A fifth
prolongation
leaped from the hole.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v13 - Her to Hux
Hapgood.
Copyright 1887,
by T. Y. Crowell & Co.
J
EAN VALJEAN's inclination led him, as we have seen, to the
least frequented spots, to solitary nooks, to forgotten places.
There then existed, in the vicinity of the barriers of Paris,
a sort of poor meadows, which were almost confounded with the
city, where grew in summer sickly grain, and which in autumn,
after the harvest had been gathered, presented the appearance
of having been not reaped, but peeled. Jean Valjean loved to
haunt these fields. Cosette was not bored there. It meant soli-
tude to him and liberty to her. There she became a little girl
once more: she could run and almost play; she took off her
hat, laid it on Jean Valjean's knees, and gathered bunches of
flowers. She gazed at the butterflies on the flowers, but did not
catch them; gentleness and tenderness are born with love, and
the young girl who cherishes within her breast a trembling and
fragile ideal has mercy on the wing of a butterfly. She wove
garlands of poppies, which she placed on her head, and which,
crossed and penetrated with sunlight, glowing until they flamed,
formed for her rosy face a crown of burning embers.
Even after their life had grown sad, they kept up their cus-
tom of early strolls.
One morning in October, therefore, tempted by the serene
perfection of the autumn of 1831, they set out, and found them-
selves at break of day near the Barrière du Maine. It was not
dawn, it was daybreak; a delightful and stern moment. A few
constellations here and there in the deep, pale azure, the earth
all black, the heavens all white, a quiver amid the blades of
grass, everywhere the mysterious chill of twilight. A lark, which
seemed mingled with the stars, was caroling at a prodigious
height, and one would have declared that that hymn of petti-
ness calmed immensity. In the East, the Val-de-Grâce projected
its dark mass on the clear horizon with the sharpness of steel;
Venus dazzlingly brilliant was rising behind that dome, and had
the air of a soul making its escape from a gloomy edifice.
All was peace and silence; there was no one on the road; a
few stray laborers, of whom they caught barely a glimpse, were
on their way to their work along the side paths.
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Jean Valjean was sitting in a cross-walk, on some planks
deposited at the gate of the timber-yard. His face was turned
towards the highway, his back towards the light; he had forgot-
ten the sun, which was on the point of rising; he had sunk into
one of those profound absorptions in which the mind becomes con-
centrated, which imprison even the eye, and which are equiva-
lent to four walls. There are meditations which may be called
vertical; when one is at the bottom of them, time is required
to return to earth. Jean Valjean had plunged into one of these
reveries. He was thinking of Cosette, of the happiness that was
possible if nothing came between him and her, of the light with
which she filled his life,-a light which was but the emanation
of her soul. He was almost happy in his revery. Cosette, who
was standing beside him, was gazing at the clouds as they turned
rosy.
All at once Cosette exclaimed, "Father, I should think some
one was coming yonder. " Jean Valjean raised his eyes.
Cosette was right. The causeway which leads to the ancient
Barrière du Maine is a prolongation, as the reader knows, of the
Rue de Sèvres, and is cut at right angles by the inner boulevard.
At the elbow of the causeway and the boulevard, at the spot
where it branches, they heard a noise which it was difficult to
account for at that hour, and a sort of confused pile made its
appearance. Some shapeless thing which was coming from the
boulevard was turning into the road.
It grew larger; it seemed to move in an orderly manner,
though it was bristling and quivering; it seemed to be a vehi-
cle, but its load could not be distinctly made out. There were
horses, wheels, shouts; whips were cracking. By degrees the
outlines became fixed, although bathed in shadows. It was a
vehicle, in fact, which had just turned from the boulevard into
the highway, and which was directing its course towards the bar-
rier near which sat Jean Valjean; a second of the same aspect
followed, then a third, then a fourth: seven chariots made their
appearance in succession, the heads of the horses touching the
rear of the wagon in front. Figures were moving on these
vehicles, flashes were visible through the dusk as though there
were naked swords there, a clanking became audible which resem-
bled the rattling of chains; and as this something advanced, the
sound of voices waxed louder, and it turned into a terrible thing
such as emerges from the cave of dreams.
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As it drew nearer it assumed a form, and was outlined behind
the trees with the pallid hue of an apparition; the mass grew
white; the day, which was slowly dawning, cast a wan light on
this swarming heap which was at once both sepulchral and liv-
ing, the heads of the figures turned into the faces of corpses,
and this is what it proved to be:
Seven wagons were driving in a file along the road. The
first six were singularly constructed. They resembled coopers'
drays; they consisted of long ladders placed on two wheels and
forming barrows at their rear extremities. Each dray, or rather
let us say, each ladder, was attached to four horses harnessed
tandem. On these ladders strange clusters of men were being
drawn. In the faint light, these men were to be divined rather
than seen.
Twenty-four on each vehicle, twelve on a side, back
to back, facing the passers-by, their legs dangling in the air,-
this was the manner in which these men were traveling; and
behind their backs they had something which clanked, and which
was a chain, and on their necks something which shone, and
which was an iron collar. Each man had his collar, but the
chain was for all; so that if these four-and-twenty men had
occasion to alight from the dray and walk, they were seized with
a sort of inexorable unity, and were obliged to wind over the
ground with the chain for a backbone, somewhat after the fash-
ion of millepeds. In the back and front of each vehicle, two
men armed with muskets stood erect, each holding one end of
the chain under his foot. The iron necklets were square. The
seventh vehicle, a huge rack-sided baggage wagon, without a
hood, had four wheels and six horses, and carried a sonorous
pile of iron boilers, cast-iron pots, braziers, and chains, among
which were mingled several men who were pinioned and stretched
at full length, and who seemed to be ill. This wagon, all lattice-
work, was garnished with dilapidated hurdles, which appeared to
have served for former punishments. These vehicles kept the
middle of the road. On each side marched a double hedge of
guards of infamous aspect, wearing three-cornered hats, like the
soldiers under the Directory, shabby, covered with spots and
holes, muffled in uniforms of veterans and the trousers of under-
takers' men, half gray, half blue, which were almost hanging in
rags, with red epaulets, yellow shoulder-belts, short sabres, mus-
kets, and cudgels; they were a species of soldier blackguards.
These myrmidons seemed composed of the abjectness of the beg-
gar and the authority of the executioner. The one who appeared
―
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to be their chief held a postilion's whip in his hand. All these
details, blurred by the dimness of dawn, became more and more
clearly outlined as the light increased. At the head and in the
rear of the convoy rode mounted gendarmes, serious and with
sword in fist.
This procession was so long that when the first vehicle reached
the barrier, the last was barely debouching from the boulevard.
A throng, sprung it is impossible to say whence, and formed in
a twinkling, as is frequently the case in Paris, pressed forward
from both sides of the road and looked on. In the neighboring
lanes the shouts of people calling to each other, and the wooden
shoes of market gardeners hastening up to gaze, were audible.
The men massed upon the drays allowed themselves to be
jolted along in silence. They were livid with the chill of morn-
ing. They all wore linen trousers, and their bare feet were
thrust into wooden shoes. The rest of their costume was a
fantasy of wretchedness. Their accoutrements were horribly in-
congruous; nothing is more funereal than the harlequin in rags.
