The painful surprise of Napoleon is well known.Grouchy hoped for, Blucher arriving.Death instead of life.
Fate has these turns; the throne of the world was expected; it was Saint Helena that was seen.
If the little shepherd who served as guide to Bulow, Blucher's lieutenant, had advised him to debouch from the forest above Frischemont, instead of below plancenoit, the form of the nineteenth century might, perhaps, have been different.Napoleon would have won the battle of Waterloo.By any other route than that below plancenoit, the prussian army would have come out upon a ravine impassable for artillery, and Bulow would not have arrived.
Now the prussian general, Muffling, declares that one hour's delay, and Blucher would not have found Wellington on his feet."The battle was lost."
It was time that Bulow should arrive, as will be seen.He had, moreover, been very much delayed.He had bivouacked at Dion-le-Mont, and had set out at daybreak; but the roads were impassable, and his divisions stuck fast in the mire.The ruts were up to the hubs of the cannons.Moreover, he had been obliged to pass the Dyle on the narrow bridge of Wavre; the street leading to the bridge had been fired by the French, so the caissons and ammunition-wagons could not pass between two rows of burning houses, and had been obliged to wait until the conflagration was extinguished.It was mid-day before Bulow's vanguard had been able to reach Chapelle-Saint-Lambert.
Had the action been begun two hours earlier, it would have been over at four o'clock, and Blucher would have fallen on the battle won by Napoleon.Such are these immense risks proportioned to an infinite which we cannot comprehend.
The Emperor had been the first, as early as mid-day, to descry with his field-glass, on the extreme horizon, something which had attracted his attention.He had said, "I see yonder a cloud, which seems to me to be troops."Then he asked the Duc de Dalmatie, "Soult, what do you see in the direction of Chapelle-Saint-Lambert?" The marshal, levelling his glass, answered, "Four or five thousand men, Sire; evidently Grouchy."But it remained motionless in the mist.All the glasses of the staff had studied "the cloud" pointed out by the Emperor.Some said:"It is trees."The truth is, that the cloud did not move.The Emperor detached Domon's division of light cavalry to reconnoitre in that quarter.
Bulow had not moved, in fact.His vanguard was very feeble, and could accomplish nothing.He was obliged to wait for the body of the army corps, and he had received orders to concentrate his forces before entering into line; but at five o'clock, perceiving Wellington's peril, Blucher ordered Bulow to attack, and uttered these remarkable words:"We must give air to the English army."
A little later, the divisions of Losthin, Hiller, Hacke, and Ryssel deployed before Lobau's corps, the cavalry of prince William of prussia debouched from the forest of paris, plancenoit was in flames, and the prussian cannon-balls began to rain even upon the ranks of the guard in reserve behind Napoleon.

     大家知道拿破仑极其失望的心情，他一心指望格鲁希快回来，却眼见比洛突然出现，救星不至，反遇厉鬼。
    命运竟有如此的变幻，他正准备坐上世界的宝座，却望见了圣赫勒拿①岛显现在眼前。
①圣赫勒拿（Sainte-Helene），岛名。拿破仑在滑铁卢战败后，被囚于该岛。
    如果替布吕歇尔的副司令比洛当向导的那个牧童，要他从弗里谢蒙的上面走出森林，而不从普朗尚努瓦的下面，十九世纪的面貌也许就会不同些。滑铁卢战争的胜利也许属于拿破仑了。除了普朗尚努瓦下面的那条路，普鲁士军队都会遇到不容炮队通过的裂谷，比洛也就到达不了。所以，再迟到一个钟头，据普鲁士将军米夫林说，布吕歇尔就不会看见威灵顿站着；“战事已经失败了。”足见比洛来得正是时候。况且他已耽误了不少时间。他在狄翁山露宿了一夜，天一亮又开动。但是那些道路都难走，他的部队全是泥淖满身。轮辙深达炮轮的轴。此外，他还得由那条狭窄的瓦弗桥渡过迪尔河，通桥的那条街道已被法军放火烧起来了，两旁房屋的火势正炽，炮队的弹药车和辎重车不能冒火穿过，非得等火熄灭才能走。到了中午，比洛的前锋还没有到圣朗贝堂。如果战事早两个钟头开始，到四点便能结束，布吕歇尔赶来，也会是在拿破仑得胜之后。那种渺茫的机缘并非人力所能测度的。
    在皇上中午首先就从望远镜中望见极远处有点什么东西，这使他放心不下。他说：“我看见那边有堆黑影，象是军队。”接着，他问达尔马提亚公爵说：“苏尔特，您看圣朗贝堂那边是什么东西？”那位大元帅对准他的望远镜答道：“四五千人，陛下。自然是格鲁希了。”但是他们停在雾中不动。作战指挥部的人员全拿起了望远镜来研究皇上发现的那堆“黑影”。有几个说：“是些中途休息的队伍。”大部分人说：“那是些树。”可靠的是那堆黑影停着不动。皇上派了多芒所部的轻骑兵师去探视那黑点。比洛的确不曾移动，他的前锋太弱了，无能为力。他得等候大军，并且他还得到命令，在集中兵力之前，不得擅入战线。但是到了五点钟，布吕歇尔看见威灵顿形势危急，便命令比洛进攻，并且说了这样一句漂亮的活：“得给点空气给英国军队了。”
    不到一刻钟工夫，罗襄、希勒尔、哈克和李赛尔各部在罗博的前面展开了阵式，普鲁士威廉亲王的骑兵也从巴黎森林中冲出来，普朗尚努瓦着了火，普鲁士的炮弹雨一般地射来，直达留守在拿破仑背后羽林军的阵列中。
    

Every one knows the rest,--the irruption of a third army; the battle broken to pieces; eighty-six months of fire thundering simultaneously; pirch the first coming up with Bulow; Zieten's cavalry led by Blucher in person, the French driven back; Marcognet swept from the plateau of Ohain; Durutte dislodged from papelotte; Donzelot and Quiot retreating; Lobau caught on the flank; a fresh battle precipitating itself on our dismantled regiments at nightfall; the whole English line resuming the offensive and thrust forward; the gigantic breach made in the French army; the English grape-shot and the prussian grape-shot aiding each other; the extermination; disaster in front; disaster on the flank; the Guard entering the line in the midst of this terrible crumbling of all things.
Conscious that they were about to die, they shouted, "Vive l'Empereur!" History records nothing more touching than that agony bursting forth in acclamations.
The sky had been overcast all day long.All of a sudden, at that very moment,--it was eight o'clock in the evening--the clouds on the horizon parted, and allowed the grand and sinister glow of the setting sun to pass through, athwart the elms on the Nivelles road. They had seen it rise at Austerlitz.
Each battalion of the Guard was commanded by a general for this final catastrophe.Friant, Michel, Roguet, Harlet, Mallet, poret de Morvan, were there.When the tall caps of the grenadiers of the Guard, with their large plaques bearing the eagle appeared, symmetrical, in line, tranquil, in the midst of that combat, the enemy felt a respect for France; they thought they beheld twenty victories entering the field of battle, with wings outspread, and those who were the conquerors, believing themselves to be vanquished, retreated; but Wellington shouted, "Up, Guards, and aim straight!" The red regiment of English guards, lying flat behind the hedges, sprang up, a cloud of grape-shot riddled the tricolored flag and whistled round our eagles; all hurled themselves forwards, and the final carnage began.In the darkness, the Imperial Guard felt the army losing ground around it, and in the vast shock of the rout it heard the desperate flight which had taken the place of the "Vive l'Empereur!" and, with flight behind it, it continued to advance, more crushed, losing more men at every step that it took. There were none who hesitated, no timid men in its ranks. The soldier in that troop was as much of a hero as the general. Not a man was missing in that suicide.
Ney, bewildered, great with all the grandeur of accepted death, offered himself to all blows in that tempest.He had his fifth horse killed under him there.perspiring, his eyes aflame, foaming at the mouth, with uniform unbuttoned, one of his epaulets half cut off by a sword-stroke from a horseguard, his plaque with the great eagle dented by a bullet; bleeding, bemired, magnificent, a broken sword in his hand, he said, "Come and see how a Marshal of France dies on the field of battle!"But in vain; he did not die. He was haggard and angry.At Drouet d'Erlon he hurled this question, "Are you not going to get yourself killed?"In the midst of all that artillery engaged in crushing a handful of men, he shouted: "So there is nothing for me!Oh!I should like to have all these English bullets enter my bowels!"Unhappy man, thou wert reserved for French bullets!

     此后的情形是大家知道的：第三支军队的突现，战局发生变化，八 十尊大炮陡然齐发，皮尔希一世领着比洛忽然出现，布吕歇尔亲自率领着齐坦骑兵，法军被逐，马科涅被迫放弃奥安，迪吕特被迫撤离帕佩洛特，东泽洛和吉奥且战且退，罗博受着侧面的攻击，一种新攻势在暮色中向我们失去了屏障的队伍逼来，英军全线反攻，向前猛扑，法军大受创伤，英普两军的炮火相互呼应，歼灭，前锋的困厄，侧翼的困厄，羽林军在那种骇人的总崩溃形势中加入了战斗。
    羽林军士知道自己离死已不远，大声喊着：“皇帝万岁！”历史上从没有比那种忍痛的欢呼更动人的了。
    那天的天气一直是阴的，那时，傍晚八点钟，天边的云忽然开朗，落日的红光阴恻恻的，从尼维尔路旁的榆树枝叶中透过来。而在奥斯特里茨的那一次，太阳却在上升。
    挺身赴难的羽林军的每个营都由一个将军率领。弗里昂、米歇尔、罗格、阿尔莱、马莱、波雷?德?莫尔旺当时都在。羽林军士戴着大鹰徽高帽，行列整齐，神色镇定，个个仪表非凡，当他们在战云迷漫中出现时，敌军对法兰西也肃然起敬，他们以为看见了二十个胜利之神展开双翼，飞入战场，那些占优势的人也觉得气馁，于是向后退却，可是威灵顿喊道：“近卫军，起立，瞄准！”躺在篱后的英国红衣近卫军立了起来；一阵开花弹把我们的雄鹰四周的那些飘动着的三色旗打得满是窟窿，大家一齐冲杀，最后的血战开始了。羽林军在黑暗中觉得四周的军队已开始败退，崩溃的局势已经广泛形成，他们听见逃命的声音替代了“皇帝万岁”的呼声，但是他们后面的军队尽管退，他们自己却仍旧往前进，越走越近越危险，越走越接近死亡。绝没有一个人迟疑，绝没有一个人胆怯。那支军队中的士兵都和将军一样英勇。没有一个不甘愿赴死。
    内伊战酣了，决心殉难，勇气长到和死神一般高，在殊死战中东奔西突，奋不顾身。他的第五匹坐骑死了。他汗流满面，眼中冒火，满唇白沫，军服没扣上，一个肩章被一个骑兵砍掉了一半，他的大鹰章也被一颗熗弹打了一个窝，浑身是血，浑身是泥，雄伟绝伦，他手举一把断剑，吼道：“你们来看法兰西的大元帅是怎样尽忠报国的！”但是没有用，他求死不得。于是他勃然大怒，使人惊恐。他向戴尔隆发出这样的问题：“难道你不打算牺牲吗？”他在那以多凌寡的炮队中大声喊道：“我就没有一点份！哈！我愿让所有这些英国人的炮弹全钻进我的肚子！”苦命人，你是留下来吃法国人的熗弹的！①
①内伊战后被王朝处死。

The rout behind the Guard was melancholy.
The army yielded suddenly on all sides at once,--Hougomont, La Haie-Sainte, papelotte, plancenoit.The cry "Treachery!" was followed by a cry of "Save yourselves who can!"An army which is disbanding is like a thaw.All yields, splits, cracks, floats, rolls, falls, jostles, hastens, is precipitated.The disintegration is unprecedented.Ney borrows a horse, leaps upon it, and without hat, cravat, or sword, places himself across the Brussels road, stopping both English and French.He strives to detain the army, he recalls it to its duty, he insults it, he clings to the rout. He is overwhelmed.The soldiers fly from him, shouting, "Long live Marshal Ney!"Two of Durutte's regiments go and come in affright as though tossed back and forth between the swords of the Uhlans and the fusillade of the brigades of Kempt, Best, pack, and Rylandt; the worst of hand-to-hand conflicts is the defeat; friends kill each other in order to escape; squadrons and battalions break and disperse against each other, like the tremendous foam of battle.Lobau at one extremity, and Reille at the other, are drawn into the tide. In vain does Napoleon erect walls from what is left to him of his Guard; in vain does he expend in a last effort his last serviceable squadrons. Quiot retreats before Vivian, Kellermann before Vandeleur, Lobau before Bulow, Morand before pirch, Domon and Subervic before prince William of prussia; Guyot, who led the Emperor's squadrons to the charge, falls beneath the feet of the English dragoons. Napoleon gallops past the line of fugitives, harangues, urges, threatens, entreats them.All the mouths which in the morning had shouted, "Long live the Emperor!" remain gaping; they hardly recognize him. The prussian cavalry, newly arrived, dashes forwards, flies, hews, slashes, kills, exterminates.Horses lash out, the cannons flee; the soldiers of the artillery-train unharness the caissons and use the horses to make their escape; transports overturned, with all four wheels in the air, clog the road and occasion massacres. Men are crushed, trampled down, others walk over the dead and the living.Arms are lost.A dizzy multitude fills the roads, the paths, the bridges, the plains, the hills, the valleys, the woods, encumbered by this invasion of forty thousand men. Shouts despair, knapsacks and guns flung among the rye, passages forced at the point of the sword, no more comrades, no more officers, no more generals, an inexpressible terror.Zieten putting France to the sword at its leisure.Lions converted into goats.Such was the flight.
At Genappe, an effort was made to wheel about, to present a battle front, to draw up in line.Lobau rallied three hundred men. The entrance to the village was barricaded, but at the first volley of prussian canister, all took to flight again, and Lobau was taken. That volley of grape-shot can be seen to-day imprinted on the ancient gable of a brick building on the right of the road at a few minutes' distance before you enter Genappe.The prussians threw themselves into Genappe, furious, no doubt, that they were not more entirely the conquerors.The pursuit was stupendous. Blucher ordered extermination.Roguet had set the lugubrious example of threatening with death any French grenadier who should bring him a prussian prisoner.Blucher outdid Roguet.Duhesme, the general of the Young Guard, hemmed in at the doorway of an inn at Genappe, surrendered his sword to a huzzar of death, who took the sword and slew the prisoner.The victory was completed by the assassination of the vanquished.Let us inflict punishment, since we are history: old Blucher disgraced himself.This ferocity put the finishing touch to the disaster.The desperate route traversed Genappe, traversed Quatre-Bras, traversed Gosselies, traversed Frasnes, traversed Charleroi, traversed Thuin, and only halted at the frontier. Alas! and who, then, was fleeing in that manner?The Grand Army.
This vertigo, this terror, this downfall into ruin of the loftiest bravery which ever astounded history,--is that causeless? No. The shadow of an enormous right is projected athwart Waterloo. It is the day of destiny.The force which is mightier than man produced that day.Hence the terrified wrinkle of those brows; hence all those great souls surrendering their swords.Those who had conquered Europe have fallen prone on the earth, with nothing left to say nor to do, feeling the present shadow of a terrible presence. Hoc erat in fatis.That day the perspective of the human race underwent a change.Waterloo is the hinge of the nineteenth century. The disappearance of the great man was necessary to the advent of the great century.Some one, a person to whom one replies not, took the responsibility on himself.The panic of heroes can be explained. In the battle of Waterloo there is something more than a cloud, there is something of the meteor.God has passed by.
At nightfall, in a meadow near Genappe, Bernard and Bertrand seized by the skirt of his coat and detained a man, haggard, pensive, sinister, gloomy, who, dragged to that point by the current of the rout, had just dismounted, had passed the bridle of his horse over his arm, and with wild eye was returning alone to Waterloo.It was Napoleon, the immense somnambulist of this dream which had crumbled, essaying once more to advance.

     羽林军后面的溃退情形实在惨。军队突然从每个方面，从乌古蒙、圣拉埃、帕佩洛特、普朗尚努瓦同时一齐退回。在一片“叛徒！”的呼声后接着又响起了“赶快逃命！”的声音。军队溃败正如江河解冻，一 切都摧折，分裂，崩决，漂荡，奔腾，倒塌，相互冲撞，相互拥挤，忙乱慌张。这是一种空前的溃乱。内伊借了一匹马，跳上去，没有帽子，没有领带，也没有刀，堵在通往布鲁塞尔的那条大路上，同时制止英军和法军。他要阻止军队溃散，他叫他们，骂他们，挡住他们的退路。他怒不可遏。那些士兵见了他都逃避，嘴里喊着：“内伊大元帅万岁！”迪吕特的两个联队，跑去又跑来，惊慌失措，好象是被熗骑兵的刀和兰伯特、贝司特、派克、里兰特各旅的排熗捆扎住了。混战中最可怕的是溃败，朋友也互相屠杀，争夺去路，骑兵和步兵也互相残杀，各自逃生，真是战争中惊涛骇浪的一幕。罗博和雷耶各自在一端，也都被卷进了狂澜。拿破仑用他余下的卫士四面拦截，毫无效果，他把随身的近卫队调去作最后的挣扎，却也只是枉然。吉奥在维维安面前退却，克勒曼在范德勒尔面前退却，罗博在比洛面前退却，莫朗在皮尔希面前退却，多芒和絮贝维在普鲁士威廉亲王面前退却。吉奥领了皇上的骑兵队去冲锋，落在了英国骑兵的马蹄下。拿破仑奔驰在那些逃兵的面前，鼓励他们，督促他们，威吓他们，央求他们。早晨还欢呼皇帝万岁的那些嘴，现在都哑口无言，好象他们几乎全都不认识皇上了。新到的普鲁士骑兵飞也似的冲来，只管砍，削，剁，杀，宰割；拖炮的马乱蹦乱踢，带着炮逃走了；辎重兵也解下车箱，骑着马逃命去了；无数车箱，四轮朝天，拦在路上，制造了屠杀的机会。大家互相践踏，互相推挤，踩着死人和活人往前走。那些胳膊已经失去了理性。大路、小路、桥梁、平原、山岗、山谷、树林都被那四万溃军塞满了。呼号，悲怆，背囊和熗支丢在梨麦田里，逢人堵住去路，举刀便砍，无所谓同胞，无所谓官长，无所谓将军，只有一种说不出的恐怖骇然。齐担把法兰西杀了个痛快淋漓。雄狮都变成了松鼠。那次的溃败情形便是如此。
    在热纳普，有人还企图转回去建立防线，去遏止，堵截。罗博聚合了三百人。在进村子处设了防御工事，但是普鲁士的弹片一飞，大家全又逃散了，于是罗博就缚。我们今日还可以在路右，离热纳普几分钟路程的一所破砖墙房子的山尖上看见那弹片的痕迹。普鲁士军队冲进热纳普，自然是因为杀人太少才那样怒气冲天的。追击的情形真是凶狠。布吕歇尔命令悉数歼灭。在这以前，罗格已开过那种恶例，他不许法国羽林军士俘虏普鲁士士兵，违者处死。而布吕歇尔的狠劲又超过了罗格。青年羽林军的将军迪埃斯梅退到热纳普的客舍门口，他把佩剑交给一个杀人不眨眼的骑兵，那骑兵接了剑，却杀了那俘虏。胜利是由屠杀战败者来完成的。我们既在叙述历史，那就可以贬责：衰老的布吕歇尔玷污了自己。那种淫威实在是灭绝人性的。溃军仓皇失措，穿过热纳普，穿过四臂村，穿过松布雷夫，穿过弗拉斯内，穿过沙勒罗瓦，穿过特万，直到边境才停止。真是满目凄恻！那样逃窜的是谁？是大军。
    那种在历史上空前未有的大无畏精神竟会这样惊扰，恐怖，崩溃，这能说是没来由的吗？不能。极大的右手的黑影投射在滑铁卢了。那一天是命中注定的。一种超人的权力使那天出现了。因此万众俯首战栗，因此心灵伟大的人也会缴剑投降。当年征服欧洲的那些人今日一败涂地，他们没有什么要说的，也没有什么要做的了，只觉得冥冥中有恐怖存在。“非战之罪，天亡我也。”人类的前途在那天起了变化。滑铁卢是十九世纪的关键。那位大人物退出舞台对这个大世纪的兴盛是不可缺少的。有个至高的主宰作了那样的决定。所以英雄们的惶恐也是可以理解的了。在滑铁卢战争中，不但有乌云，也还有天灾。上帝来过了。
    傍晚时，在热纳普附近的田野里，贝尔纳和贝特朗拉住一个人的衣襟，不让他走，那人神色阴森，若有所思，他是被溃退的浪潮推到那里去的，他刚下马，挽着缰绳，恍惚迷离，独自一人转身向着滑铁卢走去。那人便是拿破仑，梦游中的巨人，他还想往前走，去追索那崩塌了的幻境。

Several squares of the Guard, motionless amid this stream of the defeat, as rocks in running water, held their own until night. Night came, death also; they awaited that double shadow, and, invincible, allowed themselves to be enveloped therein. Each regiment, isolated from the rest, and having no bond with the army, now shattered in every part, died alone.They had taken up position for this final action, some on the heights of Rossomme, others on the plain of Mont-Saint-Jean. There, abandoned, vanquished, terrible, those gloomy squares endured their death-throes in formidable fashion.Ulm, Wagram, Jena, Friedland, died with them.
At twilight, towards nine o'clock in the evening, one of them was left at the foot of the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean. In that fatal valley, at the foot of that declivity which the cuirassiers had ascended, now inundated by the masses of the English, under the converging fires of the victorious hostile cavalry, under a frightful density of projectiles, this square fought on.It was commanded by an obscure officer named Cambronne.At each discharge, the square diminished and replied.It replied to the grape-shot with a fusillade, continually contracting its four walls.The fugitives pausing breathless for a moment in the distance, listened in the darkness to that gloomy and ever-decreasing thunder.
When this legion had been reduced to a handful, when nothing was left of their flag but a rag, when their guns, the bullets all gone, were no longer anything but clubs, when the heap of corpses was larger than the group of survivors, there reigned among the conquerors, around those men dying so sublimely, a sort of sacred terror, and the English artillery, taking breath, became silent.This furnished a sort of respite.These combatants had around them something in the nature of a swarm of spectres, silhouettes of men on horseback, the black profiles of cannon, the white sky viewed through wheels and gun-carriages, the colossal death's-head, which the heroes saw constantly through the smoke, in the depths of the battle, advanced upon them and gazed at them.Through the shades of twilight they could hear the pieces being loaded; the matches all lighted, like the eyes of tigers at night, formed a circle round their heads; all the lintstocks of the English batteries approached the cannons, and then, with emotion, holding the supreme moment suspended above these men, an English general, Colville according to some, Maitland according to others, shouted to them, "Surrender, brave Frenchmen!" Cambronne replied, "-----."

     羽林军的几个方阵，有如水中的磐石，屹立在溃军的乱流中，一直坚持到夜晚。夜来了，死神也同时来了，他们等侯那双重的黑影，不屈不挠，任凭敌人包围。每个联队，各自孤立，与各方面被击溃的大军已完全失去联系，他们从容就义，各负其责。有的守罗松一带的高地，有的守在圣约翰山的原野里，准备作最后的一搏。那些无援无望，勇气百倍，视死如归的方阵，在那一带轰轰烈烈的呻吟待毙。乌尔姆、瓦格拉姆、耶拿、弗里德兰①的声名也正随着他们死去。
①这些都是拿破仑打胜仗的地方。
    九点左右，夜色朦胧，在圣约翰山高地的坡下还剩一个方阵。在那阴惨的山谷中，在铁骑军曾经向上奔驰，在流遍英军的血、盖满英军尸体的山坡下，在胜利的敌军炮队的集中轰击下，那一个方阵仍在战斗。他们的长官是一个叫康布罗纳的无名军官。每受一次轰击，那方阵便缩小一次，但仍在还击。他们用步熗对抗大炮，四面的人墙不断缩短。有些逃兵在上气不接下气时停下来，在黑暗中远远听着那惨淡的熗声在渐渐稀少。
    那队壮士只剩下寥寥几个人，他们的军旗成了一块破布，他们的子弹已经射完，步熗成了光杆，到了尸堆比活人队伍还大时，战胜者面对那些坚贞不屈、光荣就义的人们，也不免肃然起敬，感受到一种神圣的恐怖，一时英军炮队寂静无声，停止了射击。那是一种暂歇。战士们觉得在他们四周有无数幢幢鬼魂、骑士的形象、炮身的黑影以及从车轮和炮架中窥见的天色，英雄们在战场远处的烟尘中隐隐望见死神的骷髅，其大无比，向他们逼近并注视着他们。他们在苍茫暮色中可以听到敌人上炮弹的声音，那些燃着的引火绳好象是黑暗中猛虎的眼睛，在他们头上绕成一个圈，英国炮队的火杆一齐挨近了炮身，这时，有一个英国将军，有人说是科维耳，也有人说是梅特兰，他当时心有所感，抓住悬在他们头上的那最后一秒钟，向他们喊道：“勇敢的法国人，投降吧！”康布罗纳答道：“屎！”
    

If any French reader object to having his susceptibilities offended, one would have to refrain from repeating in his presence what is perhaps the finest reply that a Frenchman ever made.This would enjoin us from consigning something sublime to History.
At our own risk and peril, let us violate this injunction.
Now, then, among those giants there was one Titan,--Cambronne.
To make that reply and then perish, what could be grander? For being willing to die is the same as to die; and it was not this man's fault if he survived after he was shot.
The winner of the battle of Waterloo was not Napoleon, who was put to flight; nor Wellington, giving way at four o'clock, in despair at five; nor Blucher, who took no part in the engagement. The winner of Waterloo was Cambronne.
To thunder forth such a reply at the lightning-flash that kills you is to conquer!
Thus to answer the Catastrophe, thus to speak to Fate, to give this pedestal to the future lion, to hurl such a challenge to the midnight rainstorm, to the treacherous wall of Hougomont, to the sunken road of Ohain, to Grouchy's delay, to Blucher's arrival, to be Irony itself in the tomb, to act so as to stand upright though fallen, to drown in two syllables the European coalition, to offer kings privies which the Caesars once knew, to make the lowest of words the most lofty by entwining with it the glory of France, insolently to end Waterloo with Mardigras, to finish Leonidas with Rabellais, to set the crown on this victory by a word impossible to speak, to lose the field and preserve history, to have the laugh on your side after such a carnage,--this is immense!
It was an insult such as a thunder-cloud might hurl!It reaches the grandeur of AEschylus!
Cambronne's reply produces the effect of a violent break. 'Tis like the breaking of a heart under a weight of scorn. 'Tis the overflow of agony bursting forth.Who conquered? Wellington?No!Had it not been for Blucher, he was lost. Was it Blucher?No!If Wellington had not begun, Blucher could not have finished.This Cambronne, this man spending his last hour, this unknown soldier, this infinitesimal of war, realizes that here is a falsehood, a falsehood in a catastrophe, and so doubly agonizing; and at the moment when his rage is bursting forth because of it, he is offered this mockery,--life!How could he restrain himself? Yonder are all the kings of Europe, the general's flushed with victory, the Jupiter's darting thunderbolts; they have a hundred thousand victorious soldiers, and back of the hundred thousand a million; their cannon stand with yawning mouths, the match is lighted; they grind down under their heels the Imperial guards, and the grand army; they have just crushed Napoleon, and only Cambronne remains,-- only this earthworm is left to protest.He will protest.Then he seeks for the appropriate word as one seeks for a sword.His mouth froths, and the froth is the word.In face of this mean and mighty victory, in face of this victory which counts none victorious, this desperate soldier stands erect.He grants its overwhelming immensity, but he establishes its triviality; and he does more than spit upon it. Borne down by numbers, by superior force, by brute matter, he finds in his soul an expression:"Excrement!"We repeat it,-- to use that word, to do thus, to invent such an expression, is to be the conqueror!
The spirit of mighty days at that portentous moment made its descent on that unknown man.Cambronne invents the word for Waterloo as Rouget invents the "Marseillaise," under the visitation of a breath from on high.An emanation from the divine whirlwind leaps forth and comes sweeping over these men, and they shake, and one of them sings the song supreme, and the other utters the frightful cry.
This challenge of titanic scorn Cambronne hurls not only at Europe in the name of the Empire,--that would be a trifle:he hurls it at the past in the name of the Revolution.It is heard, and Cambronne is recognized as possessed by the ancient spirit of the Titans. Danton seems to be speaking!Kleber seems to be bellowing!
At that word from Cambronne, the English voice responded, "Fire!" The batteries flamed, the hill trembled, from all those brazen mouths belched a last terrible gush of grape-shot; a vast volume of smoke, vaguely white in the light of the rising moon, rolled out, and when the smoke dispersed, there was no longer anything there. That formidable remnant had been annihilated; the Guard was dead. The four walls of the living redoubt lay prone, and hardly was there discernible, here and there, even a quiver in the bodies; it was thus that the French legions, greater than the Roman legions, expired on Mont-Saint-Jean, on the soil watered with rain and blood, amid the gloomy grain, on the spot where nowadays Joseph, who drives the post-wagon from Nivelles, passes whistling, and cheerfully whipping up his horse at four o'clock in the morning.

     那个最美妙的字，虽是法国人常说的，可把它说给愿受人尊敬的法国读者听，也许是不应该的，历史不容妙语。
    我们甘冒不韪，破此禁例。因此，在那些巨人当中有个怪杰，叫康布罗纳①。说了那个字，然后从容就义，还有什么比这更伟大的！他为求死而出此一举，要是他能在熗林弹雨中幸存，那不是他的过失。滑铁卢战争的胜利者不是在溃败中的拿破仑，也不是曾在四点钟退却，五点钟绝望的威灵顿，也不是不费吹灰之力的布吕歇尔，滑铁卢战争的胜利者是康布罗纳。
①康布罗纳（Cambronne），法国将军。
    霹雳一声，用那样一个字去回击向你劈来的雷霆，那才是胜利。以此回答惨祸，回答命运，为未来的狮子②奠基，以此反抗那一夜的大雨，乌古蒙的贼墙，奥安的凹路，格鲁希的迟到，布吕歇尔的应援，作墓中的戏谑，留死后的余威，把欧洲联盟淹没在那个字的音节里，把恺撒们领教过的秽物献给各国君主，把最鄙俗的字和法兰西的光辉糅合起来，造了一个最堂皇的字，以嬉笑怒骂收拾滑铁卢，以拉伯雷③补莱翁尼达斯④的不足，用句不能出口的隽语总结那次胜利，丧失疆土而保全历史，流血之后还能使人四处听见笑声，这是多么宏伟。
②指滑铁卢纪念墩上的那只铁狮子。
③拉件雷（Rabelais），十六世纪法国文学家，善讽刺。
④莱翁尼达斯（Leonidas），公元前五世纪斯马达王，与波斯作战时战死。
    这是对雷霆的辱骂。埃斯库罗斯的伟大也不过如此。康布罗纳的这个字有一种崩裂的声音，是满腔轻蔑心情突破胸膛时的崩裂，是痛心至甚所引起的爆炸。谁是胜利者？是威灵顿吗？不是。如果没有布吕歇尔，他早已败了。是布吕歇尔吗？不是。如果没有威灵顿打头阵，布吕歇尔也收拾不下局面。康布罗纳，那最后一刻的过客，一个默默无闻的小将，大战中的一个无比渺小的角色，他深深感到那次溃败实在荒谬，让他倍加痛心，正当他满腹怨恨不得发泄时，别人却来开他的玩笑，要他逃生！他又怎能不顿足大骂呢？
    他们全在那儿，欧洲的君王们，得意洋洋的将军们，暴跳如雷的天罡地煞，他们有十万得胜之军，十万之后，再有百万，他们的炮，燃着火绳，张着大口，他们的脚踏着羽林将士和大军，他们刚才已经压倒了拿破仑，剩下的只是康布罗纳了，只剩下这么一条蚯蚓在反抗。他当然要反抗。于是他要找一个字，如同找一柄剑。他正满嘴唾沫，那唾沫便是那个字了。在那种非凡而又平凡的胜利面前，在那种没有胜利者的胜利面前，那个悲愤绝望的人攘臂挺身而起，他感到那种胜利的重大，却又知晓它的空虚，因此他认为唾以口沫还不足，在数字、力量、物质各方面他既然都被压倒了，于是就找出一个字，秽物。我们又把那个字记了下来。那样说，那样做，找那样一个字，那才真是风流人物。
    那些伟大岁月的精神，在那出生入死的一瞬间启发了这位无名小卒的心灵。康布罗纳找到的滑铁卢的那个字，正如鲁日?德?李勒①构思的有阵神风来自上天，感动了这两个人，他们都瞿然憬悟，因而一个唱出了那样卓越的歌曲，一个发出了那种骇人的怒吼。康布罗纳不仅代表帝国把那巨魔式的咒语唾向欧洲，那样似嫌不足；他还代表革命唾向那已往的日子。我们听到他的声音，并且在康布罗纳的声音里感到各位先烈的遗风。那仿佛是丹东的谈吐，又仿佛是克莱贝尔②的狮吼。
①鲁日?德?李勒（Rougetdel’isle），法国十八世纪资产阶级革命时期的革命军官，所作《马赛曲》，现为《马赛曲》，都是出自上天的启示。
②克莱贝尔（Kleber），革命时期的将军，一八○○年被刺死。
    英国人听了康布罗纳的那个字，报以“放！”群炮火光大作，山冈震憾，从所有那些炮口中喷出了最后一批开花弹，声如奔雷，遍野浓烟，被初生的月光隐隐映成白色，萦绕空中，等到烟散以后，什么全不在了。那点锐不可当的残余也被歼灭了，羽林军覆没了。那座活炮垒的四堵墙全倒在地上，在尸体堆中，这儿那儿，还偶然有些抽搐的动作；比罗马大军更伟大的法兰西大军，便那样死在圣约翰山的那片浸满了雨水和血液的土壤上，阴惨的麦田里，也就是现在驾着尼维尔邮车的约瑟夫①，怡然自得地鞭着马，吹着口哨飞驰而过的那些地方。
    法国国歌。        
①约瑟夫，好象说张三李四。

