front of a vast and gloomy building. “Upon my word, sir, you are in luck; you have arrived in season. Do you see those four windows? That is the Court of Assizes. There is light there, so they are not through. The matter must have been greatly protracted, and they are holding an evening session. Do you take an interest in this affair? Is it a criminal case? Are you a witness?” He replied:— “I have not come on any business; I only wish to speak to one of the lawyers.” “That is different,” said the bourgeois. “Stop, sir; here is the door where the sentry stands. You have only to ascend the grand staircase.” He conformed to the bourgeois’s directions, and a few minutes later he was in a hall containing many people, and where groups, intermingled with lawyers in their gowns, were whispering together here and there. It is always a heart-breaking thing to see these congregations of men robed in black, murmuring together in low voices, on the threshold of the halls of justice. It is rare that charity and pity are the outcome of these words. Condemnations pronounced in advance are more likely to be the result. All these groups seem to the passing and thoughtful observer so many sombre hives where buzzing spirits construct in concert all sorts of dark edifices. This spacious hall, illuminated by a single lamp, was the old hall of the episcopal palace, and served as the large hall of the palace of justice. A double-leaved door, which was closed at that moment, separated it from the large apartment where the court was sitting. The obscurity was such that he did not fear to accost the first lawyer whom he met. “What stage have they reached, sir?” he asked. “It is finished,” said the lawyer. “Finished!” This word was repeated in such accents that the lawyer turned round. “Excuse me sir; perhaps you are a relative?” “No; I know no one here. Has judgment been pronounced?” “Of course. Nothing else was possible.” “To penal servitude?” “For life.” He continued, in a voice so weak that it was barely audible:— “Then his identity was established?” “What identity?” replied the lawyer. “There was no identity to be established. The matter was very simple. The woman had murdered her child; the infanticide was proved; the jury threw out the question of premeditation, and she was condemned for life.” “So it was a woman?” said he. “Why, certainly. The Limosin woman. Of what are you speaking?” “Nothing. But since it is all over, how comes it that the hall is still lighted?” “For another case, which was begun about two hours ago.” “What other case?” “Oh! this one is a clear case also. It is about a sort of blackguard; a man arrested for a second offence; a convict who has been guilty of theft. I don’t know his name exactly. There’s a bandit’s phiz for you! I’d send him to the galleys on the strength of his face alone.” “Is there any way of getting into the court-room, sir?” said he. “I really think that there is not. There is a great crowd. However, the hearing has been suspended. Some people have gone out, and when
● Victor Hugo the hearing is resumed, you might make an effort.” “Where is the entrance?” “Through yonder large door.” The lawyer left him. In the course of a few moments he had experienced, almost simultaneously, almost intermingled with each other, all possible emotions. The words of this indifferent spectator had, in turn, pierced his heart like needles of ice and like blades of fire. When he saw that nothing was settled, he breathed freely once more; but he could not have told whether what he felt was pain or pleasure. He drew near to many groups and listened to what they were saying. The docket of the session was very heavy; the president had appointed for the same day two short and simple cases. They had begun with the infanticide, and now they had reached the convict, the old offender, the “return horse.” This man had stolen apples, but that did not appear to be entirely proved; what had been proved was, that he had already been in the galleys at Toulon. It was that which lent a bad aspect to his case. However, the man’s examination and the depositions of the witnesses had been completed, but the lawyer’s plea, and the speech of the public prosecutor were still to come; it could not be finished before midnight. The man would probably be condemned; the attorney-general was very clever, and never missed his culprits; he was a brilliant fellow who wrote verses. An usher stood at the door communicating with the hall of the Assizes. He inquired of this usher:— “Will the door be opened soon, sir?” “It will not be opened at all,” replied the usher. “What! It will not be opened when the hearing is resumed? Is not the hearing suspended?” “The hearing has just been begun again,” replied the usher, “but the door will not be opened again.” “Why?” “Because the hall is full.” “What! There is not room for one more?”