Battered felt hats, tarpaulin caps, hideous woolen nightcaps, and
side by side with a short blouse, a black coat broken at the
elbow; many wore women's headgear, others had baskets on their
heads; hairy breasts were visible, and through the rents in their
garments tattooed designs could be descried,- temples of Love,
flaming hearts, Cupids; eruptions and unhealthy red blotches
could also be seen. Two or three had a straw rope attached to
the cross-bar of the dray, and suspended under them like a stir-
rup, which supported their feet. One of them held in his hand
and raised to his mouth something which had the appearance
of a black stone, and which he seemed to be gnawing: it was
bread which he was eating. There were no eyes there which
were not either dry, dulled, or flaming with an evil light. The
escort troop cursed, the men in chains did not utter a syllable;
from time to time the sound of a blow became audible as the
cudgels descended on shoulder-blades or skulls. Some of these
men were yawning. Their rags were terrible; their feet hung
down, their shoulders oscillated, their heads clashed together,
their fetters clanked, their eyes glared ferociously, their fists.
clenched or fell open inertly like the hands of corpses. In the
rear of the convoy ran a band of children screaming with laughter.
This file of vehicles, whatever its nature was, was mournful.
It was evident that to-morrow, that an hour hence, a pouring
rain might descend, that it might be followed by another and
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another, and that their dilapidated garments would be drenched,
that once soaked these men would not get dry again, that once
chilled they would not again get warm, that their linen trousers
would be glued to their bones by the downpour, that the water
would fill their shoes, that no lashes from the whips would be
able to prevent their jaws from chattering, that the chain would
continue to bind them by the neck, that their legs would con-
tinue to dangle; and it was impossible not to shudder at the
sight of these human beings thus bound and passive beneath
the cold clouds of autumn, and delivered over to the rain, to the
blast, to all the furies of the air, like trees and stones.
Blows from the cudgel were not omitted even in the case of
the sick men, who lay there knotted with ropes and motionless
on the seventh wagon, and who appeared to have been tossed
there like sacks filled with misery.
Suddenly the sun made its appearance; the immense light of
the Orient burst forth, and one would have said that it had set
fire to all those ferocious heads. Their tongues were unloosed;
a conflagration of grins, oaths, and songs exploded. The broad
horizontal sheet of light severed the file into two parts, illumin-
ating heads and bodies, leaving feet and wheels in the obscurity.
Thoughts made their appearance on these faces: it was a terrible
moment; visible demons with their masks removed, fierce souls
laid bare. Though lighted up, this wild throng remained in
gloom. Some, who were gay, had in their mouths quills through
which they blew vermin over the crowd, picking out the women;
the dawn accentuated these lamentable profiles with the blackness
of its shadows; there was not one of these creatures who was
not deformed by reason of wretchedness; and the whole was so
monstrous that one would have said that the sun's brilliancy had
been changed into the glare of the lightning. The wagon-load
which headed the line had struck up a song, and were shouting
at the top of their voices, with a haggard joviality, a pot-pourri
by Desaugiers, then famous, called 'The Vestal'; the trees shiv-
ered mournfully; in the cross-lanes, countenances of bourgeois.
listened in idiotic delight to these coarse strains droned by spec-
tres.
All sorts of distress met in this procession as in chaos: here
were to be found the facial angles of every sort of beast, old
men, youths, bald heads, gray beards, cynical monstrosities, sour
resignation, savage grins, senseless attitudes, snouts surmounted
## p. 7756 (#574) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
by caps, heads like those of young girls with corkscrew curls
on the temples, infantile visages, and by reason of that, horrible
thin skeleton faces, to which death alone was lacking. On the
first cart was a negro, who had been a slave in all probability,
and who could make a comparison of his chains. The frightful
leveler from below, shame, had passed over these brows; at that
degree of abasement, the last transformations were suffered by
all in their extremest depths, and ignorance converted into dull-
ness was the equal of intelligence converted into despair. There
was no choice possible between these men, who appeared to the
eye as the flower of the mud. It was evident that the person
who had had the ordering of that unclean procession had not
classified them. These beings had been fettered and coupled
pell-mell, in alphabetical disorder probably, and loaded hap-hazard
on those carts. Nevertheless, horrors, when grouped together,
always end by evolving a result; all additions of wretched
men give a sum total: each chain exhaled a common soul, and
each dray-load had its own physiognomy. By the side of the
one where they were singing, there was one where they were
howling; a third where they were begging; one could be seen
in which they were gnashing their teeth; another load menaced
the spectators, another blasphemed God; the last was as silent as
the tomb. Dante would have thought that he beheld his seven
circles of hell on the march; the march of the damned to their
tortures, performed in sinister wise, not on the formidable and
flaming chariot of the Apocalypse, but what was more mournful
than that, on the gibbet cart.
One of the guards, who had a hook on the end of his cudgel,
made a pretense from time to time of stirring up this mass of
human filth. An old woman in the crowd pointed them out to
her little boy five years old, and said to him, "Rascal, let that
be a warning to you! "
As the songs and blasphemies increased, the man who ap-
peared to be the captain of the escort cracked his whip, and at
that signal a fearful dull and blind flogging, which produced the
sound of hail, fell upon the seven dray-loads: many roared and
foamed at the mouth; which redoubled the delight of the street
urchins who had hastened up, a swarm of flies on these wounds.
Jean Valjean's eyes had assumed a frightful expression. They
were no longer eyes; they were those deep and glassy objects
which replace the glance in the case of certain wretched men,
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which seem unconscious of reality, and in which flames the
reflection of terrors and of catastrophes. He was not looking
at a spectacle, he was seeing a vision. He tried to rise, to
flee, to make his escape: he could not move his feet. Some-
times the things that you see, seize upon you and hold you fast.
He remained nailed to the spot, petrified, stupid, asking himself
athwart confused and inexpressible anguish what this sepulchral
persecution signified, and whence had come that pandemonium
which was pursuing him. All at once he raised his hand to
his brow, a gesture habitual to those whose memory suddenly
returns: he remembered that this was in fact the usual itiner-
ary; that it was customary to make this detour in order to avoid
all possibility of encountering royalty on the road to Fontaine-
bleau, and that five-and-thirty years before he had himself passed
through that barrier.
Cosette was no less terrified, but in a different way. She did
not understand; what she beheld did not seem to her to be pos-
sible: at length she cried:-
"Father! what are those men in those carts? "
Jean Valjean replied, "Convicts. "
"Whither are they going? "
"To the galleys. "
At that moment the cudgeling, multiplied by a hundred
hands, became zealous, blows with the flat of the sword were
mingled with it, it was a perfect storm of whips and clubs; the
convicts bent before it, a hideous obedience was evoked by the
torture, and all held their peace, darting glances like chained.
wolves.
Cosette trembled in every limb; she resumed:
"Father, are they still men? "
"Sometimes," answered the unhappy man.
It was the chain-gang, in fact, which had set out before day-
break from Bicêtre, and had taken the road to Mans in order to
avoid Fontainebleau, where the King then was. This caused the
horrible journey to last three or four days longer; but torture
may surely be prolonged with the object of sparing the royal
personage a sight of it.
Jean Valjean returned home utterly overwhelmed. Such
encounters are shocks, and the memory that they leave behind
them resembles a thorough shaking-up.
-:
## p. 7758 (#576) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
THE COMBAT WITH THE OCTOPUS
From The Toilers of the Sea. ' Translated by Isabel F. Hapgood.
right 1888, by T. Y. Crowell & Co.
Copy-
Jus
UST as Gilliatt was making up his mind to resign himself to
sea-urchins and sea-chestnuts, a splash was made at his feet.
A huge crab, frightened by his approach, had just dropped
into the water. The crab did not sink so deeply that Gilliatt lost
sight of it.
Gilliatt set out on a run after the crab along the base of the
reef. The crab sought to escape.
Suddenly, he was no longer in sight.
The crab had just hidden in some crevice under the rock.
Gilliatt clung to the projections of the rock, and thrust for-
ward his head to get a look under the overhanging cliff.
There was in fact a cavity there. The crab must have taken
refuge in it.
It was something more than a crevice. It was a sort of
porch.