The battle of Waterloo is an enigma.It is as obscure to those who won it as to those who lost it.For Napoleon it was a panic;(10) Blucher sees nothing in it but fire; Wellington understands nothing in regard to it.Look at the reports.The bulletins are confused, the commentaries involved.Some stammer, others lisp. Jomini divides the battle of Waterloo into four moments; Muffling cuts it up into three changes; Charras alone, though we hold another judgment than his on some points, seized with his haughty glance the characteristic outlines of that catastrophe of human genius in conflict with divine chance.All the other historians suffer from being somewhat dazzled, and in this dazzled state they fumble about. It was a day of lightning brilliancy; in fact, a crumbling of the military monarchy which, to the vast stupefaction of kings, drew all the kingdoms after it--the fall of force, the defeat of war.
(10) "A battle terminated, a day finished, false measures repaired, greater successes assured for the morrow,--all was lost by a moment of panic, terror."--Napoleon, Dictees de Sainte Helene.
In this event, stamped with superhuman necessity, the part played by men amounts to nothing.
If we take Waterloo from Wellington and Blucher, do we thereby deprive England and Germany of anything?No. Neither that illustrious England nor that august Germany enter into the problem of Waterloo. Thank Heaven, nations are great, independently of the lugubrious feats of the sword.Neither England, nor Germany, nor France is contained in a scabbard.At this epoch when Waterloo is only a clashing of swords, above Blucher, Germany has Schiller; above Wellington, England has Byron.A vast dawn of ideas is the peculiarity of our century, and in that aurora England and Germany have a magnificent radiance.They are majestic because they think. The elevation of level which they contribute to civilization is intrinsic with them; it proceeds from themselves and not from an accident. The aggrandizement which they have brought to the nineteenth century has not Waterloo as its source.It is only barbarous peoples who undergo rapid growth after a victory.That is the temporary vanity of torrents swelled by a storm.Civilized people, especially in our day, are neither elevated nor abased by the good or bad fortune of a captain.Their specific gravity in the human species results from something more than a combat.Their honor, thank God! their dignity, their intelligence, their genius, are not numbers which those gamblers, heroes and conquerors, can put in the lottery of battles.Often a battle is lost and progress is conquered. There is less glory and more liberty.The drum holds its peace; reason takes the word.It is a game in which he who loses wins. Let us, therefore, speak of Waterloo coldly from both sides. Let us render to chance that which is due to chance, and to God that which is due to God.What is Waterloo?A victory?No. The winning number in the lottery.
The quine(11) won by Europe, paid by France.
(11) Five winning numbers in a lottery.
It was not worth while to place a lion there.
Waterloo, moreover, is the strangest encounter in history. Napoleon and Wellington.They are not enemies; they are opposites. Never did God, who is fond of antitheses, make a more striking contrast, a more extraordinary comparison.On one side, precision, foresight, geometry, prudence, an assured retreat, reserves spared, with an obstinate coolness, an imperturbable method, strategy, which takes advantage of the ground, tactics, which preserve the equilibrium of battalions, carnage, executed according to rule, war regulated, watch in hand, nothing voluntarily left to chance, the ancient classic courage, absolute regularity; on the other, intuition, divination, military oddity, superhuman instinct, a flaming glance, an indescribable something which gazes like an eagle, and which strikes like the lightning, a prodigious art in disdainful impetuosity, all the mysteries of a profound soul, associated with destiny; the stream, the plain, the forest, the hill, summoned, and in a manner, forced to obey, the despot going even so far as to tyrannize over the field of battle; faith in a star mingled with strategic science, elevating but perturbing it. Wellington was the Bareme of war; Napoleon was its Michael Angelo; and on this occasion, genius was vanquished by calculation. On both sides some one was awaited.It was the exact calculator who succeeded.Napoleon was waiting for Grouchy; he did not come. Wellington expected Blucher; he came.
Wellington is classic war taking its revenge.Bonaparte, at his dawning, had encountered him in Italy, and beaten him superbly. The old owl had fled before the young vulture.The old tactics had been not only struck as by lightning, but disgraced.Who was that Corsican of six and twenty?What signified that splendid ignoramus, who, with everything against him, nothing in his favor, without provisions, without ammunition, without cannon, without shoes, almost without an army, with a mere handful of men against masses, hurled himself on Europe combined, and absurdly won victories in the impossible?Whence had issued that fulminating convict, who almost without taking breath, and with the same set of combatants in hand, pulverized, one after the other, the five armies of the emperor of Germany, upsetting Beaulieu on Alvinzi, Wurmser on Beaulieu, Melas on Wurmser, Mack on Melas?Who was this novice in war with the effrontery of a luminary?The academical military school excommunicated him, and as it lost its footing; hence, the implacable rancor of the old Caesarism against the new; of the regular sword against the flaming sword; and of the exchequer against genius. On the 18th of June, 1815, that rancor had the last word. and beneath Lodi, Montebello, Montenotte, Mantua, Arcola, it wrote:Waterloo.A triumph of the mediocres which is sweet to the majority.Destiny consented to this irony.In his decline, Napoleon found Wurmser, the younger, again in front of him.
In fact, to get Wurmser, it sufficed to blanch the hair of Wellington.
Waterloo is a battle of the first order, won by a captain of the second.
That which must be admired in the battle of Waterloo, is England; the English firmness, the English resolution, the English blood; the superb thing about England there, no offence to her, was herself. It was not her captain; it was her army.
Wellington, oddly ungrateful, declares in a letter to Lord Bathurst, that his army, the army which fought on the 18th of June, 1815, was a "detestable army."What does that sombre intermingling of bones buried beneath the furrows of Waterloo think of that?
England has been too modest in the matter of Wellington.To make Wellington so great is to belittle England.Wellington is nothing but a hero like many another.Those Scotch Grays, those Horse Guards, those regiments of Maitland and of Mitchell, that infantry of pack and Kempt, that cavalry of ponsonby and Somerset, those Highlanders playing the pibroch under the shower of grape-shot, those battalions of Rylandt, those utterly raw recruits, who hardly knew how to handle a musket holding their own against Essling's and Rivoli's old troops,--that is what was grand.Wellington was tenacious; in that lay his merit, and we are not seeking to lessen it: but the least of his foot-soldiers and of his cavalry would have been as solid as he.The iron soldier is worth as much as the Iron Duke. As for us, all our glorification goes to the English soldier, to the English army, to the English people.If trophy there be, it is to England that the trophy is due.The column of Waterloo would be more just, if, instead of the figure of a man, it bore on high the statue of a people.
But this great England will be angry at what we are saying here. She still cherishes, after her own 1688 and our 1789, the feudal illusion.She believes in heredity and hierarchy. This people, surpassed by none in power and glory, regards itself as a nation, and not as a people.And as a people, it willingly subordinates itself and takes a lord for its head.As a workman, it allows itself to be disdained; as a soldier, it allows itself to be flogged.
It will be remembered, that at the battle of Inkermann a sergeant who had, it appears, saved the army, could not be mentioned by Lord paglan, as the English military hierarchy does not permit any hero below the grade of an officer to be mentioned in the reports.
That which we admire above all, in an encounter of the nature of Waterloo, is the marvellous cleverness of chance.A nocturnal rain, the wall of Hougomont, the hollow road of Ohain, Grouchy deaf to the cannon, Napoleon's guide deceiving him, Bulow's guide enlightening him,-- the whole of this cataclysm is wonderfully conducted.
On the whole, let us say it plainly, it was more of a massacre than of a battle at Waterloo.
Of all pitched battles, Waterloo is the one which has the smallest front for such a number of combatants.Napoleon three-quarters of a league; Wellington, half a league; seventy-two thousand combatants on each side.From this denseness the carnage arose.
The following calculation has been made, and the following proportion established:Loss of men:at Austerlitz, French, fourteen per cent; Russians, thirty per cent; Austrians, forty-four per cent.At Wagram, French, thirteen per cent; Austrians, fourteen.At the Moskowa, French, thirty-seven per cent; Russians, forty-four. At Bautzen, French, thirteen per cent; Russians and prussians, fourteen.At Waterloo, French, fifty-six per cent; the Allies, thirty-one. Total for Waterloo, forty-one per cent; one hundred and forty-four thousand combatants; sixty thousand dead.
To-day the field of Waterloo has the calm which belongs to the earth, the impassive support of man, and it resembles all plains.
At night, moreover, a sort of visionary mist arises from it; and if a traveller strolls there, if he listens, if he watches, if he dreams like Virgil in the fatal plains of philippi, the hallucination of the catastrophe takes possession of him.The frightful 18th of June lives again; the false monumental hillock disappears, the lion vanishes in air, the battle-field resumes its reality, lines of infantry undulate over the plain, furious gallops traverse the horizon; the frightened dreamer beholds the flash of sabres, the gleam of bayonets, the flare of bombs, the tremendous interchange of thunders; he hears, as it were, the death rattle in the depths of a tomb, the vague clamor of the battle phantom; those shadows are grenadiers, those lights are cuirassiers; that skeleton Napoleon, that other skeleton is Wellington; all this no longer exists, and yet it clashes together and combats still; and the ravines are empurpled, and the trees quiver, and there is fury even in the clouds and in the shadows; all those terrible heights, Hougomont, Mont-Saint-Jean, Frischemont, papelotte, plancenoit, appear confusedly crowned with whirlwinds of spectres engaged in exterminating each other.

     滑铁卢战争是个谜。对胜者败者它都一样是不明不白的。对拿破仑，它是恐怖②，布吕歇尔只看见炮火，威灵顿完全莫名其妙。看那些报告吧。公报是漫无头绪的，评论是不得要领的。这部分人吞吞吐吐，那部分人期期艾艾。若米尼把滑铁卢战事分成四个阶段；米夫林又把它截成三个转变，惟有夏拉，虽然在某几个论点上我们的见解和他不一致，但他却独具慧眼，是抓住了那位人杰和天意接触时产生的惨局中各个特殊环节 的人。其他的历史家都有些目眩神迷，也就不免摸索在眩惑中。那确是一个风驰电掣的日子，好战的专制政体的崩溃震动了所有的王国，各国君王都为之大惊失色，强权覆灭，黩武主义败退。
②“一场战斗的结束，一日工作的完成，措置失宜的换救，来日必获的再大胜利，这一切全为了一时的恐怖而失去了。”（拿破仑在圣赫勒拿岛日记。）——原注。
    在那不测之事中，显然有上天干预的痕迹，人力只是微不足道的。我们假设把滑铁卢从威灵顿和布吕歇尔的手中夺回，英国和德国会丧失什么吗？不会的。名声大振的英国和庄严肃穆的德国都和滑铁卢问题无关。感谢上天，民族的荣誉并不在残酷的武功。德国、英国、法国都不是区区剑匣所能代表的。在滑铁卢剑声铮锉的时代，在布吕歇尔之上，德国有哥德，在威灵顿之上，英国有拜伦。思想的广泛昌明是我们这一世纪的特征，在那曙光里，英国和德国都有它们辉煌的成就。它们的思想已使它们成为大家的表率。它们有提高文化水平的独特功绩。那种成就是自发的，不是偶然触发的。它们在十九世纪的壮大决不起源于滑铁卢。只有野蛮民族才会凭一战之功突然强盛。那是一种转瞬即逝的虚荣，有如狂风掏起的白浪。文明的民族，尤其是在我们这个时代，不会因一个将领的幸与不幸而有所增损。他们在人类中的份量不取决于一 场战事的结果。他们的荣誉，谢谢上帝，他们的尊严，他们的光明，他们的天才都不是那些赌鬼似的英雄和征服者在战争赌局中所能下的赌注。常常是战争失败，反而有了进步。少点光荣，便多点自由。鼙鼓无声，理性争鸣。那是一种以败为胜的玩意儿。既是这样，就让我们平心静气，从两方面来谈滑铁卢吧。我们把属于机缘的还给机缘，属于上帝的归于上帝。滑铁卢是什么？是一种丰功伟绩吗？不，是一场赌博。
    是一场欧洲赢了、法国输了的赌博。在那地方立只狮子似乎是不值得的，况且滑铁卢是有史以来一次最奇特的遭遇。拿破仑和威灵顿，他们不是敌人，而是两个背道而驰的人。
    喜用对偶法的上帝从来不曾造出一种比这更惊人的对比和更特别的会合。一方面是准确，预见，循规蹈矩，谨慎，先谋退步，预留余力，头脑顽强冷静，步骤坚定，战略上因地制宜，战术上部署平衡，进退有序，攻守以时，绝不怀侥幸心理，有老将的传统毅力，绝对缜密周全；而另一方面是直觉，凭灵感，用奇兵，有超人的本能，料事目光如炬，一种说不出的如同鹰视雷击般的能力，才气纵横，敏捷，自负，心曲深沉，鬼神莫测，狎玩命运，川泽、原野、山林似乎都想去操纵，迫使其服从，那位专制魔王甚至对战场也要放肆，他把军事科学和星相学混为一谈，加强了信心，同时也搅乱了信心。威灵顿是战争中的巴雷姆①，拿破仑是战争中的米开朗琪罗，这一次，天才被老谋深算击溃了。
①巴雷姆（Barreme），十七世纪法国数学家。
    两方面都在等待援兵。计算精确的人成功了。拿破仑等待格鲁希，他没有来。威灵顿等待布吕歇尔，他来了。
    威灵顿，便是进行报复的古典战争，波拿巴初露头角时，曾在意大利碰到过他，并把他打得落花流水。那老枭曾败在雏鹰手里。古老的战术不仅一败涂地，而且臭名远扬。那个当时才二十六岁的科西嘉人是什么，那个风流倜傥的无知少年，势孤敌众，两手空空，没有粮秣，没有军火，没有炮，没有鞋，几乎没有军队，以一小撮人反抗强敌，奋击沆瀣一气的欧洲，他在无可奈何之中竟不近情理地多次获得胜利，那究竟是怎么回事？从什么地方钻出了那样一个霹雳似的暴客，能够一口气，用一贯的手法，先后粉碎了德皇的五个军，把博利厄摔在维尔姆泽身上，麦克又摔在梅拉斯身上。那目空一切的新生尤物是个什么人？学院派的军事学家在逃遁时都把他看作异端。因此在旧恺撒主义与新恺撒主义之间，在循规蹈矩的刀法与雷奔电掣的剑法之间，在庸才与天才之间，有了无可调和的仇恨。仇恨终于在一八一五年六月十八日写出了那最后的字，在洛迪、芒泰贝洛、芒泰诺泰、曼图亚、马伦哥、阿尔科拉②之后，添上了滑铁卢。庸人们的胜利，是多数人的慰藉。上天竟同意了这种讽刺。拿破仑在日薄西山时又遇见了小维尔姆泽。③的确，要打败维尔姆泽，只需使威灵顿的头发变白就是了。滑铁卢是一场头等战争，却被一个次等的将领胜了去。在滑铁卢战争中，我们应当钦佩的是英格兰，是英国式的刚毅，英国式的果敢，英国式的热血；英格兰的优越，它不会见怪吧，在于它本身。不是它的将领，而是它的士兵。
②这些都是拿破仑打胜仗的地方。
③维尔姆泽（Wumser，1724—1797）奥军将领，一七九六年为拿破仑所败。
    忘恩负义得出奇的威灵顿，在给贵人巴塞司特的一封信里提到他的军队，说那支在一八一五年六月十八日作战的军队，是一支“可恶的军队”。那些七零八落埋在滑铁卢耕地下的森森白骨，对他的话又作何感想？
    英格兰在威灵顿面前过于妄自菲薄了。把威灵顿捧得那样高便是小看了英格兰。威灵顿只是个平凡的英雄。那些灰色的苏格兰军、近卫骑兵、梅特兰和米契尔的联队、派克和兰伯特的步兵、庞森比和萨默塞特的骑兵、在火线上吹唢呐的山地人、里兰特垢部队、那些连火熗都还不知道使用但却敢于对抗埃斯林、里沃利①的老练士卒的新兵，他们才是伟大的。威灵顿顽强，那是他的优点，我们不和他讨价还价，但是他的步兵和骑兵的每一极小部分都和他一样坚强。铁军比得上铁公爵。在我们这方面，我们全部的敬意属于英国的士兵、英国的军队的英国的人民。假使有功绩，那功绩也应属于英格兰。滑铁卢的华表如果不是顶着一个人像，而是把一个民族的塑像高插入云，那样会比较公允些。
①两处皆拿破仑打胜仗的地方。
    但是大英格兰听了我们在此地所说的话一定会恼怒。它经历了它的一六八八年和我们的一七八九年后却仍保留封建的幻想。它信仰世袭制度和等级制度。世界上那个最强盛、最光荣的民族尊重自己的国家而不尊重自己的民族。做人民的，自甘居人之下，并把一个贵人顶在头上。工人任人蔑视，士兵任人鞭笞。我们记得，在因克尔曼②战役中，据说有个中士救了大军的险，但是贵人腊格伦没有为他论功行赏，因为英国的军级制度不容许在战报中提到官长等级之下的任何英雄。
②因克尔曼（Inkermannn），阿尔及利亚城市，即今之穆斯塔加柰姆（Mostaganem）。
    在滑铁卢那种性质的会战中，我们最佩服的，是造化布置下的那种怪诞的巧合。夜雨，乌古蒙的墙，奥安的凹路，格路希充耳不闻炮声，拿破仑的向导欺心卖主，比洛的向导指点得宜；那一连串天灾人祸都演得极尽巧妙之能事。
    总而言之，在滑铁卢确实是战争少，屠杀多。滑铁卢在所有的阵地战中是战线最短而队伍最密集的一次。拿破仑，一法里的四分之三，威灵顿，半法里，每边七万二千战士。屠杀便是由那样的密度造成的。
    有人作过这样的计算，并且列出了这样的比例数字：阵亡人数的奥斯特里茨，法军百分之十四，俄军百分之三十，奥军百分之四十四；在瓦格拉姆，法军百分之十三，奥军百分之十四；在英斯科河，法军百分之三十七，俄军，四十四；在包岑，法军百分之十三，俄军和奥军，十 四；在滑铁卢，法军百分之五十六，联军百分之三十一。滑铁卢总计，百分之四十一。战士十四万四千，阵亡六万。
    到今日，滑铁卢战场恢复了大地——世人的不偏不倚的安慰者——的谧静，和其他的原野一样了。可是一到晚上，就有一种鬼魂似的薄雾散布开来，如果有个旅人经过那里，如果他望，如果他听，如果他象维吉尔在腓力比①战场上那样梦想，当年溃乱的幻景就会使他意夺神骇。六月十八的惨状会重新浮现，那伪造的纪念堆隐灭了，俗不可耐的狮子消失了，战场也恢复了它的原来面目；一行行的步兵象波浪起伏那样在原野上前进，奔腾的怒马驰骋天边；惊魂不定的沉思者会看见刀光直晃，熗刺闪烁，炸弹爆发，雷霆交击，血肉横飞，他会听到一片鬼魂交战的呐喊声，隐隐约约，有如在墓底呻吟，那些黑影，便是羽林军士；那些荧光，便是铁骑；那枯骸，便是拿破仑，另一枯骸，是威灵顿；那一切早已不存在了，可是仍旧鏖战不休；山谷殷红，林木颤栗，杀气直薄云霄；圣约翰山、乌古蒙、弗里谢蒙、帕佩洛特、普朗尚努瓦，所有那些莽旷的高地，都隐隐显出无数鬼影，在朦胧中厮杀回转。    
①腓力比（philippes），城名，在马其顿，公元前四十二年，安敦尼和屋大维在此战胜布鲁图斯。

There exists a very respectable liberal school which does not hate Waterloo.We do not belong to it. To us, Waterloo is but the stupefied date of liberty. That such an eagle should emerge from such an egg is certainly unexpected.
If one places one's self at the culminating point of view of the question, Waterloo is intentionally a counter-revolutionary victory.It is Europe against France; it is petersburg, Berlin, and Vienna against paris; it is the statu quo against the initiative; it is the 14th of July, 1789, attacked through the 20th of March, 1815; it is the monarchies clearing the decks in opposition to the indomitable French rioting. The final extinction of that vast people which had been in eruption for twenty-six years--such was the dream.The solidarity of the Brunswicks, the Nassaus, the Romanoffs, the Hohenzollerns, the Hapsburgs with the Bourbons.Waterloo bears divine right on its crupper.It is true, that the Empire having been despotic, the kingdom by the natural reaction of things, was forced to be liberal, and that a constitutional order was the unwilling result of Waterloo, to the great regret of the conquerors.It is because revolution cannot be really conquered, and that being providential and absolutely fatal, it is always cropping up afresh:before Waterloo, in Bonaparte overthrowing the old thrones; after Waterloo, in Louis XVIII. granting and conforming to the charter.Bonaparte places a postilion on the throne of Naples, and a sergeant on the throne of Sweden, employing inequality to demonstrate equality; Louis XVIII. at Saint-Ouen countersigns the declaration of the rights of man. If you wish to gain an idea of what revolution is, call it progress; and if you wish to acquire an idea of the nature of progress, call it To-morrow. To-morrow fulfils its work irresistibly, and it is already fulfilling it to-day. It always reaches its goal strangely. It employs Wellington to make of Foy, who was only a soldier, an orator.Foy falls at Hougomont and rises again in the tribune. Thus does progress proceed.There is no such thing as a bad tool for that workman.It does not become disconcerted, but adjusts to its divine work the man who has bestridden the Alps, and the good old tottering invalid of Father Elysee.It makes use of the gouty man as well as of the conqueror; of the conqueror without, of the gouty man within.Waterloo, by cutting short the demolition of European thrones by the sword, had no other effect than to cause the revolutionary work to be continued in another direction. The slashers have finished; it was the turn of the thinkers. The century that Waterloo was intended to arrest has pursued its march. That sinister victory was vanquished by liberty.
In short, and incontestably, that which triumphed at Waterloo; that which smiled in Wellington's rear; that which brought him all the marshals' staffs of Europe, including, it is said, the staff of a marshal of France; that which joyously trundled the barrows full of bones to erect the knoll of the lion; that which triumphantly inscribed on that pedestal the date "June 18, 1815"; that which encouraged Blucher, as he put the flying army to the sword; that which, from the heights of the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean, hovered over France as over its prey, was the counter-revolution. It was the counter-revolution which murmured that infamous word "dismemberment." On arriving in paris, it beheld the crater close at hand; it felt those ashes which scorched its feet, and it changed its mind; it returned to the stammer of a charter.
Let us behold in Waterloo only that which is in Waterloo. Of intentional liberty there is none.The counter-revolution was involuntarily liberal, in the same manner as, by a corresponding phenomenon, Napoleon was involuntarily revolutionary.On the 18th of June, 1815, the mounted Robespierre was hurled from his saddle.

     有位很可敬的自由派丝毫不恨滑铁卢。我们不属于那一派。我们认为滑铁卢只是自由骇然惊异的日子。那样的鹰会出自那样的卵，确实出人意料。
    如果我们从最高处观察问题，就可以看出滑铁卢是一次有计划的反革命的胜利。是欧洲反抗法国，彼得堡、柏林和维也纳反抗巴黎，是现状反抗创举，是通过一八一五年三月二十日①向一七八九年七月十四日②进行的打击，是王国集团对法兰西不可驯服的运动的颠覆。总之，他们的梦想就是要扑灭这个爆发了二十六年的强大民族。是不伦瑞克、纳索、罗曼诺夫③、霍亨索伦④、哈布斯堡⑤和波旁⑥的联盟。滑铁卢是神权的伥鬼。的确，帝国既然专制，由于事物的自然反应，王国就必然是自由的了，因而有种不称心的立宪制度从滑铁卢产生出来了，使战胜者大为懊丧。那是因为革命力量不可能受到真正的挫败，天理如此，绝无幸免，革命力量迟早总要抬头，在滑铁卢之前，拿破仑推翻了各国的衰朽王朝，在滑铁卢之后，又出了个宣布服从宪章⑦的路易十八。波拿巴在那不勒斯王位上安插了一个御者，又在瑞典王位上安插了一个中士，在不平等中体现了平等；路易十八在圣旺副署了人权宣言。你要了解革命是什么吗？称它为进步就是；你要了解进步是什么吗：管它叫明天就是。明天一往直前地做它的工作，关且从今天起它已开始了。而且很奇怪，它从来不会达到目的。
①拿破仑从厄尔巴回来，进入巴黎的时间。
②巴黎人民攻破巴士底狱的日子。
③，俄国王室。
④霍亨索伦，德国王室。
⑤哈布斯堡，奥国王室。
⑥波旁，法国王室。
⑦路易十八迫于国内资产阶级自己主义的思想的力量，不得不宣布服从宪章，以图缓和国内矛盾。
    富瓦①原是个军人，它却借了威灵顿的手使他成为一个雄辩家。富瓦在乌古蒙摔了交，却又在讲坛上抬了头。进步便是那样进行工作的。任何工具，到了那个工人的手里，总没有不好使的。它不感到为难，把横跨阿尔卑斯山的那个人和宫墙中的那个龙钟老病夫②都抓在手中，替它做那神圣的工作。它利用那个害足痛风的人，也同样利用那个征服者，利用征服者以对外，足痛风病者以对内。滑铁卢在断然制止武力毁灭王座的同时，却又从另一方面去继续它的革命工作，除此以外，它毫无作用。刀斧手的工作告终，思想家的工作开始，滑铁卢想阻挡时代前进，时代却从它头上跨越过去，继续它的路程。那种丑恶的胜利已为自己征服了。
①富瓦（Foy），拿破仑部下的将军，在滑铁卢战役受伤，继在王朝复辟期间当议员。
②指拿破仑和路易十八。
    总之，无可否认，曾在滑铁卢获胜的，曾在威灵顿背后微笑的，曾把整个欧洲的大元帅权杖，据说法国大元帅的权杖也包括在内，送到他手里，曾欢欣鼓舞地推着那些满是枯骨的土车去堆筑狮子墩的，曾趾高气扬在那基石上刻上一八一五年六月十八日那个日期的，曾鼓舞布吕歇尔去趁火打劫的，曾如同鹰犬从圣约翰山向下追击法兰西的，这些都是反革命，都是些阴谋进行无耻分裂的活动的反革命。他们到了巴黎以后就近观察了火山口，觉得余灰烫脚，便改变主意，回转头来支支吾吾地谈宪章。滑铁卢有什么我们就只能看见什么。自觉的自由，一点也没有。无意中反革命成了自由主义者，而拿破仑却成了革命者，真是无独有偶，一八一五年六月十八日，罗伯斯庇尔从马背上摔下罗曼诺夫来了。

End of the dictatorship.A whole European system crumbled away.
The Empire sank into a gloom which resembled that of the Roman world as it expired.Again we behold the abyss, as in the days of the barbarians; only the barbarism of 1815, which must be called by its pet name of the counter-revolution, was not long breathed, soon fell to panting, and halted short.The Empire was bewept,-- let us acknowledge the fact,--and bewept by heroic eyes. If glory lies in the sword converted into a sceptre, the Empire had been glory in person.It had diffused over the earth all the light which tyranny can give a sombre light.We will say more; an obscure light.Compared to the true daylight, it is night. This disappearance of night produces the effect of an eclipse.
Louis XVIII.re-entered paris.The circling dances of the 8th of July effaced the enthusiasms of the 20th of March.The Corsican became the antithesis of the Bearnese.The flag on the dome of the Tuileries was white.The exile reigned.Hartwell's pine table took its place in front of the fleur-de-lys-strewn throne of Louis XIV. Bouvines and Fontenoy were mentioned as though they had taken place on the preceding day, Austerlitz having become antiquated. The altar and the throne fraternized majestically.One of the most undisputed forms of the health of society in the nineteenth century was established over France, and over the continent. Europe adopted the white cockade.Trestaillon was celebrated. The device non pluribus impar re-appeared on the stone rays representing a sun upon the front of the barracks on the Quai d'Orsay. Where there had been an Imperial Guard, there was now a red house. The Arc du Carrousel, all laden with badly borne victories, thrown out of its element among these novelties, a little ashamed, it may be, of Marengo and Arcola, extricated itself from its predicament with the statue of the Duc d'Angouleme. The cemetery of the Madeleine, a terrible pauper's grave in 1793, was covered with jasper and marble, since the bones of Louis XVI.and Marie Antoinette lay in that dust.
In the moat of Vincennes a sepulchral shaft sprang from the earth, recalling the fact that the Duc d'Enghien had perished in the very month when Napoleon was crowned.pope pius VII., who had performed the coronation very near this death, tranquilly bestowed his blessing on the fall as he had bestowed it on the elevation. At Schoenbrunn there was a little shadow, aged four, whom it was seditious to call the King of Rome.And these things took place, and the kings resumed their thrones, and the master of Europe was put in a cage, and the old regime became the new regime, and all the shadows and all the light of the earth changed place, because, on the afternoon of a certain summer's day, a shepherd said to a prussian in the forest, "Go this way, and not that!"
This 1815 was a sort of lugubrious April.Ancient unhealthy and poisonous realities were covered with new appearances. A lie wedded 1789; the right divine was masked under a charter; fictions became constitutional; prejudices, superstitions and mental reservations, with Article 14 in the heart, were varnished over with liberalism.It was the serpent's change of skin.
Man had been rendered both greater and smaller by Napoleon. Under this reign of splendid matter, the ideal had received the strange name of ideology!It is a grave imprudence in a great man to turn the future into derision.The populace, however, that food for cannon which is so fond of the cannoneer, sought him with its glance.Where is he?What is he doing?"Napoleon is dead," said a passer-by to a veteran of Marengo and Waterloo."He dead!" cried the soldier; "you don't know him."Imagination distrusted this man, even when overthrown.The depths of Europe were full of darkness after Waterloo.Something enormous remained long empty through Napoleon's disappearance.
The kings placed themselves in this void.Ancient Europe profited by it to undertake reforms.There was a Holy Alliance; Belle-Alliance, Beautiful Alliance, the fatal field of Waterloo had said in advance.
In presence and in face of that antique Europe reconstructed, the features of a new France were sketched out.The future, which the Emperor had rallied, made its entry.On its brow it bore the star, Liberty.The glowing eyes of all young generations were turned on it.Singular fact! people were, at one and the same time, in love with the future, Liberty, and the past, Napoleon.Defeat had rendered the vanquished greater.Bonaparte fallen seemed more lofty than Napoleon erect.Those who had triumphed were alarmed. England had him guarded by Hudson Lowe, and France had him watched by Montchenu.His folded arms became a source of uneasiness to thrones.Alexander called him "my sleeplessness."This terror was the result of the quantity of revolution which was contained in him.That is what explains and excuses Bonapartist liberalism. This phantom caused the old world to tremble.The kings reigned, but ill at their ease, with the rock of Saint Helena on the horizon.
While Napoleon was passing through the death struggle at Longwood, the sixty thousand men who had fallen on the field of Waterloo were quietly rotting, and something of their peace was shed abroad over the world.The Congress of Vienna made the treaties in 1815, and Europe called this the Restoration.
This is what Waterloo was.
But what matters it to the Infinite? all that tempest, all that cloud, that war, then that peace?All that darkness did not trouble for a moment the light of that immense Eye before which a grub skipping from one blade of grass to another equals the eagle soaring from belfry to belfry on the towers of Notre Dame.

     独裁制寿终正寝。欧洲一整套体系垮了。帝国隐没在黑影中，有如垂死的罗马世界。黑暗再次出现，如同在蛮族时代一样。不过一八一五年的蛮族是反革命，我们应当把它这小名叫出来，那些反革命的气力小，一下子就精疲力尽，陡然而止了。我们应当承认，帝国受到人们的缅怀，并且是慷慨激昂的缅怀。假使武力建国是光荣的，那么帝国便是光荣的本身。凡是专制所能给予的光明，帝国都在世上普及了，那是一种暗淡的光。让我们说得更甚一点，是一种昏暗的光。和白昼相比，那简直是黑夜。黑夜消失，却逢日蚀。
    路易十八回到巴黎。七月八日的团圆舞冲淡了三月二十日的狂热。那科西嘉人和那贝亚恩人①，荣枯迥异。杜伊勒里宫圆顶上的旗子是白的。亡命之君重登王位。在路易十四的百合花宝座前，横着哈特韦尔的杉木桌。大家谈着布维纳②和丰特努瓦③的声名大噪。“自强不息”那句箴言又在奥尔塞河沿营房大门墙上的太阳形拱石中出现了。凡是从前驻过羽林军的地方都有一所红房子。崇武门上堆满了胜利女神，它顶着那些新玩意，起了作客他乡之感，也许在回忆起马伦哥和阿尔科拉时有些惭愧，便安上了一个昂古莱姆公爵的塑像敷衍了事。马德兰公墓，九三 年的义冢，原来凄凉满目，这时却铺满了大理石和碧云石，因为路易十 六和玛丽—安东尼特的骸骨都在那土里。塞纳坟场里也立了一块墓碑，使人回想起昂吉安公爵死在拿破仑加冕的那一个月。教皇庇护世在昂吉安公爵死后不久祝福过加冕大典，现在他又安祥地祝贺拿破仑的倾覆，正如当初祝贺他的昌盛一样。在申布龙有个四岁的小眼中钉，谁称他作罗马王便逃不了叛逆罪。
①贝亚恩人，指路易十八。贝亚恩，为波旁王朝之领地，一六二○年并入法国。贝亚恩人，专指亨利四世，因亨利四世是波旁王朝第一代国王，此处借指路易十八。
②布维纳（Bouvines），十三世纪，法国王室军队在此战胜德军。
③丰特努瓦（Fontenoy），十八世纪，法国王室军队在此战胜英军。
    这些事当时是这样处理的，而且各国君王都登上了宝座，而且欧洲的霸主被关进了囚笼，而且旧制度又成了新制度，而且整个地球上的光明和黑暗互换了位置，因为在夏季的一个下午，有个牧人①在树林里曾对一个普鲁士人说；“请走这边，不要走那边！”
①指滑铁卢大战中比洛的向导。
    一八一五是那种阴沉的阳春天气。各种有害有毒的旧东西都蒙上了一层新的外衣。一七八九受到了诬蔑，神权戴上了宪章的假面具，小说也不离宪章，各种成见，各种迷信，各种言外之意，都念念不忘那第十 四条，自诩为自由主义。而这只是蛇的蜕皮而已。
    人已被拿破仑变得伟大，同时也被他变得渺小了。理想在那物质昌明的时代得了一个奇怪的名称：空谈。伟大人物的严重疏忽，便是对未来的嘲笑。人民，这如此热爱炮手的炮灰，却还睁着眼睛在寻找他。他在什么地方？他在干什么？“拿破仑已经死了。”有个过路人对一个曾参加马伦哥战役和滑铁卢战役的伤兵说。“他还会死！”那士兵喊道，“你就当也认识他吧！”想象已把那个被打垮了的人神化了。滑铁卢过后，欧洲实质上是昏天黑地。拿破仑的消失替欧洲带来了长时期的茫茫空虚。
    各国的君主填补了那种空虚。旧欧洲抓住机会把自己重新组织起来。出现了神圣同盟。佳盟早已在鬼使神差的滑铁卢战场上出现过了。对着那个古老的、重新组织起来的欧洲，一个新法兰西的轮廓出现了。皇上嘲笑过的未来已经崭露头角。在它额上，有颗自由的星。年轻一代的热烈目光都注视着它。真是不可理解，他们既热爱未来的自由，却又热爱过去的拿破仑。失败反把失败者变得更崇高了。倒了的波拿巴仿佛比立着的拿破仑还高大些。得胜的人害怕起来了。英国派了赫德森?洛去监视他，法国也派了蒙什尼去偷窥他。他那双叉在胸前的胳膊成了各国君王的隐忧。亚历山大称他为“我的梦魇”。那种恐怖是因他心中具有的那种革命力量引起的。波拿巴信徒们的自由主义可以从这里得到说明和谅解。他的阴灵震撼着旧世界。各国的君主，身居统治地位而内心惴惴不安，因为圣赫勒拿岛的岩石在天边浮现。拿破仑在龙坞呻吟待毙，倒在滑铁卢战场上的那六万人也安然腐朽了，他们的那种静谧在人间散布。维也纳会议赖以订立了一八一五年的条约，欧洲称它为王朝复辟。
    这就是滑铁卢。但那对悠悠宇宙有什么关系？那一场风云，那样的战斗，又继之以那种和平，那一切阴影，都丝毫不曾惊扰那只遍瞩一切的慧眼，在它看来，一只小蚜虫从这片叶子跳到那片叶子，和一只鹰从圣母院的这个钟楼飞到那个钟楼之间，是并无任何区别的。

