Even More Obscure Names :S

Combeferre is speechifying at the barricade (page 1179), and he says some really cool things, but I've always skipped over it because I was intimidated by the names. So, here's some clarification on the names, and at the bottom are his quotes.

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Harmodius and Aristogeiton: They became known as the Tyrannicides after they killed the Peisistratid tyrant Hipparchus, and were the preeminent symbol of democracy to ancient Athenians.

Brutus: He was a politician of the late Roman Republic. He was a leading conspirator against Julius Caesar.

Chereas: Another conspirator, who killed Caius

Stephanus: Possibly, one of the first converts to Christianity through Paul

Cromwell: Oliver Cromwell was an English military and political leader and later Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland.

Charlotte Corday: A lady during the French Revolution who was guillotined after assassinating a Jacobin leader.

Sand: I'm not certain which "Sand" he's referring to. It may be the French female novelist who wrote under the name of "George Sand."

Georgics: Is a poem in four books, likely published in 29 BC. It is the second major work by the Latin poet Virgil, following his Eclogues and preceding the Aeneid.

Raux: Pierre Paul Émile Raux was a French physician,bacteriologist and immunologist. Roux was one of the closest collaborators of Louis Pasteur (1822–1895), a co-founder of thePasteur Institute, and responsible for the Institute's production of the anti-diphtheria serum, the first effective therapy for this disease.

Cournand: André Frédéric Cournand was a French physician and physiologist. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine in 1956

Delille: A French poet

Malfilatre: Another French poet

Caesar: A Roman general and political leader. Very influential on history. Here's a source about him.

Cicero: Marcus Tullius Cicero was a Roman philosopher, politician, lawyer, orator, political theorist, consul and constitutionalist. Especially critical of Caesar. Later assassinated

Zoilus: Zoilus or Zoilos was a Greek grammarian, Cynic philosopher, and literary critic from Amphipolis in East Macedonia, then known as Thrace. He took the name Homeromastix later in life.

Homer: Homer is best known as the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey. He was believed by the ancient Greeks to have been the first and greatest of the epic poets.

Maevius: Bavius and Maevius were two poets in the age of Augustus Caesar, whose names became synonymous with bad verse and malicious criticism of superior writers.

Virgil: Publius Vergilius Maro, usually called Virgil or Vergil in English, was an ancient Roman poet of the Augustan period. Best known work is the Aenied.

Vise: Jean Donneau de Visé was a French journalist, royal historian, playwright and publicist. He was founder of the literary, arts and society gazette. A known rival to Moliere

Moliere: Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, known by his stage name Molière, was a French playwright and actor who is considered to be one of the greatest masters of comedy in Western literature

Pope: Alexander Pope was an 18th-century English poet. He is best known for his satirical verse, as well as for his translation of Homer. Famous for his use of the heroic couplet, he is the second-most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, after Shakespeare.

Shakespeare: William Shakespeare was an English poet, playwright, and actor, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. (see here for a website with adapted plays)

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(on murder) "Harmodius ..., Brutus, ...--after the deed, all of them had their moment of anguish. Our hearts are so flucuating, and human life is such a mystery that, even in civic murder... the remorse of having struck a man surpasses the joy of having served the human race.' ...

(on critics) "'Caesar,' said Combeferre, 'fell justly. Cicero was sever on Caesar, and he was right. That severity is not diatribe.'" (see definitions) "'When ... Pope insults Shakespeare... it's an old law of envy and hatred at work; genius attracts insult, great men are always barked at more or less.'"

Tholomyes, Blacheville, Listolier, Fameuil and Zephine, Favourite, Dahlia

Felix Tholomyes, of Toulouse; the second, Listolier, of Cahors; the next, Fameuil, of Limoges; the last, Blachevelle, of Montauban. Naturally, each of them had his mistress. Blachevelle loved Favourite, so named because she had been in England; Listolier adored Dahlia, who had taken for her nickname the name of a flower; Fameuil idolized Zephine, an abridgment of Josephine; Tholomyes had Fantine, called the Blonde, because of her beautiful, sunny hair.

Favourite, Dahlia, Zephine, and Fantine were four ravishing young women, perfumed and radiant, still a little like working-women, and not yet entirely divorced from their needles; somewhat disturbed by intrigues, but still retaining on their faces something of the serenity of toil, and in their souls that flower of honesty which survives the first fall in woman. One of the four was called the young, because she was the youngest of them, and one was called the old; the old one was twenty-three. Not to conceal anything, the three first were more experienced, more heedless, and more emancipated into the tumult of life than Fantine the Blonde, who was still in her first illusions.

Dahlia, Zephine, and especially Favourite, could not have said as much. There had already been more than one episode in their romance, though hardly begun; and the lover who had borne the name of Adolph in the first chapter had turned out to be Alphonse in the second, and Gustave in the third. Poverty and coquetry are two fatal counsellors; one scolds and the other flatters, and the beautiful daughters of the people have both of them whispering in their ear, each on its own side. These badly guarded souls listen. Hence the falls which they accomplish, and the stones which are thrown at them. They are overwhelmed with splendor of all that is immaculate and inaccessible. Alas! what if the Jungfrau were hungry?