The sea entered beneath this porch, but was not deep. The
bottom was visible, covered with stones. These stones were
smooth and clothed with algæ, which indicated that they were
never dry. They resembled the tops of children's heads covered
with green hair.
Gilliatt took his knife in his teeth, climbed down with his
hands and feet from the top of the cliff, and leaped into the
It reached almost to his shoulders.
water.
He passed under the porch. He entered a much worn cor-
ridor in the form of a rude pointed arch overhead. The walls
were smooth and polished. He no longer saw the crab. He kept
his foothold, and advanced through the diminishing light. He
began to be unable to distinguish objects.
After about fifteen paces, the vault above him came to an
end. He was out of the corridor. He had here more space,
and consequently more light; and besides, the pupils of his eyes
now dilated: he saw with tolerable clearness. He had a
surprise.
were
He was just re-entering that strange cave which he had visited
a month previously.
Only he had returned to it by way of the sea.
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That arch which he had then seen submerged was the one
through which he had just passed. It was accessible at certain
low tides.
His eyes became accustomed to the place. He saw better and
better. He was astounded. He had found again that extraor-
dinary palace of shadows, that vault, those pillars, those purple
and blood-like stains, that jewel-like vegetation, and at the end
that crypt, almost a sanctuary, and that stone which was almost
an altar.
He had not taken much notice of these details; but he carried
the general effect in his mind, and he beheld it again.
Opposite him, at a certain height in the cliff, he saw the
crevice through which he had made his entrance on the first
occasion, and which, from the point where he now stood, seemed
inaccessible.
He beheld again, near the pointed arch, those low and obscure
grottoes, a sort of caverns within the cavern, which he had already
observed from a distance. Now he was close to them.
The one
nearest to him was dry and easily accessible.
Still nearer than that opening he noticed a horizontal fissure
in the granite above the level of the water. The crab was prob-
ably there. He thrust in his hand as far as he could and began
to grope in this hole of shadows.
All at once he felt himself seized by the arm.
What he felt at that moment was indescribable horror.
Something thin, rough, flat, slimy, adhesive, and living, had
just wound itself round his bare arm in the dark.
It crept up
towards his breast. It was like the pressure of a leather thong
and the thrust of a gimlet. In less than a second an indescrib-
able spiral form had passed around his wrist and his elbow,
and reached to his shoulder. The point burrowed under his arm-
pit.
Gilliatt threw himself backwards, but could hardly move. He
was as though nailed to the spot; with his left hand, which
remained free, he took his knife, which he held between his
teeth, and holding the knife with his hand he braced himself
against the rock, in a desperate effort to withdraw his arm. He
only succeeded in disturbing the ligature a little, which resumed
its pressure. It was as supple as leather, as solid as steel, as
cold as night.
## p. 7760 (#578) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
A second thong, narrow and pointed, issued from the crevice
of the rock. It was like a tongue from the jaws of a monster.
It licked Gilliatt's naked form in a terrible fashion, and suddenly
stretching out, immensely long and thin, it applied itself to his
skin and surrounded his whole body. At the same time, unheard-
of suffering, which was comparable to nothing he had previously
known, swelled Gilliatt's contracted muscles. He felt in his skin
round and horrible perforations; it seemed to him that innumer-
able lips were fastened to his flesh and were seeking to drink his
blood.
A third thong undulated outside the rock, felt of Gilliatt, and
lashed his sides like a cord. It fixed itself there.
Anguish is mute when at its highest point. Gilliatt did not
utter a cry.
There was light enough for him to see the repuls-
ive forms adhering to him.
A fourth ligature, this one as swift as a dart, leaped towards
his belly and rolled itself around there.
Impossible either to tear or to cut away these shiny thongs
which adhered closely to Gilliatt's body, and by a number of
points.
Each one of those points was the seat of frightful and
peculiar pain. It was what would be experienced if one were
being swallowed simultaneously by a throng of mouths which
were too small.
A fifth prolongation leaped from the hole. It superimposed
itself upon the others, and folded over Gilliatt's chest. Compres-
sion was added to horror; Gilliatt could hardly breathe.
These thongs, pointed at their extremity, spread out gradually
like the blades of swords towards the hilt. All five evidently
belonged to the same centre. They crept and crawled over Gill-
iatt. He felt these strange points of pressure, which seemed to
him to be mouths, changing their places.
Suddenly a large, round, flat, slimy mass emerged from the
lower part of the crevice.
It was the centre; the five thongs were attached to it like
spokes to a hub; on the opposite side of this foul disk could be
distinguished the beginnings of three other tentacles, which re-
mained under the slope of the rock. In the middle of this
sliminess there were two eyes gazing.
The eyes were fixed on Gilliatt.
Gilliatt recognized the octopus (devil-fish).
## p. 7761 (#579) ###########################################
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II
TO BELIEVE in the octopus, one must have seen it.
Compared with it, the hydras of old are laughable.
At certain moments one is tempted to think that the intan-
gible forms which float through our vision encounter in the
realm of the possible, certain magnetic centres to which their
lineaments cling, and that from these obscure fixations of the
living dream, beings spring forth. The unknown has the mar-
velous at its disposal, and it makes use of it to compose the
monster. Orpheus, Homer, and Hesiod were only able to make
the Chimæra: God made the octopus.
When God wills it, he excels in the execrable.
All ideals being admitted, if terror be an object, the octopus
is a masterpiece.
The whale has enormous size, the octopus is small; the hip-
popotamus has a cuirass, the octopus is naked; the jararoca
hisses, the octopus is dumb; the rhinoceros has a horn, the octo-
pus has no horn; the scorpion has a sting, the octopus has no
sting; the buthus has claws, the octopus has no claws; the ape
has a prehensile tail, the octopus has no tail; the shark has sharp
fins, the octopus has no fins; the vespertilio vampire has wings
armed with barbs, the octopus has no barbs; the hedgehog has
quills, the octopus has no quills; the sword-fish has a sword, the
octopus has no sword; the torpedo-fish has an electric shock,
the octopus has none; the toad has a virus, the octopus has no
virus; the viper has a venom, the octopus has no venom; the lion
has claws, the octopus has no claws; the hawk has a beak, the
octopus has no beak; the crocodile has jaws, the octopus has no
teeth.
The octopus has no muscular organization, no menacing cry,
no breastplate, no horn, no dart, no pincers, no prehensile or
bruising tail, no cutting pectoral fins, no barbed wings, no quills,
no sword, no electric discharge, no virus, no venom, no claws, no
beak, no teeth. Of all creatures, the octopus is the most formida-
bly armed.
What then is the octopus? It is the cupping-glass.
In open sea reefs, where the water displays and hides all its
splendors, in the hollows of unvisited rocks, in the unknown caves
where vegetations, crustaceans, and shell-fish abound, beneath the
deep portals of the ocean,- the swimmer who hazards himself
XIII-486
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VICTOR HUGO
there, led on by the beauty of the place, runs the risk of an
encounter. If you have this encounter, be not curious but fly.
One enters there dazzled, one emerges from thence terrified.
This is the nature of the encounter always possible among
rocks in the open sea.
A grayish form undulates in the water: it is as thick as a
man's arm, and about half an ell long; it is a rag; its form re-
sembles a closed umbrella without a handle. This rag gradually
advances towards you, suddenly it opens: eight radii spread out
abruptly around a face which has two eyes; these radii are
alive; there is something of the flame in their undulation; it is
a sort of wheel; unfolded, it is four or five feet in diameter.
Frightful expansion. This flings itself upon you.
The hydra harpoons its victim.
This creature applies itself to its prey; covers it, and knots its
long bands about it. Underneath, it is yellowish; on top, earth-
colored: nothing can represent this inexplicable hue of dust; one
would pronounce it a creature made of ashes, living in the water.