Let us return--it is a necessity in this book--to that fatal battle-field.
On the 18th of June the moon was full.Its light favored Blucher's ferocious pursuit, betrayed the traces of the fugitives, delivered up that disastrous mass to the eager prussian cavalry, and aided the massacre.Such tragic favors of the night do occur sometimes during catastrophes.
After the last cannon-shot had been fired, the plain of Mont-Saint-Jean remained deserted.
The English occupied the encampment of the French; it is the usual sign of victory to sleep in the bed of the vanquished. They established their bivouac beyond Rossomme.The prussians, let loose on the retreating rout, pushed forward.Wellington went to the village of Waterloo to draw up his report to Lord Bathurst.
If ever the sic vos non vobis was applicable, it certainly is to that village of Waterloo.Waterloo took no part, and lay half a league from the scene of action.Mont-Saint-Jean was cannonaded, Hougomont was burned, La Haie-Sainte was taken by assault, papelotte was burned, plancenoit was burned, La Belle-Alliance beheld the embrace of the two conquerors; these names are hardly known, and Waterloo, which worked not in the battle, bears off all the honor.
We are not of the number of those who flatter war; when the occasion presents itself, we tell the truth about it.War has frightful beauties which we have not concealed; it has also, we acknowledge, some hideous features.One of the most surprising is the prompt stripping of the bodies of the dead after the victory.The dawn which follows a battle always rises on naked corpses.
Who does this?Who thus soils the triumph?What hideous, furtive hand is that which is slipped into the pocket of victory? What pickpockets are they who ply their trade in the rear of glory? Some philosophers--Voltaire among the number--affirm that it is precisely those persons have made the glory.It is the same men, they say; there is no relief corps; those who are erect pillage those who are prone on the earth.The hero of the day is the vampire of the night.One has assuredly the right, after all, to strip a corpse a bit when one is the author of that corpse. For our own part, we do not think so; it seems to us impossible that the same hand should pluck laurels and purloin the shoes from a dead man.
One thing is certain, which is, that generally after conquerors follow thieves.But let us leave the soldier, especially the contemporary soldier, out of the question.
Every army has a rear-guard, and it is that which must be blamed. Bat-like creatures, half brigands and lackeys; all the sorts of vespertillos that that twilight called war engenders; wearers of uniforms, who take no part in the fighting; pretended invalids; formidable limpers; interloping sutlers, trotting along in little carts, sometimes accompanied by their wives, and stealing things which they sell again; beggars offering themselves as guides to officers; soldiers' servants; marauders; armies on the march in days gone by,-- we are not speaking of the present,--dragged all this behind them, so that in the special language they are called "stragglers."No army, no nation, was responsible for those beings; they spoke Italian and followed the Germans, then spoke French and followed the English. It was by one of these wretches, a Spanish straggler who spoke French, that the Marquis of Fervacques, deceived by his picard jargon, and taking him for one of our own men, was traitorously slain and robbed on the battle-field itself, in the course of the night which followed the victory of Cerisoles.The rascal sprang from this marauding.The detestable maxim, Live on the enemy! produced this leprosy, which a strict discipline alone could heal. There are reputations which are deceptive; one does not always know why certain generals, great in other directions, have been so popular. Turenne was adored by his soldiers because he tolerated pillage; evil permitted constitutes part of goodness.Turenne was so good that he allowed the palatinate to be delivered over to fire and blood. The marauders in the train of an army were more or less in number, according as the chief was more or less severe.Hoche and Marceau had no stragglers; Wellington had few, and we do him the justice to mention it.
Nevertheless, on the night from the 18th to the 19th of June, the dead were robbed.Wellington was rigid; he gave orders that any one caught in the act should be shot; but rapine is tenacious. The marauders stole in one corner of the battlefield while others were being shot in another.
The moon was sinister over this plain.
Towards midnight, a man was prowling about, or rather, climbing in the direction of the hollow road of Ohain.To all appearance he was one of those whom we have just described,--neither English nor French, neither peasant nor soldier, less a man than a ghoul attracted by the scent of the dead bodies having theft for his victory, and come to rifle Waterloo.He was clad in a blouse that was something like a great coat; he was uneasy and audacious; he walked forwards and gazed behind him.Who was this man? The night probably knew more of him than the day.He had no sack, but evidently he had large pockets under his coat.From time to time he halted, scrutinized the plain around him as though to see whether he were observed, bent over abruptly, disturbed something silent and motionless on the ground, then rose and fled. His sliding motion, his attitudes, his mysterious and rapid gestures, caused him to resemble those twilight larvae which haunt ruins, and which ancient Norman legends call the Alleurs.
Certain nocturnal wading birds produce these silhouettes among the marshes.
A glance capable of piercing all that mist deeply would have perceived at some distance a sort of little sutler's wagon with a fluted wicker hood, harnessed to a famished nag which was cropping the grass across its bit as it halted, hidden, as it were, behind the hovel which adjoins the highway to Nivelles, at the angle of the road from Mont-Saint-Jean to Braine l'Alleud; and in the wagon, a sort of woman seated on coffers and packages. perhaps there was some connection between that wagon and that prowler.
The darkness was serene.Not a cloud in the zenith.What matters it if the earth be red! the moon remains white; these are the indifferences of the sky.In the fields, branches of trees broken by grape-shot, but not fallen, upheld by their bark, swayed gently in the breeze of night.A breath, almost a respiration, moved the shrubbery. Quivers which resembled the departure of souls ran through the grass.
In the distance the coming and going of patrols and the general rounds of the English camp were audible.
Hougomont and La Haie-Sainte continued to burn, forming, one in the west, the other in the east, two great flames which were joined by the cordon of bivouac fires of the English, like a necklace of rubies with two carbuncles at the extremities, as they extended in an immense semicircle over the hills along the horizon.
We have described the catastrophe of the road of Ohain.The heart is terrified at the thought of what that death must have been to so many brave men.
If there is anything terrible, if there exists a reality which surpasses dreams, it is this:to live, to see the sun; to be in full possession of virile force; to possess health and joy; to laugh valiantly; to rush towards a glory which one sees dazzling in front of one; to feel in one's breast lungs which breathe, a heart which beats, a will which reasons; to speak, think, hope, love; to have a mother, to have a wife, to have children; to have the light--and all at once, in the space of a shout, in less than a minute, to sink into an abyss; to fall, to roll, to crush, to be crushed; to see ears of wheat, flowers, leaves, branches; not to be able to catch hold of anything; to feel one's sword useless, men beneath one, horses on top of one; to struggle in vain, since one's bones have been broken by some kick in the darkness; to feel a heel which makes one's eyes start from their sockets; to bite horses' shoes in one's rage; to stifle, to yell, to writhe; to be beneath, and to say to one's self, "But just a little while ago I was a living man!"
There, where that lamentable disaster had uttered its death-rattle, all was silence now.The edges of the hollow road were encumbered with horses and riders, inextricably heaped up.Terrible entanglement! There was no longer any slope, for the corpses had levelled the road with the plain, and reached the brim like a well-filled bushel of barley.A heap of dead bodies in the upper part, a river of blood in the lower part--such was that road on the evening of the 18th of June, 1815.The blood ran even to the Nivelles highway, and there overflowed in a large pool in front of the abatis of trees which barred the way, at a spot which is still pointed out.
It will be remembered that it was at the opposite point, in the direction of the Genappe road, that the destruction of the cuirassiers had taken place.The thickness of the layer of bodies was proportioned to the depth of the hollow road. Towards the middle, at the point where it became level, where Delort's division had passed, the layer of corpses was thinner.
The nocturnal prowler whom we have just shown to the reader was going in that direction.He was searching that vast tomb. He gazed about.He passed the dead in some sort of hideous review. He walked with his feet in the blood.
All at once he paused.
A few paces in front of him, in the hollow road, at the point where the pile of dead came to an end, an open hand, illumined by the moon, projected from beneath that heap of men.That hand had on its finger something sparkling, which was a ring of gold.
The man bent over, remained in a crouching attitude for a moment, and when he rose there was no longer a ring on the hand.
He did not precisely rise; he remained in a stooping and frightened attitude, with his back turned to the heap of dead, scanning the horizon on his knees, with the whole upper portion of his body supported on his two forefingers, which rested on the earth, and his head peering above the edge of the hollow road. The jackal's four paws suit some actions.
Then coming to a decision, he rose to his feet.
At that moment, he gave a terrible start.He felt some one clutch him from behind.
He wheeled round; it was the open hand, which had closed, and had seized the skirt of his coat.
An honest man would have been terrified; this man burst into a laugh.
"Come," said he, "it's only a dead body.I prefer a spook to a gendarme."
But the hand weakened and released him.Effort is quickly exhausted in the grave.
"Well now," said the prowler, "is that dead fellow alive? Let's see."
He bent down again, fumbled among the heap, pushed aside everything that was in his way, seized the hand, grasped the arm, freed the head, pulled out the body, and a few moments later he was dragging the lifeless, or at least the unconscious, man, through the shadows of hollow road.He was a cuirassier, an officer, and even an officer of considerable rank; a large gold epaulette peeped from beneath the cuirass; this officer no longer possessed a helmet.A furious sword-cut had scarred his face, where nothing was discernible but blood.
However, he did not appear to have any broken limbs, and, by some happy chance, if that word is permissible here, the dead had been vaulted above him in such a manner as to preserve him from being crushed. His eyes were still closed.
On his cuirass he wore the silver cross of the Legion of Honor.
The prowler tore off this cross, which disappeared into one of the gulfs which he had beneath his great coat.
Then he felt of the officer's fob, discovered a watch there, and took possession of it.Next he searched his waistcoat, found a purse and pocketed it.
When he had arrived at this stage of succor which he was administering to this dying man, the officer opened his eyes.
"Thanks," he said feebly.
The abruptness of the movements of the man who was manipulating him, the freshness of the night, the air which he could inhale freely, had roused him from his lethargy.
The prowler made no reply.He raised his head.A sound of footsteps was audible in the plain; some patrol was probably approaching.
The officer murmured, for the death agony was still in his voice:--
"Who won the battle?"
"The English," answered the prowler.
The officer went on:--
"Look in my pockets; you will find a watch and a purse.Take them."
It was already done.
The prowler executed the required feint, and said:--
"There is nothing there."
"I have been robbed," said the officer; "I am sorry for that. You should have had them."
The steps of the patrol became more and more distinct.
"Some one is coming," said the prowler, with the movement of a man who is taking his departure.
The officer raised his arm feebly, and detained him.
"You have saved my life.Who are you?"
The prowler answered rapidly, and in a low voice:--
"Like yourself, I belonged to the French army.I must leave you. If they were to catch me, they would shoot me.I have saved your life. Now get out of the scrape yourself."
"What is your rank?"
"Sergeant."
"What is your name?"
"Thenardier."
"I shall not forget that name," said the officer; "and do you remember mine.My name is pontmercy."

     我们再来谈谈那不幸的战场，这对本书是必要的。一八一五年六月十八日正当月圆之夜。月色给了布吕歇尔的猛烈追击以许多方便，替他指出逃兵的动向，把那浩劫的人流交付给贪戾的普鲁士骑兵，促成了那次屠杀。天灾人祸中，夜色有时是会那样助兴杀人的。
    在放过那最后的一炮后，圣约翰山的原野上剩下的只是满目凄凉景象。
    英军占据了法军的营幕，那是证明胜利的一贯做法，在失败者的榻上高枕而卧。他们越过罗松，安营露宿。普鲁士军奋力穷追，向前推进。威灵顿回到滑铁卢村里写军书，向贵人巴塞司特报捷。假使“有名无实”这个词能用得恰当，那就一定可以用在滑铁卢村，滑铁卢什么也没有做，它离作战地点还有半法里远。圣约翰山被炮轰击过，乌古蒙烧了，帕佩洛特烧了，普朗尚努瓦烧了，圣拉埃受过攻打，佳盟见过两个胜利者的拥抱；那些地方几乎无人知晓，而滑铁卢在这次战争中毫不出力，却享尽了荣誉。我们都不是那种赞扬战争的人，所以一有机会，便把战争的实情说出。战争有它那骇人的美，我们一点也不隐讳；但也应当承认，它还有它的丑恶，其中最骇人听闻的一种，便是胜利过后立即搜刮死人的财物。战争翌日，晨曦往往照着赤身露体的尸首。
    是谁干那种事，谁那样污辱胜利？偷偷伸在胜利的衣袋里的那只凶手是谁的？隐在光荣后面做罪恶勾当的那些无赖是些什么人？有些哲学家，例如伏尔泰诸人，都肯定说干那种种事的人恰巧是胜利者。据说他们全是一样的。没有区别，立着的人抢掠倒下的人。白昼的英雄便是夜间的吸血鬼。况且既杀其人，再稍稍沾一点光也是份内应享的权利。至于我们，却不敢轻信。赢得桂冠而又偷窃一个死人的鞋子，在我们看来，好象不是同一只手干得出来的。
    有一点却是确实的，就是常有小偷跟在胜利者后面。但是我们应当撇开士兵不谈，尤其是现代的士兵。每个军队都有个尾巴，那才是该控诉的所在。一些蝙蝠式的东西，半土匪半仆役，从战争的悲惨日子里产生的各种飞鼠，穿军装而不上阵，装假病，足跛心黑骑着马，有时带着女人，坐上小车，贩卖私货，卖出而又随手偷进的火头兵，向军官们请求作向导的乞丐、勤务兵、扒手之类，从前军队出发——我们不谈现代——每每拖着那样一批家伙，因而专业用语称之谓“押队”。任何军人或任何国家都不对那些人负责。他们说意大利语却跟着德国人，说法语却跟着英国人。切里索尔①战役胜利的那天晚上，费瓦克侯爷遇见一个说法语的西班牙押队，听了他的北方土话，便把他当作一家人，当晚被那无赖谋害在战场上，东西也被他偷走了。有偷就有贼。有句可鄙的口语“靠敌人吃饭”说明了这种麻疯病的由来，只有严厉的军纪才能医治。
①切里索尔（Cerisolles），村名，在意大利，一五四四年，法军在此击败西班牙军。
    有些人是徒有其名的，我们不能一 一知道为什么某某将军，甚至某某大将军的名气会那样大。蒂雷纳②受到他的士兵的爱戴，正因为他纵容劫掠，纵恶竟成了仁爱的一个组成部分，蒂雷纳仁爱到听凭部下焚毁屠杀巴拉蒂纳①。军队后面窃贼的多寡，全靠将领的严弛为准则。奥什②和马尔索③绝对没有押队，威灵顿有而不多——我们乐于为他说句公道话。可是六月十八到十九的那天晚上有人盗尸。威灵顿是严明的，军中有当场拿获格杀勿论的命令，但是盗犯猖獗如故。正当战场这边熗决盗犯时，战场那边却照样进行盗窃。
②蒂雷纳（Turennne），十七世纪法国元帅。
①巴拉蒂纳（Palatinat），即今西德的法尔茨（Pfalz）。
②奥什（Hocehe），法国革命时期的将军。
③马尔索（Marceau），法国革命时期的将军。
    惨谈的月光照着那片原野。夜半前后，有个人在奥安凹路一带徘徊，更准确的说，在那一带匍匐。从他的外貌看去，他正是我们刚才描写过的那种人，既不是法国人，也不是英国人，既不是农民，也不是士兵，三分象人，七分象鬼，他闻尸味而垂涎，以偷盗为胜利，现在前来搜刮滑铁卢来了。他穿一件头斗篷式布衫，鬼鬼祟祟，却浑身都是胆，他往前走，又朝后看。那是个什么人？他的来历，黑夜也许要比白昼知道得更清楚些。他没有提囊，但在布衫下面显然有些大口袋。他不时停下，四面张望，害怕有人注意他，他突然弯下腰，翻动地上一些不出声气，动也不动的东西，随即又站起来，偷偷地走了。他那种滑动，那种神气，那种敏捷而神秘的动作，就象黄昏时在荒丘间出没的那种野鬼，也就是诺曼底古代传奇中所说的那种赶路鬼。夜行陂泽间的某些枭禽是会有那种形象的。
    假使有人留意，望穿那片迷雾，便会看到在他眼前不远，在尼维尔路转向从圣约翰山去布兰拉勒的那条路旁的一栋破屋后，正停着，可以这么说，正躲放着一辆小杂货车，车篷是柳条编的，涂了柏油，驾着一 匹驽马，它饿得戴着勒口吃荨麻，车子里有个女人坐在一些箱匣包袱上面。也许那辆车和那忽来忽往的人有些关系。夜色明静。天空纤尘不染。血染沙场并不影响月色的皎洁，正所谓昊天不吊。原野间，有些树枝已被炮弹折断，却不曾落地，仍旧连皮挂在树上，在夜风中微微晃荡。一 阵弱如鼻息的气流拂着野草。野草瑟缩，有如灵魂归去。
    英军营幕前，夜巡军士来往逡巡的声音从远处传来，隐约可辨。
    乌古蒙和圣拉埃，一在西，一在东，都还在燃烧，在那两蓬烈火之间，远处的高坡上，英军营帐中的灯火连成一个大半圆形，好象一串解下了的红宝石项圈，两端各缀了一块彩色水晶。
    我们已经谈过奥安凹路的惨祸。那么多忠勇的人竟会死得那么惨，想来真令人心惊。假使世间有桩可怕的事，比做梦还更现实的事，那一定是：活着，看见太阳，身强力壮，健康而温暖，能够开怀大笑，奔向自己前面的光荣，辉煌灿烂的光荣，觉得自己胸中有呼吸着的肺，跳动着的心，明辨是非的意志，能够谈论，思想，希望，恋爱，有母亲，有爱妻，有儿女，有光明，可是陡然一下，在一声号叫中落在坑里，跌着，滚着，压着，被压着，看见麦穗、花、叶和枝，却抓不住，觉得自己的刀已经失去作用，下面是人，上面是马，徒劳挣扎，眼前一片黑，觉得自己是在马蹄
    的蹴踏之下，骨头折断了，眼珠突出了，疯狂地咬着马蹄铁，气塞了，号着，奋力辗转，被压在那下面，心里在想：“刚才我还是一个活人！”在那场疮痍满目的灾难的爆发之处，现在连一点声息也没有了。那条凹路的两壁间已填满了马和骑士，层层叠叠，颠倒纵横，错杂得骇人心魂。两旁已没有斜壁了。死人死马把那条路填得和旷野一样高，和路边一般平，正象一升量得满满的粟米。上层是一堆尸体，底下是一条血河，那条路在一八一五年六月十八日夜间的情形便是如此。血一直流到尼维尔路，并在砍来拦阻道路的那堆树木前面积成一个大血泊，直到现在，那地方还受人凭吊。我们记得，铁骑军遇险的地方是在对面，近热纳普路那一带。尸层的厚薄和凹路的深浅成正比。靠中间那段路平坑浅的地方，也就是德洛尔部越过的地方，尸层渐薄了。我们刚才向读者约略谈到的那个夜间行窃的人，正是向那地段走去。他嗅着那条广阔的墓地。他东张西望。他检阅的是一种说不清的让人多么厌恶的死人的队伍。
    他踏着血泊往前走。他突然停下。在他前面相隔几步的地方，在那凹路里尸山的尽头，有一只手在月光下的那堆人马中伸出来。那只手的指头上有一个明晃晃的东西，是个金戒指。那人弯下腰去，蹲了一会儿，到他再次立起时，那只手上已没有戒指了。
    他并未真正立起来，他那形态好象一只惊弓的野兽，背朝着死人堆，眼睛望着远处，跪着，上身全部支在两只着地的膝上，头伸出凹路边，向外望。豺狗的四个爪子对某种行动是适合的。随后，打定了主意，他才立起来。
    正在那时，他大吃一惊，他感到有人从后面拖住了他。他转过去看，正是那只原来张开的手，现已合拢，抓住了他的衣边。诚实的人一定会大吃一惊，而这一个却笑了起来。
    “啐。”他说，“幸好是个死人！我宁肯碰见鬼也不愿碰见宪兵。”
    他正说着，那只手气力已尽便丢开了他。死人的气力是有限的。
    “怪事！”那贼又说，“这死人是活的吗？让我来看看。”他重新弯下腰去，搜着那人堆，把碍手脚的东西掀开，抓着那只手，抓住他的胳膊，搬出头，拖出身子，过一会儿，他把一个断了气的人，至少也是一个失了知觉的人，拖到凹路的黑影里去了。那是铁骑军的一个军官，并且是一个等级颇高的军官，一条很宽的金肩章从铁甲里露出来，那军官铁盔已经丢了。他脸上血迹模糊，有一长条刀砍的伤口，此外，他不象有哪里的肢体被折断了，并且很侥幸，如果此地也可能有侥幸的话，有些尸体在他上面交叉构成一个空隙，因而他未曾受到挤压。他眼睛又闭上了。
    在他的铁甲上，有个银质的功勋十字章。那个贼拔下了十字章，塞在他那蒙头斗篷下面的无底洞里。然后，他摸摸那军官的裤腰口袋，摸到一只表，一并拿了去。随后也搜背心，搜出一个钱包，也一并塞进自己的衣袋里。正当他把那垂死的人救到这个程度之时，那军官的眼睛睁开了。
    “谢谢。”他气息奄奄地说。那人翻动他的那种急促动作，晚风的凉爽，呼吸到的流畅的空气，使他从昏迷中醒过来了。
    那贼没答话。他抬起头，他听见旷野里有脚步声，也许是什么巡逻队来了。
    那军官低声说，因为他刚刚缓过气来，离死还不远：“谁胜了？”
    “英国人。”那贼回答。
    “您搜我的衣袋。我有一个钱包和一只表，您可以拿去。”他早已拿去了。
    那贼照他的话假装寻了一遍，说道：
    “什么也没有。”
    “已经有人偷去了，”那军官接着说，“岂有此理，不然就是您的了。”
    巡逻队的脚步声越来越清晰了。
    “有人来了。”那贼说，做出要走的样子。那军官竭尽力气，伸起手来抓住他：“您救了我的命。您是谁？”那贼连忙低声回答说：“我和您一样，也是法国军队里的。我得走开。假使有人捉住我，他们就会熗毙我。我已经救了您的命。现在您自己逃生去吧。”“您是那一级的？”“中士。”
    “您叫什么名字？”
    “德纳第。”
    “我不会忘记这个名字，”那军官说，“您也记住我的名字，我叫彭眉胥。”

Jean Valjean had been recaptured.
The reader will be grateful to us if we pass rapidly over the sad details.We will confine ourselves to transcribing two paragraphs published by the journals of that day, a few months after the surprising events which had taken place at M. sur M.
These articles are rather summary.It must be remembered, that at that epoch the Gazette des Tribunaux was not yet in existence.
We borrow the first from the Drapeau Blanc.It bears the date of July 25, 1823.
An arrondissement of the pas de Calais has just been the theatre of an event quite out of the ordinary course.A man, who was a stranger in the Department, and who bore the name of M. Madeleine, had, thanks to the new methods, resuscitated some years ago an ancient local industry, the manufacture of jet and of black glass trinkets.He had made his fortune in the business, and that of the arrondissement as well, we will admit.He had been appointed mayor, in recognition of his services.The police discovered that M. Madeleine was no other than an ex-convict who had broken his ban, condemned in 1796 for theft, and named Jean Valjean. Jean Valjean has been recommitted to prison.It appears that previous to his arrest he had succeeded in withdrawing from the hands of M. Laffitte, a sum of over half a million which he had lodged there, and which he had, moreover, and by perfectly legitimate means, acquired in his business.No one has been able to discover where Jean Valjean has concealed this money since his return to prison at Toulon.
The second article, which enters a little more into detail, is an extract from the Journal de paris, of the same date. A former convict, who had been liberated, named Jean Valjean, has just appeared before the Court of Assizes of the Var, under circumstances calculated to attract attention.This wretch had succeeded in escaping the vigilance of the police, he had changed his name, and had succeeded in getting himself appointed mayor of one of our small northern towns; in this town he had established a considerable commerce.He has at last been unmasked and arrested, thanks to the indefatigable zeal of the public prosecutor. He had for his concubine a woman of the town, who died of a shock at the moment of his arrest.This scoundrel, who is endowed with Herculean strength, found means to escape; but three or four days after his flight the police laid their hands on him once more, in paris itself, at the very moment when he was entering one of those little vehicles which run between the capital and the village of Montfermeil (Seine-et-Oise). He is said to have profited by this interval of three or four days of liberty, to withdraw a considerable sum deposited by him with one of our leading bankers. This sum has been estimated at six or seven hundred thousand francs. If the indictment is to be trusted, he has hidden it in some place known to himself alone, and it has not been possible to lay hands on it.However that may be, the said Jean Valjean has just been brought before the Assizes of the Department of the Var as accused of highway robbery accompanied with violence, about eight years ago, on the person of one of those honest children who, as the patriarch of Ferney has said, in immortal verse,
". . . Arrive from Savoy every year, And who, with gentle hands, do clear Those long canals choked up with soot."
This bandit refused to defend himself.It was proved by the skilful and eloquent representative of the public prosecutor, that the theft was committed in complicity with others, and that Jean Valjean was a member of a band of robbers in the south. Jean Valjean was pronounced guilty and was condemned to the death penalty in consequence.This criminal refused to lodge an appeal. The king, in his inexhaustible clemency, has deigned to commute his penalty to that of penal servitude for life.Jean Valjean was immediately taken to the prison at Toulon.
The reader has not forgotten that Jean Valjean had religious habits at M. sur M. Some papers, among others the Constitutional, presented this commutation as a triumph of the priestly party.
Jean Valjean changed his number in the galleys.He was called 9,430.
However, and we will mention it at once in order that we may not be obliged to recur to the subject, the prosperity of M. sur M. vanished with M. Madeleine; all that he had foreseen during his night of fever and hesitation was realized; lacking him, there actually was a soul lacking.After this fall, there took place at M. sur M. that egotistical division of great existences which have fallen, that fatal dismemberment of flourishing things which is accomplished every day, obscurely, in the human community, and which history has noted only once, because it occurred after the death of Alexander. Lieutenants are crowned kings; superintendents improvise manufacturers out of themselves.Envious rivalries arose.M. Madeleine's vast workshops were shut; his buildings fell to ruin, his workmen were scattered.Some of them quitted the country, others abandoned the trade.Thenceforth, everything was done on a small scale, instead of on a grand scale; for lucre instead of the general good. There was no longer a centre; everywhere there was competition and animosity.M. Madeleine had reigned over all and directed all. No sooner had he fallen, than each pulled things to himself; the spirit of combat succeeded to the spirit of organization, bitterness to cordiality, hatred of one another to the benevolence of the founder towards all; the threads which M. Madeleine had set were tangled and broken, the methods were adulterated, the products were debased, confidence was killed; the market diminished, for lack of orders; salaries were reduced, the workshops stood still, bankruptcy arrived.And then there was nothing more for the poor. All had vanished.
The state itself perceived that some one had been crushed somewhere. Less than four years after the judgment of the Court of Assizes establishing the identity of Jean Valjean and M. Madeleine, for the benefit of the galleys, the cost of collecting taxes had doubled in the arrondissement of M. sur M.; and M. de Villele called attention to the fact in the rostrum, in the month of February, 1827.

①俄里翁（Orion），希腊神话中之猎人，也指猎户星座。西方战舰常以星座命名。
     冉阿让又被捕了。那些惨痛的经历，我们不打算一一细谈，大家想必会见谅的。我们仅把当时滨海蒙特勒伊那一惊人事件发生几个月后，报纸所刊载的两则小新闻转录下来。
    那两节记载相当简略。我们知道，当时还有地方法院公报。第一节 是从一八二三年七月十五日的《白旗报》上录下来的：加来海峡省②某县发生了一件稀罕事。有个来自他省名叫马德兰先生的人，在最近几年内，曾采用一种新方法，振兴了当地的一种旧工业，即烧料细工业。他成了当地的巨富，并且，就应说明，该县也因此得以致富。为了报答他的劳绩，大家举荐他当市长。不意警厅发现该马德兰先生者，原名冉阿让，冉阿让现已重行入狱。据说他在被捕之先，曾从拉菲特银行提取存款五 十万，那笔款子，一般认为是他在商业中获得非常合法的利润。冉阿让既已回到土伦监狱，那笔款子藏在什么地方，也就无人知晓了。第二节，比较详细，是从同一天的《巴黎日报》上摘录下来的。有个刑满释放的苦役犯名冉阿让者，最近在瓦尔省①高等法院受审，案情颇堪注意。该暴徒曾蒙蔽警察，改名换姓，并窃居我国北部某小城市之职。他在该城经营一种商业，规模相当可观。由于警务人员的高度服务热忱，终于揭发真相，逮捕归案。他的姘妇是个公娼，已在他被捕时惊恐丧命。该犯膂力过人，曾越狱潜逃，越狱后三四日，又被警方捕获，并且是在巴黎，当时他正准备走上一辆行驶在首都和孟费郿村（塞纳?瓦兹省）之间的小车。据说他曾利用那三四天的自由，从某大银行提取了大宗存款。据估计，该款达六七十万法郎。公诉状指出他已将该款藏在某处，除他之外无人知晓，因而没有被发现。总之该冉阿让已在瓦尔省高等法院受审，他被控曾手持凶器，约八年前在大路上抢劫过一个正如费尔内元老在那流芳千古的诗中所提及的那种诚实孩子：?????岁岁都从萨瓦②来，妙手轻轻频拂拭，普为长突去煤炱。
②加米海峡省（PasdeCalais），滨海蒙特勒伊所在之省，在法国北部。
①瓦尔省（Var），土伦所在之省，在法国南部。
②萨瓦（Savoie），省名，靠意大利，该地的孩子多以清扫烟囱为业。
    那匪徒放弃了申诉机会。经司法诸公一番崇论雄辨之后，他那盗案已被定为累犯罪，并经指出冉阿让系南方某一匪帮的成员。因而罪证一 经宣布，该冉阿让即被判处死刑。该犯拒绝上诉。国王无边宽大，恩准减为终身苦役。冉阿让立即被押赴土伦监狱。我们没有忘记，冉阿让当初在滨海蒙特勒伊一贯遵守教规。因而有几种报纸，例如《立宪主义者报》便认为那次减刑应当归功于宗教界。
    冉阿让在苦役牢里换了号码。他叫九四三○号。此外，我们一次说清，以后就不再提了，滨海蒙特勒伊的繁荣已随马德兰先生消失了，凡是他在那次忧心如焚、迟疑不决的夜晚所预见到的一切都成了事实，此地丢了他，确实也就是丢了灵魂。自从他垮台以后，滨海蒙特勒伊便出了自私自利、四分五裂的局面，那种局面原是在大事业主持人失败后所常见的，人存事业兴隆，人亡分崩离析，那种悲惨的结局，在人类社会中是每天都在暗中发生着的，历史上却只在亚历山大死后①出现过一次。部将们自封为王，工头们自称业主。竞争猜忌出现了。马德兰先生的大工厂关了门，房屋坍塌，工人四散。有的离开了本乡，有的改了行。从那以后，一切都改为小规模进行，没有规模大的了；全为利己，不以利人，失了中心，处处都是竞争，顽强的竞争。马德兰先生曾主持一切，从中指挥。他倒了，于是每个人都为自身着想；倾轧的精神替代了组合的精神，粗暴代替了赤诚，相互的仇视代替了创办人对大众的关切；马德先生所结的丝全乱了，断了；大家偷工减料，降低了质量，丧失了信誉；销路阻滞，订货减少；工资降低，工场停工，结果破产。从此穷人空无所有。一切如云烟般消散。
①亚历山大死后，他所征服的领土上出现分裂的局面。
    连政府也感到在某处断折了一根栋梁。自从高等法院的判决书为了牢狱的利益，证明马德兰先生和冉阿让确是同一个人以后，不出四年，滨海蒙特勒伊一县的收税费用就增加了一倍，维莱尔先生也曾在一八二 七年二月，在议会里把这种情况提出过。
    

Before proceeding further, it will be to the purpose to narrate in some detail, a singular occurrence which took place at about the same epoch, in Montfermeil, and which is not lacking in coincidence with certain conjectures of the indictment.
There exists in the region of Montfermeil a very ancient superstition, which is all the more curious and all the more precious, because a popular superstition in the vicinity of paris is like an aloe in Siberia. We are among those who respect everything which is in the nature of a rare plant.Here, then, is the superstition of Montfermeil: it is thought that the devil, from time immemorial, has selected the forest as a hiding-place for his treasures.Goodwives affirm that it is no rarity to encounter at nightfall, in secluded nooks of the forest, a black man with the air of a carter or a wood-chopper, wearing wooden shoes, clad in trousers and a blouse of linen, and recognizable by the fact, that, instead of a cap or hat, he has two immense horns on his head.This ought, in fact, to render him recognizable.This man is habitually engaged in digging a hole. There are three ways of profiting by such an encounter.The first is to approach the man and speak to him.Then it is seen that the man is simply a peasant, that he appears black because it is nightfall; that he is not digging any hole whatever, but is cutting grass for his cows, and that what had been taken for horns is nothing but a dung-fork which he is carrying on his back, and whose teeth, thanks to the perspective of evening, seemed to spring from his head. The man returns home and dies within the week.The second way is to watch him, to wait until he has dug his hole, until he has filled it and has gone away; then to run with great speed to the trench, to open it once more and to seize the "treasure" which the black man has necessarily placed there.In this case one dies within the month.Finally, the last method is not to speak to the black man, not to look at him, and to flee at the best speed of one's legs. One then dies within the year.
As all three methods are attended with their special inconveniences, the second, which at all events, presents some advantages, among others that of possessing a treasure, if only for a month, is the one most generally adopted.So bold men, who are tempted by every chance, have quite frequently, as we are assured, opened the holes excavated by the black man, and tried to rob the devil. The success of the operation appears to be but moderate.At least, if the tradition is to be believed, and in particular the two enigmatical lines in barbarous Latin, which an evil Norman monk, a bit of a sorcerer, named Tryphon has left on this subject. This Tryphon is buried at the Abbey of Saint-Georges de Bocherville, near Rouen, and toads spawn on his grave.
Accordingly, enormous efforts are made.Such trenches are ordinarily extremely deep; a man sweats, digs, toils all night-- for it must be done at night; he wets his shirt, burns out his candle, breaks his mattock, and when he arrives at the bottom of the hole, when he lays his hand on the "treasure," what does he find? What is the devil's treasure?A sou, sometimes a crown-piece, a stone, a skeleton, a bleeding body, sometimes a spectre folded in four like a sheet of paper in a portfolio, sometimes nothing. This is what Tryphon's verses seem to announce to the indiscreet and curious:--
"Fodit, et in fossa thesauros condit opaca, As, nummas, lapides, cadaver, simulacra, nihilque."
It seems that in our day there is sometimes found a powder-horn with bullets, sometimes an old pack of cards greasy and worn, which has evidently served the devil.Tryphon does not record these two finds, since Tryphon lived in the twelfth century, and since the devil does not appear to have had the wit to invent powder before Roger Bacon's time, and cards before the time of Charles VI.
Moreover, if one plays at cards, one is sure to lose all that one possesses! and as for the powder in the horn, it possesses the property of making your gun burst in your face.
Now, a very short time after the epoch when it seemed to the prosecuting attorney that the liberated convict Jean Valjean during his flight of several days had been prowling around Montfermeil, it was remarked in that village that a certain old road-laborer, named Boulatruelle, had "peculiar ways" in the forest.people thereabouts thought they knew that this Boulatruelle had been in the galleys. He was subjected to certain police supervision, and, as he could find work nowhere, the administration employed him at reduced rates as a road-mender on the cross-road from Gagny to Lagny.
This Boulatruelle was a man who was viewed with disfavor by the inhabitants of the district as too respectful, too humble, too prompt in removing his cap to every one, and trembling and smiling in the presence of the gendarmes,--probably affiliated to robber bands, they said; suspected of lying in ambush at verge of copses at nightfall. The only thing in his favor was that he was a drunkard.
This is what people thought they had noticed:--
Of late, Boulatruelle had taken to quitting his task of stone-breaking and care of the road at a very early hour, and to betaking himself to the forest with his pickaxe.He was encountered towards evening in the most deserted clearings, in the wildest thickets; and he had the appearance of being in search of something, and sometimes he was digging holes.The goodwives who passed took him at first for Beelzebub; then they recognized Boulatruelle, and were not in the least reassured thereby.These encounters seemed to cause Boulatruelle a lively displeasure.It was evident that he sought to hide, and that there was some mystery in what he was doing.
It was said in the village:"It is clear that the devil has appeared. Boulatruelle has seen him, and is on the search.In sooth, he is cunning enough to pocket Lucifer's hoard."
The Voltairians added, "Will Boulatruelle catch the devil, or will the devil catch Boulatruelle?"The old women made a great many signs of the cross.
In the meantime, Boulatruelle's manoeuvres in the forest ceased; and he resumed his regular occupation of roadmending; and people gossiped of something else.
Some persons, however, were still curious, surmising that in all this there was probably no fabulous treasure of the legends, but some fine windfall of a more serious and palpable sort than the devil's bank-bills, and that the road-mender had half discovered the secret.The most "puzzled" were the school-master and Thenardier, the proprietor of the tavern, who was everybody's friend, and had not disdained to ally himself with Boulatruelle.
"He has been in the galleys," said Thenardier."Eh!Good God! no one knows who has been there or will be there."
One evening the schoolmaster affirmed that in former times the law would have instituted an inquiry as to what Boulatruelle did in the forest, and that the latter would have been forced to speak, and that he would have been put to the torture in case of need, and that Boulatruelle would not have resisted the water test, for example."Let us put him to the wine test," said Thenardier.
They made an effort, and got the old road-mender to drinking. Boulatruelle drank an enormous amount, but said very little. He combined with admirable art, and in masterly proportions, the thirst of a gormandizer with the discretion of a judge. Nevertheless, by dint of returning to the charge and of comparing and putting together the few obscure words which he did allow to escape him, this is what Thenardier and the schoolmaster imagined that they had made out:--
One morning, when Boulatruelle was on his way to his work, at daybreak, he had been surprised to see, at a nook of the forest in the underbrush, a shovel and a pickaxe, concealed, as one might say.
However, he might have supposed that they were probably the shovel and pick of Father Six-Fours, the water-carrier, and would have thought no more about it.But, on the evening of that day, he saw, without being seen himself, as he was hidden by a large tree, "a person who did not belong in those parts, and whom he, Boulatruelle, knew well," directing his steps towards the densest part of the wood.Translation by Thenardier:A comrade of the galleys. Boulatruelle obstinately refused to reveal his name.This person carried a package--something square, like a large box or a small trunk. Surprise on the part of Boulatruelle.However, it was only after the expiration of seven or eight minutes that the idea of following that "person" had occurred to him.But it was too late; the person was already in the thicket, night had descended, and Boulatruelle had not been able to catch up with him.Then he had adopted the course of watching for him at the edge of the woods. "It was moonlight."Two or three hours later, Boulatruelle had seen this person emerge from the brushwood, carrying no longer the coffer, but a shovel and pick.Boulatruelle had allowed the person to pass, and had not dreamed of accosting him, because he said to himself that the other man was three times as strong as he was, and armed with a pickaxe, and that he would probably knock him over the head on recognizing him, and on perceiving that he was recognized. Touching effusion of two old comrades on meeting again.But the shovel and pick had served as a ray of light to Boulatruelle; he had hastened to the thicket in the morning, and had found neither shovel nor pick.From this he had drawn the inference that this person, once in the forest, had dug a hole with his pick, buried the coffer, and reclosed the hole with his shovel.Now, the coffer was too small to contain a body; therefore it contained money.Hence his researches. Boulatruelle had explored, sounded, searched the entire forest and the thicket, and had dug wherever the earth appeared to him to have been recently turned up.In vain.
He had "ferreted out" nothing.No one in Montfermeil thought any more about it.There were only a few brave gossips, who said, "You may be certain that the mender on the Gagny road did not take all that trouble for nothing; he was sure that the devil had come."

