Part 4 Book 3 Chapter 8 The Chain-Gang
Jean Valjean was the more unhappy of the two. Youth, even in its sorrows, always possesses its own peculiar radiance.
At times, Jean Valjean suffered so greatly that he became puerile. It is the property of grief to cause the childish side of man to reappear. He had an unconquerable conviction that Cosette was escaping from him. He would have liked to resist, to retain her, to arouse her enthusiasm by some external and brilliant matter. These ideas, puerile, as we have just said, and at the same time senile, conveyed to him, by their very childishness, a tolerably just notion of the influence of gold lace on the imaginations of young girls. He once chanced to see a general on horseback, in full uniform, pass along the street, Comte Coutard, the commandant of Paris. He envied that gilded man; what happiness it would be, he said to himself, if he could put on that suit which was an incontestable thing; and if Cosette could behold him thus, she would be dazzled, and when he had Cosette on his arm and passed the gates of the Tuileries, the guard would present arms to him, and that would suffice for Cosette, and would dispel her idea of looking at young men.
An unforeseen shock was added to these sad reflections.
In the isolated life which they led, and since they had come to dwell in the Rue Plumet, they had contracted one habit. They sometimes took a pleasure trip to see the sun rise, a mild species of enjoyment which befits those who are entering life and those who are quitting it.
For those who love solitude, a walk in the early morning is equivalent to a stroll by night, with the cheerfulness of nature added. The streets are deserted and the birds are singing. Cosette, a bird herself, liked to rise early. These matutinal excursions were planned on the preceding evening. He proposed, and she agreed. It was arranged like a plot, they set out before daybreak, and these trips were so many small delights for Cosette. These innocent eccentricities please young people.
Jean Valjean's inclination led him, as we have seen, to the least frequented spots, to solitary nooks, to forgotten places. There then existed, in the vicinity of the barriers of Paris, a sort of poor meadows, which were almost confounded with the city, where grew in summer sickly grain, and which, in autumn, after the harvest had been gathered, presented the appearance, not of having been reaped, but peeled. Jean Valjean loved to haunt these fields. Cosette was not bored there. It meant solitude to him and liberty to her. There, she became a little girl once more, she could run and almost play; she took off her hat, laid it on Jean Valjean's knees, and gathered bunches of flowers. She gazed at the butterflies on the flowers, but did not catch them; gentleness and tenderness are born with love, and the young girl who cherishes within her breast a trembling and fragile ideal has mercy on the wing of a butterfly. She wove garlands of poppies, which she placed on her head, and which, crossed and penetrated with sunlight, glowing until they flamed, formed for her rosy face a crown of burning embers.
Even after their life had grown sad, they kept up their custom of early strolls.
One morning in October, therefore, tempted by the serene perfection of the autumn of 1831, they set out, and found themselves at break of day near the Barriere du Maine. It was not dawn, it was daybreak; a delightful and stern moment. A few constellations here and there in the deep, pale azure, the earth all black, the heavens all white, a quiver amid the blades of grass, everywhere the mysterious chill of twilight. A lark, which seemed mingled with the stars, was carolling at a prodigious height, and one would have declared that that hymn of pettiness calmed immensity. In the East, the Valde-Grace projected its dark mass on the clear horizon with the sharpness of steel; Venus dazzlingly brilliant was rising behind that dome and had the air of a soul making its escape from a gloomy edifice.
All was peace and silence; there was no one on the road; a few stray laborers, of whom they caught barely a glimpse, were on their way to their work along the side-paths.
Jean Valjean was sitting in a cross-walk on some planks deposited at the gate of a timber-yard. His face was turned towards the highway, his back towards the light; he had forgotten the sun which was on the point of rising; he had sunk into one of those profound absorptions in which the mind becomes concentrated, which imprison even the eye, and which are equivalent to four walls. There are meditations which may be called vertical; when one is at the bottom of them, time is required to return to earth. Jean Valjean had plunged into one of these reveries. He was thinking of Cosette, of the happiness that was possible if nothing came between him and her, of the light with which she filled his life, a light which was but the emanation of her soul. He was almost happy in his revery. Cosette, who was standing beside him, was gazing at the clouds as they turned rosy.
All at once Cosette exclaimed: "Father, I should think some one was coming yonder." Jean Valjean raised his eyes.
Cosette was right. The causeway which leads to the ancient Barriere du Maine is a prolongation, as the reader knows, of the Rue de Sevres, and is cut at right angles by the inner boulevard. At the elbow of the causeway and the boulevard, at the spot where it branches, they heard a noise which it was difficult to account for at that hour, and a sort of confused pile made its appearance. Some shapeless thing which was coming from the boulevard was turning into the road.