In form it is spider-like, and like a chameleon in its coloring.
When irritated it becomes violet in hue. Its most terrible qual-
ity is its softness.
Its folds strangle; its contact paralyzes.
It has an aspect of scurvy and gangrene. It is disease em-
bodied in monstrosity.
It is not to be torn away. It adheres closely to its prey.
How? By a vacuum. Its eight antennæ, large at the root,
gradually taper off and end in needles. Underneath each one
of them are arranged two rows of decreasing pustules, the largest
near the head, the smallest ones at the tip. Each row consists
of twenty-five; there are fifty pustules to each antenna, and the
whole creature has four hundred of them. These pustules are
cupping-glasses.
These cupping-glasses are cylindrical, horny, livid cartilages.
On the large species they gradually diminish from the diameter
of a five-franc piece to the size of a lentil. These fragments of
tubes are thrust out from the animal and retire into it. They
can be inserted into the prey for more than an inch.
This sucking apparatus has all the delicacy of a key-board.
It rises, then retreats. It obeys the slightest wish of the animal.
The most exquisite sensibilities cannot equal the contractibility
of these suckers, always proportioned to the internal movements
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7763
of the creature and to the external circumstances.
is like a sensitive-plant.
This dragon
This is the monster which mariners call the poulp, which
science calls the cephalopod, and which legend calls the kraken.
English sailors call it the "devil-fish. " They also call it the
"blood-sucker. " In the Channel Islands it is called the pieuvre.
It is very rare in Guernsey, very small in Jersey, very large
and quite frequent in Sark.
A print from Sonnini's edition of Buffon represents an octo-
pus crushing a frigate. Denis Montfort thinks that the octopus
of the high latitudes is really strong enough to sink a ship.
Bory Saint Vincent denies this, but admits that in our latitudes
it does attack man. Go to Sark and they will show you, near
Brecq-Hou, the hollow in the rock where, a few years ago, an
octopus seized and drowned a lobster-fisher.
Péron and Lamarck are mistaken when they doubt whether
the octopus can swim, since it has no fins.
He who writes these lines has seen with his own eyes at
Sark, in the cave called the Shops, an octopus swimming and
chasing a bather. When killed and measured it was found to
be four English feet in spread, and four hundred suckers could
be counted. The dying monster thrust them out convulsively.
According to Denis Montfort, one of those observers whose
strong gift of intuition causes them to descend or to ascend
even to magianism, the octopus has almost the passions of a
man; the octopus hates. In fact, in the absolute, to be hideous
is to hate.
The misshapen struggles under a necessity of elimination, and
this consequently renders it hostile.
THE Octopus when swimming remains, so to speak, in its
sheath. It swims with all its folds held close. Let the reader
picture to himself a sewed-up sleeve with a closed fist inside of
it. This fist, which is the head, pushes through the water, and
advances with a vague, undulating movement.
Its two eyes,
though large, are not very distinct, being the color of the water.
The octopus on the chase or lying in wait, hides; it contracts,
it condenses itself; it reduces itself to the simplest possible ex-
pression. It confounds itself with the shadow. It looks like a
ripple of the waves. It resembles everything except something
living.
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VICTOR HUGO
When one pays no heed to it,
suddenly it opens.
A glutinous mass possessed of a will-what more frightful?
Glue filled with hatred.
It is in the most beautiful azure of the limpid water that this
hideous, voracious star of the sea arises.
The octopus is a hypocrite.
It gives no warning of its approach, which renders it more
terrible. Almost always, when one sees it, one is already caught.
At night, however, and in breeding season, it is phosphores
cent. This terror has its passions. It awaits the nuptial hour.
It adorns itself, it lights up, it illuminates itself; and from the
summit of a rock one can see it beneath, in the shadowy depths,
spread out in a pallid irradiation,- a spectre sun.
It has no bones, it has no blood, it has no flesh. It is flabby.
There is nothing in it. It is a skin. One can turn its eight
tentacles wrong side out, like the fingers of a glove.
It has a single orifice in the centre of its radiation. Is this
one hole the vent? Is it the mouth? It is both.
The same aperture fulfills both functions.
The entrance is the
exit.
The whole creature is cold.
The carnarius of the Mediterranean is repulsive. An odious
contact has this animated gelatine, which envelops the swimmer,
into which the hands sink, where the nails scratch, which one
rends without killing and tears off without pulling away, a sort
of flowing and tenacious being which slips between one's fingers;
but no horror equals the sudden appearance of the octopus,-
Medusa served by eight serpents.
No grasp equals the embrace of the cephalopod.
It is the pneumatic machine attacking you. You have to
deal with a vacuum furnished with paws. Neither scratches nor
bites; an indescribable scarification. A bite is formidable, but
less so than a suction. A claw is nothing beside the cupping-
glass. The claw means the beast entering into your flesh; the
cupping-glass means yourself entering into the beast.
Your muscles swell, your fibres writhe, your skin cracks
under the foul weight, your blood spurts forth and mingles
frightfully with the lymph of the mollusk. The creature super-
imposes itself upon you by a thousand mouths; the hydra incor-
porates itself with the man; the man amalgamates himself with
the hydra.
You form but one. This dream is upon you. The
## p. 7765 (#583) ###########################################
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tiger can only devour you; the octopus, oh horror! breathes you
in. It draws you to it, and into it; and bound, ensnared, power-
less, you feel yourself slowly emptied into that frightful pond,
which is the monster itself.
Beyond the terrible, being devoured alive, is the inexpressi-
ble, being drunk alive.
SUCH was the creature in whose power Gilliatt had been for
several moments.
This monster was the inhabitant of that grotto. It was the
frightful genius of the place. A sort of sombre demon of the
water.
All these magnificences had horror for their centre.
A month previously, on the day when for the first time Gill-
iatt had made his way into the grotto, the dark outline, of which
he had caught a glimpse in the ripples of the water, was this
octopus.
This was its home.
When Gilliatt, entering that cave for the second time in pur-
suit of the crab, had perceived the crevices in which he thought
the crab had taken refuge, the octopus was lying in wait in that
hole.
Can the reader picture that lying in wait?
Not a bird would dare to brood, not an egg would dare to
hatch, not a flower would dare to open, not a breast would dare
to give suck, not a heart would dare to love, not a spirit would
dare to take flight, if one meditated on the sinister shapes pa-
tiently lying in ambush in the abyss.
Gilliatt had thrust his arm into the hole; the octopus had
seized it.
It held it.
He was the fly for this spider.
Gilliatt stood in water to his waist, his feet clinging to the
slippery roundness of the stones, his right arm grasped and sub-
dued by the flat coils of the octopus's thongs, and his body
almost hidden by the folds and crossings of that horrible band-
age. Of the eight arms of the octopus, three adhered to the
rock while five adhered to Gilliatt. In this manner, clamped cn
one side to the granite, on the other to the man, it chained
Gilliatt to the rock. Gilliatt had two hundred and fifty suckers
## p. 7766 (#584) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
upon him.
A combination of anguish and disgust. To be
crushed in a gigantic fist, whose elastic fingers, nearly a metre
in length, are inwardly full of living pustules which ransack
your flesh.
As we have said, one cannot tear one's self away from the
octopus. If one attempts it, one is but the more surely bound.
It only clings the closer. Its efforts increase in proportion to
yours. A greater struggle produces a greater constriction.
Gilliatt had but one resource,- his knife.
He had only his left hand free; but as the reader knows, he
could make powerful use of it. It might have been said of him
that he had two right hands.
His open knife was in his hand.
The tentacles of an octopus cannot be cut off; it is leathery
and difficult to sever, it slips away from under the blade. More-
over, the superposition is such that a cut into these thongs would
attack your own flesh.
