Chapter 242 eight long chain

Of the two of them, Jean Valjean was the most troubled.Young people, even if they are unhappy, always have a cheerful side. At certain moments, Jean Valjean was so depressed that he had some childish thoughts.This is the characteristic of suffering, and extreme suffering often brings back the childishness of childhood.He felt helplessly that Cosette was slipping from his arms.He wanted to struggle, to keep her, to cheer her up with something conspicuous outside him.This kind of thinking, as we have just said, is childish and stupid at the same time, and his thinking like this is a bit like the effect that gold brocade has on the imagination of little girls, it is all childish.Once he saw a general, Comte de Goudard, commander of the Paris garrison, in full uniform, riding down the street on horseback.He became envious of this glittering man.He thought: "There is nothing to say about this kind of clothes. If I can wear such a suit, I will be so happy. Cosette will be delighted when she sees his outfit. He asked Cosette to hold her." At that time, the guards will salute him with their guns, and Cosette will be satisfied, and she will not want to see those young men anymore."

A shock of surprise came to mingle with the sad thought. In the solitary life they led, it had become a habit for them since they moved to the Rue Plumet.They often go to watch the sunrise, as a way of entertainment, this quiet pleasure is suitable for those who have just entered life and are about to leave it. Getting up for a walk early in the morning is equivalent to a walk at night for lonely people, and you can also enjoy the vitality of nature.There were few people in the street, and the birds were singing. Cosette, who was a bird, had woken up very early and happily.This morning excursion is often prepared the day before.He suggested, and she agreed, as if arranged as a conspiracy, and they went out before dawn, to Cosette's particular pleasure.Such innocuous infidelity best suits the tastes of youth.

Jean Valjean's inclination, we know, was to go to places not frequented by men, to solitary corners of the hills, to wild places.At that time, in the area outside Paris, there were some barren fields, almost connected with the city, where a dry wheat grew in summer, and after harvest in autumn, the land seemed not to be mowed, but to be plucked. .Jean Valjean admired that district most.Cosette was not at all bored there.For him it was serenity, for her it was freedom.There she was a little girl again, and she could run about and play almost at will, and she took off her hat, put it on Jean Valjean's lap, and went about gathering wild flowers.She looks at the butterflies on the flowers, but does not catch them. Kindness and compassion are born together with love. Girls have a trembling and fragile ideal in their hearts, so they have to pity the wings of butterflies.She strung the poppies in a garland on her head, and the sun shone down on it, red and purple like fire, and it was a crown of burning coals on her rosy and radiant face.

Even after their moods had darkened, this habit of morning excursions continued. So one October morning, encouraged by the cool, calm weather of the autumn of 1831, they went out again, and they reached the Main Gate very early.Before the sunrise, the sky was just a little bit dim, and it was a wonderful and bleak moment.There are still a few stars scattered in the deep white sky, the ground is pitch black, the sky is all white, the weeds are trembling slightly, and everything is shrouded in a mysterious thinness.A skylark, as if meeting with the stars, sang in the high sky, and the silhouette of the sky seemed to hold its breath to listen to the carol that this little life sang for the boundless universe.In the east, the Military Medical College is set off by the bright blue steel color of the sky, showing its black shadow. The dazzling Taibai star is hanging on the top of the hill, like a soul flying out of this dark building.

There was no movement and no sound.There was no one on the main road, and on the small road beside the road, occasionally a few workers rushed to work in the twilight. Jean Valjean sat down on a pile of trusses before the door of the shed by the road.He faced the road and turned his back to the dawn. He had forgotten about the rising sun. He was immersed in a kind of deep meditation, concentrating all his energy, as if his sight was blocked by four walls.Some meditations can be said to be vertical. After the mind rises to the top, it takes a certain amount of time to return to the ground.Jean Valjean was at that time in such a state of wandering.He was thinking of Cosette, of the happiness they might have enjoyed if nothing happened between them, of the light that filled his life, that light on which his soul breathed.He was almost happy in such dreams.Cosette, standing beside him, watched the clouds turn red.