“Not another one. The door is closed. No one can enter now.” The usher added after a pause: “There are, to tell the truth, two or three extra places behind Monsieur le President, but Monsieur le President only admits public functionaries to them.” So saying, the usher turned his back. He retired with bowed head, traversed the antechamber, and slowly descended the stairs, as though hesitating at every step. It is probable that he was holding counsel with himself. The violent conflict which had been going on within him since the preceding evening was not yet ended; and every moment he encountered some new phase of it. On reaching the landing-place, he leaned his back against the balusters and folded his arms. All at once he opened his coat, drew out his pocket-book, took from it a pencil, tore out a leaf, and upon that leaf he wrote rapidly, by the light of the street lantern, this line: M. Madeleine, Mayor of M. sur M.; then he ascended the stairs once more with great strides, made his way through the crowd, walked straight up to the usher, handed him the paper, and said in an authoritative manner:— “Take this to Monsieur le President.” The usher took the paper, cast a glance upon it, and obeyed.
CHAPTER VIII AN ENTRANCE BY FAVOR Although he did not suspect the fact, the mayor of M. sur M. enjoyed a sort of celebrity. For the space of seven years his reputation for virtue had filled the whole of Bas Boulonnais; it had eventually passed the confines of a small district and had been spread abroad through two or three neighboring departments. Besides the service which he had rendered to the chief town by resuscitating the black jet industry, there was not one out of the hundred and forty communes of the arrondissement of M. sur M. which was not indebted to him for some benefit. He had even at need contrived to aid and multiply
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the industries of other arrondissements. It was thus that he had, when occasion offered, supported with his credit and his funds the linen factory at Boulogne, the flax-spinning industry at Frevent, and the hydraulic manufacture of cloth at Boubers-sur-Canche. Everywhere the name of M. Madeleine was pronounced with veneration. Arras and Douai envied the happy little town of M. sur M. its mayor. The Councillor of the Royal Court of Douai, who was presiding over this session of the Assizes at Arras, was acquainted, in common with the rest of the world, with this name which was so profoundly and universally honored. When the usher, discreetly opening the door which connected the council-chamber with the court-room, bent over the back of the President’s arm-chair and handed him the paper on which was inscribed the line which we have just perused, adding: “The gentleman desires to be present at the trial,” the President, with a quick and deferential movement, seized a pen and wrote a few words at the bottom of the paper and returned it to the usher, saying, “Admit him.” The unhappy man whose history we are relating had remained near the door of the hall, in the same place and the same attitude in which the usher had left him. In the midst of his revery he heard some one saying to him, “Will Monsieur do me the honor to follow me?” It was the same usher who had turned his back upon him but a moment previously, and who was now bowing to the earth before him. At the same time, the usher handed him the paper. He unfolded it, and as he chanced to be near the light, he could read it. “The President of the Court of Assizes presents his respects to M. Madeleine.” He crushed the paper in his hand as though those words contained for him a strange and bitter aftertaste. He followed the usher. A few minutes later he found himself alone in a sort of wainscoted cabinet of severe aspect, lighted by two wax candles, placed upon a table with a green cloth. The last words of the usher who had just quitted him still rang in his ears: “Monsieur, you are now in the council-chamber; you have only to turn the copper handle of yonder door, and you will find yourself in the court-room, behind the President’s chair.” These words were mingled in his thoughts with a vague memory of narrow corridors and dark staircases which he had recently traversed. The usher had left him alone. The supreme moment had arrived. He sought to collect his faculties, but could not. It is chiefly at the moment when there is the greatest need for attaching them to the painful realities of life, that the threads of thought snap within the brain. He was in the very place where the judges deliberated and condemned. With stupid tranquillity he surveyed this peaceful and terrible apartment, where so many lives had been broken, which was soon to ring with his name, and which his fate was at that moment traversing. He stared at the wall, then he looked at himself, wondering that it should be that chamber and that it should be he. He had eaten nothing for four and twenty hours; he was worn out by the jolts of the cart, but he was not