It is the science of muscles.An entire system of mysterious statics is daily practised by prisoners，men who are forever envious of the flies and birds.To climb a vertical surface，and to find points of support where hardly a projection was visible，was play to Jean Valjean.An angle of the wall being given，with the tension of his back and legs，with his elbows and his heels fitted into the unevenness of the stone，he raised himself as if by magic to the third story.He sometimes mounted thus even to the roof of the galley prison.
He spoke but little.
He laughed not at all.
An excessive emotion was required to wring from him，once or twice a year，that lugubrious laugh of the convict，which is like the echo of the laugh of a demon.To all appearance，he seemed to be occupied in the constant contemplation of something terrible.
He was absorbed，in fact.
Athwart the unhealthy perceptions of an incomplete nature and a crushed intelligence，he was confusedly conscious that some monstrous thing was resting on him.
In that obscure and wan shadow within which he crawled，each time that he turned his neck and essayed to raise his glance，he perceived with terror，mingled with rage，a sort of frightful accumulation of things，
collecting and mounting above him，beyond the range of his vision，——laws，prejudices，men，and deeds，——whose outlines escaped him，whose mass terrified him，and which was nothing else than that prodigious pyramid which we call civilization.
He distinguished，here and there in that swarming and formless mass，now near him，now afar off and on inaccessible table-lands，some group，some detail，vividly illuminated；here the galley-sergeant and his cudgel；there the gendarme and his sword；yonder the mitred archbishop；away at the top，like a sort of sun，the Emperor，crowned and dazzling.It seemed to him that these distant splendors，far from dissipating his night，rendered it more funereal and more black.
All this——laws，prejudices，deeds，men，things——went and came above him，over his head，in accordance with the complicated and mysterious movement which God imparts to civilization，walking over him and crushing him with I know not what peacefulness in its cruelty and inexorability in its indifference.
Souls which have fallen to the bottom of all possible misfortune，unhappy men lost in the lowest of those limbos at which no one any longer looks，the reproved of the law，feel the whole weight of this human society，so formidable for him who is without，so frightful for him who is beneath，resting upon their heads.
In this situation Jean Valjean meditated；and what could be the nature of his meditation？
If the grain of millet beneath the millstone had thoughts，it would，doubtless，think that same thing which Jean Valjean thought.
All these things，realities full of spectres，phantasmagories full of realities，had eventually created for him a sort of interior state which is almost indescribable.
At times，amid his convict toil，he paused.
He fell to thinking.His reason，at one and the same time riper and more troubled than of yore，rose in revolt.
Everything which had happened to him seemed to him absurd；everything that surrounded him seemed to him impossible.
He said to himself，'It is a dream.'He gazed at the galley-sergeant standing a few paces from him；the galley-sergeant seemed a phantom to him.
All of a sudden the phantom dealt him a blow with his cudgel.
Visible nature hardly existed for him.
It would almost be true to say that there existed for Jean Valjean neither sun，nor fine summer days，nor radiant sky，nor fresh April dawns.I know not what vent-hole daylight habitually illumined his soul.
To sum up，in conclusion，that which can be summed up and translated into positive results in all that we have just pointed out，we will confine ourselves to the statement that，in the course of nineteen years，Jean Valjean，the inoffensive tree-pruner of Faverolles，the formidable convict of Toulon，had become capable，thanks to the manner in which the galleys had moulded him，of two sorts of evil action：
firstly，of evil action which was rapid，unpremeditated，dashing，entirely instinctive，in the nature of reprisals for the evil which he had undergone；secondly，of evil action which was serious，grave，consciously argued out and premeditated，with the false ideas which such a misfortune can furnish.
His deliberate deeds passed through three successive phases，which natures of a certain stamp can alone traverse，——reasoning，will，perseverance.He had for moving causes his habitual wrath，bitterness of soul，a profound sense of indignities suffered，the reaction even against the good，the innocent，and the just，if there are any such.The point of departure，like the point of arrival，for all his thoughts，was hatred of human law；that hatred which，if it be not arrested in its development by some providential incident，becomes，within a given time，the hatred of society，then the hatred of the human race，then the hatred of creation，and which manifests itself by a vague，incessant，and brutal desire to do harm to some living being，no matter whom.
It will be perceived that it was not without reason that Jean Valjean's passport described him as a very dangerous man.
From year to year this soul had dried away slowly，but with fatal sureness.
When the heart is dry，the eye is dry.
On his departure from the galleys it had been nineteen years since he had shed a tear.
Ⅷ BILLOWS AND SHADOWS
A man overboard！
What matters it？
The vessel does not halt.
The wind blows.That sombre ship has a path which it is forced to pursue.It passes on.