Favourite having been in England, was admired by Dahlia and Zephine. She had had an establishment of her own very early in life. Her father was an old unmarried professor of mathematics, a brutal man and a braggart, who went out to give lessons in spite of his age. This professor, when he was a young man, had one day seen a chambermaid's gown catch on a fender; he had fallen in love in consequence of this accident. The result had been Favourite. She met her father from time to time, and he bowed to her. One morning an old woman with the air of a devotee, had entered her apartments, and had said to her, "You do not know me, Mamemoiselle?" "No." "I am your mother." Then the old woman opened the sideboard, and ate and drank, had a mattress which she owned brought in, and installed herself. This cross and pious old mother never spoke to Favourite, remained hours without uttering a word, breakfasted, dined, and supped for four, and went down to the porter's quarters for company, where she spoke ill of her daughter.

It was having rosy nails that were too pretty which had drawn Dahlia to Listolier, to others perhaps, to idleness. How could she make such nails work? She who wishes to remain virtuous must not have pity on her hands. As for Zephine, she had conquered Fameuil by her roguish and caressing little way of saying "Yes, sir."

The young men were comrades; the young girls were friends. Such loves are always accompanied by such friendships.

...

Blachevelle, Listolier, and Fameuil formed a sort of group of which Tholomyes was the head. It was he who possessed the wit.

Tholomyes was the antique old student; he was rich; he had an income of four thousand francs; four thousand francs! a splendid scandal on Mount Sainte-Genevieve. Tholomyes was a fast man of thirty, and badly preserved. He was wrinkled and toothless, and he had the beginning of a bald spot, of which he himself said with sadness, the skull at thirty, the knee at forty. His digestion was mediocre, and he had been attacked by a watering in one eye. But in proportion as his youth disappeared, gayety was kindled; he replaced his teeth with buffooneries, his hair with mirth, his health with irony, his weeping eye laughed incessantly. He was dilapidated but still in flower. His youth, which was packing up for departure long before its time, beat a retreat in good order, bursting with laughter, and no one saw anything but fire. He had had a piece rejected at the Vaudeville. He made a few verses now and then. In addition to this he doubted everything to the last degree, which is a vast force in the eyes of the weak. Being thus ironical and bald, he was the leader. Iron is an English word. Is it possible that irony is derived from it?

(Volume 1; Book 3; Chapter 2)

Fantine

"Fantine was one of those beings who blossom, so to speak, from the dregs of the people. Though she had emerged from the most unfathomable depths of social shadow, she bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the unknown. She was born at M. sur M. Of what parents? Who can say? She had never known father or mother. She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She had never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory still existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal name; the Church no longer existed. She bore the name which pleased the first random passer-by, who had encountered her, when a very small child, running bare-legged in the street. She received the name as she received the water from the clouds upon her brow when it rained. She was called little Fantine. No one knew more than that. This human creature had entered life in just this way. At the age of ten, Fantine quitted the town and went to service with some farmers in the neighborhood. At fifteen she came to Paris "to seek her fortune." Fantine was beautiful, and remained pure as long as she could. She was a lovely blonde, with fine teeth. She had gold and pearls for her dowry; but her gold was on her head, and her pearls were in her mouth.
"She worked for her living; then, still for the sake of her living,—for the heart, also, has its hunger,—she loved."

She is eventually abandoned by her first love--Tholoymes. Soon afterwards, she has Cosette. Unable to care for her, she leaves Paris to return to where she was born: M. sur M. or Montreuil-sur-mer. On the way she leaves Cosette in the care of the Thenardiers at their tavern in Montfermeil, being led to believe that they are good people.
Fantine finds good work in Jean Valjean's factory, but through misunderstandings and deception she is fired. After trying many other forms of work, but with little success and the Thenardiers demanding more money to help Cosette, she finally feels forced to turn to prostitution.
One day, a drunk dandy throws a snowball at her as she's walking by and she turns in a rage and attacks him. Javert arrives and arrests her.
Jean Valjean also witnesses the incident and asks others what happened, then follows Javert and Fantine to the jail where he hears Fantine pleading for her freedom on behalf of her child. Jean Valjean, as mayor, overrides Javert's authority and takes Fantine to the hospital.
Fantine (who became ill before her fall) is dying, but lives in hope of seeing Cosette again. Unfortunately, at the shock of finding out who Jean Valjean is through Javert, she dies before that day.

Some Random Names :)

After Marius discovers the love his father had for him, he become immersed in studying the Revolution.
"He had seen... shining stars-- Mirabeau, Vergniaud, Saint-Just, Robespierre, Camille Desmoulins, Danton..." (pg 631)

Mirabeau: Honoré-Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau, (born March 9, 1749, Bignon, nearNemours, France—died April 2, 1791, Paris), French politician and orator, one of the greatest figures in the National Assembly that governed France during the early phases of the French Revolution. A moderate and an advocate of constitutional monarchy, he died before the Revolution reached its radical climax.