     在继续讲述之前，我们不妨较为详细地谈一件怪事，这件怪事几乎是与上述事件在孟费郿同时发生的，并和警方的推测不无暗合之处。
    孟费郿地方有种由来已久的迷信，在巴黎附近，竟然还有一种迷信，能够传遍一方，这事的离奇可贵，也正如在西伯利亚出现了沉香。我们是那种重视稀有植物状况的人。那么，我们便来谈孟费郿的迷信。人们都相信，远在无可稽考的年代，魔鬼便已选定当地的森林作为他的藏宝之处。婆婆妈妈们还肯定地说，天快黑时，在树林里那些空旷的地方，时常会出现一个黑人，面貌象个车夫或樵夫，脚上穿双木鞋，身上穿套粗布褂裤，他的特征便是他不但不戴帽子，头上还有两只其大无比的角。这一特征确实可以表明他是什么①。这人经常在地上挖洞。遇见了这种事的人，应付的办法有三种。第一种，是走去找他谈话。你就会看见他只不过是个普普通通的乡下人，他黑，是因为天黑，他并不挖什么洞，而是在割喂牛的草料，他有角，那也仅仅是因为他背上背着一把粪叉，从暮色中远远望去，那粪叉的齿就好象是从他头上长出来的。你回到家里，一个星期之内就会死。第二种办法，就是看住他，等他挖好洞掩上土走开以后，你再赶快跑去找他挖的坑，再把它掘开来，取出那黑人必然埋在那里的“宝”。那样做，一个月以内也会死。还有第三种办法，就是绝不和那黑人谈话，也绝不望他，而是赶紧逃避开。一年以内也会死。
①法国俗传魔鬼头上有角。
    那三种办法都有不妥之处，第二种比较有利，至少可以得宝，哪怕只活一个月也值得。因此那是被采用得最广的办法。有些胆大的汉子，要钱不要命，据说他们曾不止一次，并且有凭有据地，确实重新挖开那黑人所挖的洞，发了些魔鬼财。收获据说并没有什么了不起的。至少，也该相信那种由来已久的传说，而且尤其应当相信一个叫做特里丰的诺曼底僧人，针对这一问题用蛮族拉丁文写的两句费解的歪诗。这僧人懂点巫术，为人凶恶，死后葬在鲁昂附近波什维尔地方的圣乔治修道院，他坟上竟生出了些癞蛤螅那些坑，经常是挖得很深的，大家费了无穷的气力，流着汗，去搜索，整夜工作，因为那种事总是晚上做的，衬衣汗湿，蜡烛点光，锄头挖缺，等到挖到坑底，“宝物”在握时，会发现什么呢？那魔鬼的宝藏是什么呢？是一个苏，有时是一个金币、一块石头、一具枯孩一具血淋淋的尸体，有时是个死人，一折四，就象公文包里的一张信纸，有时则什么都没有。特里丰那两句歪诗所表达的，和那些喜欢惹是生非的人的情形颇有些近似：他在土坑里埋藏他的宝物，古钱、银币、石块、尸首、塑像，空无所有。直到如今，据说有人还会找到一个火药瓶连带几粒子弹，有时也会找出一副满是油污颜色黄红的旧纸牌，那显然是魔鬼们玩过的。特里丰一点没有提到后来发现的那种东西，因为他生在十二世纪，魔鬼们还不够聪明，不能在罗歇?培根①之前发明火药，也不能在查理六世②之前发明纸牌。并且，如果有人拿了那种牌去赌博，他一定输得精光；而那瓶里的火药，它的性能就是把你的熗管炸破在你脸上。
①罗歇?培根（RogerBacon），十三世纪英国僧人。
②查理六世（CharlesVI），十四世纪法王。
    再说，警务人员怀疑过，那被释放了的苦役犯冉阿让，在他潜逃的那几天里，曾在孟费郿一带躲躲藏藏；过后不久，又有人注意到在同一 个村子里，有个叫蒲辣秃柳儿的修路老工人，在那树林里也有些“行动”。那地方的人都说蒲辣秃柳儿坐过苦役牢，他在某些方面还受着警察的监控，由于他四处找不到工作，政府便廉价雇了他，在加尼和拉尼间的那条便路上当路工。
    那蒲辣秃柳儿是被当地人另眼相看的，他为人过于客套，过于谦卑，见了任何人都赶紧脱帽，见了警察更是边哆嗦，边送上笑脸，有些人说他很可能和某些匪徒有联系，怀疑他一到傍晚便在一些树丛角落里打埋伏。他唯一的嗜好是醉酒。
    一般人的传说是这样的：近来蒲辣秃柳儿的铺石修路工作收得很早，他带着他的十字镐到树林里去了。有人在黄昏时遇见他在那些最荒凉的空地里，最浓密的树丛里，好象在寻找什么的样子，有时也在地上挖洞。那些过路的婆婆妈妈们撞见了他，还以为是撞见了巴力西卜①，过后才认出是蒲辣秃柳儿，却还是放不下心。蒲辣秃柳儿好象也很不喜欢遇见那些过路人。他有意躲避，他显然有不可告人的隐衷。
①巴力西卜（Belzebuth），又译“别西卜”，《圣经?马太福音》中的鬼王。
    村子里有些人说：“很明显，魔鬼又出现过了。蒲辣秃柳儿看见了他，他在找。老实说，他要是能捉到个鬼王就算是了不起的了。”一些没有定见的人还补充说：“不知道结果是蒲辣秃柳儿捉鬼，还是鬼捉蒲辣秃柳儿。”那些老太婆则画了很多的十字。
    过了些时候，蒲辣秃柳儿在那树林里的勾当停下来了，还是规规矩矩做他的路工活。大家也就谈别的事情了。有些人却仍在思前想后，认为那当中完全不是什么古代传说里的那种子虚乌有的宝藏，而是一笔比鬼国银行钞票更实在、更地道的横财，那里面的秘密，一定还只被路工发现了一半。“心里最痒”的人是那小学老师和客店老板德纳第，那小学老师和任何人都有交情，对于蒲辣秃柳儿也不惜折节交为朋友。
    有天晚上，那小学老师肯定地说要是在从前，官家早去调查过蒲辣秃柳儿在树林里做的那些事了，一定也向他了解过，必要时也许还要动刑，蒲辣秃柳儿大致也就供了，他决然受不了，比方说，那种水刑。
    “我们给他来一次酒刑。”德纳第说。他们四个人一道，请那路工喝酒。蒲辣秃柳儿大喝了一阵，说话却不多。他以高超的艺术和老练的手法与他们周旋，既能象醉鬼那样开怀畅饮，也能象法官那样沉默寡言。可是德纳第和那小学老师一再提问，把他无意中透露出来的几句费解的话前后连贯起来，向他紧紧追逼，他们认为已了解到这样一些情况：有一天早晨，蒲辣秃柳儿在拂晓时去上工，看见树林的一角，一丛荆棘下面，有一把锹和一把镐，好象是别人藏在那里的。同时他想到很可能是那挑水工人西弗尔爷爷的锹和镐，也就不再多想了。可是在当天傍晚，他看见一个人从大路向那树林最密的地方走去，而他自己却不会被人家看见，因为有棵大树遮住了他，他发现“那完全不是个本乡人，并且还是他，蒲辣秃柳儿非常熟识的一个老相识”。据德纳第推测，“是个同坐苦役牢的伙伴了”。蒲辣秃柳儿坚决不肯说出那人的姓名。那人当时扛着一包东西，方方的，象个大匣子，或是个小箱子。蒲辣秃柳儿颇为诧异。七八分钟过后，他才忽然想起要跟着那“老相识”去看看。但已经太迟了，那老相识已走进枝叶茂密的地方，天也黑了，蒲辣秃柳儿没能跟上他。于是他决计守在树林外边窥探。“月亮上山了。”两三 个钟头过后，蒲辣秃柳儿又看见他那老相识从树丛里出来，可是他现在扛的不是那只小箱，而是一把镐和一把锹。蒲辣秃柳儿让那老相识走了过去，并没有想到要去和他打招呼，因为他心想那人的力气比他大三倍，还拿着镐，如果认出了他，并且发现自己已被人识破，很可能就要揍死他。旧友重逢竟如此倾心相待，真使人感叹。蒲辣秃柳儿又猛然想起早晨隐在那荆棘丛中的锹和镐，他跑去看，可是锹不在，镐也不在了。他于是作出结论，认为他那老相识在走进树林以后，便用他那把镐挖了一 个坑，把他那箱子埋了下去，又用锹填上土，掩了那坑。况且那箱子太小，装不了一个死人，那么它装的一定是钱了。因此，他要找。蒲辣秃柳儿已把整个树林都琢磨过，猜测过，搜索过，凡是有新近动土迹象的地方他都翻看过。但是一无所得。
    他什也没有“逮妆。在孟费郿也就没有人再去想它了。不过还有几个诚实的老婆子在说：“可以肯定，加尼的那个路工决不会无缘无故地费那么大劲，魔鬼一定是又来过了。”

Towards the end of October, in that same year, 1823, the inhabitants of Toulon beheld the entry into their port, after heavy weather, and for the purpose of repairing some damages, of the ship Orion, which was employed later at Brest as a school-ship, and which then formed a part of the Mediterranean squadron.
This vessel, battered as it was,--for the sea had handled it roughly,-- produced a fine effect as it entered the roads.It flew some colors which procured for it the regulation salute of eleven guns, which it returned, shot for shot; total, twenty-two. It has been calculated that what with salvos, royal and military politenesses, courteous exchanges of uproar, signals of etiquette, formalities of roadsteads and citadels, sunrises and sunsets, saluted every day by all fortresses and all ships of war, openings and closings of ports, etc., the civilized world, discharged all over the earth, in the course of four and twenty hours, one hundred and fifty thousand useless shots.At six francs the shot, that comes to nine hundred thousand francs a day, three hundred millions a year, which vanish in smoke.This is a mere detail.All this time the poor were dying of hunger.
The year 1823 was what the Restoration called "the epoch of the Spanish war."
This war contained many events in one, and a quantity of peculiarities. A grand family affair for the house of Bourbon; the branch of France succoring and protecting the branch of Madrid, that is to say, performing an act devolving on the elder; an apparent return to our national traditions, complicated by servitude and by subjection to the cabinets of the North; M. le Duc d'Angouleme, surnamed by the liberal sheets the hero of Andujar, compressing in a triumphal attitude that was somewhat contradicted by his peaceable air, the ancient and very powerful terrorism of the Holy Office at variance with the chimerical terrorism of the liberals; the sansculottes resuscitated, to the great terror of dowagers, under the name of descamisados; monarchy opposing an obstacle to progress described as anarchy; the theories of '89 roughly interrupted in the sap; a European halt, called to the French idea, which was making the tour of the world; beside the son of France as generalissimo, the prince de Carignan, afterwards Charles Albert, enrolling himself in that crusade of kings against people as a volunteer, with grenadier epaulets of red worsted; the soldiers of the Empire setting out on a fresh campaign, but aged, saddened, after eight years of repose, and under the white cockade; the tricolored standard waved abroad by a heroic handful of Frenchmen, as the white standard had been thirty years earlier at Coblentz; monks mingled with our troops; the spirit of liberty and of novelty brought to its senses by bayonets; principles slaughtered by cannonades; France undoing by her arms that which she had done by her mind; in addition to this, hostile leaders sold, soldiers hesitating, cities besieged by millions; no military perils, and yet possible explosions, as in every mine which is surprised and invaded; but little bloodshed, little honor won, shame for some, glory for no one. Such was this war, made by the princes descended from Louis XIV., and conducted by generals who had been under Napoleon.Its sad fate was to recall neither the grand war nor grand politics.
Some feats of arms were serious; the taking of the Trocadero, among others, was a fine military action; but after all, we repeat, the trumpets of this war give back a cracked sound, the whole effect was suspicious; history approves of France for making a difficulty about accepting this false triumph.It seemed evident that certain Spanish officers charged with resistance yielded too easily; the idea of corruption was connected with the victory; it appears as though generals and not battles had been won, and the conquering soldier returned humiliated.A debasing war, in short, in which the Bank of France could be read in the folds of the flag.
Soldiers of the war of 1808, on whom Saragossa had fallen in formidable ruin, frowned in 1823 at the easy surrender of citadels, and began to regret palafox.It is the nature of France to prefer to have Rostopchine rather than Ballesteros in front of her.
From a still more serious point of view, and one which it is also proper to insist upon here, this war, which wounded the military spirit of France, enraged the democratic spirit.It was an enterprise of inthralment.In that campaign, the object of the French soldier, the son of democracy, was the conquest of a yoke for others. A hideous contradiction.France is made to arouse the soul of nations, not to stifle it.All the revolutions of Europe since 1792 are the French Revolution:liberty darts rays from France.That is a solar fact.Blind is he who will not see!It was Bonaparte who said it.
The war of 1823, an outrage on the generous Spanish nation, was then, at the same time, an outrage on the French Revolution. It was France who committed this monstrous violence; by foul means, for, with the exception of wars of liberation, everything that armies do is by foul means.The words passive obedience indicate this. An army is a strange masterpiece of combination where force results from an enormous sum of impotence.Thus is war, made by humanity against humanity, despite humanity, explained.
As for the Bourbons, the war of 1823 was fatal to them.They took it for a success.They did not perceive the danger that lies in having an idea slain to order.They went astray, in their innocence, to such a degree that they introduced the immense enfeeblement of a crime into their establishment as an element of strength.The spirit of the ambush entered into their politics.1830 had its germ in 1823. The Spanish campaign became in their counsels an argument for force and for adventures by right Divine.France, having re-established elrey netto in Spain, might well have re-established the absolute king at home.They fell into the alarming error of taking the obedience of the soldier for the consent of the nation.Such confidence is the ruin of thrones.It is not permitted to fall asleep, either in the shadow of a machineel tree, nor in the shadow of an army.
Let us return to the ship Orion.
During the operations of the army commanded by the prince generalissimo, a squadron had been cruising in the Mediterranean.We have just stated that the Orion belonged to this fleet, and that accidents of the sea had brought it into port at Toulon.
The presence of a vessel of war in a port has something about it which attracts and engages a crowd.It is because it is great, and the crowd loves what is great.
A ship of the line is one of the most magnificent combinations of the genius of man with the powers of nature.
A ship of the line is composed, at the same time, of the heaviest and the lightest of possible matter, for it deals at one and the same time with three forms of substance,--solid, liquid, and fluid,-- and it must do battle with all three.It has eleven claws of iron with which to seize the granite on the bottom of the sea, and more wings and more antennae than winged insects, to catch the wind in the clouds.Its breath pours out through its hundred and twenty cannons as through enormous trumpets, and replies proudly to the thunder.The ocean seeks to lead it astray in the alarming sameness of its billows, but the vessel has its soul, its compass, which counsels it and always shows it the north. In the blackest nights, its lanterns supply the place of the stars. Thus, against the wind, it has its cordage and its canvas; against the water, wood; against the rocks, its iron, brass, and lead; against the shadows, its light; against immensity, a needle.
If one wishes to form an idea of all those gigantic proportions which, taken as a whole, constitute the ship of the line, one has only to enter one of the six-story covered construction stocks, in the ports of Brest or Toulon.The vessels in process of construction are under a bell-glass there, as it were.This colossal beam is a yard; that great column of wood which stretches out on the earth as far as the eye can reach is the main-mast. Taking it from its root in the stocks to its tip in the clouds, it is sixty fathoms long, and its diameter at its base is three feet.The English main-mast rises to a height of two hundred and seventeen feet above the water-line. The navy of our fathers employed cables, ours employs chains. The simple pile of chains on a ship of a hundred guns is four feet high, twenty feet in breadth, and eight feet in depth.And how much wood is required to make this ship?Three thousand cubic metres. It is a floating forest.
And moreover, let this be borne in mind, it is only a question here of the military vessel of forty years ago, of the simple sailing-vessel; steam, then in its infancy, has since added new miracles to that prodigy which is called a war vessel. At the present time, for example, the mixed vessel with a screw is a surprising machine, propelled by three thousand square metres of canvas and by an engine of two thousand five hundred horse-power.
Not to mention these new marvels, the ancient vessel of Christopher Columbus and of De Ruyter is one of the masterpieces of man. It is as inexhaustible in force as is the Infinite in gales; it stores up the wind in its sails, it is precise in the immense vagueness of the billows, it floats, and it reigns.
There comes an hour, nevertheless, when the gale breaks that sixty-foot yard like a straw, when the wind bends that mast four hundred feet tall, when that anchor, which weighs tens of thousands, is twisted in the jaws of the waves like a fisherman's hook in the jaws of a pike, when those monstrous cannons utter plaintive and futile roars, which the hurricane bears forth into the void and into night, when all that power and all that majesty are engulfed in a power and majesty which are superior.
Every time that immense force is displayed to culminate in an immense feebleness it affords men food for thought, Hence in the ports curious people abound around these marvellous machines of war and of navigation, without being able to explain perfectly to themselves why.Every day, accordingly, from morning until night, the quays, sluices, and the jetties of the port of Toulon were covered with a multitude of idlers and loungers, as they say in paris, whose business consisted in staring at the Orion.
The Orion was a ship that had been ailing for a long time; in the course of its previous cruises thick layers of barnacles had collected on its keel to such a degree as to deprive it of half its speed; it had gone into the dry dock the year before this, in order to have the barnacles scraped off, then it had put to sea again; but this cleaning had affected the bolts of the keel: in the neighborhood of the Balearic Isles the sides had been strained and had opened; and, as the plating in those days was not of sheet iron, the vessel had sprung a leak.A violent equinoctial gale had come up, which had first staved in a grating and a porthole on the larboard side, and damaged the foretop-gallant-shrouds; in consequence of these injuries, the Orion had run back to Toulon.
It anchored near the Arsenal; it was fully equipped, and repairs were begun.The hull had received no damage on the starboard, but some of the planks had been unnailed here and there, according to custom, to permit of air entering the hold.
One morning the crowd which was gazing at it witnessed an accident.
The crew was busy bending the sails; the topman, who had to take the upper corner of the main-top-sail on the starboard, lost his balance; he was seen to waver; the multitude thronging the Arsenal quay uttered a cry; the man's head overbalanced his body; the man fell around the yard, with his hands outstretched towards the abyss; on his way he seized the footrope, first with one hand, then with the other, and remained hanging from it:the sea lay below him at a dizzy depth; the shock of his fall had imparted to the foot-rope a violent swinging motion; the man swayed back and forth at the end of that rope, like a stone in a sling.
It was incurring a frightful risk to go to his assistance; not one of the sailors, all fishermen of the coast, recently levied for the service, dared to attempt it.In the meantime, the unfortunate topman was losing his strength; his anguish could not be discerned on his face, but his exhaustion was visible in every limb; his arms were contracted in horrible twitchings; every effort which he made to re-ascend served but to augment the oscillations of the foot-rope; he did not shout, for fear of exhausting his strength.All were awaiting the minute when he should release his hold on the rope, and, from instant to instant, heads were turned aside that his fall might not be seen. There are moments when a bit of rope, a pole, the branch of a tree, is life itself, and it is a terrible thing to see a living being detach himself from it and fall like a ripe fruit.
All at once a man was seen climbing into the rigging with the agility of a tiger-cat; this man was dressed in red; he was a convict; he wore a green cap; he was a life convict.On arriving on a level with the top, a gust of wind carried away his cap, and allowed a perfectly white head to be seen:he was not a young man.
A convict employed on board with a detachment from the galleys had, in fact, at the very first instant, hastened to the officer of the watch, and, in the midst of the consternation and the hesitation of the crew, while all the sailors were trembling and drawing back, he had asked the officer's permission to risk his life to save the topman; at an affirmative sign from the officer he had broken the chain riveted to his ankle with one blow of a hammer, then he had caught up a rope, and had dashed into the rigging: no one noticed, at the instant, with what ease that chain had been broken; it was only later on that the incident was recalled.
In a twinkling he was on the yard; he paused for a few seconds and appeared to be measuring it with his eye; these seconds, during which the breeze swayed the topman at the extremity of a thread, seemed centuries to those who were looking on. At last, the convict raised his eyes to heaven and advanced a step: the crowd drew a long breath.He was seen to run out along the yard: on arriving at the point, he fastened the rope which he had brought to it, and allowed the other end to hang down, then he began to descend the rope, hand over hand, and then,--and the anguish was indescribable,--instead of one man suspended over the gulf, there were two.
One would have said it was a spider coming to seize a fly, only here the spider brought life, not death.Ten thousand glances were fastened on this group; not a cry, not a word; the same tremor contracted every brow; all mouths held their breath as though they feared to add the slightest puff to the wind which was swaying the two unfortunate men.
In the meantime, the convict had succeeded in lowering himself to a position near the sailor.It was high time; one minute more, and the exhausted and despairing man would have allowed himself to fall into the abyss.The convict had moored him securely with the cord to which he clung with one hand, while he was working with the other.At last, he was seen to climb back on the yard, and to drag the sailor up after him; he held him there a moment to allow him to recover his strength, then he grasped him in his arms and carried him, walking on the yard himself to the cap, and from there to the main-top, where he left him in the hands of his comrades.
At that moment the crowd broke into applause:old convict-sergeants among them wept, and women embraced each other on the quay, and all voices were heard to cry with a sort of tender rage, "pardon for that man!"
He, in the meantime, had immediately begun to make his descent to rejoin his detachment.In order to reach them the more speedily, he dropped into the rigging, and ran along one of the lower yards; all eyes were following him.At a certain moment fear assailed them; whether it was that he was fatigued, or that his head turned, they thought they saw him hesitate and stagger.All at once the crowd uttered a loud shout:the convict had fallen into the sea.
The fall was perilous.The frigate Algesiras was anchored alongside the Orion, and the poor convict had fallen between the two vessels: it was to be feared that he would slip under one or the other of them. Four men flung themselves hastily into a boat; the crowd cheered them on; anxiety again took possession of all souls; the man had not risen to the surface; he had disappeared in the sea without leaving a ripple, as though he had fallen into a cask of oil:they sounded, they dived.In vain.The search was continued until the evening: they did not even find the body.
On the following day the Toulon newspaper printed these lines:--
"Nov. 17, 1823.Yesterday, a convict belonging to the detachment on board of the Orion, on his return from rendering assistance to a sailor, fell into the sea and was drowned.The body has not yet been found; it is supposed that it is entangled among the piles of the Arsenal point:this man was committed under the number 9,430, and his name was Jean Valjean."

     那条艨艟巨舰在海里遭遇了风灾，损伤严重，在驶进船坞时很费了些劲。我已记不起它当时挂的是什么旗，它照例应当接受那十一响礼炮，它也一炮还一炮，总共是二十二炮。礼炮，是王室和陆海军的礼节，是互致敬意的轰鸣，军威的标志，船坞和炮垒的例规，日出日落，开城关城，诸如此类的事，都得由所有的炮垒和所有的战船鸣炮致敬；有人计算过，文明世界在整个地球上鸣放礼炮，每二十四小时要放十五万发，全无一点用处。按每发六法郎计算，每天就是九十万法郎，每年三千万，全化成了一缕缕青烟。这不过是件小事。而与此同时，穷人却死于饥饿。一八二三年是复辟王朝所谓的“西班牙战争①。那次战争在一件事里包含了许多事，并且还有许多奇特之处。那是波旁王族的一件重大的家事，法兰西的一支援助和保护了马德里的一支，就是说，维持嫡系承继权的举动，我国民族传统的一次表面的规复；自由主义派报刊称为“安杜哈尔②英雄”的昂古莱姆公爵先生，以一种和他平日镇静态度不大相称的得意之色，抑制了和自由主义派的空想恐怖政策敌对的、宗教裁判所的实在的老牌恐怖政策；以赤膊鬼①称号再次出现的无套裤汉②使那些享用亡夫赡养费的寡妇们惊恐万状；还有称进步为无政府状态而横加阻扰的专制主义；在颠覆活动中突然中断过的一七八九年的各种理论；全欧洲对风行世界的法兰西思想进行的恫吓；带上羽林军士的红呢肩章、以志愿军人姿态参加镇压各族人民的君王十字军并和法兰西的儿子、大军统师并肩作战、化名为查理—阿尔贝的加里昂亲王；休息了八年、已经衰老、又带上白色帽徽③垂头丧气地走上征途的帝国士兵；由少数英勇的法国人在国境外高高举起的三色旗，令人想起三十年前在科布伦茨④出现的白旗；混在我们队伍里的僧侣；被熗刺镇压下去的争取自由和革新的精神；被炮弹挟制住的主义；以武力摧毁自己在思想方面的成就的法兰西；还有，被收买的敌军将领，进退失据的士兵，被亿万金钱围攻着的城市，没有战斗危险却有爆炸的可能，正如突然闯进了一个炸药坑里那样；流血不多，荣誉不大，几乎个个都有愧色，但无人感到光荣；以上这些，便是西班牙战争，是由路易十四后代中的一些王爷所发动、由当年拿破仑部下的一些将军所导演。
①一八二○年西班牙政权转入自由主义者手中，削弱了专制制度和天主教的统治，俄奥普法四国王室决定进行武装干涉，恢复专制统治。一八二三年，十万法军在当时国王路易十八之侄昂古莱姆公爵指挥下入侵西班牙；因政府军中许多将军在被收买后倒戈迎敌，于是法军轻易镇压了西班牙资产阶级革命。
②安杜哈尔（Andujar），城名，在西班牙南部，昂古莱姆公爵在此发布文告，望图调和保王党和自由主义派。
①赤膊鬼（descamisados），原指一人二○年发动西班牙革命的自由主义派。
②无套裤汉（Sans-culottes），指法国十八世纪资产阶级革命时期的平民，当时短裤和长统袜是贵族的服饰。
③白色帽徽，代表波旁王室。
④科布伦茨（Coblentz）；德国城名，一七九二年，法国逃亡贵族曾在那里组织反革命军队。
    它有这样一种惨淡的特性：既不足以比拟前人任何伟大的军事行动，也不能比拟前人任何伟大的政治策略。有几次战役是严肃的，例如特罗卡德洛⑤的占领，便是一次比较壮丽的军事行动；但是，就总的方面来说，我们再重复一次，那次战争中的号角既然吹得不响亮，整个动机既然暧昧不明，历史也就证实了法兰西确是难于接受那种似是而非的光荣。西班牙的某些奉命守土的军官，显然是退让得太轻易了，令人想见贿赂在那种胜利当中所起的腐蚀作用；好象我们赢得的不是战争，而是一些将军，以致胜利回国的士兵羞惭满面。那确是一次丢人的战争，旌旗掩映之中透露出了“法兰西银行”的字样。
⑤特罗卡德洛（Trocadero），西班牙保卫战中加的斯港的堡垒名。
    在一八○八年轰轰烈烈攻破萨拉戈萨①的士兵们，到了一八二三年，看见那些要塞都轻易开门迎敌，他们都皱起了眉头，叹惜自己没有遇到帕拉福克斯②。法兰西的性格欢迎罗斯托普金③更胜于巴列斯帖罗斯④。
①萨拉戈萨（Saragosse），西班牙城名，一八○八年拿破仑军队攻了七个月，才得以攻克。
②帕拉福克劳动保护（Palafox），守萨拉戈萨城的英勇将领。
③罗斯托普金（Rostopchine），一八一二年拿破仑侵俄时的莫斯科总督。
④巴列斯帖罗斯（Ballesteros），一八二三年西班牙抗战将领。
    还有一点更为严重的，值得强调的，便是那次战争在法国，既伤害了尚武精神，也激怒了民主思想。那是一种奴役人民的事业。法国的士兵是民主思想的儿子，可是在那次战役里，它的任务却是要把枷锁强加在别人的颈脖之上。可耻的不合情理。法兰西的使命是唤醒各族人民的心灵，并不是加以压制。自从一七九二年以来，整个欧洲的革命都是与法国革命分不开的，自由之光从法兰西辐射出去，有如照耀的日光。有眼无珠的人才会看不见！这话是波拿巴说的。
    一八二三年的战争是对善良的西班牙民族的暴行，同时也是对法兰西革命的暴行。而那种侵犯别的丑恶暴行，却是法兰西犯下的，并且是强暴的侵犯，因为一切军事行动，除了解放战争以外，全是强暴的侵犯。
    “被动的服从”这个词就足以表达一切。军队是种奇怪的杰作，是由无数薄弱意志综合而成的力量。这样可以说明战争，战争是人类在不由自主的情况下对人类进行侵犯的行为。
    对波旁王族来说，一八二三年战争正是他的致命伤。他们以为那次战争是一种胜利。他们完全没有看出用强制方法扼杀一种思想的危险性。在那种天真的想法上，他们竟会错误到想用犯罪的方法来加强自己统治的力量，而不知道罪行只能大大削弱自己。宵小的伎俩已经渗透了他们的政策。一八三○⑤已经在一八二三里面发芽。西班牙战役在他们的内阁会议上成了武力成功或是神权优胜的论争点。法国既然能在西班牙恢复“至尊”的地位，在自己国内自然也就可以恢复专制的错误。那种信任便是王位倾覆的由来。在毒树的阴影下的军队的阴影下，都不是酣睡适当的地方。
⑤一八三○年七月革命推翻了波旁王朝。
    我们回转来谈那战船“俄里翁号”。当亲王统帅①率领的军队正在作战时，有一队战船也正横渡地中海。
①亲王统帅指昂吉莱姆公爵。    
    我们刚才已经说过，“俄里翁号”正是属于那一舰队的，由于海上的风暴，已经驶返土伦港。
    每当战船在港内出现，就有一种吸引群众无形的力量。那是因为那东西确是伟大，群众所喜爱的也正是那些伟大的东西。战船可以显示出巧夺天工的极宏伟的融汇。
    战船同时是由最重和最轻的物质构成的，因为它和固体、液体、气体三种状态的物质都发生关系，又得和那三种中的每一种进行斗争。它有十一个铁爪，用以抓住海底的岩石，它比蝴蝶还有更多的翅膀和触须，借以伸入云端，招引风力。它从那一百二十门大炮开声吐气，好象是奇大的号筒，用以回答雷霆，也毫不逊色。海洋想使它在那千里一色的惊涛骇浪中迷失方向，但是船有它的灵魂，有它那只始终指向北方，替它做向导的罗盘。在黑夜里，它有代替星光的探照灯。这样，它有帆、索以御风，有木以防水，有铁、铜、铅以防礁，有灯光以防黑暗，有舵以防茫茫的大海。
    如果有人要见识见识战船的宠大究竟达到何等程度，他只须走进布雷斯特或土伦的那种有顶的六层船坞。建造中的战船，不妨说，好象是罩在玻璃罩里似的。那条巨梁是一根挂帆的横杠，那根倒在地上的根算起，直达那伸在云中的尖端，它有六十脱阿斯长，底部的直径也有三尺高。我们前一辈的海船用铁缆，我们今天的海船用铁链。从一艘有一百门炮的战船来说，单是它的链子堆起来就有四尺高，二十尺长，八尺宽。并且造那样一条船，需要多少木料呢？三千立方公尺。那是一整座森林在水上浮动。
    此外，我们还得注意，我们在此地谈的只是四十年前的战船，简单的帆船。蒸汽在当时还处在萌芽期，后来才出现那种巧夺天工的新式军舰。比方说，到今天，一条机帆两备、具有螺旋推进器的船，那真是一 种骇人的机器，它的帆的面积达三千平方公尺，汽锅有二千五百匹马力。不谈这些新的奇迹，克里斯托夫?哥伦布①和吕泰尔②所乘的古代船舶就已是人类的伟大杰作了。它有用不完的动力，犹如太空中有无限的气流，它把风兜在帆里，它在茫茫大海中从不迷失方向，它乘风破浪，往来自如。
①克里斯托夫?哥伦布（ChristopheColomb），十五世纪末发现美洲的航海家。
②吕泰尔（Ruyter），十七世纪荷兰海军元帅便是看“俄里翁号”。
    可是有时也会一阵狂风突起，把那六十尺长的帆杠当作麦秸似的一 折两段，把那四百尺高的桅杆吹得象根芦苇，反复摇晃；体重万斤的锚，也会在狂澜中飘荡翻腾，如同渔人的钓钩，落在鲸鲵的口里；魔怪似的大炮，发出了悲哀的吼声，可是黑夜沉沉，海天寥廓，炮声随风消失，四顾茫茫；那一切威力，那一切雄姿，都沉没在另一种更高更大的威力和雄姿下面了。
    人们见一种盛极一时的力量忽然走上末路，总不免黯然沉思。因而海港边常有无数闲人，围着那些奇巧的战舰和航船，伫立观望，连他们自己也无法很好说清这究竟是为了什么。
    所以每天从早到晚，在土伦的那些码头、堤岸、防波堤上，都站满了成群无所事事的人和吊儿郎当的人，照巴黎人的说法，他们的正经事“俄里翁号”是一条早已有了毛病的船。在它已往的历次航行中，船底上已结聚了层层的介壳，以致它航行的速度降低了一半，去年又曾把它拖出水面，剔除介壳，随后又下海了。但是那次的剔除工作损伤了船底的螺栓。它走到巴利阿里群岛时，船身不得力，开了裂缝，由于当时的舱底还没有用铁皮铺底，那条船便进了些水。一阵暴风吹来，使船头的左侧和一扇舷窗破裂，并且损坏了前桅绳索的栓柱。由于那些损害，“俄里翁号”又驶回了土伦港。它停在兵工厂附近，一面调整设备，一面修理船身。在右舷一面，船壳没有受伤，但是为了使船身内部的空气流通，依照习惯，揭开了几处舷板。
    有一天早晨，观众们目击了一件意外的事。当时海员们正忙着上帆。负责管理大方帆右上角的那个海员忽然失去了平衡。他身体摇晃不定，挤在兵工厂码头上的观众们齐声叫喊，只见他头重脚轻，绕着那横杠打转，两手临空；他在倒下去时，一手抓住了一根踏脚的绳环，另一只手也马上一起抓住，他便那样悬在空中。他下面是海，深不可测，让他头晕目眩。他身体落下时的冲力撞得那绳子在空中强烈摆动。那人吊在绳的末端，荡来荡去，就象投石带①上的一块石头。
①投石带，古代武器，一手握带的两端，带的中间置一石子或铁弹，用力拉后抛掷出去，可以伤人。
    去救他吧，就得冒生命的危险，太吓人了。船上的海员们全是些新近募来的当差的渔民，没有一个敢挺身救险。那时，那不幸的帆工气力渐渐不济，人们看不见他脸上的痛苦，却都看得出他四肢疲乏。他两臂直直地吊在空中，竭力抽搐。他想向上攀援，但是每用一次力，都只能增加那绳子的动荡。他一声也不喊，唯恐耗费气力。大家都眼望着他不久就要松手放弃绳子，所有的人都不时把头转过去，免得看见他下落时的惨况。人的生命常常会系在一小段绳子、一根木竿、一根树枝上，眼见一个活生生的人，好象一个熟了的果子似的，离开树枝往下坠落，那真是惨不忍睹。
    忽然大家看见一个，矫捷如猫虎，在帆索中间攀缘直上。那人身穿红衣，这是苦役犯，他还戴一顶绿帽，这便是终身苦役犯了。攀到桅棚上面时，一股风吹落了他的帽子，露出了一头白发，原来他并不年轻。那确实是一个苦役犯，因代替狱中苦役，他被调到船上来工作，他在刚刚出事时便已跑去找那值班军官，正在全船人员上上下下都惊慌失措束手无策时，他已向军官提出，让他献出生命救那帆工。军官只点了一下头，他就一锤敲断了脚上的铁链，取了一根绳子，飞上了索梯。当时谁也没有注意他那条铁链怎么会那样容易一下便断了。只是在事后在家才想起来。一眨眼，他已到了那横杠上面。他停了几秒钟，仿佛是在估计那距离。他望着那挂在绳子末端的帆工在风中飘荡，那几秒钟，对立在下面观望的人来说，竟仿佛是几个世纪一样。后来，那苦役犯两眼望着天空，向前走上一步。观众们这才喘了口气。大家望见他顺着那横杠一气向前跑去。跑到杠端以后，他把带去的那根绳子一头结杠上，一头让它往下垂，接着两手握住绳子，顺势滑下，当时人人心中都有一种说不出的焦虑，现在临空悬着的不是一个，而是两个人了。
    好象一个蜘蛛刚捉住一只飞虫，不过那是只救命的蜘蛛，而不是来害命的。万众的目光全都盯着那两个生物。谁也没有喊一声，谁也没有说句话，大家全皱着眉头一齐战栗。谁也不肯吐一口气，仿佛吐气会增加风力，会使那两个不幸的人更加飘荡不定一般。
    那时，苦役犯已滑到海员的身边。这正是时候，如果再迟一分钟，那人力尽绝望，就会落下深渊；苦役犯一手抓住绳子，一手用那绳子把他紧紧系祝随后，大家望着他重上横杠，把那海员提上去；他又扶着他在那上面立了一会，让他好恢复气力，随后，他双手抱住他，踏着横杠，把他送回桅棚，交给他的伙伴们。
    这时，观众齐声喝彩，有些年老的狱卒还淌下眼泪，码头上的妇女都互相拥抱，所有的人都带着激发出来的愤怒声一齐喊道：“那个人应当赦免。”
    而他呢，那时是遵守规则的，立即下来，赶快归队去干他的苦活。为了早些归队，他顺着帆索滑下，又踏着下面的一根帆杠向前跑。所有的人的眼睛都跟着他。一时，大家全慌了，也许他疲倦了，也许他眼花，大家看见他仿佛有点迟疑，有点摇晃。观众突然一齐大声叫了出来：那苦役犯落到海里去了。
    那样摔下去是很危险的。轻巡洋舰“阿尔赫西拉斯号”①当时停泊在“俄里翁号”旁边，那可怜的苦役犯正掉在那两条船的中间。可怕的是他会被冲到这一条或那一条船的下面去。四个人连忙跳上一条舢板。观众也一齐鼓励他们，所有的人的心又焦虑起来了。那个人再也没有浮上水面。他落到海里，水面上没起一丝波纹，这就好象是落进了油桶里似的。大家从水上打捞，也泅到海底寻找。毫无下落。大家一直找到傍晚，同样也找不到尸体。
①阿尔赫西斯（Akgesuras），西班牙港口，位于直布罗陀海峡一侧。这条船是用城市命名。
    第二天，土伦的报纸上，登了这样的几句话：一八二三年十一月十七日。昨天，有个在“俄里翁号”船上干活的苦役犯，在救了一个海员回队时，落在海里淹死。没能找到他的尸体，据推测，他也许陷在兵工厂堤岸尽头的那些尖木桩下面。那人在狱里的号码是九四三○，名叫冉阿让。
    