It grew larger, it seemed to move in an orderly manner, though it was bristling and quivering; it seemed to be a vehicle, but its load could not be distinctly made out. There were horses, wheels, shouts; whips were cracking. By degrees the outlines became fixed, although bathed in shadows. It was a vehicle, in fact, which had just turned from the boulevard into the highway, and which was directing its course towards the barrier near which sat Jean Valjean; a second, of the same aspect, followed, then a third, then a fourth; seven chariots made their appearance in succession, the heads of the horses touching the rear of the wagon in front. Figures were moving on these vehicles, flashes were visible through the dusk as though there were naked swords there, a clanking became audible which resembled the rattling of chains, and as this something advanced, the sound of voices waxed louder, and it turned into a terrible thing such as emerges from the cave of dreams.
As it drew nearer, it assumed a form, and was outlined behind the trees with the pallid hue of an apparition; the mass grew white; the day, which was slowly dawning, cast a wan light on this swarming heap which was at once both sepulchral and living, the heads of the figures turned into the faces of corpses, and this is what it proved to be:--
Seven wagons were driving in a file along the road. The first six were singularly constructed. They resembled coopers' drays; they consisted of long ladders placed on two wheels and forming barrows at their rear extremities. Each dray, or rather let us say, each ladder, was attached to four horses harnessed tandem. On these ladders strange clusters of men were being drawn. In the faint light, these men were to be divined rather than seen. Twenty-four on each vehicle, twelve on a side, back to back, facing the passers-by, their legs dangling in the air,--this was the manner in which these men were travelling, and behind their backs they had something which clanked, and which was a chain, and on their necks something which shone, and which was an iron collar. Each man had his collar, but the chain was for all; so that if these four and twenty men had occasion to alight from the dray and walk, they were seized with a sort of inexorable unity, and were obliged to wind over the ground with the chain for a backbone, somewhat after the fashion of millepeds. In the back and front of each vehicle, two men armed with muskets stood erect, each holding one end of the chain under his foot. The iron necklets were square. The seventh vehicle, a huge rack-sided baggage wagon, without a hood, had four wheels and six horses, and carried a sonorous pile of iron boilers, cast-iron pots, braziers, and chains, among which were mingled several men who were pinioned and stretched at full length, and who seemed to be ill. This wagon, all lattice-work, was garnished with dilapidated hurdles which appeared to have served for former punishments. These vehicles kept to the middle of the road. On each side marched a double hedge of guards of infamous aspect, wearing three-cornered hats, like the soldiers under the Directory, shabby, covered with spots and holes, muffled in uniforms of veterans and the trousers of undertakers' men, half gray, half blue, which were almost hanging in rags, with red epaulets, yellow shoulder belts, short sabres, muskets, and cudgels; they were a species of soldier-blackguards. These myrmidons seemed composed of the abjectness of the beggar and the authority of the executioner. The one who appeared to be their chief held a postilion's whip in his hand. All these details, blurred by the dimness of dawn, became more and more clearly outlined as the light increased. At the head and in the rear of the convoy rode mounted gendarmes, serious and with sword in fist.
This procession was so long that when the first vehicle reached the barrier, the last was barely debauching from the boulevard. A throng, sprung, it is impossible to say whence, and formed in a twinkling, as is frequently the case in Paris, pressed forward from both sides of the road and looked on. In the neighboring lanes the shouts of people calling to each other and the wooden shoes of market-gardeners hastening up to gaze were audible.
The men massed upon the drays allowed themselves to be jolted along in silence. They were livid with the chill of morning. They all wore linen trousers, and their bare feet were thrust into wooden shoes. The rest of their costume was a fantasy of wretchedness. Their accoutrements were horribly incongruous; nothing is more funereal than the harlequin in rags. Battered felt hats, tarpaulin caps, hideous woollen nightcaps, and, side by side with a short blouse, a black coat broken at the elbow; many wore women's headgear, others had baskets on their heads; hairy breasts were visible, and through the rent in their garments tattooed designs could be descried; temples of Love, flaming hearts, Cupids; eruptions and unhealthy red blotches could also be seen. Two or three had a straw rope attached to the cross-bar of the dray, and suspended under them like a stirrup, which supported their feet. One of them held in his hand and raised to his mouth something which had the appearance of a black stone and which he seemed to be gnawing; it was bread which he was eating. There were no eyes there which were not either dry, dulled, or flaming with an evil light. The escort troop cursed, the men in chains did not utter a syllable; from time to time the sound of a blow became audible as the cudgels descended on shoulder-blades or skulls; some of these men were yawning; their rags were terrible; their feet hung down, their shoulders oscillated, their heads clashed together, their fetters clanked, their eyes glared ferociously, their fists clenched or fell open inertly like the hands of corpses; in the rear of the convoy ran a band of children screaming with laughter.