Vergniaud: Pierre-Victurnien Vergniaud, (born May 31, 1753, Limoges, France—died Oct. 31, 1793, Paris), eloquent spokesman for the moderate Girondin faction during theFrench Revolution.
... Although he was a capable lawyer, he was so indolent that he refused to take cases unless he was in need of money.
Vergniaud greeted the outbreak of the Revolution with enthusiasm. In 1790 he attracted widespread attention by pleading the case of a soldier who had been involved in a riot against a landlord. Elected to the administration of the Girondedépartement (1790), he looked on with approval as the revolutionary National Assembly in Paris abolished France’s feudal institutions and restricted the hitherto absolute powers of King Louis XVI. Vergniaud took a seat with the other Girondindeputies in the Legislative Assembly, which succeeded the National Assembly on Oct. 1, 1791, and he spoke with eloquence in favour of war with Austria. After war was declared (April 20, 1792), he exposed Louis XVI’s counterrevolutionary intrigues and suggested (July 3) that the King should be deposed. Nevertheless, unlike their Jacobin rivals, Vergniaud and the other Girondins were unwilling to form ties with the disenfranchised lower classes. Faced with the threat of popular insurrection in Paris, Vergniaud attempted secretly to come to terms with the King in late July. The populace of Paris rose against Louis on August 10, and Vergniaud, as president of the Assembly, was forced to propose the suspension of the King and the summoning of a National Convention.
In the Convention, which met on Sept. 20, 1792, Vergniaud avoided attacking the Montagnards (as the Jacobin deputies were called) until they revealed (Jan. 3, 1793) his previous negotiations with the King. During the trial of Louis XVI, Vergniaud at first sought to save the monarch’s life, but he finally joined the majority in voting (January 1793) for the death sentence. On June 2, 1793, Parisian insurgents, in alliance with the Montagnards, forced the convention to place Vergniaud and 28 other Girondin leaders under house arrest. Vergniaud continued to defy his opponents but made no attempt to escape from Paris. Imprisoned on July 26, he was condemned by the Revolutionary Tribunal on October 30 and guillotined the following day.

Saint-Just: Louis de Saint-Just, in full Louis-Antoine-Léon de Saint-Just (born August 25, 1767, Decize, France—died July 28, 1794, Paris), controversial ideologue of theFrench Revolution, one of the most zealous advocates of the Reign of Terror (1793–94), who was arrested and guillotined in the Thermidorian Reaction.

Robespierre: Maximilien Robespierre was a leader of the French Revolution during the Reign of Terror. He was part of the radical group known as the Jacobins. There are many biographies and references to him. Here's a link to one.

Camille Desmoulins: Camille Desmoulins, in full Lucie-Simplice-Camille-Benoist Desmoulins (born March 2, 1760, Guise, France—died April 5, 1794, Paris), one of the most influential journalists and pamphleteers of the French Revolution.
...After the outbreak of the Revolution in 1789, he suddenly emerged as an effective crowd orator, urging a Parisian crowd to take up arms (July 12, 1789). The ensuing popular insurrection in Paris was climaxed with the storming of the Bastille on July 14. ...(he wrote many pamphlets and started a newspaper)... After Louis XVI’s abortive flight from Paris in June 1791, Desmoulins intensified his campaign for the deposition of the king and the establishment of a republic. The assembly retaliated by ordering his arrest on July 22, 1791, but he went into hiding until he was granted amnesty in September.
Meanwhile, Desmoulins had formed close working relations with Georges Danton... he was made secretary-general under Danton in the Ministry of Justice. ... (He started a feud with another party and attacked them through his newspaper. He also criticized the Committee in his newspaper that led to it being burned)...
Robespierre had the leading Hébertists (Desmoulins' enemies) guillotined on March 24, and on the night of March 29–30 he acquiesced to the arrest of Desmoulins, Danton, and their friends. Charged with complicity in a “foreign plot,” the Dantonists were guillotined on April 5.

Danton: Georges Danton, in full Georges-Jacques Danton (born October 26, 1759, Arcis-sur-Aube, France—died April 5, 1794, Paris), French Revolutionary leader and orator, often credited as the chief force in the overthrow of the monarchy and the establishment of the First French Republic (September 21, 1792). He later became the first president of the Committee of Public Safety, but his increasing moderation and eventual opposition to the Reign of Terror led to his own death at the guillotine

M. Gillenormand and Daughters

To summarize, M. Gillenormand is Marius's grandfather. He forced Colonel Pontmercy to give Marius up to M. Gillenormand. M. Gillenormand loved Marius, but showed it to him be arguing with him and being rough. He is strongly against Napoleon, which is at the core of the argument between himself and Colonel Pontmercy, and in an argument about Napoleon Marius leaves (much to M. Gillenormand's dismay and sorrow).
The entire second book of "Marius" is dedicated to M. Gillenormand, and can be read here.
(it tells some stories and characterizes him)

M. Gillenormand only had two children--both girls. One was by his first wife who later died. Ten years later, by his second wife, he had another daughter; Marius's mother.

"In their youth they had borne very little resemblance to each other, either in character or countenance, and had also been as little like sisters to each other as possible. The youngest had a charming soul, which turned towards all that belongs to the light, was occupied with flowers, with verses, with music, which fluttered away into glorious space, enthusiastic, ethereal, and was wedded from her very youth, in ideal, to a vague and heroic figure. The elder had also her chimera; she espied in the azure some very wealthy purveyor, a contractor, a splendidly stupid husband, a million made man, or even a prefect...—all this had created a whirlwind in her imagination. Thus the two sisters strayed, each in her own dream, at the epoch when they were young girls. Both had wings, the one like an angel, the other like a goose.No ambition is ever fully realized, here below at least. No paradise becomes terrestrial in our day. The younger wedded the man of her dreams, but she died. The elder did not marry at all."

