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he convict； which is like the echo of the laugh of a demon。 To all appearance； he seemed to be occupied in the constant contemplation of something terrible。
He was absorbed； in fact。
Athwart the unhealthy perceptions of an inplete nature and a crushed intelligence； he was confusedly conscious that some monstrous thing was resting on him。
In that obscure and wan shadow within which he crawled； each time that he turned his neck and essayed to raise his glance； he perceived with terror； mingled with rage； a sort of frightful accumulation of things；
collecting and mounting above him； beyond the range of his vision； laws； prejudices； men； and deeds；whose outlines escaped him； whose mass terrified him； and which was nothing else than that prodigious pyramid which we call civilization。
He distinguished； here and there in that swarming and formless mass； now near him； now afar off and on inaccessible table…lands； some group； some detail； vividly illuminated； here the galley…sergeant and his cudgel； there the gendarme and his sword； yonder the mitred archbishop； away at the top； like a sort of sun； the Emperor； crowned and dazzling。 It seemed to him that these distant splendors； far from dissipating his night； rendered it more funereal and more black。
All this laws； prejudices； deeds； men； thingswent and came above him； over his head； in accordance with the plicated and mysterious movement which God imparts to civilization； walking over him and crushing him with I know not what peacefulness in its cruelty and inexorability in its indifference。
Souls which have fallen to the bottom of all possible misfortune； unhappy men lost in the lowest of those limbos at which no one any longer looks； the reproved of the law； feel the whole weight of this human society； so formidable for him who is without； so frightful for him who is beneath； resting upon their heads。
In this situation Jean Valjean meditated； and what could be the nature of his meditation？
If the grain of millet beneath the millstone had thoughts； it would； doubtless； think that same thing which Jean Valjean thought。
All these things； realities full of spectres； phantasmagories full of realities； had eventually created for him a sort of interior state which is almost indescribable。
At times； amid his convict toil； he paused。
He fell to thinking。 His reason； at one and the same time riper and more troubled than of yore； rose in revolt。
Everything which had happened to him seemed to him absurd； everything that surrounded him seemed to him impossible。
He said to himself； 〃It is a dream。〃 He gazed at the galley…sergeant standing a few paces from him； the galley…sergeant seemed a phantom to him。
All of a sudden the phantom dealt him a blow with his cudgel。
Visible nature hardly existed for him。
It would almost be true to say that there existed for Jean Valjean neither sun； nor fine summer days； nor radiant sky； nor fresh April dawns。 I know not what vent…hole daylight habitually illumined his soul。
To sum up； in conclusion； that which can be summed up and translated into positive results in all that we have just pointed out； we will confine ourselves to the statement that； in the course of nineteen years； Jean Valjean； the inoffensive tree…pruner of Faverolles； the formidable convict of Toulon； had bee capable； thanks to the manner in which the galleys had moulded him； of two sorts of evil action：
firstly； of evil action which was rapid； unpremeditated； dashing； entirely instinctive； in the nature of reprisals for the evil which he had undergone； secondly； of evil action which was serious； grave； consciously argued out and premeditated； with the false ideas which such a misfortune can furnish。
His deliberate deeds passed through three successive phases； which natures of a certain stamp can alone traverse；reasoning； will； perseverance。 He had for moving causes his habitual wrath； bitterness of soul； a profound sense of indignities suffered； the reaction even against the good； the innocent； and the just； if there are any such。 The point of departure； like the point of arrival； for all his thoughts； was hatred of human law； that hatred which； if it be not arrested in its development by some providential incident； bees； within a given time； the hatred of society； then the hatred of the human race； then the hatred of creation； and which manifests itself by a vague； incessant； and brutal desire to do harm to some living being； no matter whom。
It will be perceived that it was not without reason that Jean Valjean's passport described him as a very dangerous man。
From year to year this soul had dried away slowly； but with fatal sureness。
When the heart is dry； the eye is dry。
On his departure from the galleys it had been nineteen years since he had shed a tear。
BOOK SECONDTHE FALL
CHAPTER VIII
BILLOWS AND SHADOWS
A man overboard！
What matters it？
The vessel does not halt。
The wind blows。 That sombre ship has a path which it is forced to pursue。 It passes on。
The man disappears； then reappears； he plunges； he rises again to the surface； he calls； he stretches out his arms； he is not heard。 The vessel； trembling under the hurricane； is wholly absorbed in its own workings； the passengers and sailors do not even see the drowning man； his miserable head is but a speck amid the immensity of the waves。 He gives vent to desperate cries from out of the depths。
What a spectre is that retreating sail！
He gazes and gazes at it frantically。 It retreats； it grows dim； it diminishes in size。
He was there but just now； he was one of the crew； he went and came along the deck with the rest； he had his part of breath and of sunlight； he was a living man。
Now； what has taken place？
He has slipped； he has fallen； all is at an end。
He is in the tremendous sea。
Under foot he has nothing but what flees and crumbles。