The octopus is formidable; nevertheless there is a way of
getting away from it. The fishermen of Sark are acquainted
with it; any one who has seen them executing abrupt move-
ments at sea knows it. Porpoises also know it: they have a
way of biting the cuttlefish which cuts off its head. Hence all
the headless squids and cuttlefish which are met with on the
open sea.
The octopus is in fact vulnerable only in the head.
Gilliatt was not ignorant of this fact.
He had never seen an octopus of this size. He found himself
seized at the outset by one of the larger species. Any other
man would have been terrified.
In the case of the octopus as in that of the bull, there is
a certain moment at which to seize it: it is the instant when
the bull lowers his neck, it is the instant when the octopus
thrusts forward its head - a sudden movement. He who misses
that juncture is lost.
All that we have related lasted but a few minutes. But
Gilliatt felt the suction of the two hundred and fifty cupping-
glasses increasing.
The octopus is cunning. It tries to stupefy its prey in the
first place. It seizes, then waits as long as it can.
Gilliatt held his knife. The suction increased.
He gazed at the octopus, which stared at him.
## p. 7767 (#585) ###########################################
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7767
All at once the creature detached its sixth tentacle from the
rock, and launching it at him, attempted to seize his left arm.
At the same time it thrust its head forward swiftly. A second
more and its mouth would have been applied to Gilliatt's breast.
Gilliatt, wounded in the flank and with both arms pinioned,
would have been a dead man.
But Gilliatt was on his guard. Being watched, he watched.
He avoided the tentacle, and at the moment when the creat-
ure was about to bite his breast, his armed fist descended on the
monster.
Two convulsions in opposite directions ensued: that of Gilliatt
and that of the octopus.
It was like the conflict of two flashes of lightning.
Gilliatt plunged the point of his knife into the flat, viscous
mass, and with a twisting movement, similar to the flourish of a
whip, describing a circle around the two eyes, he tore out the
head as one wrenches out a tooth.
It was finished.
The whole creature dropped.
It resembled a sheet detaching itself. The air-pump destroyed,
the vacuum no longer existed. The four hundred suckers released
their hold, simultaneously, of the rock and the man.
It sank to the bottom.
Gilliatt, panting with the combat, could perceive on the rocks
at his feet two shapeless, gelatinous masses, the head on one
side, the rest on the other. We say "the rest," because one
could not say the body.
Gilliatt, however, fearing some convulsive return of agony,
retreated beyond the reach of the tentacles.
But the monster was really dead.
Gilliatt closed his knife.
IT WAS time that Gilliatt killed the octopus.
by T. Y. Crowell & Co.
J
EAN VALJEAN's inclination led him, as we have seen, to the
least frequented spots, to solitary nooks, to forgotten places.
There then existed, in the vicinity of the barriers of Paris,
a sort of poor meadows, which were almost confounded with the
city, where grew in summer sickly grain, and which in autumn,
after the harvest had been gathered, presented the appearance
of having been not reaped, but peeled. Jean Valjean loved to
haunt these fields. Cosette was not bored there. It meant soli-
tude to him and liberty to her. There she became a little girl
once more: she could run and almost play; she took off her
hat, laid it on Jean Valjean's knees, and gathered bunches of
flowers. She gazed at the butterflies on the flowers, but did not
catch them; gentleness and tenderness are born with love, and
the young girl who cherishes within her breast a trembling and
fragile ideal has mercy on the wing of a butterfly. She wove
garlands of poppies, which she placed on her head, and which,
crossed and penetrated with sunlight, glowing until they flamed,
formed for her rosy face a crown of burning embers.
Even after their life had grown sad, they kept up their cus-
tom of early strolls.
One morning in October, therefore, tempted by the serene
perfection of the autumn of 1831, they set out, and found them-
selves at break of day near the Barrière du Maine. It was not
dawn, it was daybreak; a delightful and stern moment. A few
constellations here and there in the deep, pale azure, the earth
all black, the heavens all white, a quiver amid the blades of
grass, everywhere the mysterious chill of twilight. A lark, which
seemed mingled with the stars, was caroling at a prodigious
height, and one would have declared that that hymn of petti-
ness calmed immensity. In the East, the Val-de-Grâce projected
its dark mass on the clear horizon with the sharpness of steel;
Venus dazzlingly brilliant was rising behind that dome, and had
the air of a soul making its escape from a gloomy edifice.
All was peace and silence; there was no one on the road; a
few stray laborers, of whom they caught barely a glimpse, were
on their way to their work along the side paths.
## p. 7752 (#570) ###########################################
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7752
Jean Valjean was sitting in a cross-walk, on some planks
deposited at the gate of the timber-yard. His face was turned
towards the highway, his back towards the light; he had forgot-
ten the sun, which was on the point of rising; he had sunk into
one of those profound absorptions in which the mind becomes con-
centrated, which imprison even the eye, and which are equiva-
lent to four walls. There are meditations which may be called
vertical; when one is at the bottom of them, time is required
to return to earth. Jean Valjean had plunged into one of these
reveries. He was thinking of Cosette, of the happiness that was
possible if nothing came between him and her, of the light with
which she filled his life,-a light which was but the emanation
of her soul. He was almost happy in his revery. Cosette, who
was standing beside him, was gazing at the clouds as they turned
rosy.
All at once Cosette exclaimed, "Father, I should think some
one was coming yonder. " Jean Valjean raised his eyes.
Cosette was right. The causeway which leads to the ancient
Barrière du Maine is a prolongation, as the reader knows, of the
Rue de Sèvres, and is cut at right angles by the inner boulevard.
At the elbow of the causeway and the boulevard, at the spot
where it branches, they heard a noise which it was difficult to
account for at that hour, and a sort of confused pile made its
appearance. Some shapeless thing which was coming from the
boulevard was turning into the road.
It grew larger; it seemed to move in an orderly manner,
though it was bristling and quivering; it seemed to be a vehi-
cle, but its load could not be distinctly made out. There were
horses, wheels, shouts; whips were cracking. By degrees the
outlines became fixed, although bathed in shadows. It was a
vehicle, in fact, which had just turned from the boulevard into
the highway, and which was directing its course towards the bar-
rier near which sat Jean Valjean; a second of the same aspect
followed, then a third, then a fourth: seven chariots made their
appearance in succession, the heads of the horses touching the
rear of the wagon in front. Figures were moving on these
vehicles, flashes were visible through the dusk as though there
were naked swords there, a clanking became audible which resem-
bled the rattling of chains; and as this something advanced, the
sound of voices waxed louder, and it turned into a terrible thing
such as emerges from the cave of dreams.
## p. 7753 (#571) ###########################################
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7753
As it drew nearer it assumed a form, and was outlined behind
the trees with the pallid hue of an apparition; the mass grew
white; the day, which was slowly dawning, cast a wan light on
this swarming heap which was at once both sepulchral and liv-
ing, the heads of the figures turned into the faces of corpses,
and this is what it proved to be:
Seven wagons were driving in a file along the road. The
first six were singularly constructed. They resembled coopers'
drays; they consisted of long ladders placed on two wheels and
forming barrows at their rear extremities. Each dray, or rather
let us say, each ladder, was attached to four horses harnessed
tandem. On these ladders strange clusters of men were being
drawn. In the faint light, these men were to be divined rather
than seen.