Fauchlevent

Fauchlevent is one of those minor characters that is so important he's even in the musical :). He is the man who talked meanly and disrespectfully about Jean Valjean when he was the mayor, but when he was trapped under a cart Jean Valjean risked his life and discovery to save him.
After Fauchlevent recovers he is lame (you know what I mean, he foot doesn't work very well). Jean Valjean helps him to find work in a convent.

Jean Valjean is ultimately rewarded for this service. When he is running from Javert with Cosette, he ends up in that same convent. Fauchlevent repays his service by ensuring that he can stay at the convent-- one of the safest places he could hide from Javert.

So Jean Valjean assumes the role of Fauchlevent's brother and stays at the convent, which is where Cosette grows up. The nuns nicknamed Fauchlevent "Fauvent" which is a name Jean Valjean uses when he leaves the convent.

"...Father Fauchelevent was an old man who had been an egoist all his life, and who, towards the end of his days, halt, infirm, with no interest left to him in the world, found it sweet to be grateful, and perceiving a generous action to be performed, flung himself upon it like a man, who at the moment when he is dying, should find close to his hand a glass of good wine which he had never tasted, and should swallow it with avidity. ...We have just called him a poor peasant of Picardy. That description is just, but incomplete. ... He was a peasant, but he had been a notary, which added trickery to his cunning, and penetration to his ingenuousness. Having, through various causes, failed in his business, he had descended to the calling of a carter and a laborer. But, in spite of oaths and lashings, which horses seem to require, something of the notary had lingered in him. He had some natural wit; he talked good grammar; he conversed, which is a rare thing in a village; and the other peasants said of him: "He talks almost like a gentleman with a hat." Fauchelevent belonged, in fact, to that species, which the impertinent and flippant vocabulary of the last century qualified as demi-bourgeois, demi-lout, and which the metaphors showered by the chateau upon the thatched cottage ticketed in the pigeon-hole of the plebeian: rather rustic, rather citified; pepper and salt. Fauchelevent, though sorely tried and harshly used by fate, worn out, a sort of poor, threadbare old soul, was, nevertheless, an impulsive man, and extremely spontaneous in his actions; a precious quality which prevents one from ever being wicked. His defects and his vices, for he had some, were all superficial; in short, his physiognomy was of the kind which succeeds with an observer. His aged face had none of those disagreeable wrinkles at the top of the forehead, which signify malice or stupidity."

Thenardier and the Thenardiess

At the battle of Waterloo, Thenardier was stealing from bodies, when a hand grabs his. Thenardier pulls the man out of the pile of people. Before the man gains consciousness, Thenardier robs him. When he does wake up, the man identifies himself as Colonel Pontmercy, and promises that he or his son will repay Thenardier someday.