This file of vehicles, whatever its nature was, was mournful. It was evident that to-morrow, that an hour hence, a pouring rain might descend, that it might be followed by another and another, and that their dilapidated garments would be drenched, that once soaked, these men would not get dry again, that once chilled, they would not again get warm, that their linen trousers would be glued to their bones by the downpour, that the water would fill their shoes, that no lashes from the whips would be able to prevent their jaws from chattering, that the chain would continue to bind them by the neck, that their legs would continue to dangle, and it was impossible not to shudder at the sight of these human beings thus bound and passive beneath the cold clouds of autumn, and delivered over to the rain, to the blast, to all the furies of the air, like trees and stones.
Blows from the cudgel were not omitted even in the case of the sick men, who lay there knotted with ropes and motionless on the seventh wagon, and who appeared to have been tossed there like sacks filled with misery.
Suddenly, the sun made its appearance; the immense light of the Orient burst forth, and one would have said that it had set fire to all those ferocious heads. Their tongues were unloosed; a conflagration of grins, oaths, and songs exploded. The broad horizontal sheet of light severed the file in two parts, illuminating heads and bodies, leaving feet and wheels in the obscurity. Thoughts made their appearance on these faces; it was a terrible moment; visible demons with their masks removed, fierce souls laid bare. Though lighted up, this wild throng remained in gloom. Some, who were gay, had in their mouths quills through which they blew vermin over the crowd, picking out the women; the dawn accentuated these lamentable profiles with the blackness of its shadows; there was not one of these creatures who was not deformed by reason of wretchedness; and the whole was so monstrous that one would have said that the sun's brilliancy had been changed into the glare of the lightning. The wagon-load which headed the line had struck up a song, and were shouting at the top of their voices with a haggard joviality, a potpourri by Desaugiers, then famous, called The Vestal; the trees shivered mournfully; in the cross-lanes, countenances of bourgeois listened in an idiotic delight to these coarse strains droned by spectres.
All sorts of distress met in this procession as in chaos; here were to be found the facial angles of every sort of beast, old men, youths, bald heads, gray beards, cynical monstrosities, sour resignation, savage grins, senseless attitudes, snouts surmounted by caps, heads like those of young girls with corkscrew curls on the temples, infantile visages, and by reason of that, horrible thin skeleton faces, to which death alone was lacking. On the first cart was a negro, who had been a slave, in all probability, and who could make a comparison of his chains. The frightful leveller from below, shame, had passed over these brows; at that degree of abasement, the last transformations were suffered by all in their extremest depths, and ignorance, converted into dulness, was the equal of intelligence converted into despair. There was no choice possible between these men who appeared to the eye as the flower of the mud. It was evident that the person who had had the ordering of that unclean procession had not classified them. These beings had been fettered and coupled pell-mell, in alphabetical disorder, probably, and loaded hap-hazard on those carts. Nevertheless, horrors, when grouped together, always end by evolving a result; all additions of wretched men give a sum total, each chain exhaled a common soul, and each dray-load had its own physiognomy. By the side of the one where they were singing, there was one where they were howling; a third where they were begging; one could be seen in which they were gnashing their teeth; another load menaced the spectators, another blasphemed God; the last was as silent as the tomb. Dante would have thought that he beheld his seven circles of hell on the march. The march of the damned to their tortures, performed in sinister wise, not on the formidable and flaming chariot of the Apocalypse, but, what was more mournful than that, on the gibbet cart.
One of the guards, who had a hook on the end of his cudgel, made a pretence from time to time, of stirring up this mass of human filth. An old woman in the crowd pointed them out to her little boy five years old, and said to him: "Rascal, let that be a warning to you!"
As the songs and blasphemies increased, the man who appeared to be the captain of the escort cracked his whip, and at that signal a fearful dull and blind flogging, which produced the sound of hail, fell upon the seven dray-loads; many roared and foamed at the mouth; which redoubled the delight of the street urchins who had hastened up, a swarm of flies on these wounds.
Jean Valjean's eyes had assumed a frightful expression. They were no longer eyes; they were those deep and glassy objects which replace the glance in the case of certain wretched men, which seem unconscious of reality, and in which flames the reflection of terrors and of catastrophes. He was not looking at a spectacle, he was seeing a vision. He tried to rise, to flee, to make his escape; he could not move his feet. Sometimes, the things that you see seize upon you and hold you fast. He remained nailed to the spot, petrified, stupid, asking himself, athwart confused and inexpressible anguish, what this sepulchral persecution signified, and whence had come that pandemonium which was pursuing him. All at once, he raised his hand to his brow, a gesture habitual to those whose memory suddenly returns; he remembered that this was, in fact, the usual itinerary, that it was customary to make this detour in order to avoid all possibility of encountering royalty on the road to Fontainebleau, and that, five and thirty years before, he had himself passed through that barrier.