Twenty-four on each vehicle, twelve on a side, back
to back, facing the passers-by, their legs dangling in the air,-
this was the manner in which these men were traveling; and
behind their backs they had something which clanked, and which
was a chain, and on their necks something which shone, and
which was an iron collar. Each man had his collar, but the
chain was for all; so that if these four-and-twenty men had
occasion to alight from the dray and walk, they were seized with
a sort of inexorable unity, and were obliged to wind over the
ground with the chain for a backbone, somewhat after the fash-
ion of millepeds. In the back and front of each vehicle, two
men armed with muskets stood erect, each holding one end of
the chain under his foot. The iron necklets were square. The
seventh vehicle, a huge rack-sided baggage wagon, without a
hood, had four wheels and six horses, and carried a sonorous
pile of iron boilers, cast-iron pots, braziers, and chains, among
which were mingled several men who were pinioned and stretched
at full length, and who seemed to be ill. This wagon, all lattice-
work, was garnished with dilapidated hurdles, which appeared to
have served for former punishments. These vehicles kept the
middle of the road. On each side marched a double hedge of
guards of infamous aspect, wearing three-cornered hats, like the
soldiers under the Directory, shabby, covered with spots and
holes, muffled in uniforms of veterans and the trousers of under-
takers' men, half gray, half blue, which were almost hanging in
rags, with red epaulets, yellow shoulder-belts, short sabres, mus-
kets, and cudgels; they were a species of soldier blackguards.
These myrmidons seemed composed of the abjectness of the beg-
gar and the authority of the executioner. The one who appeared
―
## p. 7754 (#572) ###########################################
VICTOR HUGO
7754
to be their chief held a postilion's whip in his hand. All these
details, blurred by the dimness of dawn, became more and more
clearly outlined as the light increased. At the head and in the
rear of the convoy rode mounted gendarmes, serious and with
sword in fist.
This procession was so long that when the first vehicle reached
the barrier, the last was barely debouching from the boulevard.
A throng, sprung it is impossible to say whence, and formed in
a twinkling, as is frequently the case in Paris, pressed forward
from both sides of the road and looked on. In the neighboring
lanes the shouts of people calling to each other, and the wooden
shoes of market gardeners hastening up to gaze, were audible.
The men massed upon the drays allowed themselves to be
jolted along in silence. They were livid with the chill of morn-
ing. They all wore linen trousers, and their bare feet were
thrust into wooden shoes. The rest of their costume was a
fantasy of wretchedness. Their accoutrements were horribly in-
congruous; nothing is more funereal than the harlequin in rags.
Battered felt hats, tarpaulin caps, hideous woolen nightcaps, and
side by side with a short blouse, a black coat broken at the
elbow; many wore women's headgear, others had baskets on their
heads; hairy breasts were visible, and through the rents in their
garments tattooed designs could be descried,- temples of Love,
flaming hearts, Cupids; eruptions and unhealthy red blotches
could also be seen. Two or three had a straw rope attached to
the cross-bar of the dray, and suspended under them like a stir-
rup, which supported their feet. One of them held in his hand
and raised to his mouth something which had the appearance
of a black stone, and which he seemed to be gnawing: it was
bread which he was eating. There were no eyes there which
were not either dry, dulled, or flaming with an evil light. The
escort troop cursed, the men in chains did not utter a syllable;
from time to time the sound of a blow became audible as the
cudgels descended on shoulder-blades or skulls. Some of these
men were yawning. Their rags were terrible; their feet hung
down, their shoulders oscillated, their heads clashed together,
their fetters clanked, their eyes glared ferociously, their fists.
clenched or fell open inertly like the hands of corpses. In the
rear of the convoy ran a band of children screaming with laughter.
This file of vehicles, whatever its nature was, was mournful.
It was evident that to-morrow, that an hour hence, a pouring
rain might descend, that it might be followed by another and
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7755
another, and that their dilapidated garments would be drenched,
that once soaked these men would not get dry again, that once
chilled they would not again get warm, that their linen trousers
would be glued to their bones by the downpour, that the water
would fill their shoes, that no lashes from the whips would be
able to prevent their jaws from chattering, that the chain would
continue to bind them by the neck, that their legs would con-
tinue to dangle; and it was impossible not to shudder at the
sight of these human beings thus bound and passive beneath
the cold clouds of autumn, and delivered over to the rain, to the
blast, to all the furies of the air, like trees and stones.
Blows from the cudgel were not omitted even in the case of
the sick men, who lay there knotted with ropes and motionless
on the seventh wagon, and who appeared to have been tossed
there like sacks filled with misery.
Suddenly the sun made its appearance; the immense light of
the Orient burst forth, and one would have said that it had set
fire to all those ferocious heads. Their tongues were unloosed;
a conflagration of grins, oaths, and songs exploded. The broad
horizontal sheet of light severed the file into two parts, illumin-
ating heads and bodies, leaving feet and wheels in the obscurity.
Thoughts made their appearance on these faces: it was a terrible
moment; visible demons with their masks removed, fierce souls
laid bare. Though lighted up, this wild throng remained in
gloom. Some, who were gay, had in their mouths quills through
which they blew vermin over the crowd, picking out the women;
the dawn accentuated these lamentable profiles with the blackness
of its shadows; there was not one of these creatures who was
not deformed by reason of wretchedness; and the whole was so
monstrous that one would have said that the sun's brilliancy had
been changed into the glare of the lightning. The wagon-load
which headed the line had struck up a song, and were shouting
at the top of their voices, with a haggard joviality, a pot-pourri
by Desaugiers, then famous, called 'The Vestal'; the trees shiv-
ered mournfully; in the cross-lanes, countenances of bourgeois.
listened in idiotic delight to these coarse strains droned by spec-
tres.
All sorts of distress met in this procession as in chaos: here
were to be found the facial angles of every sort of beast, old
men, youths, bald heads, gray beards, cynical monstrosities, sour
resignation, savage grins, senseless attitudes, snouts surmounted
## p. 7756 (#574) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
by caps, heads like those of young girls with corkscrew curls
on the temples, infantile visages, and by reason of that, horrible
thin skeleton faces, to which death alone was lacking. On the
first cart was a negro, who had been a slave in all probability,
and who could make a comparison of his chains. The frightful
leveler from below, shame, had passed over these brows; at that
degree of abasement, the last transformations were suffered by
all in their extremest depths, and ignorance converted into dull-
ness was the equal of intelligence converted into despair. There
was no choice possible between these men, who appeared to the
eye as the flower of the mud. It was evident that the person
who had had the ordering of that unclean procession had not
classified them. These beings had been fettered and coupled
pell-mell, in alphabetical disorder probably, and loaded hap-hazard
on those carts. Nevertheless, horrors, when grouped together,
always end by evolving a result; all additions of wretched
men give a sum total: each chain exhaled a common soul, and
each dray-load had its own physiognomy. By the side of the
one where they were singing, there was one where they were
howling; a third where they were begging; one could be seen
in which they were gnashing their teeth; another load menaced
the spectators, another blasphemed God; the last was as silent as
the tomb. Dante would have thought that he beheld his seven
circles of hell on the march; the march of the damned to their
tortures, performed in sinister wise, not on the formidable and
flaming chariot of the Apocalypse, but what was more mournful
than that, on the gibbet cart.
One of the guards, who had a hook on the end of his cudgel,
made a pretense from time to time of stirring up this mass of
human filth. An old woman in the crowd pointed them out to
her little boy five years old, and said to him, "Rascal, let that
be a warning to you! "
As the songs and blasphemies increased, the man who ap-
peared to be the captain of the escort cracked his whip, and at
that signal a fearful dull and blind flogging, which produced the
sound of hail, fell upon the seven dray-loads: many roared and
foamed at the mouth; which redoubled the delight of the street
urchins who had hastened up, a swarm of flies on these wounds.
Jean Valjean's eyes had assumed a frightful expression. They
were no longer eyes; they were those deep and glassy objects
which replace the glance in the case of certain wretched men,
## p. 7757 (#575) ###########################################
VICTOR HUGO
7757
which seem unconscious of reality, and in which flames the
reflection of terrors and of catastrophes. He was not looking
at a spectacle, he was seeing a vision. He tried to rise, to
flee, to make his escape: he could not move his feet. Some-
times the things that you see, seize upon you and hold you fast.