conscious of it. It seemed to him that he felt nothing. He approached a black frame which was suspended on the wall, and which contained, under glass, an ancient autograph letter of Jean Nicolas Pache, mayor of Paris and minister, and dated, through an error, no doubt, the 9th of June, of the year II., and in which Pache forwarded to the commune the list of ministers and deputies held in arrest by them. Any spectator who had chanced to see him at that moment, and who had watched him, would have imagined, doubtless, that this letter struck him as very curious, for he did not take his eyes from it, and he read it two or three times. He read it without paying any attention to it, and unconsciously. He was thinking of Fantine and Cosette. As he dreamed, he turned round, and his eyes fell upon the brass knob of the door which separated him from the Court of Assizes. He had almost forgotten that door. His glance, calm at
Continued on Page 24
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From Page 33 first, paused there, remained fixed on that brass handle, then grew terrified, and little by little became impregnated with fear. Beads of perspiration burst forth among his hair and trickled down upon his temples. At a certain moment he made that indescribable gesture of a sort of authority mingled with rebellion, which is intended to convey, and which does so well convey, “Pardieu! who compels me to this?” Then he wheeled briskly round, caught sight of the door through which he had entered in front of him, went to it, opened it, and passed out. He was no longer in that chamber; he was outside in a corridor, a long, narrow corridor, broken by steps and gratings, making all sorts of angles, lighted here and there by lanterns similar to the night taper of invalids, the corridor through which he had approached. He breathed, he listened; not a sound in front, not a sound behind him, and he fled as though pursued. When he had turned many angles in this corridor, he still listened. The same silence reigned, and there was the same darkness around him. He was out of breath; he staggered; he leaned against the wall. The stone was cold; the perspiration lay ice-cold on his brow; he straightened himself up with a shiver. Then, there alone in the darkness, trembling with cold and with something else, too, perchance, he meditated. He had meditated all night long; he had meditated all the day: he heard within him but one voice, which said, “Alas!” A quarter of an hour passed thus. At length he bowed his head, sighed with agony, dropped his arms, and retraced his steps. He walked slowly, and as though crushed. It seemed as though some one had overtaken him in his flight and was leading him back. He re-entered the council-chamber. The first thing he caught sight of was the knob of the door. This knob, which was round and of polished brass, shone like a terrible star for him. He gazed at it as a lamb might gaze into the eye of a tiger. He could not take his eyes from it. From time to time he advanced a step and approached the door. Had he listened, he would have heard the sound
of the adjoining hall like a sort of confused murmur; but he did not listen, and he did not hear. Suddenly, without himself knowing how it happened, he found himself near the door; he grasped the knob convulsively; the door opened. He was in the court-room.
CHAPTER IX A PLACE WHERE CONVICTIONS ARE IN PROCESS OF FORMATION He advanced a pace, closed the door mechanically behind him, and remained standing, contemplating what he saw. It was a vast and badly lighted apartment, now full of uproar, now full of silence, where all the apparatus of a criminal case, with its petty and mournful gravity in the midst of the throng, was in process of development. At the one end of the hall, the one where he was, were judges, with abstracted air, in threadbare robes, who were gnawing their nails or closing their eyelids; at the other end, a ragged crowd; lawyers in all sorts of attitudes; soldiers with hard but honest faces; ancient, spotted woodwork, a dirty ceiling, tables covered with serge that was yellow rather than green; doors blackened by handmarks; tap-room lamps which emitted more smoke than light, suspended from nails in the wainscot; on the tables candles in brass candlesticks; darkness, ugliness, sadness; and from all this there was disengaged an austere and august impression, for one there felt that grand human thing which is called the law, and that grand divine thing which is called justice. No one in all that throng paid any attention to him; all glances were directed towards a single point, a wooden bench placed against a small door, in the stretch of wall on the President’s left; on this bench, illuminated by several candles, sat a man between two gendarmes. This man was the man. He did not seek him; he saw him; his eyes went thither naturally, as though they had known beforehand where that figure was. He thought he was looking at himself, grown old; not absolutely the same in face, of course, but exactly similar in attitude and aspect, with his bristling hair, with that wild and uneasy eye, with that blouse, just as it was on the day when