Cosette was no less terrified, but in a different way. She did not understand; what she beheld did not seem to her to be possible; at length she cried:--
"Father! What are those men in those carts?"
Jean Valjean replied: "Convicts."
"Whither are they going?"
"To the galleys."
At that moment, the cudgelling, multiplied by a hundred hands, became zealous, blows with the flat of the sword were mingled with it, it was a perfect storm of whips and clubs; the convicts bent before it, a hideous obedience was evoked by the torture, and all held their peace, darting glances like chained wolves.
Cosette trembled in every limb; she resumed:--
"Father, are they still men?"
"Sometimes," answered the unhappy man.
It was the chain-gang, in fact, which had set out before daybreak from Bicetre, and had taken the road to Mans in order to avoid Fontainebleau, where the King then was. This caused the horrible journey to last three or four days longer; but torture may surely be prolonged with the object of sparing the royal personage a sight of it.
Jean Valjean returned home utterly overwhelmed. Such encounters are shocks, and the memory that they leave behind them resembles a thorough shaking up.
Nevertheless, Jean Valjean did not observe that, on his way back to the Rue de Babylone with Cosette, the latter was plying him with other questions on the subject of what they had just seen; perhaps he was too much absorbed in his own dejection to notice her words and reply to them. But when Cosette was leaving him in the evening, to betake herself to bed, he heard her say in a low voice, and as though talking to herself: "It seems to me, that if I were to find one of those men in my pathway, oh, my God, I should die merely from the sight of him close at hand."
Fortunately, chance ordained that on the morrow of that tragic day, there was some official solemnity apropos of I know not what,-- fetes in Paris, a review in the Champ de Mars, jousts on the Seine, theatrical performances in the Champs-Elysees, fireworks at the Arc de l'Etoile, illuminations everywhere. Jean Valjean did violence to his habits, and took Cosette to see these rejoicings, for the purpose of diverting her from the memory of the day before, and of effacing, beneath the smiling tumult of all Paris, the abominable thing which had passed before her. The review with which the festival was spiced made the presence of uniforms perfectly natural; Jean Valjean donned his uniform of a national guard with the vague inward feeling of a man who is betaking himself to shelter. However, this trip seemed to attain its object. Cosette, who made it her law to please her father, and to whom, moreover, all spectacles were a novelty, accepted this diversion with the light and easy good grace of youth, and did not pout too disdainfully at that flutter of enjoyment called a public fete; so that Jean Valjean was able to believe that he had succeeded, and that no trace of that hideous vision remained.
Some days later, one morning, when the sun was shining brightly, and they were both on the steps leading to the garden, another infraction of the rules which Jean Valjean seemed to have imposed upon himself, and to the custom of remaining in her chamber which melancholy had caused Cosette to adopt, Cosette, in a wrapper, was standing erect in that negligent attire of early morning which envelops young girls in an adorable way and which produces the effect of a cloud drawn over a star; and, with her head bathed in light, rosy after a good sleep, submitting to the gentle glances of the tender old man, she was picking a daisy to pieces. Cosette did not know the delightful legend, I love a little, passionately, etc.--who was there who could have taught her? She was handling the flower instinctively, innocently, without a suspicion that to pluck a daisy apart is to do the same by a heart. If there were a fourth, and smiling Grace called Melancholy, she would have worn the air of that Grace. Jean Valjean was fascinated by the contemplation of those tiny fingers on that flower, and forgetful of everything in the radiance emitted by that child.A red-breast was warbling in the thicket, on one side. White cloudlets floated across the sky, so gayly, that one would have said that they had just been set at liberty. Cosette went on attentively tearing the leaves from her flower; she seemed to be thinking about something; but whatever it was, it must be something charming; all at once she turned her head over her shoulder with the delicate languor of a swan, and said to Jean Valjean: "Father, what are the galleys like?"