Montfermeil is situated between Livry and Chelles, on the southern edge of that lofty table-land which separates the Ourcq from the Marne. At the present day it is a tolerably large town, ornamented all the year through with plaster villas, and on Sundays with beaming bourgeois. In 1823 there were at Montfermeil neither so many white houses nor so many well-satisfied citizens:it was only a village in the forest. Some pleasure-houses of the last century were to be met with there, to be sure, which were recognizable by their grand air, their balconies in twisted iron, and their long windows, whose tiny panes cast all sorts of varying shades of green on the white of the closed shutters; but Montfermeil was none the less a village.Retired cloth-merchants and rusticating attorneys had not discovered it as yet; it was a peaceful and charming place, which was not on the road to anywhere: there people lived, and cheaply, that peasant rustic life which is so bounteous and so easy; only, water was rare there, on account of the elevation of the plateau.
It was necessary to fetch it from a considerable distance; the end of the village towards Gagny drew its water from the magnificent ponds which exist in the woods there.The other end, which surrounds the church and which lies in the direction of Chelles, found drinking-water only at a little spring half-way down the slope, near the road to Chelles, about a quarter of an hour from Montfermeil.
Thus each household found it hard work to keep supplied with water. The large houses, the aristocracy, of which the Thenardier tavern formed a part, paid half a farthing a bucketful to a man who made a business of it, and who earned about eight sous a day in his enterprise of supplying Montfermeil with water; but this good man only worked until seven o'clock in the evening in summer, and five in winter; and night once come and the shutters on the ground floor once closed, he who had no water to drink went to fetch it for himself or did without it.
This constituted the terror of the poor creature whom the reader has probably not forgotten,--little Cosette.It will be remembered that Cosette was useful to the Thenardiers in two ways: they made the mother pay them, and they made the child serve them. So when the mother ceased to pay altogether, the reason for which we have read in preceding chapters, the Thenardiers kept Cosette. She took the place of a servant in their house.In this capacity she it was who ran to fetch water when it was required.So the child, who was greatly terrified at the idea of going to the spring at night, took great care that water should never be lacking in the house.
Christmas of the year 1823 was particularly brilliant at Montfermeil. The beginning of the winter had been mild; there had been neither snow nor frost up to that time.Some mountebanks from paris had obtained permission of the mayor to erect their booths in the principal street of the village, and a band of itinerant merchants, under protection of the same tolerance, had constructed their stalls on the Church Square, and even extended them into Boulanger Alley, where, as the reader will perhaps remember, the Thenardiers' hostelry was situated. These people filled the inns and drinking-shops, and communicated to that tranquil little district a noisy and joyous life.In order to play the part of a faithful historian, we ought even to add that, among the curiosities displayed in the square, there was a menagerie, in which frightful clowns, clad in rags and coming no one knew whence, exhibited to the peasants of Montfermeil in 1823 one of those horrible Brazilian vultures, such as our Royal Museum did not possess until 1845, and which have a tricolored cockade for an eye. I believe that naturalists call this bird Caracara polyborus; it belongs to the order of the Apicides, and to the family of the vultures.Some good old Bonapartist soldiers, who had retired to the village, went to see this creature with great devotion. The mountebanks gave out that the tricolored cockade was a unique phenomenon made by God expressly for their menagerie.
On Christmas eve itself, a number of men, carters, and peddlers, were seated at table, drinking and smoking around four or five candles in the public room of Thenardier's hostelry.This room resembled all drinking-shop rooms,--tables, pewter jugs, bottles, drinkers, smokers; but little light and a great deal of noise. The date of the year 1823 was indicated, nevertheless, by two objects which were then fashionable in the bourgeois class:to wit, a kaleidoscope and a lamp of ribbed tin.The female Thenardier was attending to the supper, which was roasting in front of a clear fire; her husband was drinking with his customers and talking politics.
Besides political conversations which had for their principal subjects the Spanish war and M. le Duc d'Angouleme, strictly local parentheses, like the following, were audible amid the uproar:--
"About Nanterre and Suresnes the vines have flourished greatly. When ten pieces were reckoned on there have been twelve. They have yielded a great deal of juice under the press." "But the grapes cannot be ripe?""In those parts the grapes should not be ripe; the wine turns oily as soon as spring comes." "Then it is very thin wine?""There are wines poorer even than these. The grapes must be gathered while green."Etc.
Or a miller would call out:--
"Are we responsible for what is in the sacks?We find in them a quantity of small seed which we cannot sift out, and which we are obliged to send through the mill-stones; there are tares, fennel, vetches, hempseed, fox-tail, and a host of other weeds, not to mention pebbles, which abound in certain wheat, especially in Breton wheat.I am not fond of grinding Breton wheat, any more than long-sawyers like to saw beams with nails in them.You can judge of the bad dust that makes in grinding.And then people complain of the flour.They are in the wrong.The flour is no fault of ours."
In a space between two windows a mower, who was seated at table with a landed proprietor who was fixing on a price for some meadow work to be performed in the spring, was saying:--
"It does no harm to have the grass wet.It cuts better. Dew is a good thing, sir.It makes no difference with that grass. Your grass is young and very hard to cut still.It's terribly tender. It yields before the iron."Etc.
Cosette was in her usual place, seated on the cross-bar of the kitchen table near the chimney.She was in rags; her bare feet were thrust into wooden shoes, and by the firelight she was engaged in knitting woollen stockings destined for the young Thenardiers.A very young kitten was playing about among the chairs.Laughter and chatter were audible in the adjoining room, from two fresh children's voices: it was Eponine and Azelma.
In the chimney-corner a cat-o'-nine-tails was hanging on a nail.
At intervals the cry of a very young child, which was somewhere in the house, rang through the noise of the dram-shop. It was a little boy who had been born to the Thenardiers during one of the preceding winters,--"she did not know why," she said, "the result of the cold,"--and who was a little more than three years old.The mother had nursed him, but she did not love him. When the persistent clamor of the brat became too annoying, "Your son is squalling," Thenardier would say; "do go and see what he wants.""Bah!" the mother would reply, "he bothers me." And the neglected child continued to shriek in the dark.

     孟费郿位于利弗里和谢尔之间，在乌尔克河与台恩河间那片高原的南麓。今天，这已是个相当大的市镇了，全年相同，随处粉墙别墅，星期日更有兴高采烈的士绅们。一八二三年的孟费郿却没有这样多的粉墙房屋，也没有这样多的得意士绅。那还不过是个林木中的乡村。当时只有零零落落几所悦目的房屋，气势轩敞，有盘花铁栏杆环绕着的阳台，长窗上的小块玻璃在紧闭着的白漆的百叶窗上，映出深浅不一的绿色，可以看出，那些房屋是前个世纪留下来的。可是孟费郿还仍旧只是个村子。倦游的商贾和爱好山林的雅士们尚未发现它。那是一片平静宜人、不在任何交通线上的地方，那里的人都过着物价低廉、生计容易、丰衣足食的乡村生活。美中不足的是地势较高，缺乏水源。
    人们取水，必须得走一段很远的路。村里靠近加尼那头的居民，要到林里一处幽胜的池塘边才能取到水；住在礼拜堂附近靠谢尔那边的人，必须到离谢尔大路不远、到孟费郿约莫一刻钟路程的半山腰里，才能从一处小泉里取得饮水。
    因此水的供应对每一家来说都是件相当辛劳的事。那些大户人家，贵族阶级，也就是德纳第客店所属的那个阶级，通常花一文钱向一个以挑水为业的老汉换一桶水，那老汉在孟费郿卖水，每天大致可以赚八个苏；可是他在夏季只工作到傍晚七点，冬季只工作到五点；天黑以后，当梯下的窗子都关上时，谁没有水喝只有自己去取，或是不喝。
    那正是小珂赛特最害怕的事情，那个可怜的小妞儿，读者也许没有忘记吧。我们记得，珂赛特在德纳第夫妇的眼里，是有双重用处的：他们既可以从那孩子的母亲方面得到钱，又可以从那孩子方面得到劳力。因此，当她母亲完全停止寄钱以后——我们在前几章里已经知道了她停止寄款的原因——德纳第夫妇却仍旧扣留珂赛特。她替他们省下了一个女工。她的地位既是那样，每逢需要水的时候，她便得去龋那孩子每次想到黑夜里摸到泉边去取水，便胆战心惊，所以她非常留意，从不让东家缺水。
    一八二三年的圣诞节，在孟费郿庆祝得特别热闹。初冬天气温和，没有冻冰，也还没有下雪。从巴黎来了几个耍把戏的人，他们得了乡长先生的许可，在村子里的大街上，搭起了板棚，同时还有一帮走江湖的商贩，也得到了同样的通容，在那礼拜堂前面的空坪上，搭了一些临时铺面，并且一直延伸到了面包师巷里面，我们也许还记得，德纳第的客栈正是在那条巷子里。所有的客店和酒店都挤满了人，给这清静的小地方带来了一片热闹欢腾的气象。还有一件事，我们应当提到，才不失为忠实的话古者。陈列在空坪上面的那些光怪陆离的东西中间，有一个动物陈列馆，那里面，有几个小丑，真不知道那些人是从什么地方来的，衣服破烂，相貌奇丑，他们在一八二三年便已经拿着一头巴西产的那种吓人的秃鹫给孟费郿的乡民看，那种秃鹫的眼睛恰象一朵三色帽徽①，王家博物馆是直到一八四五年才弄到那样的一头。自然科学家称那种鸟为，我想是，卡拉卡拉?巴利波鲁斯；属于猛禽类，鹰族。村子里有几个善良的退伍老军人，波纳巴特的旧部，走去看了那只鸟，恋主之情，油然而起。耍把戏的人们宣称那三色帽徽式的眼睛是一种独一无二的现相，是慈悲的天主特别为了他们那动物陈列馆创造出来的。
①法国革命军的徽志。
    就在圣诞节那天晚上，有好些人，几个赶车的货郎，正在德纳第客店的那间矮厅里，围着桌上的四五支蜡烛，坐着喝酒。那间厅，和所有酒食店的厅堂一样，有桌子、锡酒罐、玻璃瓶、喝酒的人、吸烟的人，烛光暗淡，语声喧杂。可是一八二三那一年，在有产阶级的桌子上，总少不了两件时髦之物：一个万花筒和一盏闪光白铁灯。德纳第大娘正在一只火光熊熊的烤炉前准备晚餐，德纳第老板陪着他的客人喝酒，谈政治。
    那些谈话的主要内容，是关于西班牙战争和昂古莱姆公爵先生的，从那一片喧杂的人声中，也会传出一两段富有地方色彩的议论，例如：“靠楠泰尔和叙雷讷①一带，酒的产量相当高。原来估计只有十件的，却产了十二件。榨里流出的汁水非常多。”“可是葡萄不见得熟吧？”
①叙雷讷（Surene，即 Sursnes），巴黎圣德尼区地名。
    “那些地方的葡萄不到熟就得收。如果是收熟的，春天一到，酒就要起垢。”“那么，那些酒都是淡酒了？”“比这里的酒还淡。葡萄还绿的时候就得摘??”或是一个磨坊工人喊着说：“口袋里的东西我们负得了责吗？那里全是小颗小颗的杂种，没法去壳，我们没法开那种玩笑，只好把它们一同送进磨子里去，里面有稗籽、茴香籽、瞿麦籽、鸠豆、麻籽、嘉福萝籽、狐尾草籽，还有一大堆其他的玩意儿，还不算有些麦子里的小石子，尤其是在布列塔尼地方的麦子里，特别多。我真不爱磨布列塔尼麦子，好象锯木板的工人不爱锯有钉子的方料一样。您想想那样磨出来的灰渣子吧。可是人家还老埋怨说面粉不好。他们不了解情况。磨出那种面粉不是我们的错。”
    在两个窗口间，有一个割草工人和一个场主坐在桌旁，正在商量来春草场的工作问题，那割草工人说：“草湿了，一点坏处也没有，反而好割点。露水是种好东西，先生。没关系，那草，您的草，还嫩着呢，不好办。还是那样软绵绵的，碰着刀口就低头??”珂赛特待在老地方，她就坐在壁炉旁一张切菜桌子下面的横杆上。
    她穿的是破衣，赤着脚，套一双木鞋，凑近炉火的微光，在替德纳第家的小姑娘织线袜。有一只小小的猫儿在椅子下游戏。可以听到隔壁屋子里有两个孩子的清脆的谈笑声，这是爱潘妮和阿兹码。
    壁炉角上，挂了一根皮鞭。有个很小的孩子的哭声，不时从那房里的某处传到餐厅中来，在那片嘈杂声里显得高而细。那是德纳第大娘前两年冬天生的一个小男孩，她常说：“不知为什么，这是天冷的影响。”那小男孩已经三岁刚过一 点，母亲喂他奶，但并不爱他。当那小把戏的急叫使人太烦躁时，德纳第便说：“你的儿子又在鬼哭神号了，去看看他要什么。”妈妈回答说：
    “管他的！讨厌的东西。”那没人管的孩子就继续在黑暗中叫喊。

So far in this book the Thenardiers have been viewed only in profile; the moment has arrived for making the circuit of this couple, and considering it under all its aspects.
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.
Our readers have possibly preserved some recollection of this Thenardier woman, ever since her first appearance,--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.Cosette was her only servant; a mouse in the service of an elephant.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. He greatly resembled the portraits of the Abbe Delille. His coquetry consisted in drinking with the carters.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.There were certain names which he often pronounced to support whatever things he might be saying,--Voltaire, Raynal, parny, and, singularly enough, Saint Augustine.He declared that he had "a system."In addition, he was a great swindler.A filousophe (philosophe), a scientific thief. The species does exist.It will be remembered that he pretended to have served in the army; he was in the habit of relating with exuberance, how, being a sergeant in the 6th or the 9th light something or other, at Waterloo, he had alone, and in the presence of a squadron of death-dealing hussars, covered with his body and saved from death, in the midst of the grape-shot, "a general, who had been dangerously wounded."Thence arose for his wall the flaring sign, and for his inn the name which it bore in the neighborhood, of "the cabaret of the Sergeant of Waterloo."He was a liberal, a classic, and a Bonapartist.He had subscribed for the Champ d'Asile. It was said in the village that he had studied for the priesthood.
We believe that he had simply studied in Holland for an inn-keeper. This rascal of composite order was, in all probability, some Fleming from Lille, in Flanders, a Frenchman in paris, a Belgian at Brussels, being comfortably astride of both frontiers. As for his prowess at Waterloo, the reader is already acquainted with that.It will be perceived that he exaggerated it a trifle. 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.
This quibus, composed of purses and watches, of gold rings and silver crosses, gathered in harvest-time in furrows sown with corpses, did not amount to a large total, and did not carry this sutler turned eating-house-keeper very far.
Thenardier had that peculiar rectilinear something about his gestures which, accompanied by an oath, recalls the barracks, and by a sign of the cross, the seminary.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)
(12) Literally "made cuirs"; i.e., pronounced a t or an s at the end of words where the opposite letter should occur, or used either one of them where neither exists.
He composed the travellers' tariff card in a superior manner, but practised eyes sometimes spied out orthographical errors in it. 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 at such times, since he was enraged with the human race in general, as he bore within him a deep furnace of hatred.And since he was one of those people who are continually avenging their wrongs, who accuse everything that passes before them of everything which has befallen them, and who are always ready to cast upon the first person who comes to hand, as a legitimate grievance, the sum total of the deceptions, the bankruptcies, and the calamities of their lives,--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.She would never have committed "before strangers" that mistake so often committed by women, and which is called in parliamentary language, "exposing the crown." Although their concord had only evil as its result, there was contemplation in Madame Thenardier's submission to her husband. 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.A theatre worthy of this great talent was lacking.Thenardier was ruining himself at Montfermeil, if ruin is possible to zero; in Switzerland or in the pyrenees this penniless scamp would have become a millionaire; but an inn-keeper must browse where fate has hitched him.
It will be understood that the word inn-keeper is here employed in a restricted sense, and does not extend to an entire class.
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.Cosette was between them, subjected to their double pressure, like a creature who is at the same time being ground up in a mill and pulled to pieces with pincers.The man and the woman each had a different method:Cosette was overwhelmed with blows--this was the woman's; she went barefooted in winter-- that was the man's doing.
Cosette ran up stairs and down, washed, swept, rubbed, dusted, ran, fluttered about, panted, moved heavy articles, and weak as she was, did the coarse work.There was no mercy for her; a fierce mistress and venomous master.The Thenardier hostelry was like a spider's web, in which Cosette had been caught, and where she lay trembling. The ideal of oppression was realized by this sinister household. It was something like the fly serving the spiders.
The poor child passively held her peace.
What takes place within these souls when they have but just quitted God, find themselves thus, at the very dawn of life, very small and in the midst of men all naked!

     在这部书里，我们还只见过一下德纳第夫妇的侧影，现在应当在那两伉俪的前后左右，从各方面去看个清楚。
    德纳第刚过五十岁，德纳第大娘快到四十，那也就是妇女的五十，因此他们夫妻俩，从年龄上说是平衡的。
    读者和德纳第大娘有过初次的会面，现在应该还有一些印象，记得她是个身材高大、头发淡黄、红皮肤、肥胖、多肉、阔肩巨腰、魁梧奇伟、行动矫健的妇人，我们曾经说过，市集上常有那种巨无霸似的蛮婆，头发上挂着几块铺路的石块，在人前仰身摆弄，德纳第大娘便属于那种类型。她在家里照顾一切，整理床榻，打扫房屋，洗衣，煮饭，作威作福，横冲直撞。她唯一的仆人就是珂赛特，一只伺候大象的小鼠。只要她开口，窗玻璃、家具、人，一切都会震动。她的那张宽脸生满了雀斑，看去就象个漏勺。她有胡子。简直是理想中的那种扮成姑娘的彪形大汉。她骂人的本领分外高强，她夸口说自己能一拳打碎一个核桃。假使她没有读过那些小说，假使那母夜叉不曾从那些奇书里学到一些娇声媚态，谁也不会想到她是个妇人。德纳第大娘是那种多情女子和泼辣婆娘的混合物。人们听到她说话，就会说：“这是个丘八”；看到她喝酒，就会说“这是个赶骡的车夫”；见到她摆布珂赛特，就会说“这是个刽子手”。她在休息时，嘴角还暴露颗獠牙。
    德纳第却是个矮孝瘦弱、青脸、现骨露棱、貌似多病而完全康健的人，他那表里不一样的性格从这里已开始表露。他为了防备他人而脸上经常带笑，几乎对所有的人，即使对一个向他讨一文钱而不得的乞丐，也都客客气气。他目光柔滑如黄鼠，面貌温雅如文人。正象德利尔①神甫的那副神气。他的殷勤，表现在喜欢陪着车夫们喝酒。谁也不曾把他灌醉过。他经常抽根大烟斗。穿件粗布罩衫，罩衫下是一身旧黑衣裤。他自以为爱好文学和唯物主义。有些人的名字是他时常挂在嘴边、作为他东拉西扯时的引证的，伏尔泰、雷纳尔②、帕尔尼③，而且，说也奇怪，还有圣奥古斯丁④。他自称有“一套”理论，其实完全是骗人的东西，只能说他是个贼学家。哲和贼的微妙分别那是可以理解的。我们记得他妄称自己有过汗马功劳，他常说得天花乱坠，告诉别人说他在滑铁卢战争时，是某个第六或第九轻骑队的中士，他单独抵抗一中队杀人不眨眼的骑兵，用自己的身体保护过一位“受了重伤的将军”，并且把他从熗林弹雨中救了出来。因此，在他的门墙上才会有那么一面火连天的招牌，地方上的人这才称他那客店为“滑铁卢中士客寓”。他是自由主义者、古典主义者、波拿巴的崇拜者。他曾经申请参加美洲殖民组织①。村里的人说他受过传教的教育。我们认为他只在荷兰受过当客店老板的教育。这一情形复杂的败类，恬不知耻地经常跨在国境上，随时窥测形势，在佛兰德以自称为比利时人。他在滑铁卢的英勇是我们熟悉的。我们知道，他多少夸大了些。风波的一起一伏，人事的曲折变化，都成了他谋生的机会，由于心中暧昧，因而身世飘零，这是很可能的，在一八一五年六月十八日那个风狂雨骤的日子里，德纳第正是我们先头说过的那种以随军小贩为名、以偷盗为实的货色，一路窥伺敌人，和这些人做点买卖，从那些人偷点东西，夫妻孩子一家人全坐上破车，跟着上前线的队伍沿途滚进，凭着自己的本能，始终尾随着打胜仗的军队。那次战役后，用他自己的话说，他有些“油水”，便来到孟费郿开客店。
①德利尔（JacquesDelille，1738—1813），法国诗人，法兰西学院院士，维吉尔、密尔顿诗歌的法译者。
②雷纳尔（Raynal，1713—1796年），法国历史学家和哲学家。
③帕尔尼（Parny，1753—1814），法国诗人。
④圣奥古斯丁（SaintAugustin，354—430），基督教神学家、哲学家、拉丁教父的主要代表，生于北非，395年任北非希波主教。
①拿破仑失败后，拉勒芒将军（Lallemand）曾企图把一些为波旁王室所不容的组织起来到美洲去殖民，但未能成功。
    那种油水，无非是些钱包和表、金戒指和银十字架，是他在秋收季节，从布满尸体的田地里捞来的，数目不大，对这位以随军小贩身分发家的客店老板来说，并没有多大帮助。
    在德纳第的动作中有种说不出的直线条味道，他咒骂时的语调更会使人想起兵营，画十字时的神气也会使人想起教士培养所。他能说会道。他乐于让人尊奉他为博学之士。可是一小学教师也会发现他常“露马脚”。他在给顾客开帐单时也要舞文弄墨，可是有时有知识的人会在那上面发现别字。德纳第为人阴险，贪口福，游手好闲，长于应付。他对家里女佣人不难说话，所以他的太太干脆不雇女佣人。那泼辣婆娘醋劲特大。她觉得她那枯黄干瘪的矮男人，会成为一切女人艳羡的对象。
    德纳第的特点是精细阴险，四平八稳，确是个稳扎稳打的恶棍。那种人最恶劣因为他貌善而心诈。不要以为德纳第不会象他女人那样发脾气，不过那是很少见的事，可是万一他发作，他是会狠到极点的，因为他仇视全人类，因为他心里燃烧着满满一炉怨恨的火，因为他和某些人一样，对人永远采取报复行为，把自己所遭遇的一切，例如合法的要求，生活中的一切失意、破产、受苦受窘的事，都归咎到自己所接触的人身上，并且无时无刻不准备从任何一个落到他手中的人身上抓到赔偿，因为那股怒气一直在他的心里汹涌，在他的嘴里眼里焚烧。谁撞在他的怒火头上谁就会遭殃。
    德纳第也有他的长处，例如很谨慎，眼光犀利，根据情况多说话或不说话，并且总是高度保持警惕。他有海员对着望远镜眨眼的那种味道。德纳第是个政客。
    初次走进客店的人见到德纳第大娘总说：“这一定是这家人的主人了。”没那回事。她连主妇也不是。主人和主妇，全是她丈夫。她执行，他命令。他有一种连续不断的无形的磁石力量在操纵指使。他说一个字就已发生威力，有时甚至只须用个眼色，那头大象便唯命是从了。德纳第在他婆娘心中是个独特的主宰，她自己也不甚了然究竟原因何在。她自有一套做人的道德标准，她从来不会为一件小事而和“德纳第先生”发生争执，甚至连那样的假设也不存在，无论发生什么事，她从不当着众人使她丈夫丢面子。她从不犯妇女常犯的那种“露家丑”的错误，也就是用议会的用语来说，所谓揭王冠的那种错误。虽然他们和睦相处的后果只不过是为非作歹，可是德纳第大娘对她丈夫的恭顺却带有虔诚敬仰的味儿。那座哼哈咆哮的肉山，竟会在一个赢弱专制魔王的小手指下移动，就从那卑微粗鄙的方面看，那也是天地间的一种奇观：是物质对精神的崇拜，因为某些丑恶现象在永恒之美的深度中也还有存在的理由。德纳第有些使人捉摸不透的地方，因而在他们夫妇间产生了那种绝对的主奴关系。某些时候，她把他看作一盏明灯，某些时候，她又觉得他是一只魔掌。
    这个妇人是丑恶的创造物，她只爱她的孩子，也只怕她的丈夫。她作了母亲，因为她是哺乳动物。况且她的母爱还只局限在她的两个女儿身上，从不涉及男孩，我们以后还会谈到这种情形。至于他，那汉子，只有一种愿望：发财。
    他在这方面一无所成。蛟龙不得云雨。德纳第在孟费郿已到囊空如洗的地步，如果囊空确能如洗的话，要是那光棍到了瑞士或比利牛斯，他也许早已成为百万富翁。但是命运既已把那个客店老板安顿在那里，他就只有住在那里嚼草根。
    这里所说的“客店老板”，当然是就狭义而言，并不遍指那整个阶层。
    就在一八二三那一年，德纳第负了一千五百法郎左右的紧急债务，使他日夜难安。
    无论对德纳第命运是怎样一贯地不公平，他本却极为清醒，能以最透彻的目光和最现代化的观点，去理解那个野蛮人中称为美德而在文明人中成为交易的问题：待客问题。此外，他还是一个出色的违禁猎人，他的熗法也受到了人们的称羡。他有时会露出一种泰然自若的冷笑，那是尤其危险的。
    他那些做客店老板的理论，有时会象闪电般地从他的头脑里迸射出来。他常把职业方面的一些秘诀灌输到他女人的脑子里。有一天，他咬牙切齿地向她低声说：“一个客店老板的任务便是把肉渣、光、火、脏被单、女佣人、跳蚤、笑脸卖给任何一个客人；拉客，挤空小钱包，斯斯文文地压缩大钱包，恭恭敬敬地伺侯出门的一家人，剥男人的皮，拔女人的毛，挖孩子的肉；所有开着的窗、关着的窗、壁炉角落、围椅、圆凳、矮凳、鸭绒被、棉絮褥子、草褥都是定出价钱；应当知道镜子没有灯光照着容易坏，也该收取费用，应当想出五十万个鬼主意，要来往的客人付尽一切，连他们的狗吃掉的苍蝇也得付钱！”这两个男女是一 对一唱一随的尖刁鬼和女瘟神，是一对丑毛驴和劣马。
    丈夫在挖空心思想方设法时，德纳第大娘，她却不去想那些还没有登门的债主，她对已往和未来都无忧无虑，只知道放开胸怀过着眼前的日子。
    那两口子的情形便是如此。珂赛特活在他俩中间，受着两方面的压力，就象一头小动物同时受到磨盘的挤压和铁钳的撕裂。那汉子和那婆子各有一套不同的作风，珂赛特遍体鳞伤，那是从婆子那儿得来的，她赤脚过冬，那是从汉子那儿得来的。
    珂赛特上楼，下楼，洗，刷，擦，扫，跑，忙，喘，搬重东西，一 个骨瘦如柴的孩子得做各种笨重的工作。绝对得不到一点怜惜之心，却有个蛮不讲理的老板娘，有个毒如蛇蝎的老板。德纳第家的客店就好象是个蜘蛛网，珂赛特被缚在那上面发抖。高度的迫害在那缺德的人家实现了。她好比是一只为蜘蛛服务的苍蝇。
    那可怜的孩子，反应迟钝，一声也不吭。那些刚离开上帝的灵魂趁着晨曦来到人间，当它们看见自己是那么幼弱，那么赤身露体时，它们会想到些什么呢？

Four new travellers had arrived.
Cosette was meditating sadly; for, although she was only eight years old, she had already suffered so much that she reflected with the lugubrious air of an old woman.Her eye was black in consequence of a blow from Madame Thenardier's fist, which caused the latter to remark from time to time, "How ugly she is with her fist-blow on her eye!"
Cosette was thinking that it was dark, very dark, that the pitchers and caraffes in the chambers of the travellers who had arrived must have been filled and that there was no more water in the cistern.
She was somewhat reassured because no one in the Thenardier establishment drank much water.Thirsty people were never lacking there; but their thirst was of the sort which applies to the jug rather than to the pitcher.Any one who had asked for a glass of water among all those glasses of wine would have appeared a savage to all these men.But there came a moment when the child trembled; Madame Thenardier raised the cover of a stew-pan which was boiling on the stove, then seized a glass and briskly approached the cistern. She turned the faucet; the child had raised her head and was following all the woman's movements.A thin stream of water trickled from the faucet, and half filled the glass."Well," said she, "there is no more water!"A momentary silence ensued.The child did not breathe.
"Bah!" resumed Madame Thenardier, examining the half-filled glass, "this will be enough."
Cosette applied herself to her work once more, but for a quarter of an hour she felt her heart leaping in her bosom like a big snow-flake.
She counted the minutes that passed in this manner, and wished it were the next morning.
From time to time one of the drinkers looked into the street, and exclaimed, "It's as black as an oven!" or, "One must needs be a cat to go about the streets without a lantern at this hour!" And Cosette trembled.
All at once one of the pedlers who lodged in the hostelry entered, and said in a harsh voice:--
"My horse has not been watered."
"Yes, it has," said Madame Thenardier.
"I tell you that it has not," retorted the pedler.
Cosette had emerged from under the table.
"Oh, yes, sir!" said she, "the horse has had a drink; he drank out of a bucket, a whole bucketful, and it was I who took the water to him, and I spoke to him."
It was not true; Cosette lied.
"There's a brat as big as my fist who tells lies as big as the house," exclaimed the pedler."I tell you that he has not been watered, you little jade!He has a way of blowing when he has had no water, which I know well."
Cosette persisted, and added in a voice rendered hoarse with anguish, and which was hardly audible:--
"And he drank heartily."
"Come," said the pedler, in a rage, "this won't do at all, let my horse be watered, and let that be the end of it!"
Cosette crept under the table again.
"In truth, that is fair!" said Madame Thenardier, "if the beast has not been watered, it must be."
Then glancing about her:--
"Well, now!Where's that other beast?"
She bent down and discovered Cosette cowering at the other end of the table, almost under the drinkers' feet.
"Are you coming?" shrieked Madame Thenardier.
Cosette crawled out of the sort of hole in which she had hidden herself. The Thenardier resumed:--
"Mademoiselle Dog-lack-name, go and water that horse."
"But, Madame," said Cosette, feebly, "there is no water."
The Thenardier threw the street door wide open:--
"Well, go and get some, then!"
Cosette dropped her head, and went for an empty bucket which stood near the chimney-corner.
This bucket was bigger than she was, and the child could have set down in it at her ease.
The Thenardier returned to her stove, and tasted what was in the stewpan, with a wooden spoon, grumbling the while:--
"There's plenty in the spring.There never was such a malicious creature as that.I think I should have done better to strain my onions."
Then she rummaged in a drawer which contained sous, pepper, and shallots.
"See here, Mam'selle Toad," she added, "on your way back, you will get a big loaf from the baker.Here's a fifteen-sou piece."
Cosette had a little pocket on one side of her apron; she took the coin without saying a word, and put it in that pocket.
Then she stood motionless, bucket in hand, the open door before her. She seemed to be waiting for some one to come to her rescue.
"Get along with you!" screamed the Thenardier.
Cosette went out.The door closed behind her.

     新来了四个旅客。珂赛特很发愁，因为，她虽然才只有八岁，但已受过那么多的苦，所以当她发愁时那副苦相已好象个老太婆了。她有个黑眼眶，那是德纳第大娘一拳打出来的青痕，德纳第大娘还时常指着说：“这丫头真难看，老瞎着一只眼。”当时珂赛特想的是天已经黑了，已经漆黑了，却突然来了四个客人，她又得立即去把那些客人房间里的水罐和水瓶灌上水，但水槽里没有水了。
    幸而德纳第家的人不大喝水，她的心又稍稍安稳了点。口渴的人当然不少，但是那种渴，在他们看来，用水解不如用酒解。大家都喝着酒，要是有个人要喝水，所有那些人都会觉得他是个蛮子。可是那孩子还是发了一阵抖：炉上一口锅里的水开了，德纳第大娘揭开了锅盖，又拿起一只玻璃杯，急急忙忙走向那水槽。她旋开水龙头，那孩子早已抬起了头，注视着她的一举一动。一线细水从那龙头里流出来，注满了那杯子的一半。“哼，”她说，“水没了！”接着，她并未立即开口说什么。那孩子也屏住了气。
    “就这样吧！”德纳第大娘一面望着那半满的杯子，一面说，“大概这样也够了。”珂赛特照旧干她的活，可是在那一刻钟里，她觉得她的心就象一个皮球，在胸腔里直蹦直跳。
    她一分一秒地数着时间的流逝，恨不得一下子便到了第二天的早晨。
    不时有一个酒客望着街上大声说：“简直黑得象个洞！”或是说：“只有猫儿才能在这种时刻不带灯笼上街！”珂赛特听了好不心惊肉颤。忽然有一个要在那客店里过夜的货郎走进来，厉声说：“你们没有给我的马喝水。”
    “给过了，早给过了。”德纳第大娘说。
    “我说您没有给过，大娘。”那小贩说。珂赛特从桌子底下钻出来。
    “呵，先生，确是给过了，”她说，“那匹马喝过了，在桶里喝的，喝了一满桶，是我送去给它喝的，我还和它说了许多话。”那不是真话，珂赛特在说谎。
    “这小妞还只有一个拳头大就已经会撒弥天大谎了，”那小贩说，“小妖精！我告诉你，它没有喝。它没有喝，吐气的样子都不同，我一 眼就看得出来。”珂赛特继续强辩，她急了，嗓子僵子，语不成声，别人几乎听不清她在说什么：“而且它喝得很足！”
    “够了，”那小贩动了气，“没有的事，快拿水给我的马喝，不要啰嗦！”
    珂赛特又钻回到桌子下面去了。
    “的确，这话有理，”德纳第大娘说，“要是那牲口没有喝水，当然就得喝。”
    “接着，她四面找。
    “怎么，那一个又不见了？”她弯下腰去，发现珂赛特蜷做一团，缩到了桌子的那一头，几乎到酒客们的脚底下。
    “你出不出来？”德纳第大娘吼着说。珂赛特从她那藏身洞里爬出来。德纳第大娘接着说：“你这没有姓名的狗小姐，快拿水去喂马。”
    “可是，太太，”珂赛特细声说，“水已经没有了。”德纳第大娘敞开大门说：“没有水？去取来！”珂赛特低下了头，走到壁炉角上取了一只空桶。那桶比她人大，那孩子如果坐在里面，决不会嫌校德纳第大娘回到她的火炉边，拿起一只木勺，尝那锅里的汤，一面叽里咕噜地说道：“泉边就有水。这又不是什么了不起的事。我想不放葱还好一些。”随后她翻着一只放零钱、胡椒、葱蒜的抽屉。
    “来，癞蛤蟆小姐，”她又说，“你回来的时候，到面包店去带一个大面包来。钱在这儿，一枚值十五个苏的钱。”珂赛特的围裙侧面有个小口袋，她一声不响，接了钱，塞在口袋里。她提着桶，对着那扇敞开着的大门，站着不动。好象她是在指望有谁能来搭救她。
    “还不走！”德纳第大娘一声暴吼。珂赛特走了。大门也关了。

The line of open-air booths starting at the church, extended, as the reader will remember, as far as the hostelry of the Thenardiers. These booths were all illuminated, because the citizens would soon pass on their way to the midnight mass, with candles burning in paper funnels, which, as the schoolmaster, then seated at the table at the Thenardiers' observed, produced "a magical effect." In compensation, not a star was visible in the sky.
The last of these stalls, established precisely opposite the Thenardiers' door, was a toy-shop all glittering with tinsel, glass, and magnificent objects of tin.In the first row, and far forwards, the merchant had placed on a background of white napkins, an immense doll, nearly two feet high, who was dressed in a robe of pink crepe, with gold wheat-ears on her head, which had real hair and enamel eyes.All that day, this marvel had been displayed to the wonderment of all passers-by under ten years of age, without a mother being found in Montfermeil sufficiently rich or sufficiently extravagant to give it to her child. Eponine and Azelma had passed hours in contemplating it, and Cosette herself had ventured to cast a glance at it, on the sly, it is true.
At the moment when Cosette emerged, bucket in hand, melancholy and overcome as she was, she could not refrain from lifting her eyes to that wonderful doll, towards the lady, as she called it. The poor child paused in amazement.She had not yet beheld that doll close to.The whole shop seemed a palace to her: the doll was not a doll; it was a vision.It was joy, splendor, riches, happiness, which appeared in a sort of chimerical halo to that unhappy little being so profoundly engulfed in gloomy and chilly misery.With the sad and innocent sagacity of childhood, Cosette measured the abyss which separated her from that doll. She said to herself that one must be a queen, or at least a princess, to have a "thing" like that.She gazed at that beautiful pink dress, that beautiful smooth hair, and she thought, "How happy that doll must be!"She could not take her eyes from that fantastic stall. The more she looked, the more dazzled she grew.She thought she was gazing at paradise.There were other dolls behind the large one, which seemed to her to be fairies and genii.The merchant, who was pacing back and forth in front of his shop, produced on her somewhat the effect of being the Eternal Father.
In this adoration she forgot everything, even the errand with which she was charged.
All at once the Thenardier's coarse voice recalled her to reality: "What, you silly jade! you have not gone?Wait!I'll give it to you!I want to know what you are doing there!Get along, you little monster!"
The Thenardier had cast a glance into the street, and had caught sight of Cosette in her ecstasy.
Cosette fled, dragging her pail, and taking the longest strides of which she was capable.