he entered D——, full of hatred, concealing his soul in that hideous mass of frightful thoughts which he had spent nineteen years in collecting on the floor of the prison. He said to himself with a shudder, “Good God! shall I become like that again?” This creature seemed to be at least sixty; there was something indescribably coarse, stupid, and frightened about him. At the sound made by the opening door, people had drawn aside to make way for him; the President had turned his head, and, understanding that the personage who had just entered was the mayor of M. sur M., he had bowed to him; the attorney-general, who had seen M. Madeleine at M. sur M., whither the duties of his office had called him more than once, recognized him and saluted him also: he had hardly perceived it; he was the victim of a sort of hallucination; he was watching. Judges, clerks, gendarmes, a throng of cruelly curious heads, all these he had already beheld once, in days gone by, twenty-seven years before; he had encountered those fatal things once more; there they were; they moved; they existed; it was no longer an effort of his memory, a mirage of his thought; they were real gendarmes and real judges, a real crowd, and real men of flesh and blood: it was all over; he beheld the monstrous aspects of his past reappear and live once more around him, with all that there is formidable in reality. All this was yawning before him. He was horrified by it; he shut his eyes, and exclaimed in the deepest recesses of his soul, “Never!” And by a tragic play of destiny which made all his ideas tremble, and rendered him nearly mad, it was another self of his that was there! all called that man who was being tried Jean Valjean. Under his very eyes, unheard-of vision, he had a sort of representation of the most horrible moment of his life, enacted by his spectre. Everything was there; the apparatus was the same, the hour of the night, the faces of the judges, of soldiers, and of spectators; all were the same, only above the President’s head there hung a crucifix, something which the courts had lacked at the time of his condemnation: God had been absent when he had been judged. There was a chair behind him; he dropped into
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it, terrified at the thought that he might be seen; when he was seated, he took advantage of a pile of cardboard boxes, which stood on the judge’s desk, to conceal his face from the whole room; he could now see without being seen; he had fully regained consciousness of the reality of things; gradually he recovered; he attained that phase of composure where it is possible to listen. M. Bamatabois was one of the jurors. He looked for Javert, but did not see him; the seat of the witnesses was hidden from him by the clerk’s table, and then, as we have just said, the hall was sparely lighted. At the moment of this entrance, the defendant’s lawyer had just finished his plea. The attention of all was excited to the highest pitch; the affair had lasted for three hours: for three hours that crowd had been watching a strange man, a miserable specimen of humanity, either profoundly stupid or profoundly subtle, gradually bending beneath the weight of a terrible likeness. This man, as the reader already knows, was a vagabond who had been found in a field carrying a branch laden with ripe apples, broken in the orchard of a neighbor, called the Pierron orchard. Who was this man? an examination had been made; witnesses had been heard, and they were unanimous; light had abounded throughout the entire debate; the accusation said: “We have in our grasp not only a marauder, a stealer of fruit; we have here, in our hands, a bandit, an old offender who has broken his ban, an ex-convict, a miscreant of the most dangerous description, a malefactor named Jean Valjean, whom justice has long been in search of, and who, eight years ago, on emerging from the galleys at Toulon, committed a highway robbery, accompanied by violence, on the person of a child, a Savoyard named Little Gervais; a crime provided for by article 383 of the Penal Code, the right to try him for which we reserve hereafter, when his identity shall have been judicially established. He has just committed a fresh theft; it is a case of a second offence; condemn him for the fresh deed; later on he will be judged for the old crime.” To Be Continued Next Issue
Observer Crossword Solution No 6 O N G O I N G
P T R L A G D E OD U Y S EM O E L U T R E ON