在他们两人中，最苦恼的还是冉阿让。年轻人，即使不如意，总还有开朗的一面。
某些时刻，冉阿让竟苦闷到产生一些幼稚的想法。这原是痛苦的特点，苦极往往使人儿时的稚气重现出来。他无可奈何地感到珂赛特正从他的怀抱里溜开。他想挣扎，留住她，用身外的某些显眼的东西来鼓舞她。这种想法，我们刚才说过，是幼稚的，同时也是昏愦糊涂的，而他竟作如此想，有点象那种金丝锦缎在小姑娘们想象中产生的影响，都带着孩子气。一次，他看见一个将军，古达尔伯爵，巴黎的卫戍司令，穿着全副军装，骑着马打街上走过。他对这个金光闪闪的人起了羡慕之心。他想：“这种服装，该没有什么可说的了，要是能穿上这么一套，该多幸福，珂赛特见了他这身打扮，一定会看得眉飞色舞，他让珂赛特挽着他的手臂一同走过杜伊勒里宫的铁栏门前，那时，卫兵会向他举枪致敬，珂赛特也就满意了，不至于再想去看那些青年男子了。”
一阵意外的震颤来和这愁惨的思想搀和在一起。
在他们所过的那种孤寂生活里，自从他们搬来住在卜吕梅街以后，他们养成了一种习惯。他们常去观赏日出，借以消遣，这种恬淡的乐趣，对刚刚进入人生和行将脱离人生的人来说都是适合的。
一大早起来散步，对孤僻的人来说，等于夜间散步，另外还可以享受大自然的朝气。街上没有几个人，鸟雀在歌唱，珂赛特，本来就是一只小鸟，老早便高高兴兴地醒来了。这种晨游常常是在前一天便准备好了。他建议，她同意，好象是当作一种密谋来安排的，天没亮，他们便出门了，珂赛特尤其高兴。
这种无害的不轨行为最能投合年轻人的趣味。
冉阿让的倾向，我们知道，是去那些人不常去的地方，僻静的山坳地角，荒凉处所。当时在巴黎城外一带，有些贫瘠的田野，几乎和市区相连，在那些地方，夏季长着一种干瘪的麦子，秋季收获过后，那地方不象是割光的，而象是拔光的。冉阿让最欣赏那一带。珂赛特在那里也一点不感到厌烦。对他来说这是幽静，对她来说则是自由。到了那里，她又成了个小女孩，她可以随便跑，几乎可以随便玩，她脱掉帽子，把它放在冉阿让的膝头上，四处去采集野花。她望着花上的蝴蝶，但不捉它们，仁慈恻隐的心是和爱情并生的，姑娘们心中有了个颤悠悠、弱不禁风的理想，便要怜惜蝴蝶的翅膀。她把虞美人串成一个花环戴在头上，阳光射来照着它，象火一样红得发紫，成了她那绯红光艳的脸上的一顶炽炭冠。
即使在他们的心境暗淡以后，这种晨游的习惯仍保持不断。
因此，在十月间的一天早晨，他们受到一八三一年秋季那种高爽宁静天气的鼓舞，又出去玩了，他们绝早便到了梅恩便门。还不到日出的时候，天刚有点蒙蒙亮，那是一种美妙苍茫的时刻。深窈微白的天空里还散布着几颗星星，地上漆黑，天上全白，野草在微微颤动，四处都笼罩在神秘的薄明中。一只云雀，仿佛和星星会合在一起，在绝高的天际歌唱，寥廓的穹苍好象也在屏息静听这小生命为无边宇宙唱出的颂歌。在东方，军医学院被天边明亮的青钢色衬托着，显示出它的黑影，耀眼的太白星正悬在这山岗的顶上，好象是一颗从这座黑暗建筑里飞出来的灵魂。
绝无动静也绝无声息。大路上还没有人，路旁的小路上，偶尔有几个工人在矇眬晓色中赶着去上工。
冉阿让在大路旁工棚门前一堆屋架上坐下来。他脸对大路，背对曙光，他已忘了即将升起的太阳，他沉浸在一种深潜的冥想中，集中了全部精力，连视线好象也被四堵墙遮断了似的。有些冥想可以说是垂直的，思想升到顶端以后要再回到地面上来，便需要一定的时间。冉阿让当时正陷在这样的一种神游中。他在想着珂赛特，想着他俩之间如果不发生意外便可能享到的幸福，想到那种充塞在他生命中的光明，他的灵魂赖以呼吸的光明。他在这样的梦幻中几乎感到快乐。珂赛特，站在他身边，望着云彩转红。
珂赛特突然喊道：“爹，那边好象来了些什么人。”冉阿让抬起了眼睛。