(in the year 1823) Thenardier had just passed his fiftieth birthday; Madame Thenardier was approaching her forties, which is equivalent to fifty in a woman; so that there existed a balance of age between husband and wife.
...Thenardier woman...—tall, blond, red, fat, angular, square, enormous, and agile; she belonged, as we have said, to the race of those colossal wild women, who contort themselves at fairs with paving-stones hanging from their hair. She did everything about the house,—made the beds, did the washing, the cooking, and everything else. ... Everything trembled at the sound of her voice,—window panes, furniture, and people. Her big face, dotted with red blotches, presented the appearance of a skimmer. She had a beard. She was an ideal market-porter dressed in woman's clothes. She swore splendidly; she boasted of being able to crack a nut with one blow of her fist. Except for the romances which she had read, and which made the affected lady peep through the ogress at times, in a very queer way, the idea would never have occurred to any one to say of her, "That is a woman." This Thenardier female was like the product of a wench engrafted on a fishwife. When one heard her speak, one said, "That is a gendarme"; when one saw her drink, one said, "That is a carter"; when one saw her handle Cosette, one said, "That is the hangman." One of her teeth projected when her face was in repose.
Thenardier was a small, thin, pale, angular, bony, feeble man, who had a sickly air and who was wonderfully healthy. His cunning began here; he smiled habitually, by way of precaution, and was almost polite to everybody, even to the beggar to whom he refused half a farthing. He had the glance of a pole-cat and the bearing of a man of letters. ... No one had ever succeeded in rendering him drunk. He smoked a big pipe. He wore a blouse, and under his blouse an old black coat. He made pretensions to literature and to materialism. ... In addition, he was a great swindler. A filousophe [philosopher], a scientific thief. The species does exist. It will be remembered that he pretended to have served in the army...
...Ebb and flow, wandering, adventure, was the leven of his existence; a tattered conscience entails a fragmentary life, and, apparently at the stormy epoch of June 18, 1815, Thenardier belonged to that variety of marauding sutlers of which we have spoken, beating about the country, selling to some, stealing from others, and travelling like a family man, with wife and children, in a rickety cart, in the rear of troops on the march, with an instinct for always attaching himself to the victorious army. This campaign ended, and having, as he said, "some quibus," he had come to Montfermeil and set up an inn there.
...He was a fine talker. He allowed it to be thought that he was an educated man. Nevertheless, the schoolmaster had noticed that he pronounced improperly.12... Thenardier was cunning, greedy, slothful, and clever. He did not disdain his servants, which caused his wife to dispense with them. This giantess was jealous. It seemed to her that that thin and yellow little man must be an object coveted by all.
Thenardier, who was, above all, an astute and well-balanced man, was a scamp of a temperate sort. This is the worst species; hypocrisy enters into it.
It is not that Thenardier was not, on occasion, capable of wrath to quite the same degree as his wife; but this was very rare, and ...when all this leaven was stirred up in him and boiled forth from his mouth and eyes, he was terrible. Woe to the person who came under his wrath at such a time!
In addition to his other qualities, Thenardier was attentive and penetrating, silent or talkative, according to circumstances, and always highly intelligent. He had something of the look of sailors, who are accustomed to screw up their eyes to gaze through marine glasses. Thenardier was a statesman.
Every new-comer who entered the tavern said, on catching sight of Madame Thenardier, "There is the master of the house." A mistake. She was not even the mistress. The husband was both master and mistress. She worked; he created. He directed everything by a sort of invisible and constant magnetic action. A word was sufficient for him, sometimes a sign; the mastodon obeyed. Thenardier was a sort of special and sovereign being in Madame Thenardier's eyes, though she did not thoroughly realize it. She was possessed of virtues after her own kind; if she had ever had a disagreement as to any detail with "Monsieur Thenardier,"—which was an inadmissible hypothesis, by the way,—she would not have blamed her husband in public on any subject whatever. ... That mountain of noise and of flesh moved under the little finger of that frail despot. Viewed on its dwarfed and grotesque side, this was that grand and universal thing, the adoration of mind by matter; for certain ugly features have a cause in the very depths of eternal beauty. There was an unknown quantity about Thenardier; hence the absolute empire of the man over that woman. At certain moments she beheld him like a lighted candle; at others she felt him like a claw.
This woman was a formidable creature who loved no one except her children, and who did not fear any one except her husband. She was a mother because she was mammiferous. But her maternity stopped short with her daughters, and, as we shall see, did not extend to boys. The man had but one thought,—how to enrich himself.
He did not succeed in this... In this same year, 1823, Thenardier was burdened with about fifteen hundred francs' worth of petty debts, and this rendered him anxious.Whatever may have been the obstinate injustice of destiny in this case, Thenardier was one of those men who understand best, with the most profundity and in the most modern fashion, that thing which is a virtue among barbarous peoples and an object of merchandise among civilized peoples,—hospitality. Besides, he was an admirable poacher, and quoted for his skill in shooting. He had a certain cold and tranquil laugh, which was particularly dangerous.
His theories as a landlord sometimes burst forth in lightning flashes. He had professional aphorisms, which he inserted into his wife's mind. "The duty of the inn-keeper," he said to her one day, violently, and in a low voice, "is to sell to the first comer, stews, repose, light, fire, dirty sheets, a servant, lice, and a smile; to stop passers-by, to empty small purses, and to honestly lighten heavy ones; to shelter travelling families respectfully: to shave the man, to pluck the woman, to pick the child clean; to quote the window open, the window shut, the chimney-corner, the arm-chair, the chair, the ottoman, the stool, the feather-bed, the mattress and the truss of straw; to know how much the shadow uses up the mirror, and to put a price on it; and, by five hundred thousand devils, to make the traveller pay for everything, even for the flies which his dog eats!"
This man and this woman were ruse and rage wedded—a hideous and terrible team.
While the husband pondered and combined, Madame Thenardier thought not of absent creditors, took no heed of yesterday nor of to-morrow, and lived in a fit of anger, all in a minute.
Such were these two beings.
(Part 2, Book 3, Chapter 2)

After relinquishing Cosette to Jean Valjean, the inn fails and the family moves to Paris, where they kick out Gavroche (who is their son). Thenardiess has two other sons whom she gives to Magnon (see Magnon).
Thenardier survives by scamming rich people. In an effort to scam a 'benevolent gentleman' he recognizes Jean Valjean, and plants an ambush, but is upset by Marius and Javert. Thenardier, Thenardiess, Eponine, and Azelma are all put in different prisons. Eponine and Azelma are released and Thenardier escapes, but the Thenardiess dies in prison.
Thenardier had heard of a wealthy recluse while in prison and sent Eponine to check it out. She'd sent back a biscuit, which meant it wasn't worth it. However, once he was free, Thenardier decided to rob it anyway.
He gathered together his buddies, but when they got to the house Eponine drove them away.
On the night of the fall of the barricades, Javert is following Thenardier around. Thenardier notices him, and to escape goes into the sewer, but Javert simply waits outside. There, Thenardier sees Jean Valjean carrying a corpse (which is actually Marius). Tearing off a piece of Marius's jacket, Thenardier pretends to be helping Jean Valjean when he lets him out of the sewer with his key. His real goal, however, is to use Jean Valjean to get Javert to leave. It works, and Thenardier leaves.
A few months later, as Thenardier and Azelma are riding in a carriage, the stop beside another carriage, which happens to be carrying Jean Valjean and Cosette on their way to the wedding. After doing some research through different magazines, Thenardier prepares to blackmail Marius.
He introduces himself as Baron Thenard, and says his has some information concerning M. Fauchelevent (the name Jean Valjean is using). However, Marius already knows the basic information Thenardier gives him, as Jean Valjean himself had confessed to Marius.
But Marius had assumed that Jean Valjean had robbed M. Madeline and killed Javert. Thenardier proved (through the newspapers) that Jean Valjean had done neither of these things. "But..." Thenardier tells Marius that he saw Jean Valjean with a corpse in the sewer on the night of the fall of the barricade. As proof, he furnishes the piece of cloth. Overjoyed, Marius recognizes it, and knows that it was Jean Valjean who'd rescued him.
Angry with Thenardier's deception, Marius still gives him an enormous sum of money on the condition that he goes to America, thus fulfilling his father's debt.
Thenardier takes Azelma to America, and there becomes a slave trader.