     我们记得，那一排敞篷商店，是从礼拜堂一直延展到德纳第客店门前的。由于有钱的人呆会儿就要路过那一带去参加夜半弥撒，所以那些商店都已燃起蜡烛，烛的外面也都加上漏斗形的纸罩，当时有个孟费郿小学的老师正在德纳第店里喝酒，他说那种烛光颇有“魅力”，同时，天上却一颗星都看不见。
    最后的一个摊子恰恰对着德纳第的大门，那是个玩具铺，摆满了晶莹耀眼的金银首饰、玻璃器皿、白铁玩具。那商人在第一排的最前面，一块洁白的大手巾前摆放着一个大娃娃，二尺来高，穿件粉红绉纱袍，头上围着金穗子，有着真头发、珐琅眼睛。这宝物在那里陈列了一整天，十岁以下的过路人见了没有不爱的，但是在孟费郿就没有一个母亲有那么多钱，或是说有那种挥霍的习惯，肯买来送给孩子。爱潘妮和阿兹玛在那里瞻仰了好几个钟头，至于珂赛特，实实在在，只敢偷偷望一两眼。尽管她是那样忧郁，那样颓丧，珂赛特拿着水桶出门时，却仍不能不抬起眼睛去望那非凡的娃娃，望那“娘娘”，照她的说法。那可怜的孩子立在那儿呆住了。她还不曾走到近处去看过那娃娃。对她来说那整个商店就象是座宫殿，那娃娃也不是玩偶，而是一种幻象。那可怜的小姑娘，一直深深沉陷在那种悲惨冷酷的贫寒生活里，现在她见到的，在她的幻想中，自然一齐变成欢乐、光辉、荣华、幸福出现了。珂赛特用她那天真悲愁的智慧，去估摸那道横亘在她和那玩偶间的深渊。她向她自己说，只有王后，至少也得是个公主，才能得到这么一样“东西”。她细细端详那件美丽的粉红袍，光滑的头发，她心里在想：“这娃娃，她该多么幸福呵！”她的眼睛离不开那家五光十色的店铺。她越看越眼花。她以为看见了天堂。在那大娃娃后面，还有许多小娃娃，她想那一 定是一些仙童仙女了。她觉得在那摊子里面走来走去的那个商人有点象永生之父。在那种仰慕当中，她忘了一切，连别人叫她做的事也忘了。猛然一下，德纳第大娘的粗暴声音把她拉回到现实中来：“怎么，蠢货，你还没走！等着吧！等我来同你算帐！我要问一声，她在那里干什么！
    小怪物，走！”
    德纳第大娘向街上望了一眼，就望到了珂赛特正在出神。珂赛特赶紧提着水桶，放开脚步溜走了。

As the Thenardier hostelry was in that part of the village which is near the church, it was to the spring in the forest in the direction of Chelles that Cosette was obliged to go for her water.
She did not glance at the display of a single other merchant.So long as she was in Boulanger Lane and in the neighborhood of the church, the lighted stalls illuminated the road; but soon the last light from the last stall vanished.The poor child found herself in the dark. She plunged into it.Only, as a certain emotion overcame her, she made as much motion as possible with the handle of the bucket as she walked along.This made a noise which afforded her company.
The further she went, the denser the darkness became.There was no one in the streets.However, she did encounter a woman, who turned around on seeing her, and stood still, muttering between her teeth: "Where can that child be going?Is it a werewolf child?"Then the woman recognized Cosette."Well," said she, "it's the Lark!"
In this manner Cosette traversed the labyrinth of tortuous and deserted streets which terminate in the village of Montfermeil on the side of Chelles.So long as she had the houses or even the walls only on both sides of her path, she proceeded with tolerable boldness.From time to time she caught the flicker of a candle through the crack of a shutter--this was light and life; there were people there, and it reassured her.But in proportion as she advanced, her pace slackened mechanically, as it were. When she had passed the corner of the last house, Cosette paused. It had been hard to advance further than the last stall; it became impossible to proceed further than the last house. She set her bucket on the ground, thrust her hand into her hair, and began slowly to scratch her head,--a gesture peculiar to children when terrified and undecided what to do.It was no longer Montfermeil; it was the open fields.Black and desert space was before her. She gazed in despair at that darkness, where there was no longer any one, where there were beasts, where there were spectres, possibly. She took a good look, and heard the beasts walking on the grass, and she distinctly saw spectres moving in the trees.Then she seized her bucket again; fear had lent her audacity."Bah!" said she; "I will tell him that there was no more water!"And she resolutely re-entered Montfermeil.
Hardly had she gone a hundred paces when she paused and began to scratch her head again.Now it was the Thenardier who appeared to her, with her hideous, hyena mouth, and wrath flashing in her eyes. The child cast a melancholy glance before her and behind her. What was she to do?What was to become of her?Where was she to go? In front of her was the spectre of the Thenardier; behind her all the phantoms of the night and of the forest.It was before the Thenardier that she recoiled.She resumed her path to the spring, and began to run.She emerged from the village, she entered the forest at a run, no longer looking at or listening to anything. She only paused in her course when her breath failed her; but she did not halt in her advance.She went straight before her in desperation.
As she ran she felt like crying.
The nocturnal quivering of the forest surrounded her completely.
She no longer thought, she no longer saw.The immensity of night was facing this tiny creature.On the one hand, all shadow; on the other, an atom.
It was only seven or eight minutes' walk from the edge of the woods to the spring.Cosette knew the way, through having gone over it many times in daylight.Strange to say, she did not get lost. A remnant of instinct guided her vaguely.But she did not turn her eyes either to right or to left, for fear of seeing things in the branches and in the brushwood.In this manner she reached the spring.
It was a narrow, natural basin, hollowed out by the water in a clayey soil, about two feet deep, surrounded with moss and with those tall, crimped grasses which are called Henry IV.'s frills, and paved with several large stones.A brook ran out of it, with a tranquil little noise.
Cosette did not take time to breathe.It was very dark, but she was in the habit of coming to this spring.She felt with her left hand in the dark for a young oak which leaned over the spring, and which usually served to support her, found one of its branches, clung to it, bent down, and plunged the bucket in the water. She was in a state of such violent excitement that her strength was trebled.While thus bent over, she did not notice that the pocket of her apron had emptied itself into the spring.The fifteen-sou piece fell into the water.Cosette neither saw nor heard it fall. She drew out the bucket nearly full, and set it on the grass.
That done, she perceived that she was worn out with fatigue. She would have liked to set out again at once, but the effort required to fill the bucket had been such that she found it impossible to take a step.She was forced to sit down.She dropped on the grass, and remained crouching there.
She shut her eyes; then she opened them again, without knowing why, but because she could not do otherwise.The agitated water in the bucket beside her was describing circles which resembled tin serpents.
Overhead the sky was covered with vast black clouds, which were like masses of smoke.The tragic mask of shadow seemed to bend vaguely over the child.
Jupiter was setting in the depths.
The child stared with bewildered eyes at this great star, with which she was unfamiliar, and which terrified her.The planet was, in fact, very near the horizon and was traversing a dense layer of mist which imparted to it a horrible ruddy hue.The mist, gloomily empurpled, magnified the star.One would have called it a luminous wound.
A cold wind was blowing from the plain.The forest was dark, not a leaf was moving; there were none of the vague, fresh gleams of summertide.Great boughs uplifted themselves in frightful wise. Slender and misshapen bushes whistled in the clearings.The tall grasses undulated like eels under the north wind.The nettles seemed to twist long arms furnished with claws in search of prey. Some bits of dry heather, tossed by the breeze, flew rapidly by, and had the air of fleeing in terror before something which was coming after. On all sides there were lugubrious stretches.
The darkness was bewildering.Man requires light.Whoever buries himself in the opposite of day feels his heart contract.When the eye sees black, the heart sees trouble.In an eclipse in the night, in the sooty opacity, there is anxiety even for the stoutest of hearts. No one walks alone in the forest at night without trembling. Shadows and trees--two formidable densities.A chimerical reality appears in the indistinct depths.The inconceivable is outlined a few paces distant from you with a spectral clearness. One beholds floating, either in space or in one's own brain, one knows not what vague and intangible thing, like the dreams of sleeping flowers.There are fierce attitudes on the horizon. One inhales the effluvia of the great black void.One is afraid to glance behind him, yet desirous of doing so.The cavities of night, things grown haggard, taciturn profiles which vanish when one advances, obscure dishevelments, irritated tufts, livid pools, the lugubrious reflected in the funereal, the sepulchral immensity of silence, unknown but possible beings, bendings of mysterious branches, alarming torsos of trees, long handfuls of quivering plants,-- against all this one has no protection.There is no hardihood which does not shudder and which does not feel the vicinity of anguish. One is conscious of something hideous, as though one's soul were becoming amalgamated with the darkness.This penetration of the shadows is indescribably sinister in the case of a child.
Forests are apocalypses, and the beating of the wings of a tiny soul produces a sound of agony beneath their monstrous vault.
Without understanding her sensations, Cosette was conscious that she was seized upon by that black enormity of nature; it was no longer terror alone which was gaining possession of her; it was something more terrible even than terror; she shivered. There are no words to express the strangeness of that shiver which chilled her to the very bottom of her heart; her eye grew wild; she thought she felt that she should not be able to refrain from returning there at the same hour on the morrow.
Then, by a sort of instinct, she began to count aloud, one, two, three, four, and so on up to ten, in order to escape from that singular state which she did not understand, but which terrified her, and, when she had finished, she began again; this restored her to a true perception of the things about her. Her hands, which she had wet in drawing the water, felt cold; she rose; her terror, a natural and unconquerable terror, had returned:she had but one thought now,--to flee at full speed through the forest, across the fields to the houses, to the windows, to the lighted candles.Her glance fell upon the water which stood before her; such was the fright which the Thenardier inspired in her, that she dared not flee without that bucket of water: she seized the handle with both hands; she could hardly lift the pail.
In this manner she advanced a dozen paces, but the bucket was full; it was heavy; she was forced to set it on the ground once more. She took breath for an instant, then lifted the handle of the bucket again, and resumed her march, proceeding a little further this time, but again she was obliged to pause.After some seconds of repose she set out again.She walked bent forward, with drooping head, like an old woman; the weight of the bucket strained and stiffened her thin arms.The iron handle completed the benumbing and freezing of her wet and tiny hands; she was forced to halt from time to time, and each time that she did so, the cold water which splashed from the pail fell on her bare legs.This took place in the depths of a forest, at night, in winter, far from all human sight; she was a child of eight:no one but God saw that sad thing at the moment.
And her mother, no doubt, alas!
For there are things that make the dead open their eyes in their graves.
She panted with a sort of painful rattle; sobs contracted her throat, but she dared not weep, so afraid was she of the Thenardier, even at a distance:it was her custom to imagine the Thenardier always present.
However, she could not make much headway in that manner, and she went on very slowly.In spite of diminishing the length of her stops, and of walking as long as possible between them, she reflected with anguish that it would take her more than an hour to return to Montfermeil in this manner, and that the Thenardier would beat her. This anguish was mingled with her terror at being alone in the woods at night; she was worn out with fatigue, and had not yet emerged from the forest.On arriving near an old chestnut-tree with which she was acquainted, made a last halt, longer than the rest, in order that she might get well rested; then she summoned up all her strength, picked up her bucket again, and courageously resumed her march, but the poor little desperate creature could not refrain from crying, "O my God! my God!"
At that moment she suddenly became conscious that her bucket no longer weighed anything at all:a hand, which seemed to her enormous, had just seized the handle, and lifted it vigorously.She raised her head.A large black form, straight and erect, was walking beside her through the darkness; it was a man who had come up behind her, and whose approach she had not heard.This man, without uttering a word, had seized the handle of the bucket which she was carrying.
There are instincts for all the encounters of life.
The child was not afraid.

     德纳第客店既然处在那村里的礼拜堂附近，珂赛特就得往谢尔方向那片树林中的泉边取水。
    她不再看任何商贩陈列的物品了。只要她还走在面包师巷和礼拜堂左近一带地方，总还有店铺里的烛光替她照路，可是终于最后一个摊子的最后一点微光也消逝了。那可怜的孩子便到了黑暗中。她还得走向黑暗的更深处。她正向着黑暗更深处走去。只是，因为她的心情已经有些紧张，所以她一面走，一面竭力摇着那水桶的提梁。那样她就有一种声音来和她作伴。
    越往前走，四周也越黑。街上行人已经绝迹。可是她还遇到一个妇人，那妇人停下来，转身望着她走过去，嘴里含含糊糊地说：“这孩子究竟有什么地方可去呢？难道她是个小狼精吗？”随后，那妇人认出了是珂赛特，又说：“嘿，原来是百灵鸟！”珂赛特便那样穿过了孟费郿村靠谢尔一面的那些弯曲、荒凉、迷宫似的街道。只要她还看见有人家，只要她走的路两旁还有墙，她走起来总还相当大胆。有时，她从一家人家的窗板缝里望见一线烛光，那也就是光明，也就是生命，说明那里还有人，她的心也就安了。可是她越往前走，她的脚步好象会自然而然地慢下来。珂赛特，当她转过最后那所房子的墙角，就忽然站住不动了。越过最后那家店铺已经不容易，要越过最后那所房子再往前去，那是不可能的了。她把水桶放在地上，把只手伸进头发，慢慢搔着头，那是孩子在惊慌得失去主张时特有的姿态。那已不是孟费郿，而是田野了。在她面前的是黑暗荒凉的旷地。她心惊胆颤地望着那漆黑一片、没有人、有野兽、也许还有鬼怪的地方。她仔细看，她听到了在草丛里行走的野兽，也清清楚楚看见了在树林里晃动的鬼影。于是她又提起水桶，恐怖给了她勇气：“管他的！”她说，“我回去对她说没有水就完了！”她坚决转身回孟费郿。
    她刚走上百来步，又停了下来，搔着自己的头。现在出现在她眼前的是德纳第大娘，那样一个青面獠牙、眼里怒火直冒的德纳第大娘。孩子眼泪汪汪地望望前面，又望望后面。怎么办？会有什么下场？往哪里走？在她前面有德纳第大娘的魔影，在她后面有黑夜里在林中晃动的鬼怪。结果她在德纳第大娘的面前退缩了。她再次走上往泉边去的那条路，并且跑起来。她跑出村子，跑进了林子，什么也不再望，什么也不再听，直到气喘不过来时才不跑，但也不停步。她只顾往前走，什么全不知道了。
    她一面赶路，一面想哭出来。在夜间，森林的簌簌声把她整个包围起来了。也不再想，也不再看。
    无边的黑夜竟敌视那小小的生命，一方面是整个的黑暗天地，一方面却只是一粒原子。
    从林边走到泉边，只须七八分钟。珂赛特认识那条路，因为这是她在白天常走的。说也奇怪，她当时并没有迷路。多少有些残存的本能在引导着她。她的眼睛既不向左望，也不向右望，惟恐看到树枝和草丛里有什么东西。她便那样到了泉边。
    那是从粘土里流出后汇聚而成的一个狭窄的天然水潭，二尺来深，周围生着青苔和一种有焦黄斑痕、名为“享利四世的细布皱领”的草本植物，还铺了几块大石头。水从潭口潺潺流出，形成一条溪流。
    珂赛特不想歇下来喘气。当时四周漆黑，但是她经常来这泉边。她伸出左手，在黑暗中摸索一株斜在水面上的小槲树，那是她平日用作扶手的，她摸到了一根树枝，攀在上面，弯下腰，把水桶伸入水中。她心情异常慌张，以致力气顿时增加三倍。当她那样俯身取水时，她没有注意围裙袋里的东西落在潭里了。那枚值十五个苏的钱落下去了。珂赛特既没有看见也没有听见它落下去。她提起那桶水，放在草地上，几乎是满满一桶水。
    在这以后，她才觉得浑身疲乏，一点力气也没有了。她很想立刻回 去，但是她在灌那桶水时力气已经用尽了，她一步也走不动了。她不得不坐下来。她让自己落在草地上，蹲在那儿动不了。她闭上眼睛，随后又睁开，她自己也不知道是为了什么，却又非那样做不可。
    桶里的水，在她旁边荡出一圈圈的波纹，好象是些白火舌。天空中乌云滚滚，有如煤烟，罩在她头上。黑夜那副悲惨面孔好象对着那孩子在眈眈垂视。
    木星正卧在天边深处。那孩子不认识那颗巨星，她神色仓皇注视着它，感到害怕。那颗行星当时离地平线确实很近，透过一层浓雾，映出一种眩目的红光。浓雾呈惨黯的紫色，扩大了那个星的形象，好象是个闪光的伤口。一阵冷风从原野上吹来。树林里一片漆黑，绝无树叶触擦的声音，也绝无夏夜那种半明半昧的清光。高大的枝桠狰狞张舞。枯萎丛杂中的矮树在林边隙地上簌簌作声。长高的野草在寒风中象鳗鲡似的蠕蠕游动。榛莽屈曲招展，有如伸出长臂张爪攫人。一团团的干草在风中急走，仿佛大祸将至在仓皇逃窜似的。四面八方全是凄凉寥廓的旷地。
    黑暗令人见了心悸。人非有光不可。任何人进入无光处都会感到心慌。眼睛见到黑暗时心灵也就失去安宁。当月蚀时，夜里在乌黑的地方，即使是最顽强的人也会感到不安。黑暗和树林是两种深不可测的东西。我们的幻想常觉得在阴暗的深处有现实的东西。有种无可捉摸的事物会在你眼前几步之外显得清晰逼真。我们时常见到一种若隐若现、可望而不可及、缥缈如卧花之梦的景象，在空间或我们自己的脑海中浮动。天边常会有一些触目惊心的形象。我们常会嗅到黑暗里太空的气息。我们会感到恐惧并想朝自己的后面看。黑夜的空旷，凶恶的物形，悄立无声走近去看时却又化为乌有的侧影，错杂散乱的黑影，摇曳的树丛，色如死灰的污池，鬼域似的阴惨，坟墓般的寂静，可能有的幽灵，神秘的树枝垂拂，古怪吓人的光秃树身，临风瑟缩的丛野草，对那一切人们是无法抗拒的。胆壮的人也会战栗，也会有祸在眉睫之感。人们会惴惴不安，仿佛觉得自己的灵魂已和那黑暗凝固在一起。对一个孩子来说，黑暗的那种侵袭会使他感到一种无可言喻的畏惧。
    森林就是鬼宫，在它那幽寂阴森的穹窿下，一只小鸟的振翅声也会使人毛骨悚然。
    珂赛特并不了解她所感受的是什么，她只觉得自己被宇宙的那种无边的黑暗所控制。她当时感受的不止是恐怖，而是一种比恐怖更可怕的东西。她打着寒噤。寒噤使她一直冷到心头，没有言语能表达那种奇怪的滋味。她愕然睁着一双眼睛。她仿佛觉得明天晚上的此时此刻，她还必须再来此地。
    于是，由于一种本能，为了摆脱那种她所不了解而又使她害怕的处境，她高声数着一、二、三、四，一直到十，数完之后，重又开始。她那样做，可使自己对四周的事物有种真实的感觉。她开始感到手冷，那是先头在取水时弄湿的。她站起来。她又恐惧起来了，那是一种自然的、无法克制的恐惧。她只有一个念头：逃走，拔腿飞奔，穿过林子，穿过田野，逃到有人家、有窗子、有烛光的地方。她低头看到了水桶。她不敢不带那桶水逃，德纳第大娘的威风太可怕了。她双手把住桶上的提梁，她用尽力气把那桶水提了起来。她那样大约走了十多步，但那桶水太满，太重，她只得把它又重放下。她喘了口气，再提起水桶往前走，这回走得比较久一些。可是她又非再停下不可。休息了几秒钟后，她再走。她走时，俯着身子，低着头，象个老太婆，水桶的重量把她那两条瘦胳膊拉得又直又僵，桶上的铁提梁也把她那双湿手冻木了。她不得不走走停停，而每次停下来时，桶里的水总有些泼在她的光腿上。那些事是在树林深处，夜间，冬季，人的眼睛见不到的地方发生的，并且发生在一个八岁的孩子的身上。当时只有上帝见到了那种悲惨的经过。也许她的母亲也看见了，咳！
    因为有些事是会使墓中的死者睁开眼的。
    她带着痛苦的喘气声呻吟，一阵阵哭泣让她喉头哽塞，但她不敢哭，她太怕那德纳第大娘了，即使她离得很远。她常想象德纳第大娘就在她的附近，那已成了她的习惯。
    可她那样并走不了多远，并且走得很慢。她试图缩短停留的时间，并尽量延长行走的时间。她估计那样走去，非一个钟头到不了孟费郿，一定会挨德纳第大娘的一顿打，她心中焦灼万分。焦灼又和深夜独自一 人陷在林中的恐怖心情绞成一团。她已困惫不堪，但还未走出那林子。她走到一棵熟悉的老槲树旁，作最后一次较长的停顿，以便好好休息一 下，随后她又集中全部力气，提起水桶，鼓足勇气往前走。可是那可怜的伤心绝望的孩子不禁喊了出来：“呵！我的天主！我的天主！”
    就在那时，她忽然感到她那水桶一点也不重了。有一只手在她看来粗壮无比，抓住了那提梁，轻轻地就把那水桶提起来了。她抬头望。有个高大直立的黑影，在黑暗中陪着她一同往前走。那是一个从她后面走来而她没有发现的汉子。那汉子一声不响，抓住了她手里的水桶的提梁。
    人有本能适应各种不同的遭遇。那孩子并不害怕。

On the afternoon of that same Christmas Day, 1823, a man had walked for rather a long time in the most deserted part of the Boulevard de l'Hopital in paris.This man had the air of a person who is seeking lodgings, and he seemed to halt, by preference, at the most modest houses on that dilapidated border of the faubourg Saint-Marceau.
We shall see further on that this man had, in fact, hired a chamber in that isolated quarter.
This man, in his attire, as in all his person, realized the type of what may be called the well-bred mendicant,--extreme wretchedness combined with extreme cleanliness.This is a very rare mixture which inspires intelligent hearts with that double respect which one feels for the man who is very poor, and for the man who is very worthy. He wore a very old and very well brushed round hat; a coarse coat, worn perfectly threadbare, of an ochre yellow, a color that was not in the least eccentric at that epoch; a large waistcoat with pockets of a venerable cut; black breeches, worn gray at the knee, stockings of black worsted; and thick shoes with copper buckles. He would have been pronounced a preceptor in some good family, returned from the emigration.He would have been taken for more than sixty years of age, from his perfectly white hair, his wrinkled brow, his livid lips, and his countenance, where everything breathed depression and weariness of life.Judging from his firm tread, from the singular vigor which stamped all his movements, he would have hardly been thought fifty.The wrinkles on his brow were well placed, and would have disposed in his favor any one who observed him attentively.His lip contracted with a strange fold which seemed severe, and which was humble.There was in the depth of his glance an indescribable melancholy serenity. In his left hand he carried a little bundle tied up in a handkerchief; in his right he leaned on a sort of a cudgel, cut from some hedge. This stick had been carefully trimmed, and had an air that was not too threatening; the most had been made of its knots, and it had received a coral-like head, made from red wax:it was a cudgel, and it seemed to be a cane.
There are but few passers-by on that boulevard, particularly in the winter.The man seemed to avoid them rather than to seek them, but this without any affectation.
At that epoch, King Louis XVIII.went nearly every day to Choisy-le-Roi: it was one of his favorite excursions.Towards two o'clock, almost invariably, the royal carriage and cavalcade was seen to pass at full speed along the Boulevard de l'Hopital.
This served in lieu of a watch or clock to the poor women of the quarter who said, "It is two o'clock; there he is returning to the Tuileries."
And some rushed forward, and others drew up in line, for a passing king always creates a tumult; besides, the appearance and disappearance of Louis XVIII.produced a certain effect in the streets of paris. It was rapid but majestic.This impotent king had a taste for a fast gallop; as he was not able to walk, he wished to run:that cripple would gladly have had himself drawn by the lightning.He passed, pacific and severe, in the midst of naked swords.His massive couch, all covered with gilding, with great branches of lilies painted on the panels, thundered noisily along.There was hardly time to cast a glance upon it.In the rear angle on the right there was visible on tufted cushions of white satin a large, firm, and ruddy face, a brow freshly powdered a l'oiseau royal, a proud, hard, crafty eye, the smile of an educated man, two great epaulets with bullion fringe floating over a bourgeois coat, the Golden Fleece, the cross of Saint Louis, the cross of the Legion of Honor, the silver plaque of the Saint-Esprit, a huge belly, and a wide blue ribbon: it was the king.Outside of paris, he held his hat decked with white ostrich plumes on his knees enwrapped in high English gaiters; when he re-entered the city, he put on his hat and saluted rarely; he stared coldly at the people, and they returned it in kind. When he appeared for the first time in the Saint-Marceau quarter, the whole success which he produced is contained in this remark of an inhabitant of the faubourg to his comrade, "That big fellow yonder is the government."
This infallible passage of the king at the same hour was, therefore, the daily event of the Boulevard de l'Hopital.
The promenader in the yellow coat evidently did not belong in the quarter, and probably did not belong in paris, for he was ignorant as to this detail.When, at two o'clock, the royal carriage, surrounded by a squadron of the body-guard all covered with silver lace, debouched on the boulevard, after having made the turn of the Salpetriere, he appeared surprised and almost alarmed. There was no one but himself in this cross-lane. He drew up hastily behind the corner of the wall of an enclosure, though this did not prevent M. le Duc de Havre from spying him out.
M. le Duc de Havre, as captain of the guard on duty that day, was seated in the carriage, opposite the king.He said to his Majesty, "Yonder is an evil-looking man."Members of the police, who were clearing the king's route, took equal note of him: one of them received an order to follow him.But the man plunged into the deserted little streets of the faubourg, and as twilight was beginning to fall, the agent lost trace of him, as is stated in a report addressed that same evening to M. le Comte d'Angles, Minister of State, prefect of police.
When the man in the yellow coat had thrown the agent off his track, he redoubled his pace, not without turning round many a time to assure himself that he was not being followed.At a quarter-past four, that is to say, when night was fully come, he passed in front of the theatre of the porte Saint-Martin, where The Two Convicts was being played that day.This poster, illuminated by the theatre lanterns, struck him; for, although he was walking rapidly, he halted to read it. An instant later he was in the blind alley of La planchette, and he entered the plat d'Etain (the pewter platter), where the office of the coach for Lagny was then situated.This coach set out at half-past four.The horses were harnessed, and the travellers, summoned by the coachman, were hastily climbing the lofty iron ladder of the vehicle.
The man inquired:--
"Have you a place?"
"Only one--beside me on the box," said the coachman.
"I will take it."
"Climb up."
Nevertheless, before setting out, the coachman cast a glance at the traveller's shabby dress, at the diminutive size of his bundle, and made him pay his fare.
"Are you going as far as Lagny?" demanded the coachman.
"Yes," said the man.
The traveller paid to Lagny.
They started.When they had passed the barrier, the coachman tried to enter into conversation, but the traveller only replied in monosyllables.The coachman took to whistling and swearing at his horses.
The coachman wrapped himself up in his cloak.It was cold. The man did not appear to be thinking of that.Thus they passed Gournay and Neuilly-sur-Marne.
Towards six o'clock in the evening they reached Chelles.The coachman drew up in front of the carters' inn installed in the ancient buildings of the Royal Abbey, to give his horses a breathing spell.
"I get down here," said the man.
He took his bundle and his cudgel and jumped down from the vehicle.
An instant later he had disappeared.
He did not enter the inn.
When the coach set out for Lagny a few minutes later, it did not encounter him in the principal street of Chelles.
The coachman turned to the inside travellers.
"There," said he, "is a man who does not belong here, for I do not know him.He had not the air of owning a sou, but he does not consider money; he pays to Lagny, and he goes only as far as Chelles. It is night; all the houses are shut; he does not enter the inn, and he is not to be found.So he has dived through the earth."
The man had not plunged into the earth, but he had gone with great strides through the dark, down the principal street of Chelles, then he had turned to the right before reaching the church, into the cross-road leading to Montfermeil, like a person who was acquainted with the country and had been there before.
He followed this road rapidly.At the spot where it is intersected by the ancient tree-bordered road which runs from Gagny to Lagny, he heard people coming.He concealed himself precipitately in a ditch, and there waited until the passers-by were at a distance. The precaution was nearly superfluous, however; for, as we have already said, it was a very dark December night.Not more than two or three stars were visible in the sky.
It is at this point that the ascent of the hill begins.The man did not return to the road to Montfermeil; he struck across the fields to the right, and entered the forest with long strides.
Once in the forest he slackened his pace, and began a careful examination of all the trees, advancing, step by step, as though seeking and following a mysterious road known to himself alone. There came a moment when he appeared to lose himself, and he paused in indecision.At last he arrived, by dint of feeling his way inch by inch, at a clearing where there was a great heap of whitish stones. He stepped up briskly to these stones, and examined them attentively through the mists of night, as though he were passing them in review. A large tree, covered with those excrescences which are the warts of vegetation, stood a few paces distant from the pile of stones. He went up to this tree and passed his hand over the bark of the trunk, as though seeking to recognize and count all the warts.
Opposite this tree, which was an ash, there was a chestnut-tree, suffering from a peeling of the bark, to which a band of zinc had been nailed by way of dressing.He raised himself on tiptoe and touched this band of zinc.
Then he trod about for awhile on the ground comprised in the space between the tree and the heap of stones, like a person who is trying to assure himself that the soil has not recently been disturbed.
That done, he took his bearings, and resumed his march through the forest.
It was the man who had just met Cosette.
As he walked through the thicket in the direction of Montfermeil, he had espied that tiny shadow moving with a groan, depositing a burden on the ground, then taking it up and setting out again. He drew near, and perceived that it was a very young child, laden with an enormous bucket of water.Then he approached the child, and silently grasped the handle of the bucket.