我们知道，通向从前梅恩便门的那条大路，便是赛伏尔街，它和内马路以直角相交。在大路和那马路的拐角上，也就是在那分岔的地方，他们听到一种在那种时刻很难理解的声音，并且还出现了一群黑压压的模糊形象。不知道是种什么不成形的东西正从那马路转进大路。
那东西渐渐显得大起来了，好象是在有秩序地向前移动，但是浑身带刺，并在微微颤动，那好象是一辆车，但看不清车上装的是什么。传来了马匹、轱辘和人声，还有鞭子的劈啪声。渐渐地，那东西的轮廓明显起来了，虽然还不清晰。那果然是一辆车，它刚从马路转上了大路，朝着冉阿让所在地附近的便门驶来，第二辆同样的车跟在后面，随即又是第三辆，第四辆，七辆车一辆一辆过来了，马头衔接车尾。一些人影在车上攒动，微明中露出点点闪光，仿佛是些出了鞘的大刀，又仿佛听到铁链撞击的声音，那队形正朝前走，人声也渐渐大起来了。
那真是一种触目惊心的东西，好象是从梦魇里出来的。
那东西越走越近，形状也渐清楚，惨绿如鬼影，陆续从树身后面走出来，那堆东西发白了，渐渐升起的太阳以苍白的微光照在这群似人非人、似鬼非鬼、蠕蠕蠢动的东西上，那影子上的头变成了死尸的面孔，这原来是这么一回事：
七辆车在大路上一辆跟着一辆往前走。头六辆的结构相当奇特。它们象那种运酒桶的狭长车子，是置在两个车轮上的一道长梯子，梯杆的前端也是车轮。每辆车，说得更正确些，每道长梯，由四匹前后排成一线的马牵引着。梯上拖着一串串怪人。在微弱的阳光中，还看不真切那究竟是不是人，只是这样猜想而已。每辆车上二十四个，每边十二个，背靠背，脸对着路旁，腿悬在空中。这些人就是这样往前进的，他们背后有东西当啷作响，那是一条链子，颈上也有东西在闪闪发光，那是一面铁枷。枷是人各一面，链子是大家共有的，因而这二十四个人，遇到要下车走路时，便无可宽容地非一致行动不可，这时他们便象一条大蜈蚣，以链子为脊骨，在地上曲折前进。在每辆车的头上和尾上，立着两个背步枪的人，每人踏着那链子的一端。枷全是四方的。那第七辆，是一辆栏杆车，但没有顶篷，有四个轮子和六匹马，载着一大堆颠得一片响的铁锅、生铁罐、铁炉和铁链，在这些东西里，也夹着几个用绳子捆住的人，直直地躺着，大致是些病人。这辆车四面洞开，栏杆已破损不堪，足见它是囚车里资格最老的一辆。
车队走在大路的中间。两旁有两行奇形怪状的卫队，头上顶着疲软的三角帽，仿佛督政府时期的士兵，帽子上满是污迹和破洞，邋遢极了，身上穿着老兵的制服和埋葬工人的长裤，半灰半蓝，几乎已烂成丝缕，他们戴着红肩章，斜挎着黄背带，拿着砍白菜①、步枪和木棍棗一队叫化子兵。这些刑警队仿佛是由乞丐的丑陋和刽子手的威风组成的。那个貌似队长的人，手里握着一根长马鞭。这些细部，在矇眬的晓色中原是模糊不清的，随着逐渐明亮的阳光才逐渐清晰起来。一些骑马的宪兵，摆着指挥刀，阴沉沉地走在车队的前面和后面。
①砍白菜，十九世纪法国步兵用的一种细长刀。
这个队伍拉得那么长，第一辆车已到便门时，最后一辆几乎还正从马路转上大路。
一大群人，不知道是从什么地方来的，一下子便聚集拢来，挤在大路两旁看，这在巴黎原是常有的事。附近的小街小巷里，也响起了一片互相呼唤和跑来看热闹的菜农的木鞋橐橐声。
那些堆在车上的人一声不响地任凭车子颠簸。他们在清晨的寒气里发抖，脸色青灰。全穿着粗布裤，赤着两只脚，套一双木鞋。其他的人的服装更是可怜，有啥穿啥。他们的装束真是丑到光怪陆离，再没有什么比这种一块块破布叠补起来的衣服更令人心酸的了。凹瘪的宽边毡帽，油污的遮阳帽，丑陋的毛线瓜皮帽，并且，肘弯有洞的黑礼服和短布衫挤在一起，有几个人还戴着女人的帽子，也有一些人顶个柳条筐，人们可以望见毛茸茸的胸脯，从衣服裂缝里露出的刺花纹的身体：爱神庙、带火焰的心、爱神等。还能望见一些脓痂和恶疮。有两三个人把草绳拴在车底的横杆上，象个马镫似的悬在身体的下面，托着他们的脚。他们里面有个人捏着一块黑石头似的东西送到嘴里去啃，那便是他们所吃的面包。他们的眼睛全是枯涩的、呆滞的或杀气腾腾的。那押送的队伍一路叫骂不停，囚犯们却不吭气，人们不时听到棍棒打在背上或头上的声音，在那些人里，有几个在张着嘴打呵欠，衣服破烂到骇人，脚悬在空中，肩头不停摇摆，脑袋互相撞击，铁器丁当作响，眼里怒火直冒，拳头捏得紧紧或象死人的手那样张着不动，在整个队伍后面，一群孩子跟着起哄大笑。