Cosette exclaimed suddenly: "Father, there seem to be some people over there." Jean Valjean raised his eyes. We know that the main road leading to the former Main Gate is the Rue de Sèvres, which intersects the Inner Road at right angles.At the corner of the main road and the road, where it diverged, they heard a sound that was difficult to understand at that moment, and there appeared a dark, indistinct figure.Some shapeless thing was turning from the road into the main road. The thing gradually grew larger, as if it was moving forward in an orderly manner, but it was covered with thorns and trembling slightly. It seemed to be a car, but it was impossible to see what was on the car.There were the voices of horses, wheels, and men, and the cracking of whips.Gradually, the outline of the thing became apparent, although still unclear.It was indeed a car, which had just turned from the road onto the main road, and was coming towards the wicket near Jean Valjean's place, followed by a second like car, and then a third, a fourth, and seven. The cars came one by one, with the horse's head connected to the rear of the car.Some figures were moving around on the car, with little flashes in the twilight, like swords out of their sheaths, and the sound of iron chains hitting, the formation was moving forward, and the voices of people gradually became louder.It was really a shocking thing, as if it came out of a nightmare.

The thing got closer and closer, and its shape gradually became clearer. It was green like a ghost, and it came out from behind the tree one after another. The pile of things turned white, and the rising sun shone palely on this group of people who looked like people, who looked like people, and who looked like ghosts. On the non-ghost, wriggling thing, the head on the shadow turned into the face of a dead body. This is what happened: Seven cars drove forward one after the other on the main road.The structure of the first six vehicles is quite peculiar.They were like those long barrel wagons, a long ladder on two wheels, the pole of which was also the shaft at the front end.Each cart, or more correctly, each long ladder, was drawn by four horses lined up one behind the other.Strings of weirdos dragged along the ladder.In the faint sunlight, it was still unclear whether it was a human being or not, it was just a guess.Twenty-four in each car, twelve on each side, back to back, facing the curb, with their legs dangling in the air.This is how these men go, and behind them something clatters, which is a chain, and something glistens around their necks, which is an iron flail.The shackle is different for each person, and the chain is shared by everyone. Therefore, when these twenty-four people are about to get out of the car and walk, they must act in unison. At this time, they are like a giant centipede, with the chain as the backbone. bone, zigzags forward on the ground.At the head and tail of each cart stood two men with rifles on their backs, each stepping on one end of the chain.The flails are all square.The seventh, a railed wagon without a roof, with four wheels and six horses, carried a great heap of rattling pans, pig-tins, stoves, and chains, among which Inside, there were also a few people tied up with ropes, lying straight, probably sick.The car was open on all sides, and the railings were badly damaged, which showed that it was the oldest prison car.

The convoy was in the middle of the road.There were two rows of grotesque guards on either side, with flimsy three-cornered hats on their heads, like soldiers in the period of the Directory, the hats were full of stains and holes, and they were extremely dirty. Half gray and half blue, almost rotten to silk, they wear red epaulets, yellow straps slung across their shoulders, and carry chopped cabbage, rifles, and sticks—a group of beggar soldiers.These police teams seem to be composed of the ugliness of a beggar and the majesty of an executioner.The man who looked like the captain held a long whip in his hand.These details were originally blurred in the hazy dawn, but gradually became clear with the brightening sunlight.Some mounted gendarmes, swords in hand, walked sullenly at the front and rear of the convoy.

The line was so long that the last car was almost turning from the road to the main road when the first car had reached the gate. A large group of people, coming from unknown quarters, gathered at once and squeezed on both sides of the avenue to watch, which is a common thing in Paris.In the nearby small streets and alleys, there was also a sound of wooden shoes of vegetable farmers calling each other and running to watch the excitement. Those who piled on the car let the car bump without saying a word.They shivered in the morning chill, their faces livid.All dressed in rough cloth trousers, with bare feet and a pair of wooden shoes.The clothes of other people are even more pitiful, they wear whatever they have.Their attire is so ugly that nothing is more poignant than a patchwork of rags.Dimpled felt hats with wide brims, greasy sunhats, ugly woolen caps, black dresses with holes in the elbows and short blouses crowded together, some of them also wore women's hats, and some wore them. Wicker baskets, one can see hairy breasts, tattooed bodies protruding from the slits of clothes: the temple of love, the heart with flames, the god of cupids, etc.Some pus scabs and malignant sores can also be seen.Two or three people tied straw ropes to the crossbars at the bottom of the car, hanging under their bodies like stirrups, supporting their feet.One of them held something like a black stone and put it into his mouth to chew. That was the bread they ate.Their eyes were all dry, glassy, ​​or murderous.The escorting team kept yelling and cursing all the way, but the prisoners remained silent. From time to time, people heard the sound of sticks being hit on their backs or heads. Among those people, a few were yawning with their mouths open, and their clothes were horribly torn , feet dangling in the air, shoulders swaying, heads banging against each other, irons jingling, eyes blazing with anger, fists clenched or held open like dead hands, behind the whole procession a group of children followed booing and laughing.