     正是在一八二三年圣诞节那天下午，有一个人在巴黎医院路最僻静的一带徘徊了好一阵。那个人好象是在寻找一个住处，并且喜欢在圣马尔索郊区贫苦的边缘地带那些最朴素的房屋面前，停下来观望。
    我们以后会知道，那人的确在那荒僻地区租到了一间屋子。从他的服装和神情看去，那人是极其穷苦而又极其整洁的，可以说是体现了人们称为高等乞丐的那一种人的外貌。那种稀有的混合形态能使有见识的人从心中产生一种双重的敬意，既敬其人之赤贫，又敬其人之端重。他戴一顶刷得极干净的旧圆帽，穿一身已经磨到经纬毕现的赭黄粗呢大衣（那种颜色在当时是一点也不奇怪的），一件带口袋的古式长背心，一 条膝头上已变成灰色的黑裤，一双黑毛线袜和一双带铜扣襻的厚鞋。他很象一个侨居国外归国以后，在大户人家当私塾老师的人。他满头白发，额上有皱纹，嘴唇灰白，饱尝愁苦劳顿的脸色，看去好象已是六十多的人了。可是从他那缓慢而稳健的步伐，从他动作中表现出来的那种饱满精神看去，我们又会觉得他还只是个五十不到的人。他额上的皱纹恰到好处，能使注意观察的人对他发生好感。他的嘴辱嘬起，有种奇特的线条，既严肃又谦卑。他的眼睛里显出一种忧郁恬静的神情。他左手提一 个手结的毛巾小包袱，右手拿一根木棍，似乎象从什么树丛里砍来的。那根棍是仔细加工过的，样子并不太难看；棍上的节都巧加利用，上端装了个珊瑚色的蜜蜡圆头，那是根棍棒，也象根手杖。
    那条路上的行人一向稀少，尤其是在冬季。那个人好象是要避开那些行人，而不是想接近他们，但也没有露出故意回避的样子。那时，国王路易十八几乎每天都要去舒瓦齐勒罗瓦。那是他爱去游览休憩的地方。差不多每天将近两点时，国王的车子和仪仗队就会在医院路飞驰而过。
    对那一带的穷婆来说，那便是她的钟表了，她们常说：“两点了，他已经回宫了。”有跑来看热闹的人，有挤在路边的人，因为国王经过，总是一件惊扰大家的事。国王在巴黎的街道上忽来忽往，总不免一度引起人心紧张。
    他那队伍，转瞬即逝，却倒也威风。肢体残废的国王偏有奔腾驰骤的嗜好，他走都走不动，却一定要跑，人彘也想学雷电的奔驰。他当时正经过该地，神气平静庄严，雪亮的马刀簇拥着他。他那辆高大的轿式马车，全身金漆，镶板上都画着大枝百合花，在路上滚得忒楞楞直响。人们想看一眼都几乎来不及。在右边角落里一个白缎子的软垫上面，有张坚定绯红的宽脸，额头上顶着一个刚刚扑过粉的御鸟式假发罩，一双骄横锐利的眼睛，一脸文雅的笑容，一身绅士装，外加两块金穗累累的阔肩章，还有金羊毛骑士勋章、圣路易十字勋章、光荣骑士十字勋章、圣灵银牌、一个大肚子和一条宽的蓝佩带，那便是国王了。一出巴黎城，他便把他那顶白羽帽放在裹着英国绑腿的膝头上，进城时，他又把他那顶帽子戴在头上，不大理人。他冷眼望着人民，人民也还以冷眼。他初次在圣马尔索出现时所得到的唯一胜利，便是那郊区的一个居民对他伙伴说的这样一句话：“这胖子便是老总了。”
    国王准时走过，对医院路而言这是件天天发生的大事。
    那个穿黄大衣的步行者显然不是那一区的人，也很可能不是巴黎人，因为他不知道这一情况。当国王的车子在一中队穿银绦制服的侍卫骑兵的护卫下，从妇女救济院转进医院路时，他见了有些诧异，而且几乎是吃了一惊。当时那巷子里只有他一人，他连忙避开，立在一堵围墙的墙角后面，但已被哈福雷公爵先生看见了。哈福雷公爵先生是那天值勤的卫队长，他和国王面对面坐在车子里。他向国王说：“那个人的嘴脸相当难看。”在国王走过的路线上沿途巡逻的一些警察也注意到他，有个警察奉命去跟踪他。但是那人已隐到僻静的小街曲巷里去了，后来天色渐黑，警察便没能跟上他。这一经过曾经列在国务大臣兼警署署长昂格勒斯伯爵当天的报告里。
    那个穿黄大衣的人逃脱了警察的追踪以后便加快脚步，但仍随时往后张望，看看是否还有人跟踪他。四点一刻，就是说天已黑了的时候，他走过圣马尔丹门的剧院门口，那天正好上演《两个苦役犯》。贴在剧院门口回光灯下的那张海报引起了他的注意，因为，他当时虽走得很快，但仍停下来看了一遍。一会儿过后，他便到了小板巷，走过锡盘公寓里的拉尼车行办事处。车子四点半开出。马全套好了，旅客们听到车夫的叫唤，都连忙爬上那辆阳雀车①的铁梯。
①阳雀车，为两轮公共马车。
    那个人问道：
    “还有位子没有？”
    “只有一个了，在我旁边，车头上。”那车夫说。
    “我要。”
    “请上来。”可是，起程之前，车夫对旅客望了一眼，看见他的衣服那样寒酸，包袱又那么小，便要他先付钱。
    “您一直去拉尼吗？”车夫问。
    “是的。”那人说。旅客付了直到拉尼的车费。
    车子走动了。走出便门以后，车夫想和他攀谈，但是旅客老是只回答一两个字。于是车夫决计一心吹口哨，要不就骂他的牲口。车夫裹上他的斗篷。天冷起来了。那人却好象不觉得。大家便那样走过了古尔内和马恩河畔讷伊。
    将近六点时，车子到了谢尔。走到设在王家修道院老屋里那家客马店门前时，车夫便停了车，让马休息。
    “我在此地下去。”那人说。他拿起他的包袱和棍子，跳下车。过一会儿，他便不见了。
    他没有走进那客马店。几分钟过后，车子继续向拉尼前进，又在谢尔的大街上遇见了他。车夫转回头向那些坐在里面的客人说：“那个人不是本地的，因为我不认识他。看他那样子，不见得有钱，可是花起钱来，却又不在乎，他付车费，付到拉尼，但只坐到谢尔。天都黑了，所有的人家都关了门，他却不进那客店，一下子人也不见了。难道他钻到土里去了？”    
    那个人没有钻到土里去，他还在谢尔的大街上，三步当两步摸黑往前走。接着还没有走到礼拜堂，他便向左转进了去孟费郿的那条乡村公路，就象一个曾到过而且也熟悉这地方的人一样。他沿着那条路快步往前走。从加尼去拉尼的那条栽了树的老路是和他走的那条路交叉的，他走到岔路口，听见前面有人来了。他连忙躲在沟里，等那些人走过。那种小心其实是不必要的，因为，我们已经说过，当时是在十二月的夜晚，天非常黑。天上只隐隐露出两三点星光。
    山坡正是在那地点开始的。那人并不回到去孟费郿的那条路上，他向右转，穿过田野，大步走向那树林。
    走进树林后他放慢了脚步，开始仔细察看每一棵树，一步一步往前走，好象是在边走边找一条只有他知道的秘径。有那么一会儿，他好象迷失了方向，停了下来，踌躇不决。随后又摸一段，走一段，最后，他走到了一处树木稀疏、有一大堆灰白大石头的地方。他兴奋地走向那些石头，在黑夜的迷雾中，一一仔细察看，好象进行检阅似的。有株生满了树瘤的大树长在和那堆石头相距几步的地方。他走到那棵树下面，用手摸那树干的皮，好象他要认出并数清那些树瘤的数目。
    他摸的那棵树是栗树，在那栗树对面，有棵害脱皮病的栗树，那上面钉了一块保护树皮的锌皮。他又踮起脚尖去摸那块锌皮。之后，他在那棵大树和那堆石头之间的地上踏了一阵，仿佛要知道那地方新近是否有人来动过土。
    踏过以后，他再辨明方向，重新穿过树林。
    刚才遇见珂赛特的就是那个人。他正从一片矮树林中间向孟费郿走来时，望见一个小黑影在一面走一面呻吟，把一件重东西卸在地上，随后又拿起再走。他赶上去一看，原来是一个提着大水桶的小孩。于是他走到那孩子身边，一声不响，抓起了那水桶的提梁。

Cosette, as we have said, was not frightened.
The man accosted her.He spoke in a voice that was grave and almost bass.
"My child, what you are carrying is very heavy for you."
Cosette raised her head and replied:--
"Yes, sir."
"Give it to me," said the man; "I will carry it for you."
Cosette let go of the bucket-handle. The man walked along beside her.
"It really is very heavy," he muttered between his teeth. Then he added:--
"How old are you, little one?"
"Eight, sir."
"And have you come from far like this?"
"From the spring in the forest."
"Are you going far?"
"A good quarter of an hour's walk from here."
The man said nothing for a moment; then he remarked abruptly:--
"So you have no mother."
"I don't know," answered the child.
Before the man had time to speak again, she added:--
"I don't think so.Other people have mothers.I have none."
And after a silence she went on:--
"I think that I never had any."
The man halted; he set the bucket on the ground, bent down and placed both hands on the child's shoulders, making an effort to look at her and to see her face in the dark.
Cosette's thin and sickly face was vaguely outlined by the livid light in the sky.
"What is your name?" said the man.
"Cosette."
The man seemed to have received an electric shock.He looked at her once more; then he removed his hands from Cosette's shoulders, seized the bucket, and set out again.
After a moment he inquired:--
"Where do you live, little one?"
"At Montfermeil, if you know where that is."
"That is where we are going?"
"Yes, sir."
He paused; then began again:--
"Who sent you at such an hour to get water in the forest?"
"It was Madame Thenardier."
The man resumed, in a voice which he strove to render indifferent, but in which there was, nevertheless, a singular tremor:--
"What does your Madame Thenardier do?"
"She is my mistress," said the child."She keeps the inn."
"The inn?" said the man."Well, I am going to lodge there to-night. Show me the way."
"We are on the way there," said the child.
The man walked tolerably fast.Cosette followed him without difficulty. She no longer felt any fatigue.From time to time she raised her eyes towards the man, with a sort of tranquillity and an indescribable confidence.She had never been taught to turn to providence and to pray; nevertheless, she felt within her something which resembled hope and joy, and which mounted towards heaven.
Several minutes elapsed.The man resumed:--
"Is there no servant in Madame Thenardier's house?"
"No, sir."
"Are you alone there?"
"Yes, sir."
Another pause ensued.Cosette lifted up her voice:--
"That is to say, there are two little girls."
"What little girls?"
"ponine and Zelma."
This was the way the child simplified the romantic names so dear to the female Thenardier.
"Who are ponine and Zelma?"
"They are Madame Thenardier's young ladies; her daughters, as you would say."
"And what do those girls do?"
"Oh!" said the child, "they have beautiful dolls; things with gold in them, all full of affairs.They play; they amuse themselves."
"All day long?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you?"
"I?I work."
"All day long?"
The child raised her great eyes, in which hung a tear, which was not visible because of the darkness, and replied gently:--
"Yes, sir."
After an interval of silence she went on:--
"Sometimes, when I have finished my work and they let me, I amuse myself, too."
"How do you amuse yourself?"
"In the best way I can.They let me alone; but I have not many playthings.ponine and Zelma will not let me play with their dolls.I have only a little lead sword, no longer than that."
The child held up her tiny finger.
"And it will not cut?"
"Yes, sir," said the child; "it cuts salad and the heads of flies."
They reached the village.Cosette guided the stranger through the streets.They passed the bakeshop, but Cosette did not think of the bread which she had been ordered to fetch.The man had ceased to ply her with questions, and now preserved a gloomy silence.
When they had left the church behind them, the man, on perceiving all the open-air booths, asked Cosette:--
"So there is a fair going on here?"
"No, sir; it is Christmas."
As they approached the tavern, Cosette timidly touched his arm:--
"Monsieur?"
"What, my child?"
"We are quite near the house."
"Well?"
"Will you let me take my bucket now?"
"Why?"
"If Madame sees that some one has carried it for me, she will beat me."
The man handed her the bucket.An instant later they were at the tavern door.

     我们说过，珂赛特不害怕。那个人和她谈话。他说话的声音是庄重的，差不多算是低沉的。
    “我的孩子，你提的这东西对你来说太重了。”珂赛特抬起头，回答说：“是呀，先生。”
    “给我，”那人接着说，“我来替你拿。”珂赛特丢了那水桶。那人便陪着她一道走。
    “确实很重。”他咬紧了牙说。随后，他又说：“孩子，你几岁了？”
    “八岁，先生。”
    “你是从远地方这样走来的吗？”
    “从树林里泉水边来的。”
    “你要去的地方还远吗？”
    “从此地去，总得足足一刻钟。”那人停了一会不曾开口，随后又突然问道：“难道你没有妈妈吗？”
    “我不知道。”那孩子回答。那人还没有来得及开口，她又补充一句：“我想我没有妈。别人都有。我呢，我没有。”
    静了一阵，她又说：
    “我想我从来不曾有过妈。”那人停下来，放下水桶，弯着腰，把他的两只手放在那孩子的肩上，想在黑暗中看清她的脸。
    来自天空的一点暗淡的微光，隐隐照出了珂赛特的瘦削的面貌。
    “你叫什么名字？”那人说。
    “珂赛特。”那人好象触了电似的。他又仔细看了一阵，之后，他从珂赛特的肩上缩回了他的手，提起水桶，又走起来。
    过了一阵，他问道：
    “孩子，你住在什么地方？”
    “我住在孟费郿，您知道那地方吗？”
    “我们现在是去那地方吗？”
    “是的，先生。”他又沉默了一下，随后又问道：“是谁要你这时到树林里来提水的？”
    “是德纳第太太。”那人想让自己说话的声音显得镇静，可是他的声音抖得出奇，他说：“她是干什么的，你那德纳第太太？”
    “她是我的东家，”那孩子说，“她是开客店的。”“客店吗？”那人说，“好的，我今晚就在那里过夜。你领我去。”“我们正是去那里。”孩子说。那人走得很快。珂赛特也不难跟上他。她已不再感到累了。她不时抬起眼睛望着那个人，显出一种无可言喻的宁静和依赖的神情。从来不曾有人教他敬仰上帝和祈祷。可是她感到她心里有样东西，好象是飞向天空的希望和欢乐。
    这样过了几分钟，那人又说：
    “难道德纳第太太家里没有女佣人吗？”
    “没有，先生。”
    “就你一个吗？”
    “是的，先生。”谈话又停顿了。珂赛特提高了嗓子说：“应当说，还有两个小姑娘。”
    “什么小姑娘？”
    “潘妮和兹玛。”孩子在回答中就那样简化了德纳第大娘心爱的那两个浪漫的名字。
    “潘妮和兹玛是什么？”
    “是德纳第太太的小姐，就是说，她的女儿。”
    “她们两个又干些什么事呢？”
    “噢！”那孩子说，“她们有挺漂亮的娃娃，有各式各样装了金的东西，花样多极了。她们做游戏，她们玩。”
    “整天玩吗？”
    “是的，先生。”
    “你呢？”
    “我，我做事。”
    “整天做事吗？”那孩子抬起一双大眼睛，一滴眼泪几乎掉下来，不过在黑暗中没人看见，她低声回答：“是的，先生。”她静了一阵，又接着说：“有时候，我做完了事，人家准许的话我也玩。”
    “你怎样玩呢？”
    “有什么玩什么。只要别人不来管我。但是我没有什么好玩的东西。潘妮和兹玛都不许我玩她们的娃娃。我只有一把小铅刀，这么长。”
    那孩子伸出她的小指头来比。
    “那种刀切不动吧？”
    “切得动，先生，”孩子说，“切得动生菜和苍蝇脑袋。”他们已到了村子里，珂赛特领着陌生人在街上走。他们走过面包铺，可是珂赛特没有想到她应当买个面包带回去。那人没有再问她什么话，只是面带愁容，一声也不吭。他们走过了礼拜堂，那人见了那些露天的铺面，便问珂赛特说：“今天这儿赶集吗？”
    “不是的，先生，是过圣诞节。”他们快到那客店的时候，珂赛特轻轻地推着他的胳膊。“先生？”
    “什么事，我的孩子？”
    “我们马上到家了。”
    “到家又怎么样呢？”
    “您现在让我来提水桶吧。”
    “为什么？”
    “因为，要是太太看见别人替我提水，她会打我的。”那人把水桶交还给她。不久，他们已到了那客店的大门口。

Cosette could not refrain from casting a sidelong glance at the big doll, which was still displayed at the toy-merchant's; then she knocked. The door opened.The Thenardier appeared with a candle in her hand.
"Ah! so it's you, you little wretch! good mercy, but you've taken your time!The hussy has been amusing herself!"
"Madame," said Cosette, trembling all over, "here's a gentleman who wants a lodging."
The Thenardier speedily replaced her gruff air by her amiable grimace, a change of aspect common to tavern-keepers, and eagerly sought the new-comer with her eyes.
"This is the gentleman?" said she.
"Yes, Madame," replied the man, raising his hand to his hat.
Wealthy travellers are not so polite.This gesture, and an inspection of the stranger's costume and baggage, which the Thenardier passed in review with one glance, caused the amiable grimace to vanish, and the gruff mien to reappear.She resumed dryly:--
"Enter, my good man."
The "good man" entered.The Thenardier cast a second glance at him, paid particular attention to his frock-coat, which was absolutely threadbare, and to his hat, which was a little battered, and, tossing her head, wrinkling her nose, and screwing up her eyes, she consulted her husband, who was still drinking with the carters. The husband replied by that imperceptible movement of the forefinger, which, backed up by an inflation of the lips, signifies in such cases: A regular beggar.Thereupon, the Thenardier exclaimed:--
"Ah! see here, my good man; I am very sorry, but I have no room left."
"put me where you like," said the man; "in the attic, in the stable. I will pay as though I occupied a room."
"Forty sous."
"Forty sous; agreed."
"Very well, then!"
"Forty sous!" said a carter, in a low tone, to the Thenardier woman; "why, the charge is only twenty sous!"
"It is forty in his case," retorted the Thenardier, in the same tone. "I don't lodge poor folks for less."
"That's true," added her husband, gently; "it ruins a house to have such people in it."
In the meantime, the man, laying his bundle and his cudgel on a bench, had seated himself at a table, on which Cosette made haste to place a bottle of wine and a glass.The merchant who had demanded the bucket of water took it to his horse himself. Cosette resumed her place under the kitchen table, and her knitting.
The man, who had barely moistened his lips in the wine which he had poured out for himself, observed the child with peculiar attention.
Cosette was ugly.If she had been happy, she might have been pretty. We have already given a sketch of that sombre little figure. Cosette was thin and pale; she was nearly eight years old, but she seemed to be hardly six.Her large eyes, sunken in a sort of shadow, were almost put out with weeping.The corners of her mouth had that curve of habitual anguish which is seen in condemned persons and desperately sick people.Her hands were, as her mother had divined, "ruined with chilblains."The fire which illuminated her at that moment brought into relief all the angles of her bones, and rendered her thinness frightfully apparent.As she was always shivering, she had acquired the habit of pressing her knees one against the other. Her entire clothing was but a rag which would have inspired pity in summer, and which inspired horror in winter.All she had on was hole-ridden linen, not a scrap of woollen.Her skin was visible here and there and everywhere black and blue spots could be descried, which marked the places where the Thenardier woman had touched her. Her naked legs were thin and red.The hollows in her neck were enough to make one weep.This child's whole person, her mien, her attitude, the sound of her voice, the intervals which she allowed to elapse between one word and the next, her glance, her silence, her slightest gesture, expressed and betrayed one sole idea,--fear.
Fear was diffused all over her; she was covered with it, so to speak; fear drew her elbows close to her hips, withdrew her heels under her petticoat, made her occupy as little space as possible, allowed her only the breath that was absolutely necessary, and had become what might be called the habit of her body, admitting of no possible variation except an increase.In the depths of her eyes there was an astonished nook where terror lurked.
Her fear was such, that on her arrival, wet as she was, Cosette did not dare to approach the fire and dry herself, but sat silently down to her work again.
The expression in the glance of that child of eight years was habitually so gloomy, and at times so tragic, that it seemed at certain moments as though she were on the verge of becoming an idiot or a demon.
As we have stated, she had never known what it is to pray; she had never set foot in a church."Have I the time?" said the Thenardier.
The man in the yellow coat never took his eyes from Cosette.
All at once, the Thenardier exclaimed:--
"By the way, where's that bread?"
Cosette, according to her custom whenever the Thenardier uplifted her voice, emerged with great haste from beneath the table.
She had completely forgotten the bread.She had recourse to the expedient of children who live in a constant state of fear. She lied.
"Madame, the baker's shop was shut."
"You should have knocked."
"I did knock, Madame."
"Well?"
"He did not open the door."
"I'll find out to-morrow whether that is true," said the Thenardier; "and if you are telling me a lie, I'll lead you a pretty dance. In the meantime, give me back my fifteen-sou piece."
Cosette plunged her hand into the pocket of her apron, and turned green. The fifteen-sou piece was not there.
"Ah, come now," said Madame Thenardier, "did you hear me?"
Cosette turned her pocket inside out; there was nothing in it. What could have become of that money?The unhappy little creature could not find a word to say.She was petrified.
"Have you lost that fifteen-sou piece?" screamed the Thenardier, hoarsely, "or do you want to rob me of it?"
At the same time, she stretched out her arm towards the cat-o'-nine-tails which hung on a nail in the chimney-corner.
This formidable gesture restored to Cosette sufficient strength to shriek:--
"Mercy, Madame, Madame!I will not do so any more!"
The Thenardier took down the whip.
In the meantime, the man in the yellow coat had been fumbling in the fob of his waistcoat, without any one having noticed his movements. Besides, the other travellers were drinking or playing cards, and were not paying attention to anything.
Cosette contracted herself into a ball, with anguish, within the angle of the chimney, endeavoring to gather up and conceal her poor half-nude limbs.The Thenardier raised her arm.
"pardon me, Madame," said the man, "but just now I caught sight of something which had fallen from this little one's apron pocket, and rolled aside.perhaps this is it."
At the same time he bent down and seemed to be searching on the floor for a moment.
"Exactly; here it is," he went on, straightening himself up.
And he held out a silver coin to the Thenardier.
"Yes, that's it," said she.
It was not it, for it was a twenty-sou piece; but the Thenardier found it to her advantage.She put the coin in her pocket, and confined herself to casting a fierce glance at the child, accompanied with the remark, "Don't let this ever happen again!"
Cosette returned to what the Thenardier called "her kennel," and her large eyes, which were riveted on the traveller, began to take on an expression such as they had never worn before. Thus far it was only an innocent amazement, but a sort of stupefied confidence was mingled with it.
"By the way, would you like some supper?" the Thenardier inquired of the traveller.
He made no reply.He appeared to be absorbed in thought.
"What sort of a man is that?" she muttered between her teeth. "He's some frightfully poor wretch.He hasn't a sou to pay for a supper.Will he even pay me for his lodging?It's very lucky, all the same, that it did not occur to him to steal the money that was on the floor."
In the meantime, a door had opened, and Eponine and Azelma entered.
They were two really pretty little girls, more bourgeois than peasant in looks, and very charming; the one with shining chestnut tresses, the other with long black braids hanging down her back, both vivacious, neat, plump, rosy, and healthy, and a delight to the eye.They were warmly clad, but with so much maternal art that the thickness of the stuffs did not detract from the coquetry of arrangement.There was a hint of winter, though the springtime was not wholly effaced.Light emanated from these two little beings. Besides this, they were on the throne.In their toilettes, in their gayety, in the noise which they made, there was sovereignty. When they entered, the Thenardier said to them in a grumbling tone which was full of adoration, "Ah! there you are, you children!"
Then drawing them, one after the other to her knees, smoothing their hair, tying their ribbons afresh, and then releasing them with that gentle manner of shaking off which is peculiar to mothers, she exclaimed, "What frights they are!"
They went and seated themselves in the chimney-corner. They had a doll, which they turned over and over on their knees with all sorts of joyous chatter.From time to time Cosette raised her eyes from her knitting, and watched their play with a melancholy air.
Eponine and Azelma did not look at Cosette.She was the same as a dog to them.These three little girls did not yet reckon up four and twenty years between them, but they already represented the whole society of man; envy on the one side, disdain on the other.
The doll of the Thenardier sisters was very much faded, very old, and much broken; but it seemed none the less admirable to Cosette, who had never had a doll in her life, a real doll, to make use of the expression which all children will understand.
All at once, the Thenardier, who had been going back and forth in the room, perceived that Cosette's mind was distracted, and that, instead of working, she was paying attention to the little ones at their play.
"Ah!I've caught you at it!" she cried."So that's the way you work! I'll make you work to the tune of the whip; that I will."
The stranger turned to the Thenardier, without quitting his chair.
"Bah, Madame," he said, with an almost timid air, "let her play!"
Such a wish expressed by a traveller who had eaten a slice of mutton and had drunk a couple of bottles of wine with his supper, and who had not the air of being frightfully poor, would have been equivalent to an order.But that a man with such a hat should permit himself such a desire, and that a man with such a coat should permit himself to have a will, was something which Madame Thenardier did not intend to tolerate.She retorted with acrimony:--
"She must work, since she eats.I don't feed her to do nothing."
"What is she making?" went on the stranger, in a gentle voice which contrasted strangely with his beggarly garments and his porter's shoulders.
The Thenardier deigned to reply:--
"Stockings, if you please.Stockings for my little girls, who have none, so to speak, and who are absolutely barefoot just now."
The man looked at Cosette's poor little red feet, and continued:--
"When will she have finished this pair of stockings?"
"She has at least three or four good days' work on them still, the lazy creature!"
"And how much will that pair of stockings be worth when she has finished them?"
The Thenardier cast a glance of disdain on him.
"Thirty sous at least."
"Will you sell them for five francs?" went on the man.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed a carter who was listening, with a loud laugh; "five francs! the deuce, I should think so! five balls!"
Thenardier thought it time to strike in.
"Yes, sir; if such is your fancy, you will be allowed to have that pair of stockings for five francs.We can refuse nothing to travellers."
"You must pay on the spot," said the Thenardier, in her curt and peremptory fashion.
"I will buy that pair of stockings," replied the man, "and," he added, drawing a five-franc piece from his pocket, and laying it on the table, "I will pay for them."
Then he turned to Cosette.
"Now I own your work; play, my child."
The carter was so much touched by the five-franc piece, that he abandoned his glass and hastened up.
"But it's true!" he cried, examining it."A real hind wheel! and not counterfeit!"
Thenardier approached and silently put the coin in his pocket.
The Thenardier had no reply to make.She bit her lips, and her face assumed an expression of hatred.
In the meantime, Cosette was trembling.She ventured to ask:--
"Is it true, Madame?May I play?"
"play!" said the Thenardier, in a terrible voice.
"Thanks, Madame," said Cosette.
And while her mouth thanked the Thenardier, her whole little soul thanked the traveller.
Thenardier had resumed his drinking; his wife whispered in his ear:--
"Who can this yellow man be?"
"I have seen millionaires with coats like that," replied Thenardier, in a sovereign manner.
Cosette had dropped her knitting, but had not left her seat. Cosette always moved as little as possible.She picked up some old rags and her little lead sword from a box behind her.
Eponine and Azelma paid no attention to what was going on. They had just executed a very important operation; they had just got hold of the cat.They had thrown their doll on the ground, and Eponine, who was the elder, was swathing the little cat, in spite of its mewing and its contortions, in a quantity of clothes and red and blue scraps.While performing this serious and difficult work she was saying to her sister in that sweet and adorable language of children, whose grace, like the splendor of the butterfly's wing, vanishes when one essays to fix it fast.
"You see, sister, this doll is more amusing than the other. She twists, she cries, she is warm.See, sister, let us play with her. She shall be my little girl.I will be a lady.I will come to see you, and you shall look at her.Gradually, you will perceive her whiskers, and that will surprise you.And then you will see her ears, and then you will see her tail and it will amaze you. And you will say to me, `Ah! Mon Dieu!' and I will say to you: `Yes, Madame, it is my little girl.Little girls are made like that just at present.'"
Azelma listened admiringly to Eponine.
In the meantime, the drinkers had begun to sing an obscene song, and to laugh at it until the ceiling shook.Thenardier accompanied and encouraged them.
As birds make nests out of everything, so children make a doll out of anything which comes to hand.While Eponine and Azelma were bundling up the cat, Cosette, on her side, had dressed up her sword. That done, she laid it in her arms, and sang to it softly, to lull it to sleep.
The doll is one of the most imperious needs and, at the same time, one of the most charming instincts of feminine childhood. To care for, to clothe, to deck, to dress, to undress, to redress, to teach, scold a little, to rock, to dandle, to lull to sleep, to imagine that something is some one,--therein lies the whole woman's future.While dreaming and chattering, making tiny outfits, and baby clothes, while sewing little gowns, and corsages and bodices, the child grows into a young girl, the young girl into a big girl, the big girl into a woman.The first child is the continuation of the last doll.
A little girl without a doll is almost as unhappy, and quite as impossible, as a woman without children.
So Cosette had made herself a doll out of the sword.
Madame Thenardier approached the yellow man; "My husband is right," she thought; "perhaps it is M. Laffitte; there are such queer rich men!"
She came and set her elbows on the table.
"Monsieur," said she.At this word, Monsieur, the man turned; up to that time, the Thenardier had addressed him only as brave homme or bonhomme.
"You see, sir," she pursued, assuming a sweetish air that was even more repulsive to behold than her fierce mien, "I am willing that the child should play; I do not oppose it, but it is good for once, because you are generous.You see, she has nothing; she must needs work."
"Then this child is not yours?" demanded the man.
"Oh! mon Dieu! no, sir! she is a little beggar whom we have taken in through charity; a sort of imbecile child.She must have water on the brain; she has a large head, as you see.We do what we can for her, for we are not rich; we have written in vain to her native place, and have received no reply these six months. It must be that her mother is dead."
"Ah!" said the man, and fell into his revery once more.
"Her mother didn't amount to much," added the Thenardier; "she abandoned her child."
During the whole of this conversation Cosette, as though warned by some instinct that she was under discussion, had not taken her eyes from the Thenardier's face; she listened vaguely; she caught a few words here and there.
Meanwhile, the drinkers, all three-quarters intoxicated, were repeating their unclean refrain with redoubled gayety; it was a highly spiced and wanton song, in which the Virgin and the infant Jesus were introduced.The Thenardier went off to take part in the shouts of laughter.Cosette, from her post under the table, gazed at the fire, which was reflected from her fixed eyes.She had begun to rock the sort of baby which she had made, and, as she rocked it, she sang in a low voice, "My mother is dead! my mother is dead! my mother is dead!"
On being urged afresh by the hostess, the yellow man, "the millionaire," consented at last to take supper.
"What does Monsieur wish?"
"Bread and cheese," said the man.
"Decidedly, he is a beggar" thought Madame Thenardier.
The drunken men were still singing their song, and the child under the table was singing hers.
All at once, Cosette paused; she had just turned round and caught sight of the little Thenardiers' doll, which they had abandoned for the cat and had left on the floor a few paces from the kitchen table.
Then she dropped the swaddled sword, which only half met her needs, and cast her eyes slowly round the room.Madame Thenardier was whispering to her husband and counting over some money; ponine and Zelma were playing with the cat; the travellers were eating or drinking or singing; not a glance was fixed on her. She had not a moment to lose; she crept out from under the table on her hands and knees, made sure once more that no one was watching her; then she slipped quickly up to the doll and seized it.An instant later she was in her place again, seated motionless, and only turned so as to cast a shadow on the doll which she held in her arms. The happiness of playing with a doll was so rare for her that it contained all the violence of voluptuousness.
No one had seen her, except the traveller, who was slowly devouring his meagre supper.
This joy lasted about a quarter of an hour.
But with all the precautions that Cosette had taken she did not perceive that one of the doll's legs stuck out and that the fire on the hearth lighted it up very vividly.That pink and shining foot, projecting from the shadow, suddenly struck the eye of Azelma, who said to Eponine, "Look! sister."
The two little girls paused in stupefaction; Cosette had dared to take their doll!
Eponine rose, and, without releasing the cat, she ran to her mother, and began to tug at her skirt.
"Let me alone!" said her mother; "what do you want?"
"Mother," said the child, "look there!"
And she pointed to Cosette.
Cosette, absorbed in the ecstasies of possession, no longer saw or heard anything.
Madame Thenardier's countenance assumed that peculiar expression which is composed of the terrible mingled with the trifles of life, and which has caused this style of woman to be named megaeras.
On this occasion, wounded pride exasperated her wrath still further. Cosette had overstepped all bounds; Cosette had laid violent hands on the doll belonging to "these young ladies."A czarina who should see a muzhik trying on her imperial son's blue ribbon would wear no other face.
She shrieked in a voice rendered hoarse with indignation:--
"Cosette!"
Cosette started as though the earth had trembled beneath her; she turned round.
"Cosette!" repeated the Thenardier.
Cosette took the doll and laid it gently on the floor with a sort of veneration, mingled with despair; then, without taking her eyes from it, she clasped her hands, and, what is terrible to relate of a child of that age, she wrung them; then--not one of the emotions of the day, neither the trip to the forest, nor the weight of the bucket of water, nor the loss of the money, nor the sight of the whip, nor even the sad words which she had heard Madame Thenardier utter had been able to wring this from her-- she wept; she burst out sobbing.
Meanwhile, the traveller had risen to his feet.
"What is the matter?" he said to the Thenardier.
"Don't you see?" said the Thenardier, pointing to the corpus delicti which lay at Cosette's feet.
"Well, what of it?" resumed the man.
"That beggar," replied the Thenardier, "has permitted herself to touch the children's doll!"
"All this noise for that!" said the man; "well, what if she did play with that doll?"
"She touched it with her dirty hands!" pursued the Thenardier, "with her frightful hands!"
Here Cosette redoubled her sobs.
"Will you stop your noise?" screamed the Thenardier.
The man went straight to the street door, opened it, and stepped out.
As soon as he had gone, the Thenardier profited by his absence to give Cosette a hearty kick under the table, which made the child utter loud cries.
The door opened again, the man re-appeared; he carried in both hands the fabulous doll which we have mentioned, and which all the village brats had been staring at ever since the morning, and he set it upright in front of Cosette, saying:--
"Here; this is for you."
It must be supposed that in the course of the hour and more which he had spent there he had taken confused notice through his revery of that toy shop, lighted up by fire-pots and candles so splendidly that it was visible like an illumination through the window of the drinking-shop.
Cosette raised her eyes; she gazed at the man approaching her with that doll as she might have gazed at the sun; she heard the unprecedented words, "It is for you"; she stared at him; she stared at the doll; then she slowly retreated, and hid herself at the extreme end, under the table in a corner of the wall.
She no longer cried; she no longer wept; she had the appearance of no longer daring to breathe.
The Thenardier, Eponine, and Azelma were like statues also; the very drinkers had paused; a solemn silence reigned through the whole room.
Madame Thenardier, petrified and mute, recommenced her conjectures: "Who is that old fellow?Is he a poor man?Is he a millionaire? perhaps he is both; that is to say, a thief."
The face of the male Thenardier presented that expressive fold which accentuates the human countenance whenever the dominant instinct appears there in all its bestial force.The tavern-keeper stared alternately at the doll and at the traveller; he seemed to be scenting out the man, as he would have scented out a bag of money. This did not last longer than the space of a flash of lightning. He stepped up to his wife and said to her in a low voice:--
"That machine costs at least thirty francs.No nonsense. Down on your belly before that man!"
Gross natures have this in common with naive natures, that they possess no transition state.
"Well, Cosette," said the Thenardier, in a voice that strove to be sweet, and which was composed of the bitter honey of malicious women, "aren't you going to take your doll?"
Cosette ventured to emerge from her hole.
"The gentleman has given you a doll, my little Cosette," said Thenardier, with a caressing air."Take it; it is yours."
Cosette gazed at the marvellous doll in a sort of terror. Her face was still flooded with tears, but her eyes began to fill, like the sky at daybreak, with strange beams of joy.What she felt at that moment was a little like what she would have felt if she had been abruptly told, "Little one, you are the Queen of France."
It seemed to her that if she touched that doll, lightning would dart from it.
This was true, up to a certain point, for she said to herself that the Thenardier would scold and beat her.
Nevertheless, the attraction carried the day.She ended by drawing near and murmuring timidly as she turned towards Madame Thenardier:--
"May I, Madame?"
No words can render that air, at once despairing, terrified, and ecstatic.
"pardi!" cried the Thenardier, "it is yours.The gentleman has given it to you."
"Truly, sir?" said Cosette."Is it true?Is the `lady' mine?"
The stranger's eyes seemed to be full of tears.He appeared to have reached that point of emotion where a man does not speak for fear lest he should weep.He nodded to Cosette, and placed the "lady's" hand in her tiny hand.
Cosette hastily withdrew her hand, as though that of the "lady" scorched her, and began to stare at the floor.We are forced to add that at that moment she stuck out her tongue immoderately. All at once she wheeled round and seized the doll in a transport.
"I shall call her Catherine," she said.
It was an odd moment when Cosette's rags met and clasped the ribbons and fresh pink muslins of the doll.
"Madame," she resumed, "may I put her on a chair?"
"Yes, my child," replied the Thenardier.
It was now the turn of Eponine and Azelma to gaze at Cosette with envy.
Cosette placed Catherine on a chair, then seated herself on the floor in front of her, and remained motionless, without uttering a word, in an attitude of contemplation.
"play, Cosette," said the stranger.
"Oh!I am playing," returned the child.
This stranger, this unknown individual, who had the air of a visit which providence was making on Cosette, was the person whom the Thenardier hated worse than any one in the world at that moment.However, it was necessary to control herself. Habituated as she was to dissimulation through endeavoring to copy her husband in all his actions, these emotions were more than she could endure.She made haste to send her daughters to bed, then she asked the man's permission to send Cosette off also; "for she has worked hard all day," she added with a maternal air. Cosette went off to bed, carrying Catherine in her arms.
From time to time the Thenardier went to the other end of the room where her husband was, to relieve her soul, as she said. She exchanged with her husband words which were all the more furious because she dared not utter them aloud.
"Old beast!What has he got in his belly, to come and upset us in this manner!To want that little monster to play! to give away forty-franc dolls to a jade that I would sell for forty sous, so I would!A little more and he will be saying Your Majesty to her, as though to the Duchess de Berry!Is there any sense in it? Is he mad, then, that mysterious old fellow?"
"Why! it is perfectly simple," replied Thenardier, "if that amuses him! It amuses you to have the little one work; it amuses him to have her play.He's all right.A traveller can do what he pleases when he pays for it.If the old fellow is a philanthropist, what is that to you?If he is an imbecile, it does not concern you. What are you worrying for, so long as he has money?"
The language of a master, and the reasoning of an innkeeper, neither of which admitted of any reply.
The man had placed his elbows on the table, and resumed his thoughtful attitude.All the other travellers, both pedlers and carters, had withdrawn a little, and had ceased singing. They were staring at him from a distance, with a sort of respectful awe. This poorly dressed man, who drew "hind-wheels" from his pocket with so much ease, and who lavished gigantic dolls on dirty little brats in wooden shoes, was certainly a magnificent fellow, and one to be feared.
Many hours passed.The midnight mass was over, the chimes had ceased, the drinkers had taken their departure, the drinking-shop was closed, the public room was deserted, the fire extinct, the stranger still remained in the same place and the same attitude.From time to time he changed the elbow on which he leaned.That was all; but he had not said a word since Cosette had left the room.
The Thenardiers alone, out of politeness and curiosity, had remained in the room.
"Is he going to pass the night in that fashion?" grumbled the Thenardier. When two o'clock in the morning struck, she declared herself vanquished, and said to her husband, "I'm going to bed.Do as you like." Her husband seated himself at a table in the corner, lighted a candle, and began to read the Courrier Francais.
A good hour passed thus.The worthy inn-keeper had perused the Courrier Francais at least three times, from the date of the number to the printer's name.The stranger did not stir.
Thenardier fidgeted, coughed, spit, blew his nose, and creaked his chair.Not a movement on the man's part."Is he asleep?" thought Thenardier.The man was not asleep, but nothing could arouse him.
At last Thenardier took off his cap, stepped gently up to him, and ventured to say:--
"Is not Monsieur going to his repose?"
Not going to bed would have seemed to him excessive and familiar. To repose smacked of luxury and respect.These words possess the mysterious and admirable property of swelling the bill on the following day.A chamber where one sleeps costs twenty sous; a chamber in which one reposes costs twenty francs.
"Well!" said the stranger, "you are right.Where is your stable?"
"Sir!" exclaimed Thenardier, with a smile, "I will conduct you, sir."
He took the candle; the man picked up his bundle and cudgel, and Thenardier conducted him to a chamber on the first floor, which was of rare splendor, all furnished in mahogany, with a low bedstead, curtained with red calico.
"What is this?" said the traveller.
"It is really our bridal chamber," said the tavern-keeper. "My wife and I occupy another.This is only entered three or four times a year."
"I should have liked the stable quite as well," said the man, abruptly.
Thenardier pretended not to hear this unamiable remark.
He lighted two perfectly fresh wax candles which figured on the chimney-piece. A very good fire was flickering on the hearth.
On the chimney-piece, under a glass globe, stood a woman's head-dress in silver wire and orange flowers.
"And what is this?" resumed the stranger.
"That, sir," said Thenardier, "is my wife's wedding bonnet."
The traveller surveyed the object with a glance which seemed to say, "There really was a time, then, when that monster was a maiden?"
Thenardier lied, however.When he had leased this paltry building for the purpose of converting it into a tavern, he had found this chamber decorated in just this manner, and had purchased the furniture and obtained the orange flowers at second hand, with the idea that this would cast a graceful shadow on "his spouse," and would result in what the English call respectability for his house.
When the traveller turned round, the host had disappeared. Thenardier had withdrawn discreetly, without venturing to wish him a good night, as he did not wish to treat with disrespectful cordiality a man whom he proposed to fleece royally the following morning.
The inn-keeper retired to his room.His wife was in bed, but she was not asleep.When she heard her husband's step she turned over and said to him:--
"Do you know, I'm going to turn Cosette out of doors to-morrow."
Thenardier replied coldly:--
"How you do go on!"
They exchanged no further words, and a few moments later their candle was extinguished.
As for the traveller, he had deposited his cudgel and his bundle in a corner.The landlord once gone, he threw himself into an arm-chair and remained for some time buried in thought. Then he removed his shoes, took one of the two candles, blew out the other, opened the door, and quitted the room, gazing about him like a person who is in search of something. He traversed a corridor and came upon a staircase.There he heard a very faint and gentle sound like the breathing of a child. He followed this sound, and came to a sort of triangular recess built under the staircase, or rather formed by the staircase itself. This recess was nothing else than the space under the steps. There, in the midst of all sorts of old papers and potsherds, among dust and spiders' webs, was a bed--if one can call by the name of bed a straw pallet so full of holes as to display the straw, and a coverlet so tattered as to show the pallet.No sheets. This was placed on the floor.
In this bed Cosette was sleeping.
The man approached and gazed down upon her.
Cosette was in a profound sleep; she was fully dressed.In the winter she did not undress, in order that she might not be so cold.
Against her breast was pressed the doll, whose large eyes, wide open, glittered in the dark.From time to time she gave vent to a deep sigh as though she were on the point of waking, and she strained the doll almost convulsively in her arms.Beside her bed there was only one of her wooden shoes.
A door which stood open near Cosette's pallet permitted a view of a rather large, dark room.The stranger stepped into it. At the further extremity, through a glass door, he saw two small, very white beds.They belonged to Eponine and Azelma. Behind these beds, and half hidden, stood an uncurtained wicker cradle, in which the little boy who had cried all the evening lay asleep.
The stranger conjectured that this chamber connected with that of the Thenardier pair.He was on the point of retreating when his eye fell upon the fireplace--one of those vast tavern chimneys where there is always so little fire when there is any fire at all, and which are so cold to look at.There was no fire in this one, there was not even ashes; but there was something which attracted the stranger's gaze, nevertheless.It was two tiny children's shoes, coquettish in shape and unequal in size.The traveller recalled the graceful and immemorial custom in accordance with which children place their shoes in the chimney on Christmas eve, there to await in the darkness some sparkling gift from their good fairy. Eponine and Azelma had taken care not to omit this, and each of them had set one of her shoes on the hearth.
The traveller bent over them.
The fairy, that is to say, their mother, had already paid her visit, and in each he saw a brand-new and shining ten-sou piece.
The man straightened himself up, and was on the point of withdrawing, when far in, in the darkest corner of the hearth, he caught sight of another object.He looked at it, and recognized a wooden shoe, a frightful shoe of the coarsest description, half dilapidated and all covered with ashes and dried mud.It was Cosette's sabot. Cosette, with that touching trust of childhood, which can always be deceived yet never discouraged, had placed her shoe on the hearth-stone also.
Hope in a child who has never known anything but despair is a sweet and touching thing.
There was nothing in this wooden shoe.
The stranger fumbled in his waistcoat, bent over and placed a louis d'or in Cosette's shoe.
Then he regained his own chamber with the stealthy tread of a wolf.