这个队形，不管怎样，是阴惨的。显然，在明天，在一小时以内，就可能下一场暴雨，接着又来一场，又来一场，这些破烂衣服便会湿透，一次湿了，这些人便不会再干，一旦冻了，这些人便不会再暖，他们的粗布裤子会被雨水粘在他们的骨头上，水会在他们的木鞋里积满，鞭子的抽打不会制止牙床的战抖，铁链还要继续拴住他们的颈脖，他们的脚还要继续悬在空中。看见这些血肉之躯被当作木头石块来拴住，处在寒冷的秋云下面一无表示，听凭雨打风吹、狂飙袭击，是不可能不心寒的。
即使是那些被绳子捆住扔在第七辆车子里、象一个个破麻袋似的一动不动的病人，也免不了挨棍子。
突然，太阳出现了，东方的巨大光轮上升了，仿佛把火送给这些蛮悍的人头。一个个的舌头全灵活了，一阵笑谑、咒骂、歌唱的大火延烧起来了。那一大片平射的晨光把整个队伍截成两半，头和身躯在光里，脚和车轮在黑暗中。各人脸上也出现了思想活动，这个时刻是骇人的，一些真相毕露的魔鬼，一些精赤可怕的生灵。这一大伙人，尽管在阳光照射下，也还是阴惨惨的。有几个兴致好的，嘴里含一根翎管，把一条条蛆吹向人群，瞄准一些妇女。初升的日光把那些怪脸上的阴影显得特别阴暗，在这群人中，没有一个不是被苦难变得奇形怪状的，他们是如此丑恶，人们不禁要说：“他们把日光变成了闪电的微光。”领头的那一车人唱起了一首当时著名的歌，德佐吉埃的《女灶神的贞女》，并用一种鄙俗的轻浮态度来怪喊怪叫。树木惨然瑟缩，路旁小道上，一张张中产阶级的蠢脸对鬼怪们所唱的烂污调正听得津津有味。
在这混乱的车队里，所有的惨状全齐备了，那里有各种野兽的面角：老人、少年、光头、灰白胡子、横蛮的怪样、消极的顽抗、龇牙咧嘴的凶相、疯癫的姿态、戴遮阳帽的猪拱嘴、两鬓拖着一条条螺旋钻的女儿脸、孩子面孔（因此也特别可怕）、还剩一口气的骷髅头。在第一辆车上，有个黑人，他也许当过奴隶，能和链条相比。这些人蒙受了无以复加的耻辱；受到这种程度的屈辱，他们全都深深地起了极大的变化，并且已变傻的愚昧的人是和变得悲观绝望的聪明人处于同等地位的。这一伙看来好象是渣滓中提炼出来的人彼此不可能再分高下。这一污浊行列的那个不相干的领队官对他们显然没有加以区别。他们是乱七八糟拴成一对一对的，也许只是按字母的先后次序加以排列，胡乱装上了车子。但是一些丑恶的东西聚集在一起，结果总会合成一种力量，许多苦难中人加在一起便有个总和，从每条链子上出现了一个共同的灵魂，每一车人有他们共同的面貌。有一车人老爱唱，另一车人老爱嚷，第三车人向人乞讨，还有一车人咬牙切齿，另一车人威胁观众，另一车人咒骂上帝，最后的一车人寂静如坟墓。但丁见了，也会认为这些是行进中的七层地狱。
这是从判刑走向服刑的行列，惨不忍睹，他们坐的不是《启示录》里所说的那种电光闪耀骇人的战车，而是用来公开示众的囚车，因而形相更惨。
在那些卫队中有一个拿着一根尖端带钩的棍棒，不时龇牙咧嘴，吓唬那堆人类的残渣。人群中有个老妇把他们指给一个五岁的男孩看，并对他说：“坏蛋，看你还要不要学这些榜样！”
歌唱和咒骂声越来越大了，那个模样象押送队队长的人，劈啪一声，挥出了他的长鞭，这一信号发出以后，一阵惊心动魄的棍棒，象冰雹似的，不问青红皂白，劈里啪啦，一齐打在那七车人的身上；许多人狂喊怒骂，跑来看热闹的孩子象群逐臭的苍蝇，见了更加兴高采烈。