He remained nailed to the spot, petrified, stupid, asking himself
athwart confused and inexpressible anguish what this sepulchral
persecution signified, and whence had come that pandemonium
which was pursuing him. All at once he raised his hand to
his brow, a gesture habitual to those whose memory suddenly
returns: he remembered that this was in fact the usual itiner-
ary; that it was customary to make this detour in order to avoid
all possibility of encountering royalty on the road to Fontaine-
bleau, and that five-and-thirty years before he had himself passed
through that barrier.
Cosette was no less terrified, but in a different way. She did
not understand; what she beheld did not seem to her to be pos-
sible: at length she cried:-
"Father! what are those men in those carts? "
Jean Valjean replied, "Convicts. "
"Whither are they going? "
"To the galleys. "
At that moment the cudgeling, multiplied by a hundred
hands, became zealous, blows with the flat of the sword were
mingled with it, it was a perfect storm of whips and clubs; the
convicts bent before it, a hideous obedience was evoked by the
torture, and all held their peace, darting glances like chained.
wolves.
Cosette trembled in every limb; she resumed:
"Father, are they still men? "
"Sometimes," answered the unhappy man.
It was the chain-gang, in fact, which had set out before day-
break from Bicêtre, and had taken the road to Mans in order to
avoid Fontainebleau, where the King then was. This caused the
horrible journey to last three or four days longer; but torture
may surely be prolonged with the object of sparing the royal
personage a sight of it.
Jean Valjean returned home utterly overwhelmed. Such
encounters are shocks, and the memory that they leave behind
them resembles a thorough shaking-up.
-:
## p. 7758 (#576) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
THE COMBAT WITH THE OCTOPUS
From The Toilers of the Sea. ' Translated by Isabel F. Hapgood.
right 1888, by T. Y. Crowell & Co.
Copy-
Jus
UST as Gilliatt was making up his mind to resign himself to
sea-urchins and sea-chestnuts, a splash was made at his feet.
A huge crab, frightened by his approach, had just dropped
into the water. The crab did not sink so deeply that Gilliatt lost
sight of it.
Gilliatt set out on a run after the crab along the base of the
reef. The crab sought to escape.
Suddenly, he was no longer in sight.
The crab had just hidden in some crevice under the rock.
Gilliatt clung to the projections of the rock, and thrust for-
ward his head to get a look under the overhanging cliff.
There was in fact a cavity there. The crab must have taken
refuge in it.
It was something more than a crevice. It was a sort of
porch.
The sea entered beneath this porch, but was not deep. The
bottom was visible, covered with stones. These stones were
smooth and clothed with algæ, which indicated that they were
never dry. They resembled the tops of children's heads covered
with green hair.
Gilliatt took his knife in his teeth, climbed down with his
hands and feet from the top of the cliff, and leaped into the
It reached almost to his shoulders.
water.
He passed under the porch. He entered a much worn cor-
ridor in the form of a rude pointed arch overhead. The walls
were smooth and polished. He no longer saw the crab. He kept
his foothold, and advanced through the diminishing light. He
began to be unable to distinguish objects.
After about fifteen paces, the vault above him came to an
end. He was out of the corridor. He had here more space,
and consequently more light; and besides, the pupils of his eyes
now dilated: he saw with tolerable clearness. He had a
surprise.
were
He was just re-entering that strange cave which he had visited
a month previously.
Only he had returned to it by way of the sea.
## p. 7759 (#577) ###########################################
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7759
That arch which he had then seen submerged was the one
through which he had just passed. It was accessible at certain
low tides.
His eyes became accustomed to the place. He saw better and
better. He was astounded. He had found again that extraor-
dinary palace of shadows, that vault, those pillars, those purple
and blood-like stains, that jewel-like vegetation, and at the end
that crypt, almost a sanctuary, and that stone which was almost
an altar.
He had not taken much notice of these details; but he carried
the general effect in his mind, and he beheld it again.
Opposite him, at a certain height in the cliff, he saw the
crevice through which he had made his entrance on the first
occasion, and which, from the point where he now stood, seemed
inaccessible.
He beheld again, near the pointed arch, those low and obscure
grottoes, a sort of caverns within the cavern, which he had already
observed from a distance. Now he was close to them.
The one
nearest to him was dry and easily accessible.
Still nearer than that opening he noticed a horizontal fissure
in the granite above the level of the water. The crab was prob-
ably there. He thrust in his hand as far as he could and began
to grope in this hole of shadows.
All at once he felt himself seized by the arm.
What he felt at that moment was indescribable horror.
Something thin, rough, flat, slimy, adhesive, and living, had
just wound itself round his bare arm in the dark.
It crept up
towards his breast. It was like the pressure of a leather thong
and the thrust of a gimlet. In less than a second an indescrib-
able spiral form had passed around his wrist and his elbow,
and reached to his shoulder. The point burrowed under his arm-
pit.
Gilliatt threw himself backwards, but could hardly move. He
was as though nailed to the spot; with his left hand, which
remained free, he took his knife, which he held between his
teeth, and holding the knife with his hand he braced himself
against the rock, in a desperate effort to withdraw his arm. He
only succeeded in disturbing the ligature a little, which resumed
its pressure. It was as supple as leather, as solid as steel, as
cold as night.
## p. 7760 (#578) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
A second thong, narrow and pointed, issued from the crevice
of the rock. It was like a tongue from the jaws of a monster.
It licked Gilliatt's naked form in a terrible fashion, and suddenly
stretching out, immensely long and thin, it applied itself to his
skin and surrounded his whole body. At the same time, unheard-
of suffering, which was comparable to nothing he had previously
known, swelled Gilliatt's contracted muscles. He felt in his skin
round and horrible perforations; it seemed to him that innumer-
able lips were fastened to his flesh and were seeking to drink his
blood.
A third thong undulated outside the rock, felt of Gilliatt, and
lashed his sides like a cord. It fixed itself there.
Anguish is mute when at its highest point. Gilliatt did not
utter a cry.
There was light enough for him to see the repuls-
ive forms adhering to him.
A fourth ligature, this one as swift as a dart, leaped towards
his belly and rolled itself around there.
Impossible either to tear or to cut away these shiny thongs
which adhered closely to Gilliatt's body, and by a number of
points.
Each one of those points was the seat of frightful and
peculiar pain. It was what would be experienced if one were
being swallowed simultaneously by a throng of mouths which
were too small.
A fifth prolongation leaped from the hole. It superimposed
itself upon the others, and folded over Gilliatt's chest. Compres-
sion was added to horror; Gilliatt could hardly breathe.
These thongs, pointed at their extremity, spread out gradually
like the blades of swords towards the hilt. All five evidently
belonged to the same centre. They crept and crawled over Gill-
iatt. He felt these strange points of pressure, which seemed to
him to be mouths, changing their places.
Suddenly a large, round, flat, slimy mass emerged from the
lower part of the crevice.
It was the centre; the five thongs were attached to it like
spokes to a hub; on the opposite side of this foul disk could be
distinguished the beginnings of three other tentacles, which re-
mained under the slope of the rock. In the middle of this
sliminess there were two eyes gazing.
The eyes were fixed on Gilliatt.
Gilliatt recognized the octopus (devil-fish).
## p. 7761 (#579) ###########################################
VICTOR HUGO
7761
II
TO BELIEVE in the octopus, one must have seen it.
Compared with it, the hydras of old are laughable.
At certain moments one is tempted to think that the intan-
gible forms which float through our vision encounter in the
realm of the possible, certain magnetic centres to which their
lineaments cling, and that from these obscure fixations of the
living dream, beings spring forth. The unknown has the mar-
velous at its disposal, and it makes use of it to compose the
monster. Orpheus, Homer, and Hesiod were only able to make
the Chimæra: God made the octopus.