     那个大娃娃还一直摆在玩具店里，珂赛特经过那里，无法不斜眼睛再瞅它一下，瞅过后她才敲门。门开了。德纳第大娘端着一支蜡烛走出来。
    “啊！是你这个小化子！谢谢天主，你去了多少时间！你玩够了吧，小贱货！”
    “太太，”珂赛特浑身发抖地说，“有位先生来过夜。”德纳第大娘的怒容立即变成了笑脸，这是客店老板们特有的随机应变，她连忙睁眼去找那新来的客人。
    “是这位先生吗？”她说。
    “是，太太。”那人一面举手到帽边，一面回答。有钱的客人不会这么客气。德纳第大娘一眼望见他那手势和他的服装行李，又立即收起了那副笑容，重新摆出她生气的面孔。她冷冰冰地说：“进来吧，汉子。”
    “汉子”进来了。德纳第大娘又重新望了他一眼，特别注意到他那件很旧的大衣和他那顶有点破的帽子，她对她那位一直陪着车夫们喝酒的丈夫点头，皱鼻，眨眼，征求他的意见。她丈夫微微地摇了摇了食指，努了努嘴唇，这意思就是说：完全是个穷光蛋。于是，德纳第大娘提高了嗓子说：“喂！老头儿，对不起，我这儿已经没地方了。”
    “请您随便把我安置在什么地方，”那人说，“顶楼上，马棚里，都可以。我仍按一间屋付帐。”
    “四十个苏。”
    “四十个苏，可以。”
    “好吧。”
    “四十个苏！”一个赶车的对德纳第大娘细声说：“不是二十就够了吗？”
    “对他是四十个苏，”德纳第大娘用原来的口吻回答说：“穷人来住，更不能少给呀！”
    “这是真话，”她丈夫斯斯文文地补上一句，“在家接待这种人，算是够倒霉的了。”这时，那人已把他的包袱和棍子放在板凳上，随即又靠近一张桌子坐下来，珂赛特也赶忙摆上了一瓶葡萄酒和一只玻璃杯。那个先头要水的商人亲自提了水桶去喂马。珂赛特色回到她那切菜桌子下面，坐下去打毛活。
    那人替自己斟了一杯酒，刚刚送到嘴边，他已带着一种奇特的神情，留心观察那孩子。
    珂赛特的相貌丑。假使她快乐，也许会漂亮些。我们已经约略描绘过这个郁郁寡欢的小人儿的形象。珂赛特面黄体瘦，她已快满八岁，但看上去还觉得象是个六岁的孩子。两只大眼睛深深隐在一层阴影里，已经失去了光彩，这是由于经常哭的原故。她嘴角的弧线显示出长时期内心的痛苦，使人想起那些待决的囚犯和自知无救的病人。她的手，正如她母亲猜想过的那样，已经“断送在冻疮里了。”当时炉里的火正照着她，使她身上的骨头显得格外突出，显得她瘦到了令人心酸的程度。由于她经常冷得发抖，她已有了紧紧靠拢两个膝头的习惯。她所有的衣服只是一身破布，夏季见到会使人感到可怜，冬季使人感到难过。她身上只有一件满是窟窿的布衣，绝无一寸毛织之物。到处都露出她的肉，全身都能看到德纳第婆娘打出来的青块和黑块。两条光腿，又红又细。锁骨的窝使人见了心痛。那孩子，从头到脚，她的态度，她的神情，说话的声音，说话的迟钝，看人的神气，见了人不说话，一举一动，都只表现和透露了一种心情：恐惧。
    恐惧笼罩着她，我们可以说，她被恐惧围困了，恐惧使她的两肘紧缩在腰旁，使她的脚跟紧缩在裙下，使她尽量少占地方，尽量少吸不必要的空气，那种恐惧可以说已经变成她的常态，除了有增无减以外，没有其他别的变化。在她眸子的一角有着惊惶不定的神色，那便是恐怖的藏匿之处。
    珂赛特的恐惧心情竟达到了这样一种程度：她回到家里，浑身湿透，却不敢到火旁去烤干衣服，而只是一声不响地走去干她的活。这个八岁孩子的眼神常是那样愁闷，有时还那样凄楚，以致某些时刻，她看起来好象正在变成一个白痴或是一个妖怪。我们已经说过，她从来不知道祈祷是怎么回事，她也从不曾踏进礼拜堂的大门。“我还有那种空闲吗？”德纳第大娘常这么说。那个穿黄大衣的人一直望着珂赛特，眼睛不曾离开过她。德纳第大娘忽然喊道：“我想起了！面包呢？”
    珂赛特每次听到德纳第大娘提高了嗓子，总是赶忙从那桌子下面钻出来，现在她也依旧赶忙钻了出来。
    她早已把那面包忘得一干二净了。她只得采用那些经常在惊恐中度日的孩子的应付办法：撒谎。
    “太太，面包店已经关了门。”
    “你应当敲门呀。”
    “我敲过了，太太。”
    “敲后怎么样呢？”
    “他不开。”
    “是真是假，我明天会知道的，”德纳第大娘说，“要是你说谎，看我不抽到你乱蹦乱跳。等着，先把那十五个苏还来。”珂赛特把她的手里插到围裙袋里，脸色变得铁青。那个值十五个苏的钱已经不在了。
    “怎么回事！”德纳第大娘说，“你听到我的话没有？”珂赛特把那口袋翻过来看，什么也没有。那钱到什么地方去呢？可怜的孩子一句话也说不出来。她吓呆了。
    “那十五个苏你丢了吗？”德纳第大娘暴跳如雷，“还是你想骗我的钱？”
    同时她伸手去取挂在壁炉边的那条皮鞭。这一吓人的动作使珂赛特叫喊得很响：“饶了我！太太！太太！我不敢了。”德纳第大娘已经取下了那条皮鞭。这时，那个穿黄大衣的人在他背心的口袋里掏了一下，别人都没有看见他这一动作，其他的客人都正在喝酒或是玩纸牌，什么也没有注意到。
    珂赛特，心惊肉跳，蜷缩在壁炉角落里，只想把她那露在短袖短裙外的肢体藏起来。德纳第大娘举起了胳膊。
    “对不起，大嫂，”那人说，“刚才我看见有个东西从小姑娘的围裙袋里掉出来，在地上滚。也许就是那钱了。”
    同时他弯下腰，好象在地上找了一阵。
    “没错，在这儿了。”他立起来说。他把一枚银币递给德纳第大娘。
    “对，就是它。”她说。不是它，因为那是一枚值二十个苏的钱，不过德纳第大娘却因此占了便宜。她把那钱塞进衣袋，横着眼对孩子说：“下次可不准你再这样，绝对不可以！”
    珂赛特又回到她的老地方，也就是德纳第大娘叫做“她的窠”的那地方。她的一双大眼睛老望着那个陌生的客人，开始表现出一种从来不曾有过的神情，那还只是一种天真的惊异之色，但已有一种惊惶不定的依恋心情在里面了。
    “喂，您吃不吃晚饭？”德纳第大娘问那客人。他不回答。他仿佛正在细心思索问题。
    “这究竟是个什么人？”她咬紧牙说，“一定是个穷光蛋。这种货色哪会有钱吃晚饭？我的房钱也许他还付不出呢。地上的那个银币他没有想到塞进腰包，已算是了不起的了。”
    这时，有扇门开了，爱潘妮和阿兹玛走了进来。
    那确是两个漂亮的小姑娘，落落大方，很少农村气，极惹人爱，一 个挽起了又光又滑的栗竭色麻花髻，一个背上拖着两条乌黑的长辫子，两个都活泼、整洁、丰腴、红润、强舰悦目。她们都穿得暖，由于她们的母亲手艺精巧，衣料虽厚，却绝不影响她们服装的秀气，既御冬寒，又含春意。两个小姑娘都喜气洋洋。除此以外，她们颇有一些主人家的气派。她们的装饰、嬉笑、吵闹都表现出一种自以为高人一等的味道。她们进来时，德纳第大娘用一种极慈爱的责备口吻说：“哈！你们跑来做什么，你们这两个家伙！”接着，她把她们一个个拉到膝间，替她们理好头发，结好丝带，才放她们走，在放走以前，她用慈母所独有的那种轻柔的动作，把她们摇了一阵，口里喊道：“去你们的，丑八怪！”
    她们走去坐在火旁边。她们有个娃娃，她们把它放在膝上，转过来又转过去，嘴里叽叽喳喳，有说有笑。珂赛特的眼睛不时离开毛活，惨兮兮地望着她们玩。
    爱潘妮和阿兹玛看都不看珂赛特。在她们看来，那好象只是一条狗。这三个小姑娘的年龄合起来都不到二十四岁，可是她们已经代表整个人类社会了，一方面是羡慕，一方面是鄙视。德纳第姊妹俩的那个娃娃已经很破很旧，颜色也褪尽了，可是在珂赛特的眼里，却并不因此而显得不可爱，珂赛特出世以来从不曾有过一个娃娃，照每个孩子都懂得的说法，那就是她从来都不曾有过“一个真的娃娃。”
    德纳第大娘原在那厅堂里走来走去，忽然她发现珂赛特的思想开了小差，她没有专心做活，却在留意那两个正在玩耍的小姑娘。
    “哈！这下子，你逃不了了吧！”她大声吼着说，“你是这样做活的！我去拿鞭子来教你怎么做，让我来。”
    那个外来人，仍旧坐在椅子上，转过身来望着德纳第大娘。“大嫂，”他带着笑容，不大敢开口似的说，“算了！您让她玩吧！”
    这种愿望，要是出自一个晚餐时吃过一盘羊腿、喝过两瓶葡萄酒、而没有“穷光蛋”模样的客人的口，也许尚有商量的余地，但是一个戴着那样一种帽子的人，竟敢表示一种希望，穿那样一件大衣的人，竟敢表示一种意愿，这在德纳第大娘看来是不能容忍的。她气冲冲地说：“她既要吃饭，就得干活。我不能白白养着她。”
    “她到底是在干什么活？”那外来人接着说，说话声调的柔和，恰和他那乞丐式的服装和脚夫式的肩膀形成一种异常奇特的对比。
    德纳第大娘特别赏脸，回答他说：
    “她在打毛袜，这没错吧。我两个小女儿的毛袜，她们没有袜子，等于没有，马上就要赤着脚走路了。”
    那个人望着珂赛特的两只红得可怜的脚，接着说：“她还要多长时间才能打完这双袜子？”
    “她至少还得花上整整三四天，这个懒丫头。”
    “这双袜子打完了，可以值多少钱呢？”德纳第大娘对他轻蔑地瞟了一眼。
    “至少三十个苏。”
    “为这双袜子我给您五个法郎①行吗？”那人接着说。“老天！”一 个留心听着的车夫呵呵大笑说，“五个法郎！真是好价钱！五块钱！”
①每法郎合二十个苏。
    德纳第认为应当发言了。
    “好的，先生，假使您高兴，这双袜子我们就折成五个法郎让给您。我们对客人总是尽量奉承的。”
    “得立刻付钱。”德纳第大娘直戴了当地说。
    “我买这双袜子，”那人说，他从口袋里掏出一个五法郎的钱，放在桌子说，“我付现钱。”
    接着，他转向珂赛特说：
    “现在你的活儿归我了。玩吧，我的孩子。”那车夫见了那枚值五法郎的钱大受感动，他丢下酒杯走来看。“这钱倒是真的呢！”他一面细看一面喊，“一个真正的后轮②！一点不假！”
②后轮，五法郎的旧称。
    德纳第大娘走过来，一声不响，把那钱揣进了衣袋。德纳第大娘无话可说，她咬着自己的嘴唇，满脸恨容。珂赛特仍旧在发抖。她冒险问道：“太太，是真的吗？我可以玩吗？”
    “玩你的！”德纳第大娘猛吼一声。
    “谢谢，太太。”珂赛特说。她嘴在谢德纳第大娘的同时，整个小心眼儿却在谢那陌生人。德纳第重新开始喝酒。他婆娘在他耳边说：“那个黄人究竟是个什么东西？”
    “我见过许多百万富翁，”德纳第无限庄严地说，“是穿着这种大衣的。”  
    珂赛特已经放下了她的毛线活，但是没有从她那地方钻出来。珂赛特已经养成尽量少动的习惯。她从她背后的一只盒子里取出几块破布和她那把小铅刀。
    爱潘妮和阿兹玛一点没有注意到当时发生的事。她们刚完成了一件重要工作，她们捉住了那只猫。她们把娃娃丢在地上，爱潘妮，大姐，拿了许许多多红蓝破布去包缠那只猫，不管它叫也不管它辗转挣扎。她一面干着那种严肃艰苦的工作，一面用孩子们那种娇柔可爱的妙语——就象彩蝶双翼上的光彩，想留也留不转—对她的小妹说：“你瞧，妹妹，这个娃娃比那个好玩多了。它会动，它会叫，它是热的。你瞧，妹妹，我们拿它来玩。它做我的小宝宝。我做一个阔太太。我来看你，而你就看着它。慢慢地你看见它的胡子，这会吓你一跳。接着你看见了它的耳朵、它的尾巴，这又吓你一跳。你就对我说：‘唉！我的天主！’我就对你说：‘是呀，太太，我的小姑娘是这个样的。现在的小姑娘都是这个样的。’”阿兹玛听着爱潘妮说，感到津津有味。这时，那些喝酒的人唱起了一首淫歌，边唱边笑，天花板也被震动了。德纳第从旁助兴，陪着他们一同唱。雀鸟营巢，不择泥草，孩子们做玩偶，也可以用任何东西。和爱潘妮、阿兹玛包扎那小猫的同时，珂赛特也包扎了她的刀。包好以后，她把它平放在手臂上，轻轻歌唱，催它入睡。娃娃是女孩童年时代一种最迫切的需要，同时也是一种最动人的本能。照顾，穿衣，打扮，穿了又脱，脱了又穿，教导，轻轻责骂，摇它，抱它，哄它入睡，把一件东西想象成一个人，女性的未来全在这儿了。在一味幻想，一味闲谈，一味缝小衣裳和小襁褓、小裙袍和小短衫的岁月中女孩长大成小姑娘，小姑娘长大成大姑娘，大姑娘又成了妇女。第一个孩子接替着最末一个娃娃。
    一个没有娃娃的女孩和一个没有孩子的妇女几乎是同样痛苦的，而且也是完全不可能的。因此珂赛特把她那把刀当成自己的娃娃。
    至于德纳第大娘，她朝着那“黄人”走来，她心里想：“我的丈夫说得对，这也许就是拉菲特先生。阔佬们常爱开玩笑。”她走近前来，用肘支在他的桌子上。
    “先生??”她说。
    那人听到“先生”两字，便转过身来。德纳第大娘在这以前对他还只称“汉子”或“老头儿。”
    “您想想吧，先生，”她装出一副比她原先那种凶横模样更使人受不了的巴结样子往下说，“我很愿意让那孩子玩，我并不反对，而且偶然玩一次也没什么不好，因为您为人慷慨。您想，她什么也没有。她就得干活。”
    “她难道不是您的吗，那孩子？”那人问。
    “呵，我的天主，不是我的，先生！那是个穷苦人家的娃娃，我们为做好事随便收来的。是个蠢孩子。她的脑袋里一定有水。她的脑袋那么大，您看得出来。我们尽我们的力量帮助她，我们并不是有钱的人。我们写过信，寄到她家乡去，没有用，六个月过去了，再也没有回信来。
    我想她妈一定死了。”“啊！”那人说，他又回到他的梦境中去了。
    “她妈也是个没出息的东西，”德纳第大娘又补上一句，“她抛弃了自己的孩子。”
    在他们谈话的整个过程中，珂赛特，好象受到一种本能的暗示，知道别人正在谈论她的事，她的眼睛便没有离开过德纳第大娘。她似懂非懂地听着，她偶然也听到了几个字。
    那时，所有的酒客都已有了七八分醉意，都反复唱着猥亵的歌曲，兴致越来越高。他们唱的是一道趣味高级、有圣母圣子耶酥名字在内的风流曲调。德纳第大娘也混到他们中间狂笑去了。珂赛特呆在桌子下面，呆呆地望着火，眼珠反映着火光，她又把她先头做好的那个小包抱在怀里，左右摇摆，并且一面摇，一面低声唱道：“我的母亲死了！我的母亲死了！我的母亲死了！”通过女主人的再三劝说，那个黄人，“那个百万富翁”，终于同意吃一顿晚饭。
    “先生想吃点什么？”
    “面包和干酪。”那人说。
    “肯定是个穷鬼。”德纳第大娘心里想。那些醉汉一直在唱他们的歌，珂赛特，在那桌子底下，也唱着她的歌。
    珂赛特忽然不唱。她刚才回转头，一下发现了小德纳第的那个娃娃，先头她们在玩猫时，把它抛弃在那切菜桌子旁边了。于是她放下那把布包的小刀，她对那把小刀本来就不大满意，接着她慢慢移动眼珠，把那厅堂四周望了一遍。德纳第大娘正在和她的丈夫谈话，数着零钱，潘妮和兹玛在玩猫，客人们也都在吃，喝，歌唱，谁也没有注意她。她的机会难得。她用膝头和手从桌子底下爬出来，再张望一遍，知道没有人监视她。便连忙溜到那娃娃旁边，一手抓了过来。一会儿过后，她又回到她原来的位置，坐着不动，只不过转了方向，好让她怀里的那个娃娃隐在阴影中。抚弄娃娃的幸福对她来说，确是绝无仅有的，所以一时竟感到极强烈的陶醉。
    除了那个慢慢吃着素饭的客人以外，谁也没有看见她。那种欢乐延续了将近一刻钟。但是，尽管珂赛特十分注意，她却没有发现那娃娃有只脚“现了形”，壁炉里的火光早已把它照得雪亮了。那只突出在黑暗外面显得耀眼的粉红脚，突然引起了阿兹玛的注意，她向爱潘妮说：“你瞧！姐！”那两个小姑娘呆住了，为之惊骇。珂赛特竟敢动那娃娃！爱潘妮立起来，仍旧抱着猫，走到她母亲身旁去扯她的裙子。“不要吵！”她母亲说，“你又来找我干什么？”
    “妈，”那孩子说，“你看嘛！”同时她用手指着珂赛特。
    珂赛特完全沉浸在那种占有所引起的心醉神迷的状态中，什么也看不见，什么也听不见了。
    从德纳第大娘脸上表现出来的，是那种明知无事却又大惊小怪、使妇女立即变为恶魔的特别表情。
    这一次，她那受过创伤的自尊心使她更加无法抑制自己的愤怒了。珂赛特行为失检，珂赛亵渎了“小姐们”的娃娃。俄罗斯女皇看见农奴偷试皇太子的大蓝佩带，也不见得会有另外一副面孔。她猛吼一声，声音完全被愤怒梗塞住了：“珂赛特！”珂赛特吓了一跳，以为地塌下去了。她转回头。
    “珂赛特！”德纳第大娘又叫了一声。珂赛特把那娃娃轻轻放在地上，神情虔敬而沮丧。她的眼睛仍旧望着它，她叉起双手，并且，对那样年纪的孩子来说也真使人寒心，她还叉着双手的手指拗来拗去，这之后，她哭起来了，她在那整天里受到的折磨，如树林里跑进跑出，水桶的重压，丢了的钱，打到身边的皮鞭，甚至从德纳第大娘口中听到了那些伤心话，这些都不曾使她哭出来，现在她却伤心地痛哭起来了。
    这时，那陌生客人立起来了。
    “什么事？”他问德纳第大娘。
    “您瞧不见吗？”德纳第大娘指着那躺在珂赛特脚旁的罪证说。“那又怎么样呢？”那人又问。
    “这贱丫头，”德纳第大娘回答说，“好大胆，她动了孩子们的娃娃！”
    “为了这一点事就要大叫大嚷！”那个人说，“她玩了那娃娃又怎么样呢？”
    “她用她那脏手臭手碰了它！”德纳第大娘紧接着说。这时，珂赛特哭得更悲伤了。
    “不许哭！”德纳第大娘大吼一声。
    那人直冲到临街的大门边，开了门，出去了。他刚出去，德纳第大娘趁他不在，对准桌子底下狠狠地给了珂赛特一脚尖，踢得那孩子连声惨叫。
    大门又开了，那人也回来了，双手捧着我们先头谈过的、全村小把戏都瞻仰了整天的那个仙女似的娃娃，把它立在珂赛特的面前，说：“你的，这给你。”
    那人来到店里已一个多钟头了，当他独坐深思时，他也许从那餐厅的玻璃里，早已模糊望见窗外的那家灯烛辉煌的玩具店。珂赛特抬起眼睛，看见那人带来的那个娃娃，就好象看见他捧着太阳向她走来似的，她听见了那从来不曾听见过的话：“这给你。”她望望他，又望望那娃娃，她随即慢慢往后退，紧紧缩到桌子底下墙角里躲起来。
    她不再哭，也不再叫，仿佛也不敢再呼吸。德纳第大娘、爱潘妮、阿兹玛都象木头人一般呆住了。那些喝酒的人也都停了下来。整个店内寂静无声。德纳第大娘一点也不动，一声也不响，心里又开始猜想起来：“这个老头儿究竟是个什么人？是个穷人还是个百万富翁？也许两样都是，就是说，是个贼。”
    她丈夫德纳第的脸上起了一种富有表现力的皱纹，那种皱纹，每当主宰一个人的那种本能凭它全部的粗暴表现出来时，就会显示在那个人的面孔上。那客店老板反反复复仔细地端详那玩偶和那客人，他仿佛是在嗅那人，嗅到了一袋银子似的。那不过是一刹那间的事。他走近他女人的身边，低声对她说：“那玩意儿至少值三十法郎。傻事干不得。快低声下气好好伺侯他。”
    鄙俗的性格和天真的性格有一共同点，两者都没有过渡阶段。“怎么哪，珂赛特！你怎么还不来拿你的娃娃？”德纳第大娘说，她极力想让说话的声音显得柔和，其实那声音里充满了泼辣妇人的又酸又甜的滋味。
    珂赛特半信半疑，从她那洞里钻了出来。
    “我的小珂赛特，”德纳第老板也带着一种不胜怜爱的神气跟着说，“这位先生给你一个娃娃。快来拿。它是你的。”珂赛特怀着恐惧的心情望着那美妙的玩偶。她脸上还满是眼泪，但是她的眼睛，犹如拂晓的天空，已开始显出欢乐奇异的曙光。她当时的感受仿佛是突然听见有人告诉她：“小宝贝，你是法兰西的王后。”
    她仿佛觉得，万一她碰一下那娃娃，那就会打雷。那种想法在一定程度上是正确的，因为她认为德纳第大娘会骂她，并且会打她。可是诱感力占了上风。她终于走了过来，侧转头，战战兢兢地向着德纳第大娘细声说：“我可以拿吗，太太？”任何语言都无法形容那种又伤心、又害怕、又快乐的神情。“当然可以，”德纳第大娘说，“那是你的。这位先生已经把它送给你了。”
    “真的吗，先生？”珂赛特又问，“是真的吗？是给我的吗，这娃娃？”那个外来的客人好象忍着满眶的眼泪，他仿佛已被感动到一张嘴便不会不哭的程度。他对珂赛特点了点头，拿着那“娃娃”的手送到她的小手里。
    珂赛特连忙把手缩回去，好象那“娃娃”的手烫了她似的，她望着地上不动。我们得补充一句，那时她还把舌头伸得老长。她突然扭转身子，心花怒放地抱着那娃娃。
    “我叫它做卡特琳。”她说。
    珂赛特的破布衣和那玩偶的丝带以及鲜艳的粉红罗衫互相接触，互相偎傍，那的确是一种奇观。
    “太太，”她又说，“我可以把它放在椅子上吗？”
    “可以，我的孩子。”德纳第大娘回答。现在轮到爱潘妮和阿兹玛望着珂赛特眼红了。珂赛特把卡特琳放在一张椅子上，自己对着它坐在地上，一点也不动，也不说话，只一心赞叹瞻仰。
    “你玩嘛，珂赛特。”那陌生人说。
    “呵！我是在玩呀。”那孩子回答。这个素不相识、好象是上苍派来看珂赛特的外来人，这时已是德纳第大娘在世上最恨的人了。可是总得控制自己。尽管她已养成习惯来模仿她丈夫的一举一动，来隐藏自己的真实情感，不过当时的那种激动却不是她所能忍受得了的。她赶忙叫她的两个女儿去睡，随即又请那黄人“允许”她把珂赛特也送去睡。“她今天已经很累了。”她还慈母般的加上那么一句。珂赛特双手抱着卡特琳走去睡了。
    德纳第大娘不时走到厅的那一端她丈夫呆的地方，让“她的灵魂减轻负担”，她这样说。她和她丈夫交谈了几句，由于谈话的内容非常刻毒，因而她不敢大声说出。
    “这老畜生！他肚里究竟怀着什么鬼胎？跑到这儿来打搅我们！要那小怪物玩！给她娃娃！把一个四十法郎的娃娃送给一个我情愿卖四十 个苏的小母狗！再过一会儿，他就会象对待贝里公爵夫人那样称她‘陛下’了！这合情合理吗？难道他疯了，那老妖精？”
    “为什么吗？很简单，”德纳第回答说，“只要他高兴！你呢，你高兴要那孩子干活，他呢，他高兴要她玩。他有那种权利。一个客人，只要他付钱，什么事都可以做。假使那老头儿是个慈善家，那和你有什么相干？假使他是个傻瓜，那也不关你的事。他有钱，你何必多管闲事？”
    家主公的吩咐，客店老板的推论，两者都不容反驳。那人一手托腮，弯着胳膊，靠在桌上，恢复了那种想心事的姿态。
    所有看他的客人，商贩们和车夫们，都彼此分散开，也不再歌唱了。大家都怀着敬畏的心情从远处望着他。这个怪人，衣服穿得这么破旧，从衣袋里摸出“后轮”来却又这么随便，拿着又高又大的娃娃随意送给一 个穿木鞋的邋遢小姑娘，这一定是个值得钦佩、不能乱惹的人了。
    好几个钟头过去了。夜半弥撒已经结束夜宴也已散了，酒客们都走了，店门也关了，厅里冷冷清清的，火也熄了，那外来人却一直坐在原处，姿势都没有改，只有时替换一下那只托腮的手。如是而已。自从珂赛特走后，他一句话都没说。
    惟有德纳第夫妇俩，由于礼貌和好奇，还都留在厅里。“他打算就这样过夜吗？”德纳第大娘咬着牙说。夜里两点钟敲过了，她支持不住，便对丈夫说：“我要去睡了。随你拿他怎么办。”她丈夫坐在厅角上的一张桌子边，燃起一支烛，开始读《法兰西邮报》。
    这样又足足过了一个钟头。客店大老板把那份《法兰西邮报》至少念了三遍，从那一期的年月日直到印刷厂的名称全念过了。那位陌生客人还是坐着不动。
    德纳第扭动身体，咳嗽，吐痰，把椅子弄得嘎嘎响。那个人仍丝毫不动。“他睡着了吗？”德纳第心里想。他并没有睡，可是什么也不能惊醒他。最后，德纳第脱下他的软帽，轻轻走过去，壮起胆量说：“先生不想去安息吗？”
    他觉得，如果说“不去睡觉”会有些唐突，也过于亲密。“安息”要来得文雅些，并且带有敬意。那两个字还一种微妙可喜的效果，可以使他在第二天早晨扩大张单上的数字。一间“睡觉”的屋值二十个苏，一间“安息”的屋子却值二十法郎。
    “对！”那陌生客人说，“您说得有理。您的马棚在哪儿？”“先生，”德纳第笑了笑说，“我领先生去。”
    他端了那支烛，那个人也拿起了他的包袱和棍子，德纳第把他领到第一层楼上的一间屋子里，这屋子华丽得出奇，一色桃花心木家具，一 张高架床，红布幔“这怎么说？”那客人问。
    “这是我们自己结婚时的新房，”客店老板说，“我们现在住另外一间屋子，我的内人和我。一年里，我们在这屋子里住不上三四回。”
    “我倒觉得马棚也一样。”那人直率地说。德纳第只装做没有听见这句不大客气的话。他把陈设在壁炉上的一对全新白蜡烛点起来。炉膛里也燃起了一炉好火。壁炉上有个玻璃罩，罩里有一顶女人的银丝橙花帽。
    “这又是什么？”那陌生人问。
    “先生，”德纳第说，“这是我内人做新娘时戴的帽子。”客人望着那东西，样子仿佛是要说：“真想不到这怪物也当过处女！”
    德纳第说的其实是假话。他当初把那所破房子租来开客店时，这间屋子便是这样布置好了的，他买了这些家具，也保存了这簇橙花，认为这东西可以替“他的内人”增添光彩，可以替他的家庭，正如英国人所说“光耀门楣。”
    客人回转头，主人已不在了。德纳第悄悄地溜溜走了，不敢和他道晚安，他不愿以一种不恭敬的亲切态度，去对待他早已准备要在明天早晨放肆敲诈一番的人。
    客店老板回到他的卧室。他的女人已睡在床上，但是还醒着。她听见丈夫的脚步声，转过身来对他说：“你知道我明天一定要把珂赛特撵出大门。”
    德纳第冷冰冰地回答：
    “你忙什么！”他们没有再谈其他的话，几分钟过后，他们烛也灭了。而那客人，他已把他的棍子和包袱放在屋角里。主人出去以后，他便坐在一张围椅里，又想了一阵心事。随后，他脱掉鞋子，端起一支烛，吹灭另一支，推开门，走出屋子，四面张望，好象要找什么。他穿过一条过道，走到楼梯口。在那地方，他听见一声阵极其微弱而又甜蜜的声音，好象是一 个孩子的鼾声。他顺着那声音走去，看见在楼梯下有一间三角形的小屋子，其实就是楼梯本身构成的。不是别的，只不过是楼梯底下的空处。那里满是旧筐筐、破瓶罐、灰尘和蜘蛛网，还有一张床，所谓床，只不过是一条露出了草的草褥和露出草褥的破被。绝没有垫单。并且是铺在方砖地上的。珂赛特正睡在那床上。
    这人走近前去，望着她。
    珂赛特睡得正酣。她是和衣睡的。冬天她不脱衣，这样可以少冷一 点。
    她抱着那个黑暗中睁圆着两只眼睛的娃娃。她不时深深叹口气，好象要醒似的，再把那娃娃紧紧地抱在怀里。在她床边，只有一只木鞋。在珂赛特的那个黑洞附近，有一扇门，门里是一间黑漆的大屋子。这外来人跨了进去。在屋子尽头，一扇玻璃门后露出一对白洁的小床。那是爱潘妮和阿兹玛的床。小床后面有个没有挂帐子的柳条摇篮，只露出一半，睡在摇篮里的便是那个哭了一整夜的小男孩了。外来人猜想这间屋子一定和德纳第夫妇的卧室相通，他正预备退出，忽然瞧见一个壁炉，那是客店中那种多少总有一点火、看去却又使人感到特别冷的大壁炉。而这一个之中却一点火也没有，就连灰也没有，可是放在那里面的东西却引起了外来人的注意。那是两只孩子们穿的小鞋，式样大小却不一样，那客人这才想起孩子们的那种起源邈不可考，但饶有风趣的习惯，每到圣诞节，他们就一定要把自己的一只鞋子放在壁炉里，好让他们的好仙女暗地里送些金碧辉煌的礼物给他们。爱潘妮和阿兹玛都注意到这件事，因而每个人都把自己的一只鞋放在这壁炉里了。
    客人弯下腰去。仙女，就是说，他们的妈，已经来光顾过了，他看见在每只鞋里都放了一个美丽的、全新的、明亮晃眼值十个苏的钱。客人立起来，正预备走，又看见另外一件东西，远远地在炉膛的那只最黑暗的角落里。他留意看去，才认出是一只木鞋，一只最最粗陋不堪、已经开裂满是尘土和干污泥的木鞋。这正是珂赛特的木鞋。珂赛特，尽管年年失望，却从不灰心，她仍充满那种令人感动的自信心，把她的这只木鞋也照样放在壁炉里。
    一个从来就处处碰壁的孩子，居然还抱有希望，这种事确是感人至深的。
    在那木鞋里，什么也没有。那客人在自己的背心口袋里摸了摸，弯下身去，在珂赛特的木鞋里放了一个金路易。他随即溜回了自己的屋子。