Mademoiselle Baptistine and Madame Magloire

"Mademoiselle Baptistine was a long, pale, thin, gentle creature; she realized the ideal expressed by the word "respectable"; for it seems that a woman must needs be a mother in order to be venerable. She had never been pretty; her whole life, which had been nothing but a succession of holy deeds, had finally conferred upon her a sort of pallor and transparency; and as she advanced in years she had acquired what may be called the beauty of goodness. What had been leanness in her youth had become transparency in her maturity; and this diaphaneity allowed the angel to be seen. She was a soul rather than a virgin. Her person seemed made of a shadow; there was hardly sufficient body to provide for sex; a little matter enclosing a light; large eyes forever drooping;—a mere pretext for a soul's remaining on the earth.

Madame Magloire was a little, fat, white old woman, corpulent and bustling; always out of breath,—in the first place, because of her activity, and in the next, because of her asthma." (pg. 3)

Bishop Bienvenu (or M. Myriel)

Back Story:

"M. Myriel was the son of a councillor of the Parliament of Aix... . It was said that his father, destining him to be the heir of his own post, had married him at a very early age, eighteen or twenty, in accordance with a custom which is rather widely prevalent in parliamentary families. In spite of this marriage, however, it was said that Charles Myriel created a great deal of talk. He was well formed, though rather short in stature, elegant, graceful, intelligent; the whole of the first portion of his life had been devoted to the world and to gallantry.

The Revolution came; events succeeded each other with precipitation; the parliamentary families, decimated, pursued, hunted down, were dispersed. M. Charles Myriel emigrated to Italy at the very beginning of the Revolution. There his wife died of a malady of the chest, from which she had long suffered. He had no children. What took place next in the fate of M. Myriel? ...Was he, in the midst of these distractions... , suddenly smitten with one of those mysterious and terrible blows which sometimes overwhelm, by striking to his heart...? No one could have told: all that was known was, that when he returned from Italy he was a priest." (pg.s 1-2)

M. Myriel started out as a cure, but one day in 1804, he happened to meet the Emperor Napoleon in Paris. Napoleon liked the old man, and made him a Bishop: the Bishop of Digne.

He brought his sister, Mad. Baptistine, and his housekeeper, Madame Magloire.

Stories of his Kindness:

When he first moved into his spacious house, he invited the director of the hospital over. The hospital was a small 5 roomed house that cramped 25-100 people in it's walls. Bishop Bienvenu saw the solution to their problem. He would move into the plain, small hospital, and the patients would move into the beautiful, spacious mansion.

In a record of his funds, out of 15,000 francs, he keeps 1,000 for himself. The rest he gives to build up the gospel and to help the poor. Madame Magloire (his servant) felt they should have more money to live on, so she encouraged him to apply for the carriage and traveling expenses that he was entitled to. The Bishop did. People of the county judged him to be greedy and miserly when they recieved his application, but they sent him the funds. Bishop Bienvenu used all of the money for helping orphans and sponsoring charities.

His part in Les Miserables (the part in the musical :)):

tbc...

The Friends of the A B C

The Friends of the "ABC" is a pun. When you pronounce A B C in French (ah-bay-say) it sounds just like the word "abaissé: which means "the abased."
Abased means 1:  to lower physically; 2:  to lower in rank, office, prestige, or esteem1; or Reduced to a low state, humbled, degraded2
So the friends that Marius meets up with are the Friends to the Humbled.

This group starts out with nine people: Enjorlas, Combeferre, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Lesgle, Joly, and Grantaire.

Enjolras:

Enjolras, whose name we have mentioned first of all,... was an only son and wealthy.
Enjolras was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible. He was angelically handsome. ... He was an officiating priest and a man of war; from the immediate point of view, a soldier of the democracy; above the contemporary movement, the priest of the ideal. His eyes were deep, his lids a little red, his lower lip was thick and easily became disdainful, his brow was lofty. A great deal of brow in a face is like a great deal of horizon in a view. Like certain young men at the beginning of this century and the end of the last, who became illustrious at an early age, he was endowed with excessive youth, and was as rosy as a young girl, although subject to hours of pallor. Already a man, he still seemed a child. His two and twenty years appeared to be but seventeen; he was serious, ... He had but one passion—the right; but one thought—to overthrow the obstacle. ... He hardly saw the roses, he ignored spring, he did not hear the carolling of the birds...; he, like Harmodius, thought flowers good for nothing except to conceal the sword. He was severe in his enjoyments. He chastely dropped his eyes before everything which was not the Republic. He was the marble lover of liberty. His speech was harshly inspired, and had the thrill of a hymn. He was subject to unexpected outbursts of soul. 3