冉阿让的眼睛变得骇人可怕。那已不是眼睛，而是一种深杳的玻璃体，仿佛对现实无动于衷，并反射出面临大难、恐惧欲绝的光芒，一种忧患中人常有的那种眼神。他看到的已不是事物的实体，而是一种幻象。他想站起来，避开，逃走，但是一步也动不了。有时我们看见的东西是会把我们制住，拖着不放的。他象被钉住了，变成了石头，呆呆地待着，心里是说不出的烦乱和痛苦，搞不清楚这种非人的迫害是为了什么，他的心怎么会紊乱到如此程度。他忽然抬起一只手按在额上，猛然想起这地方正是必经之路，照例要走这一段弯路，以免在枫丹白露大道上惊动国王，而且三十五年前，他正是打这便门经过的。
珂赛特，虽然感受有所不同，但也一样胆战心惊。她不懂这是什么，她吐不出气，感到她所见到的景象是不可能存在的，她终于大声问道：
“爹！这些车子里装的是什么？”
冉阿让回答说：
“苦役犯。”
“他们去什么地方？”
“去上大桡船。”
这时，那一百多根棍棒正打得起劲，还夹着刀背也在砍，真是一阵鞭抽棍打的风暴，罪犯们全低下了头，重刑下面出现了丑恶的服从，所有的人一齐静下来了，一个个象被捆住了的狼似的觑着人。珂赛特浑身战抖，她又问道：
“爹，这些还算是人吗？”
“有时候。”那伤心人说。
那是一批犯人，天亮以前，便从比塞特出发了，当时国王正在枫丹白露，他们要绕道而行，便改走勒芒大路。这一改道便使那可怕的旅程延长三至四天，但是，为了不让万民之上的君王看见酷刑的惨状，多走几天路便也算不了什么。
冉阿让垂头丧气地回到家里。这种遭遇是打击，留下的印象也几乎是震撼。
冉阿让带着珂赛特一路走回家，没有留意她对刚才遇见的那些事再提出什么问题，也许他过于沉痛了，在不能自拔的时候，已听不到她说的话，也无心回答她了。不过到了晚上，当珂赛特离开他去睡觉时，他听到她轻轻地，仿佛自言自语地说：“我感到，要是我在我的一生中遇上一个那样的人，我的天主啊，只要我走近去看一眼，我便会送命的！”
幸好，在那次惨遇的第二天，现在已想不起是国家的什么盛典，巴黎要举行庆祝活动，马尔斯广场阅兵，塞纳河上比武，爱丽舍官演戏，明星广场放焰火，处处悬灯结彩。冉阿让，横着一条心，打破了他的习惯，领着珂赛特去赶热闹，也好借此冲淡一下对前一天的回忆，要让她遇见的那种丑恶景象消失在巴黎倾城欢笑的场面里。点缀那次节日的阅兵式自然要使戎装盛服在街头穿梭往来，冉阿让穿上了他的国民自卫军制服，心里隐藏着一个避难人的感受。总之，这次游逛的目的似乎达到了。珂赛特一向是以助她父亲的兴作为行动准则的，并且对她来说，任何场面都是新鲜的，她便以青年人平易轻松的兴致接受了这次散心，因而对所谓公众庆祝的那种乏味的欢乐，也没太轻蔑地撇一下嘴。因此冉阿让认为游玩是成功的，那种奇丑绝恶的幻象已不再存在了。
过了几天，在一个晴朗的早晨，他们两人全到了园里的台阶上，这对冉阿让自定的生活规则和珂赛特因烦闷而不出卧房的习惯来说，都是又一次破例的表现。珂赛特披一件起床时穿的浴衣，那种象朝霞蔽日那样把少女们裹得楚楚动人的便服，立在台阶上，睡了一个好觉而显得绯红的脸对着阳光，老人以疼爱的心情轻轻地望着她，她手里正拿着一朵雏菊，在一瓣一瓣地摘花瓣。珂赛特并不知道那种可爱的口诀“我爱你，爱一点点，爱到发狂，”等等，谁会教给她这些呢？她本能地、天真地在玩着那朵花，一点没有意识到：摘一朵雏菊的花瓣便是披露一个人的心。如果有第四位美惠女神，名叫多愁仙子而且是微笑着的，那她就有点象这仙子了。冉阿让痴痴地望着那花朵上的几个小手指，望到眼花心醉，在那孩子的光辉里把一切都忘了。一只知更鸟在旁边的树丛里低声啼唱。片片白云轻盈迅捷地飘过天空，好象刚从什么地方释放出来似的。珂赛特仍在一心一意地摘她的花瓣，她仿佛在想着什么，想必一定是件怪有意思的事，忽然，她以天鹅那种舒徐的优美姿态，从肩上转过头来向冉阿让说：“爹，大桡船是什么东西呀？”