I MUM D U L L E R O P E C P A D D L S P OR E E A T OU T H E A D I T AME T A L E N S G OW P R A N C E N B R A N C H MOD E S T M S O A S GO A T E E MEME N T O S B E S P L O V E R S A T A N WA Y L E P E A K E D V I X E N A N I MA L S F L OR I D N A N D SWA T R A G H E P E E MA NG E WA F T I N C A S O V A L S P U R E E M I N U T E S E L E R A T E MA S K S J UGG L E R S D E A MA R E S MA S H R E AM S L M T S O S L U R E D R I C H T E R C L A D S P A R I S MU S K Y E T ON I C N E P A R K A MA S T S E S A U N I G E L B OGG Y M I L K S H C R Y C I D E S T E P E E M I N T S R A P H E A L T A P C H A P S GO L D A P I L L S A NON R E AMY P A P A S P ON T OON K N I T R T I S H A V E N A U L D D R AW G L E N U P O S E D WE L L D T Y R E EM I T B A N T U C A R L ME S S O P S P A I N P L A T O OR C A T OO L G A N A I V E B E S S P E S O S A G N E X T G A R E L S T O A T ROME L E N A Y L I R A S A D Y U K ON L A N K S A V E NO V A Y A P R I GOR R I NG T E RM I T E M B E L OW N A T A L DO I N L O A N S P U S E P I A S C R U B B L E D S A O C E D D Y E L P S H E RON D OW M WE E D S E A T S R I G I D N E I L MA N L Y E V A N S C A L A D UGU P L L I F T S OM I T E L O P E S EM I T H RON E S J E T H I C R A NG EWE R MO UMB E R T O S S A H I GH S S C R E AME D R E L L T A C K D E EMS HOR R I D P A R T Y EW R I N K R E I C H P U T T D I S C S X T I D I L Y P L O R E P S W S P Y V I V D I V A C E R N E S T L I S T S D C E N S OR N U N V E N U E B R A L A S O P U S B A R R A G E S P L A L EMON U P T F I RM A L E A S E S HOO K I N I T I A L L A P E L S AME N HOO K E N R T R I P E L P ON D DOU B L E GU E S S E D D R E S S Y Y O B S B O S S E
E T HWA R T S T A I R O T D R Y L A N A R E D T T MA H A EWA Y ON O K A Y GO C R EWE D D MON A WE S N E RO T H D GR A E E K B L U N A T E S E T N L U R C H HO P ROO F R Y OU R S E D T R A C K F E R S Y R I I V A L S A N T I T A N P G L AMA S R P I E S U N T R A I N B B J OR N B OO B S F U NG I MA I ME S ME L L P S GU L L E S A L L O Y S GR E E N CO I N S S I R E N A K I V E S S P U D E S P E A R E T GH E T T S R A L P H L OR E Y E L OU NG E M ODG EM P I I GH T I R T E S P A N S E D B K R L OW T I D EMC E E N D D R E DG E
S A D D L E D A B S T A I N S A A T I S H O O Y R E A D S O U T P A Y H E E D
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Buying Guide
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Healthy Living
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Outdoor Living
Sentinel Q Electronic Snake Repeller
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Victorian Rural News
t a s u See ield Days F e r o Elm Site 77
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Victorian Rural News
Come and see us at the Elmore Field Days Oct. 2-3-4
Grain Rings
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Places To Go
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Travelling
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Travel Extra
Currumbin Sands Apartments
Stay 4, Pay for 3 Nights Stay 7, Pay for 5 Nights May - until June 24 Currumbin Sands holiday apartments are uniquely positioned on absolute beachfront at Palm Beach adjacent to the Currumbin Estuary. There are no roads to cross to the beach and here you can relax and enjoy the ultimate Gold Coast accommodation holiday apartment on the beachfront. At Currumbin Sands you can surf the local point break at the Alley, watch the kids swim in the calm waters of the creek, fish along the quiet river bank, walk barefoot together along the ocean beach and make lasting memories. The Currumbin Sands resort itself enjoys a very high repeat booking rate with loyal guests coming back year after year. This family friendly three story complex offers generous 1,2 and 3 bedroom apartment sizes with a variety of pool, garden, river or beach views from each individual apartment. Guests have key access to the private
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Travel Extra
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Travellers’ Good Buys
with David Ellis
Beauty of Spain’s Ronda will rock you
■ To ask whether the Andalusian town of Ronda in southern Spain is spectacular is somewhat akin to asking if Julia Roberts is a pretty woman. Famous 20th century Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke summed it up when he wrote: “I have sought everywhere the city of my dreams, and I have finally found it in Ronda. There is nothing that is more startling than this wild and mountainous city.” He wasn’t alone. Others to shout its praises have included Nobel Prizewinning author Ernest Hemmingway and Hollywood legend Orson Welles. Both loved the town for its uniqueness – and for its bullfighting tradition, the local bullring being Spain’s oldest and probably most famous. Hemmingway wrote about the town, while Welles, a talented painter, captured it on his canvases and was so smitten that he asked to be buried on Ronda’s outskirts. Tourists marvel at how the city perches atop both sides of a 68-metre wide, 120-metre deep canyon, along the bottom of which flows the Rio Guadalevín. And its very name Ronda, simply means rocky. The city also abounds with violent history: the Romans and Carthage’s Hannibal clashed here, and later Catholics fought furiously against the followers of Islam with the worst conflicts in the 16th century, when count-
● Spain’s Ronda: “Nothing more startling than this wild and mountainous city.”