 Combeferre:

By the side of Enjolras, who represented the logic of the Revolution, Combeferre represented its philosophy. ... Combeferre complemented and rectified Enjolras. He was less lofty, but broader. He desired to pour into all minds the extensive principles of general ideas: he said: "Revolution, but civilization"; and around the mountain peak he opened out a vast view of the blue sky. The Revolution was more adapted for breathing with Combeferre than with Enjolras. Enjolras expressed its divine right, and Combeferre its natural right. ... If it had been granted to these two young men to attain to history, the one would have been the just, the other the wise man. Enjolras was the more virile, Combeferre the more humane. ... Combeferre was as gentle as Enjolras was severe, through natural whiteness. He loved the word citizen, but he preferred the word man. ... He declared that the future lies in the hand of the schoolmaster... He was learned, a purist, exact, ... and at the same time, thoughtful "even to chimaeras," so his friends said. He believed in all dreams.... Enjolras was a chief, Combeferre was a guide. One would have liked to fight under the one and to march behind the other. It is not that Combeferre was not capable of fighting, he did not refuse a hand-to-hand combat with the obstacle, and to attack it by main force and explosively; but it suited him better to bring the human race into accord with its destiny gradually, by means of education...; and, between two lights, his preference was rather for illumination than for conflagration. A conflagration can create an aurora, no doubt, but why not await the dawn? A volcano illuminates, but daybreak furnishes a still better illumination. ... In short, he desired neither halt nor haste. While his tumultuous friends, captivated by the absolute, adored and invoked splendid revolutionary adventures, Combeferre was inclined to let progress, good progress, take its own course; he may have been cold, but he was pure; methodical, but irreproachable; phlegmatic, but imperturbable.

Jean Prouvaire

Jean Prouvaire was a still softer shade than Combeferre. His name was Jehan... Jean Prouvaire was in love; he cultivated a pot of flowers, played on the flute, made verses, loved the people, pitied woman, wept over the child, confounded God and the future in the same confidence... His voice was ordinarily delicate, but suddenly grew manly. He was learned even to erudition, and almost an Orientalist. Above all, he was good; and, a very simple thing to those who know how nearly goodness borders on grandeur, in the matter of poetry, he preferred the immense. He knew Italian, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew; and these served him only for the perusal of four poets: Dante, Juvenal, AEschylus, and Isaiah. ... He loved to saunter through fields of wild oats and corn-flowers, and busied himself with clouds nearly as much as with events. His mind had two attitudes, one on the side towards man, the other on that towards God; he studied or he contemplated. All day long, he buried himself in social questions, salary, capital, credit, marriage, religion, liberty of thought, education, penal servitude, poverty, association, property, production and sharing, the enigma of this lower world which covers the human ant-hill with darkness; and at night, he gazed upon the planets, those enormous beings. Like Enjolras, he was wealthy and an only son. He spoke softly, bowed his head, lowered his eyes, smiled with embarrassment, dressed badly, had an awkward air, blushed at a mere nothing, and was very timid. Yet he was intrepid.

Feuilly

Feuilly was a workingman, a fan-maker, orphaned both of father and mother, who earned with difficulty three francs a day, and had but one thought, to deliver the world. He had one other preoccupation, to educate himself; he called this also, delivering himself. He had taught himself to read and write; everything that he knew, he had learned by himself. Feuilly had a generous heart. The range of his embrace was immense. This orphan had adopted the peoples. As his mother had failed him, he meditated on his country. He brooded with the profound divination of the man of the people, over what we now call the idea of the nationality, had learned history with the express object of raging with full knowledge of the case. ... There is no more sovereign eloquence than the true in indignation; he was eloquent with that eloquence. ... This poor workingman had constituted himself the tutor of Justice, and she recompensed him by rendering him great. 

Courfeyrac

Courfeyrac had, in fact, that animation of youth which may be called the beaute du diable (beauty of the devil) of the mind....
... Any one who had listened to Courfeyrac in 1828 would have thought he heard Tholomyes in 1817 (Tholomyes was Fantine's lover). Only, Courfeyrac was an honorable fellow. Beneath the apparent similarities of the exterior mind, the difference between him and Tholomyes was very great. The latent man which existed in the two was totally different in the first from what it was in the second. There was in Tholomyes a district attorney, and in Courfeyrac a paladin.
Enjolras was the chief, Combeferre was the guide, Courfeyrac was the centre. The others gave more light, he shed more warmth; the truth is, that he possessed all the qualities of a centre, roundness and radiance. 

Bahorel

Bahorel was a good-natured mortal, who kept bad company, brave, a spendthrift, prodigal, and to the verge of generosity, talkative, and at times eloquent, bold to the verge of effrontery; the best fellow possible; he had daring waistcoats, and scarlet opinions; a wholesale blusterer, that is to say, loving nothing so much as a quarrel, unless it were an uprising; and nothing so much as an uprising, unless it were a revolution; always ready to smash a window-pane, then to tear up the pavement, then to demolish a government, just to see the effect of it; a student in his eleventh year. He had nosed about the law, but did not practise it. He had taken for his device: "Never a lawyer," ... He wasted a tolerably large allowance, something like three thousand francs a year, in doing nothing.
...Bahorel, a man of caprice, was scattered over numerous cafes; the others had habits, he had none. He sauntered. ... In reality, he had a penetrating mind and was more of a thinker than appeared to view. He served as a connecting link between the Friends of the A B C and other still unorganized groups, which were destined to take form later on.