The formation, however, was dismal.Apparently, tomorrow, within an hour, there could be a storm, and then another, and another, and these rags will be soaked, once wet, these men will not dry again, once frozen and these men will not be warm again, and their coarse trousers will be glued to their bones by the rain, and water will fill up their wooden shoes, and the whipping will not stop the trembling of the gums, and the chains will continue Chain their necks, and their feet will continue to hang in the air.It is impossible not to feel chilled seeing these flesh and blood being chained up like logs and stones, showing nothing under the cold autumn clouds, letting the rain and the wind blow and the hurricanes attack.

Even the sick, bound with ropes and thrown in the seventh car, motionless like torn sacks, were inevitably beaten. Suddenly, the sun appeared, and the huge light wheel in the east rose up, as if sending fire to these rough heads.The tongues of each were fully flexible, and a fire of banter, cursing, and singing spread.The great expanse of flat morning light cut the whole procession in two, the head and body in the light, the feet and wheels in the darkness.Thought activity appeared on everyone's face. This moment was frightening, some demons revealed their truth, some pure and terrible creatures.The whole company, even in the sun, was gloomy.A few in good spirits held a quill in their mouths and blew maggots towards the crowd, aiming at some women.The rising sun made the shadows of those monstrosities especially dark, and there was not one among them who had not been grotesque by misery, so hideous that one could not help saying: "They turned the sun into lightning's Shimmer." The leading caravan sang a famous song of the time, De Zogier's "Virgin of the Vesta," and groaned with vulgar frivolity.The trees shrank miserably, and on the roadside path, the stupid faces of the middle class were enjoying the dirty tunes sung by the ghosts. In this chaotic convoy, all the horrors are ready, there are all kinds of beasts: old people, young people, bald heads, gray beards, brutal grotesques, passive recalcitrance, grinning faces, mad postures, wearing The pig's arched mouth in the sun hat, the face of a daughter with augers on the temples, the face of a child (and therefore particularly scary), and a skull with a breath left.In the first car, there is a black man, who may have been a slave, and can be compared with the chain.These men suffered a disgrace beyond measure; and by this degree of humiliation, they were all profoundly and profoundly changed, and the ignorant who had become foolish were on the same level as the wise who had become pessimistic.This group of people who seemed to be extracted from the dregs could not be compared with each other.The irrelevant leader of the sordid procession apparently made no distinction between them.They were haphazardly tied up in pairs, perhaps in alphabetical order, and loaded in haphazardly.But a few hideous things come together and the result is always one force, and many afflicted men add up to one sum, and from each chain springs a common soul, and each wagon has their common face .One car is always singing, another is always shouting, a third is begging, still another is gnashing its teeth, another is threatening the audience, another is cursing God, and the last car is as silent as ever. grave.Dante, seeing it, would also think these were the seven hells in motion. This is the procession from being sentenced to serving a sentence, which is horrible. They are not riding in the kind of chariots with lightning flashes and frightening as mentioned in the "Apocalypse", but prison cars for public display, so the image is even worse. One of the guards held a club with a hook at the tip, and grinned now and then to frighten the dregs of humanity.An old woman in the crowd pointed them out to a five-year-old boy and said to him, "Wonder, see if you want to follow these examples!" The singing and cursing grew louder, and the man who looked like the captain of the escort swung his long whip with a crack, and at the signal, a frightening burst of clubs, like hail, indiscriminate, Crackling, hitting the seven chariot people all at once; many people yelled and cursed, and the children who came to watch the fun were like a swarm of flies chasing stinky flies, and they were even more happy when they saw it. Jean Valjean's eyes grew horrific.They were no longer eyes, but a kind of deep vitreous body, as if indifferent to reality, and reflected the light of fear in the face of catastrophe, the kind of eyes that people in distress often have.What he sees is no longer the reality of things, but an illusion.He tried to get up, to duck, to run away, but he couldn't move a step.Sometimes we see things that hold us back and hold us back.He seemed to be