Melbourne
Observer Wines & Liqueurs
with David Ellis
Party time for good girls
■ Hard to beat with party-room oysters and other seafoods.
■ We missed seeing a Riesling under Julie Barry’s delightfully-named Good Catholic Girl label last year, but 2011’s vintage in South Australia’s Clare was one that could simply be summed-up as lousy, with above-average rainfall and the associated humidity-driven diseases that come with it.
One for lunch
But she’s certainly made up for it with her 2012 Good Catholic Girl Teresa Riesling that, unlike some previous vintages, she’s crafted entirely from fruit from the renowned vineyards of Barry Marsson high above Watervale, rather than blending fruit from several vineyards.
■ Albarino is a popular white variety that’s native to the Galicia region of Spain’s Atlantic coast, recognised by lovely dry stone-fruit and citrus flavours and a mineral finish.
A Vionta label Albarino that’s now available in Australia sells for $25 and is an ideal seafood wine: in its home country it is often matched with salted cod soaked in milk and roasted, while in America where it’s rapidly gaining popularity it’s partnered with Maine lobster rolls. Try either of these, or with green-lipped mussels grilled with parsley butter.
This one bursts forth in the glass with explosive yellow peach, apricot, lychee, passionfruit, apple and lime aromas, and on the palate has standout tropical fruit, apple and citrus flavours. If you are a good Catholic girl or a good Catholic boy (or not) this is one to consider getting now for Christmas partying – it’s an ideal drop with partyroom oysters and other seafoods. But a word of warning: Julie only made 200 cases at $25 a bottle, so get in now and order online through enquiry@goodcatholicgirl.com.au or by phoning Julie on 0419 822 909. Freight charges apply for this delightful drop, whose label alone is worth it to get the conversation going.
■ Taste of Spain with greenlipped mussels grilled with parsley butter.
less Spanish residents were slaughtered, and then in retribution, countless more Muslims. In the second wave of killings, those Muslims not slaughtered in battle were sold into slavery. And a famous scene in Hemingway’s classic For Whom the Bell Tolls is based on a particularly violent episode of the Spanish Civil War when 500 Fascist sympathisers were executed – simply by being thrown alive from high on Ronda’s cliff-faces into that 120m deep gorge. And interestingly some 70 per cent of photographs taken in Ronda are of its Puente Nuevo (New Bridge) that spans the canyon, although it is now anything but new having been finished in 1793 after 40-odd years of effort. Somewhat bizarrely the bridge has a number of rooms built into its centre span that were used for a time both as a prison and torture chamber – and later taken over for more humane purposes by a bar owner. Today it’s a museum. And while it was being built, José Martin de Aldehuela who was actually the second architect to work on the bridge after the first pulled out after 26 troubled years, turned his talents on the side to designing Rondo’s next most-photographed building, the Plaza de Toros bullring that was completed in 1784. The annual ‘Corrida Goyesca’ is a bullfght that draws aficionados from around Spain… with Giorgio Armani in recent years designing the colourful costumes for famed bullfighter Cayetano Rivera Ordonez for the event, wrapping him in satin jackets, trousers and cloaks in a shade of his trademark Armani Greige (a mixture of grey and beige). Ronda is also home to the EnfrenteArte Hotel (which means In Front of Art), a somewhat weird and wonderful place that’s a magnet for those looking to not only stay in one of the more unusual hotels in the world, but to photograph it almost as much as its host city’s famed bridge. Descriptions of the EnfrenteArte abound in its Guests Book: Bohemian, Fascinating, Funky and Bizarre amongst them. And little wonder ratings agencies put the hotel high on the WOW (Weird or Wonderful) factor: as soon as the visitor walks into Reception just off the oldest paved street in town, they’re confronted by the front half a bright yellow Fiat 600 motorcar sticking out of one of the walls. (Just where the rear half is located is another story for another day….) The whole of the EnfrenteArte Hotel is decorated with such original and historical “artworks.” Car tyres have been converted into occasional tables ... a surfboard serves for dining, and around the swimming pool are outrageously sculptured chairs specially shaped to fit one’s backside. And the unusual lighting, that includes glowing from kitschy fake bird’s nests in old basketballs, glitters out over wall murals immortalising the likes of Michael Jackson and Freddie Mercury. A unique establishment? You betcha. ■ Rooms: 12. For details go to www.enfrentearte.com. The hotel offers a complimentary ‘Doctor Fish’ pedicure, has a sauna, outdoor pool and Jacuzzi, and all drinks and breakfast are included in the room price.