Lesgle or L'aigle (the Eagle) or Bossuet

In this conclave of young heads, there was one bald member....
The bald member of the group was the son of Lesgle, or Legle, and he signed himself, Legle [de Meaux]. As an abbreviation, his companions called him Bossuet.
Bossuet was a gay but unlucky fellow. His specialty was not to succeed in anything. As an offset, he laughed at everything. At five and twenty he was bald. His father had ended by owning a house and a field; but he, the son, had made haste to lose that house and field in a bad speculation. He had nothing left. He possessed knowledge and wit, but all he did miscarried. Everything failed him and everybody deceived him; what he was building tumbled down on top of him. If he were splitting wood, he cut off a finger. ... Some misfortune happened to him every moment, hence his joviality. He said: "I live under falling tiles." He was not easily astonished, because, for him, an accident was what he had foreseen, he took his bad luck serenely, and smiled at the teasing of fate, like a person who is listening to pleasantries. He was poor, but his fund of good humor was inexhaustible. He soon reached his last sou, never his last burst of laughter. When adversity entered his doors, he saluted this old acquaintance cordially, he tapped all catastrophes on the stomach; he was familiar with fatality to the point of calling it by its nickname...
These persecutions of fate had rendered him inventive. He was full of resources. He had no money, but he found means, when it seemed good to him, to indulge in "unbridled extravagance." ...
Bossuet was slowly directing his steps towards the profession of a lawyer; he was pursuing his law studies after the manner of Bahorel. Bossuet had not much domicile, sometimes none at all. He lodged now with one, now with another, most often with Joly.

Joly

Joly was the "malade imaginaire" (hypochondriac) junior. What he had won in medicine was to be more of an invalid than a doctor. At three and twenty he thought himself a valetudinarian (a person who is unduly anxious about their health), and passed his life in inspecting his tongue in the mirror. He affirmed that man becomes magnetic like a needle, and in his chamber he placed his bed with its head to the south, and the foot to the north, so that, at night, the circulation of his blood might not be interfered with by the great electric current of the globe. During thunder storms, he felt his pulse. Otherwise, he was the gayest of them all. All these young, maniacal, puny, merry incoherences lived in harmony together, and the result was an eccentric and agreeable being whom his comrades, who were prodigal of winged consonants, called Jolllly. "You may fly away on the four L's," Jean Prouvaire said to him. (The word for 'L' in french is the same as wing)
Joly had a trick of touching his nose with the tip of his cane, which is an indication of a sagacious mind.

All these young men who differed so greatly, and who, on the whole, can only be discussed seriously, held the same religion: Progress.
All were the direct sons of the French Revolution. The most giddy of them became solemn when they pronounced that date: '89. Their fathers in the flesh had been, either royalists, doctrinaires, it matters not what; this confusion anterior to themselves, who were young, did not concern them at all; the pure blood of principle ran in their veins. They attached themselves, without intermediate shades, to incorruptible right and absolute duty.
Affiliated and initiated, they sketched out the ideal underground

 But I am missing someone!
Grantaire

Among all these glowing hearts and thoroughly convinced minds, there was one sceptic. ... This sceptic's name was Grantaire... Grantaire was a man who took good care not to believe in anything. ... He was a tremendous drinker to boot. He was inordinately homely...
All those words: rights of the people, rights of man, the social contract, the French Revolution, the Republic, democracy, humanity, civilization, religion, progress, came very near to signifying nothing whatever to Grantaire. He smiled at them. Scepticism, that caries of the intelligence, had not left him a single whole idea. He lived with irony. ...
However, this sceptic had one fanaticism. This fanaticism was neither a dogma, nor an idea, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras. ...That which we lack attracts us. No one loves the light like the blind man. ... Grantaire, in whom writhed doubt, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras. He had need of Enjolras. That chaste, healthy, firm, upright, hard, candid nature charmed him, without his being clearly aware of it, and without the idea of explaining it to himself having occurred to him. He admired his opposite by instinct. His soft, yielding, dislocated, sickly, shapeless ideas attached themselves to Enjolras as to a spinal column. His moral backbone leaned on that firmness. Grantaire in the presence of Enjolras became some one once more. ... There are men who seem to be born to be the reverse, the obverse, the wrong side. ... They only exist on condition that they are backed up with another man; their name is a sequel, and is only written preceded by the conjunction and; and their existence is not their own; it is the other side of an existence which is not theirs. Grantaire was one of these men. He was the obverse of Enjolras.

 A final note on Grantaire: "Enjolras, the believer, disdained this sceptic; and, a sober man himself, scorned this drunkard. He accorded him a little lofty pity."

And this is the group of men who led the Revolution of 1832. These are the people Marius befriended. 

Notes:
1 http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/abase
2 http://webstersdictionary1828.com/ search 'abased'
3 http://www.gutenberg.org/files/135/135-h/135-h.htm#link2H_4_0201