nailed, turned into a stone, and stood there blankly, feeling indescribably disturbed and painful. He couldn't figure out what the purpose of this inhuman persecution was, and how his mind could be so disturbed. .He suddenly raised a hand to his forehead, and suddenly remembered that this place was the only way to go, and he usually took this detour in order not to disturb the king on the Avenue Fontainebleau, and thirty-five years ago, he was I passed by this convenient door. Cosette, though feeling differently, was equally terrified.She didn't know what it was, she couldn't breathe out, feeling that what she saw was impossible, she finally asked aloud: "Father! What's in these cars?" Jean Valjean replied: "The convict." "Where are they going?" "Go aboard the galley." At this time, the more than one hundred sticks were vigorously beating, and they were still cutting with the back of the knife. It was a storm of whipping and sticking. The criminals all bowed their heads. They all fell silent, looking at the people one by one like tied wolves.Cosette, trembling all over, asked again: "Father, are these still human beings?" "Sometimes," said the sad man. It was a group of convicts who had set out from Bisset before daybreak, while the King was at Fontainebleau, and they wanted to take a detour, so they took the road to Le Mans.This diversion added three or four days to the dreadful journey, but a few extra days were worthless in order to save the King above the peoples from seeing the horrors of torture. Jean Valjean returned home dejectedly.The encounter was shocking, and the impression it left was almost shocking. Jean Valjean took Cosette all the way home, not paying attention to what questions she asked about the things he had just met. Maybe he was too sad, and when he couldn't help himself, he could no longer hear what she said, and he didn't have the heart to answer. she is gone.But at night, when Cosette left him to sleep, he heard her say softly, as if to herself: "I feel that if I ever meet a man like that in my life, my God, if I had only to take a closer look, I'd be dead!" Fortunately, on the second day of that tragic encounter, I can no longer remember what kind of national grand ceremony it is. There will be celebrations in Paris, a military parade in Mars Square, a martial arts competition on the Seine River, a play at the Elysee Palace, fireworks in the Etoile Square, and hanging lights everywhere. Decoration.Jean Valjean, determined to break his habit, led Cosette to the excitement, so as to dilute the memory of the previous day, so that the ugly scene she encountered would disappear in the scene of laughter in Paris. inside.The military parades that adorned that festival naturally required the passing of military uniforms through the streets, and Jean Valjean put on his National Guard uniform with a hidden feeling of a refugee.In short, the purpose of this tour seems to have been achieved.Cosette had always acted in favor of her father's pleasure, and any scene was new to her, and she accepted the distraction with the ease and lightness of youth, and was therefore apprehensive of the so-called public celebration. That tedious glee, without a curl of lips too contemptuously.So Jean Valjean thought that the game was a success, and that ugly illusion no longer existed. A few days later, on a fine morning, they both arrived on the steps of the garden, which was a perfect coincidence for Jean Valjean's own rules of life and Cosette's habit of staying out of her bedroom because of boredom. An exceptional performance.Cosette put on the bathrobe she wore when she got up, the kind of casual clothes that wrap girls so beautifully like the morning glow covering the sun, and stood on the steps, facing the sun with her blushed face after a good night's sleep. Looking at her gently with affection, she is holding a daisy in her hand and picking the petals one by one.Cosette didn't know the lovely formula "I love you, a little, a little, crazy," and so on, who would teach her that?She played with the flower instinctively, innocently, without realizing that picking the petals of a daisy is revealing one's heart.If there was a fourth Grace, called the Sorrowful Fairy, and she was smiling, she would be a bit like the Fairy.Jean Valjean gazed dreamily at the little fingers on the flower, and was so dazzled by the sight that he forgot everything in the child's brilliance.A robin was singing softly in a nearby bush.Patches of white clouds floated across the sky lightly and swiftly, as if they had just been released from somewhere.Cosette was still plucking her petals wholeheartedly. She seemed to be thinking of something, which must be a very interesting thing. Suddenly, she turned her head from her shoulders to Jean Valerie in the graceful posture of a swan. Jean said, "Father, what is a barge?"