Page 38 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, September 26, 2012
www.MelbourneObserver.com.au
Observer Readers’ Club
100 Years Ago. The Colac Herald. Friday, September 27, 1912 ALLECEDLARCENY, CHARGE DISMISSED. At the Colac Police Court yesterday, before Mr J. F. Parkinson, J.P., a young man named Frederick Austin was charged with stealing a clock, the priopert y of William H. Clements, of the Union Club Hotel. Mr Sewell (Harwood and Pincott) appeared for the defence. William H. Clements, of the Union Club Hotel, said he had a farm at Colac East. Accused had been in his employ as groom and useful. During the last few days accused had been at the farm to milk the cows. At the farm. He missed the clock from the room. He asked accused where the clock was, and he said it was in the room at the hotel. Witness went there, but could not find it. He again askiel the accused on Wednesday- about the clock. and on entering the room with witness, accused said he had left the clock 'tere, but did not know where it was. Witness said, "You removed it froni the farm, and ff you do not give it I be at the station before you go away and have the police there to search your box." Accused said, "If it is in my box I did not put it there. The clock was valued at about 5/. At the station the accused put po obstacle in the way of the box being opened. Clements said, "It is in Police openetl the box and found the clock there. Witness said, "How do you account for the clock being in the box ?" Accused replied. "I didn't put it there. Witness said, "Who did put it there?'" Accused did not reply. This morning accused said that a man named Smith put the clock in the box. Smith said he had done so by mistake. He had never been in trouble before. Mr Parkinson, J.P., said the case was a very suspicious one. He was loth to punish a young man for such a crime. There was a doubt that the defendant had not been straight forward. The case would be dismissed..
Melbourne Photo Flashback
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● Carlton player Percy Jones at the 1979 VFL Grand Final, after the match
Quote Of The Week
Reader Recipes
■ “There is no pillow so soft as a clear conscience.” - French proverb
■ Spotted in Fitzroy: “Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupdity.”
■ Fringe. An ornamental border of threads left loose or formed into tassels or twists
Did You Know?
Trivia Challenge ■ Who is on the front of the current Australian $100 note?
Your Stars with Christina La Cross ARIES (MAR 21 - APR 20) You may have a little bit of trouble talking a loved one into letting you make a trip away which, although you know you should not really undertake, you just don't seem to be able to resist. TAURUS (APR 21 - MAY 21) You seem frightened of upsetting your close ones but you are going to get them angry and upset if you continue to placate them with your fairy tales. Truth talks give you a better life. GEMINI (MAY 22 - JUNE 21) Don't make promises to loved ones that you know you have no intention of keeping. You are going to get yourself a reputation as a liar. Say what you mean so everyone knows where they stand. CANCER (JUNE 22 - JULY 23) Family is placing more than a few demands on you and you may find yourself retiring particularly early, as the last few week's changes take their toll on you. Time's needed to reflect. Use it. LEO (JULY 24 - AUG 23) Don't believe any gossip you hear at this time or you could end up insulting a face that has only ever supported you in business. Treat all as equal. You'll be glad later. VIRGO (AUG 24 - SEPT 23) You may well find yourself playing the role of student as you are asked to take note and learn things, which certain faces had assumed you knew already. Don't be embarrassed, embrace it. LIBRA (SEPT 24 - OCT 23) Your love life is getting more confusing by the day but luckily there's a touch of humour about all that is occurring. Don't let down a friend who you know is relying on you this week. SCORPIO (OCT 24 - NOV 22) You should actually find yourself having a really good time once you get rid of those inhibitions. Pisceans can offer you much support on a personal change that you should have made months ago. SAGITTARIUS (NOV 23 - DEC 21) You and a loved