The billows； torn and lashed by the wind； enpass him hideously； the tossings of the abyss bear him away； all the tongues of water dash over his head； a populace of waves spits upon him； confused openings half devour him； every time that he sinks； he catches glimpses of precipices filled with night； frightful and unknown vegetations seize him； knot about his feet； draw him to them； he is conscious that he is being an abyss； that he forms part of the foam； the waves toss him from one to another； he drinks in the bitterness； the cowardly ocean attacks him furiously； to drown him； the enormity plays with his agony。
It seems as though all that water were hate。
Nevertheless； he struggles。
He tries to defend himself； he tries to sustain himself； he makes an effort； he swims。
He； his petty strength all exhausted instantly； bats the inexhaustible。
Where； then； is the ship？
Yonder。
Barely visible in the pale shadows of the horizon。
The wind blows in gusts； all the foam overwhelms him。 He raises his eyes and beholds only the lividness of the clouds。 He witnesses； amid his death…pangs； the immense madness of the sea。 He is tortured by this madness； he hears noises strange to man； which seem to e from beyond the limits of the earth； and from one knows not what frightful region beyond。
There are birds in the clouds； just as there are angels above human distresses； but what can they do for him？
They sing and fly and float； and he； he rattles in the death agony。
He feels himself buried in those two infinities； the ocean and the sky； at one and the same time：
the one is a tomb； the other is a shroud。
Night descends； he has been swimming for hours； his strength is exhausted； that ship； that distant thing in which there were men； has vanished； he is alone in the formidable twilight gulf； he sinks； he stiffens himself； he twists himself； he feels under him the monstrous billows of the invisible； he shouts。
There are no more men。
Where is God？
He shouts。
Help！
Help！
He still shouts on。
Nothing on the horizon； nothing in heaven。
He implores the expanse； the waves； the seaweed； the reef； they are deaf。
He beseeches the tempest； the imperturbable tempest obeys only the infinite。
Around him darkness； fog； solitude； the stormy and nonsentient tumult； the undefined curling of those wild waters。
In him horror and fatigue。 Beneath him the depths。
Not a point of support。
He thinks of the gloomy adventures of the corpse in the limitless shadow。 The bottomless cold paralyzes him。
His hands contract convulsively； they close； and grasp nothingness。
Winds； clouds； whirlwinds； gusts； useless stars！
What is to be done？
The desperate man gives up； he is weary； he chooses the alternative of death； he resists not； he lets himself go； he abandons his grip； and then he tosses forevermore in the lugubrious dreary depths of engulfment。
Oh； implacable march of human societies！
Oh； losses of men and of souls on the way！
Ocean into which falls all that the law lets slip！ Disastrous absence of help！
Oh； moral death！
The sea is the inexorable social night into which the penal laws fling their condemned。
The sea is the immensity of wretchedness。
The soul； going down stream in this gulf； may bee a corpse。 Who shall resuscitate it？
BOOK SECONDTHE FALL
CHAPTER IX
NEW TROUBLES
When the hour came for him to take his departure from the galleys； when Jean Valjean heard in his ear the strange words； Thou art free！ the moment seemed improbable and unprecedented； a ray of vivid light； a ray of the true light of the living； suddenly penetrated within him。 But it was not long before this ray paled。
Jean Valjean had been dazzled by the idea of liberty。
He had believed in a new life。 He very speedily perceived what sort of liberty it is to which a yellow passport is provided。
And this was enpassed with much bitterness。
He had calculated that his earnings； during his sojourn in the galleys； ought to amount to a hundred and seventy…one francs。
It is but just to add that he had forgotten to include in his calculations the forced repose of Sundays and festival days during nineteen years； which entailed a diminution of about eighty francs。
At all events； his hoard had been reduced by various local levies to the sum of one hundred and nine francs fifteen sous； which had been counted out to him on his departure。 He had understood nothing of this； and had thought himself wronged。 Let us say the wordrobbed。
On the day following his liberation； he saw； at Grasse； in front of an orange…flower distillery； some men engaged in unloading bales。 He offered his services。
Business was pressing； they were accepted。 He set to work。
He was intelligent； robust； adroit； he did his best； the master seemed pleased。
While he was at work； a gendarme passed； observed him； and demanded his papers。
It was necessary to show him the yellow passport。
That done； Jean Valjean resumed his labor。 A little while before he had questioned one of the workmen as to the amount which they earned each day at this occupation； he had been told thirty sous。
When evening arrived； as he was forced to set out again on the following day； he presented himself to the owner of the distillery and requested to be paid。
The owner did not utter a word； but handed him fifteen sous。
He objected。 He was told； 〃That is enough for thee。〃
He persisted。
The master looked him straight between the eyes； and said to him 〃Beware of the prison。〃
There； again； he considered that he had been robbed。
Society； the State； by diminishing his hoard； had robbed him wholesale。 Now it was the individual who was robbing him at retail。
Liberation is not deliverance。
One gets free from the galleys； but not from the sentence。
That is what happened to him at Grasse。
We have seen in what manner he was received at D
BOOK SECONDTHE FALL
CHAPTER X
THE MAN AROUSED
As the Cathedral clock struck two in the morning； Jean Valjean awoke。
What woke him was that his bed was too good。
It was nearly twenty years since he had slept in a bed； and； although he had