one have got to start to lay some better ground rules in your relationship. Certain events that have occurred seem to have made you more cautious of opening up your heart and feelings. CAPRICORN (DEC 22 - JAN 20) Beware of an immature mood doing damage to your reputation. You have so much more to offer and you must try to think before you speak my friend. AQUARIUS (JAN 21 - FEB 19) Work is beginning to take its toll on you. Find a way of winding down before the end of the week or you are not going to be in the mood to enjoy what's coming. PISCES (FEB 20 - MARCH 20) Somebody you thought did not hold any respect for you in the workplace is about to
FAX: 1-800 231 312 E-MAIL: editor@ melbourneobserver.com.au
Bumper Sticker
Word Of The Week
Answer: Dame Nellie Melba
THe Way We Were
● Footy finals food: Aussie beef and beef pie Photo/recipe courtesy Good Taste Ingredients 4 (about 650g) beef scotch fillet steaks, cut into 2cm pieces 2 tbs plain flour 2 tbs olive oil 1 brown onion, coarsely chopped 2 garlic cloves, crushed 2 tsp chopped fresh thyme 1 x 400g can chopped tomatoes 250ml (1 cup) beer 1 sheet (29 x 29cm) frozen ready-rolled shortcrust quiche pastry, just thawed 1 egg, lightly whisked 2 sheets (25 x 25cm) frozen ready-rolled puff pastry, just thawed Tomato sauce, to serve Method Step 1. Place the beef in a large bowl and sprinkle with flour. Season with salt and pepper. Gently toss to evenly coat. Step 2. Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic and thyme and cook, stirring, for 5 minutes or until onion is soft. Season with salt and pepper. Add the beef and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes or until browned. Step 3. Stir in the tomato and beer. Bring to a simmer. Reduce heat to low and cook, covered, for 55 minutes or until beef is tender. Set aside for 30 minutes to cool. Step 4. Preheat oven to 220°C. Place a baking tray on the middle shelf. Cut the shortcrust pastry sheet into quarters. Line 4 round 3cm-deep, 12cm (base measurement) pie tins with shortcrust pastry, allowing the sides to overhang. Brush the edges with egg. Divide the beef mixture evenly among the pastry cases. Step 5. Cut each puff pastry sheet in half diagonally. Top the pies with puff pastry and trim excess. Press the edges to seal. Step 6. Brush the pies with egg. Cut a small cross in the centre of each pie. Place the pies on the baking tray and bake in oven for 25 minutes or until golden and puffed. Serve with tomato sauce.
■ The term bank teller originated in the wake of the 1929 stock market crash, when banks started hiring low-paid workers to tell throngs of frantic depositors their money was gone.
Birthdays/Celebrations
■ Wednesday, September 26. Observer reader Daniel Trotter of North Melbourne is 67. Happy birthday to Lisa Hodgins, and Gavin Birch. Age journalist John Silvester (‘Sly Of The Underworld’) is 56 today. Melbourne girl Olivia Newton-John is 64. Journalist Andrew Bolt is 53. ■ Thursday, September 27. Happy 60th birthday Greg Long. Observer reader Mr S Liddicoat of Broadmeadows is 57. Jazz pianist Paul Grabowski is 54; he was born in Papua New Guinea. Actor Tim Campbell is 37. ■ Friday, September 28. Actor Sean Scully is 65. Footballer Gary Ayres is 52. ■ Saturday, September 29. Singer Peter Cupples is 59. Comedian Mark Mitchell and actor Tony Martin are 58. Prime Minister Julia Gillard is 51. ■ Sunday, September 30. Observer reader Peter Nicoll is 69. Observer columnist Mark Richardson is 41. TV host Gordon Elliott is 56; he was born in Liverpool, UK. ■ Monday, October 1. Observer reader Dennis Ingles of Bell Post Hill is 69. Observer reader Loretta Go of Dandenong is 66. TV news reporter Chris Reason is 47. Actress Kate Fitzpatrick is 65. Musician André Rieu is 63. Footb aller Gary Ablett Snr is 51. TV presenter Andrew O’Keefe is 41. ■ Tuesday, October 2. Jaide Long is 22. Actress Lorrae Desmond (Beryl Hunt) is 81. Actor Henri Szeps is 69. Former Melbourne Lord Mayor John So is 66.
Cheerios
■ Observer reader Cory sends a fond hello to John Parker. ■ Thanks to Observer reader June Warren of North Croydon for the card to Editor. June is listening to her Golden Days Radio CD as she does her chores.
Jest A Minute ■ Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.