When God wills it, he excels in the execrable.
All ideals being admitted, if terror be an object, the octopus
is a masterpiece.
The whale has enormous size, the octopus is small; the hip-
popotamus has a cuirass, the octopus is naked; the jararoca
hisses, the octopus is dumb; the rhinoceros has a horn, the octo-
pus has no horn; the scorpion has a sting, the octopus has no
sting; the buthus has claws, the octopus has no claws; the ape
has a prehensile tail, the octopus has no tail; the shark has sharp
fins, the octopus has no fins; the vespertilio vampire has wings
armed with barbs, the octopus has no barbs; the hedgehog has
quills, the octopus has no quills; the sword-fish has a sword, the
octopus has no sword; the torpedo-fish has an electric shock,
the octopus has none; the toad has a virus, the octopus has no
virus; the viper has a venom, the octopus has no venom; the lion
has claws, the octopus has no claws; the hawk has a beak, the
octopus has no beak; the crocodile has jaws, the octopus has no
teeth.
The octopus has no muscular organization, no menacing cry,
no breastplate, no horn, no dart, no pincers, no prehensile or
bruising tail, no cutting pectoral fins, no barbed wings, no quills,
no sword, no electric discharge, no virus, no venom, no claws, no
beak, no teeth. Of all creatures, the octopus is the most formida-
bly armed.
What then is the octopus? It is the cupping-glass.
In open sea reefs, where the water displays and hides all its
splendors, in the hollows of unvisited rocks, in the unknown caves
where vegetations, crustaceans, and shell-fish abound, beneath the
deep portals of the ocean,- the swimmer who hazards himself
XIII-486
## p. 7762 (#580) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
there, led on by the beauty of the place, runs the risk of an
encounter. If you have this encounter, be not curious but fly.
One enters there dazzled, one emerges from thence terrified.
This is the nature of the encounter always possible among
rocks in the open sea.
A grayish form undulates in the water: it is as thick as a
man's arm, and about half an ell long; it is a rag; its form re-
sembles a closed umbrella without a handle. This rag gradually
advances towards you, suddenly it opens: eight radii spread out
abruptly around a face which has two eyes; these radii are
alive; there is something of the flame in their undulation; it is
a sort of wheel; unfolded, it is four or five feet in diameter.
Frightful expansion. This flings itself upon you.
The hydra harpoons its victim.
This creature applies itself to its prey; covers it, and knots its
long bands about it. Underneath, it is yellowish; on top, earth-
colored: nothing can represent this inexplicable hue of dust; one
would pronounce it a creature made of ashes, living in the water.
In form it is spider-like, and like a chameleon in its coloring.
When irritated it becomes violet in hue. Its most terrible qual-
ity is its softness.
Its folds strangle; its contact paralyzes.
It has an aspect of scurvy and gangrene. It is disease em-
bodied in monstrosity.
It is not to be torn away. It adheres closely to its prey.
How? By a vacuum. Its eight antennæ, large at the root,
gradually taper off and end in needles. Underneath each one
of them are arranged two rows of decreasing pustules, the largest
near the head, the smallest ones at the tip. Each row consists
of twenty-five; there are fifty pustules to each antenna, and the
whole creature has four hundred of them. These pustules are
cupping-glasses.
These cupping-glasses are cylindrical, horny, livid cartilages.
On the large species they gradually diminish from the diameter
of a five-franc piece to the size of a lentil. These fragments of
tubes are thrust out from the animal and retire into it. They
can be inserted into the prey for more than an inch.
This sucking apparatus has all the delicacy of a key-board.
It rises, then retreats. It obeys the slightest wish of the animal.
The most exquisite sensibilities cannot equal the contractibility
of these suckers, always proportioned to the internal movements
## p. 7763 (#581) ###########################################
VICTOR HUGO
7763
of the creature and to the external circumstances.
is like a sensitive-plant.
This dragon
This is the monster which mariners call the poulp, which
science calls the cephalopod, and which legend calls the kraken.
English sailors call it the "devil-fish. " They also call it the
"blood-sucker. " In the Channel Islands it is called the pieuvre.
It is very rare in Guernsey, very small in Jersey, very large
and quite frequent in Sark.
A print from Sonnini's edition of Buffon represents an octo-
pus crushing a frigate. Denis Montfort thinks that the octopus
of the high latitudes is really strong enough to sink a ship.
Bory Saint Vincent denies this, but admits that in our latitudes
it does attack man. Go to Sark and they will show you, near
Brecq-Hou, the hollow in the rock where, a few years ago, an
octopus seized and drowned a lobster-fisher.
Péron and Lamarck are mistaken when they doubt whether
the octopus can swim, since it has no fins.
He who writes these lines has seen with his own eyes at
Sark, in the cave called the Shops, an octopus swimming and
chasing a bather. When killed and measured it was found to
be four English feet in spread, and four hundred suckers could
be counted. The dying monster thrust them out convulsively.
According to Denis Montfort, one of those observers whose
strong gift of intuition causes them to descend or to ascend
even to magianism, the octopus has almost the passions of a
man; the octopus hates. In fact, in the absolute, to be hideous
is to hate.
The misshapen struggles under a necessity of elimination, and
this consequently renders it hostile.
THE Octopus when swimming remains, so to speak, in its
sheath. It swims with all its folds held close. Let the reader
picture to himself a sewed-up sleeve with a closed fist inside of
it. This fist, which is the head, pushes through the water, and
advances with a vague, undulating movement.
Its two eyes,
though large, are not very distinct, being the color of the water.
The octopus on the chase or lying in wait, hides; it contracts,
it condenses itself; it reduces itself to the simplest possible ex-
pression. It confounds itself with the shadow. It looks like a
ripple of the waves. It resembles everything except something
living.
## p. 7764 (#582) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
When one pays no heed to it,
suddenly it opens.
A glutinous mass possessed of a will-what more frightful?
Glue filled with hatred.
It is in the most beautiful azure of the limpid water that this
hideous, voracious star of the sea arises.
The octopus is a hypocrite.
It gives no warning of its approach, which renders it more
terrible. Almost always, when one sees it, one is already caught.
At night, however, and in breeding season, it is phosphores
cent. This terror has its passions. It awaits the nuptial hour.
It adorns itself, it lights up, it illuminates itself; and from the
summit of a rock one can see it beneath, in the shadowy depths,
spread out in a pallid irradiation,- a spectre sun.
It has no bones, it has no blood, it has no flesh. It is flabby.
There is nothing in it. It is a skin. One can turn its eight
tentacles wrong side out, like the fingers of a glove.
It has a single orifice in the centre of its radiation. Is this
one hole the vent? Is it the mouth? It is both.
The same aperture fulfills both functions.
The entrance is the
exit.
The whole creature is cold.
The carnarius of the Mediterranean is repulsive. An odious
contact has this animated gelatine, which envelops the swimmer,
into which the hands sink, where the nails scratch, which one
rends without killing and tears off without pulling away, a sort
of flowing and tenacious being which slips between one's fingers;
but no horror equals the sudden appearance of the octopus,-
Medusa served by eight serpents.
No grasp equals the embrace of the cephalopod.
It is the pneumatic machine attacking you. You have to
deal with a vacuum furnished with paws. Neither scratches nor
bites; an indescribable scarification. A bite is formidable, but
less so than a suction. A claw is nothing beside the cupping-
glass. The claw means the beast entering into your flesh; the
cupping-glass means yourself entering into the beast.
Your muscles swell, your fibres writhe, your skin cracks
under the foul weight, your blood spurts forth and mingles
frightfully with the lymph of the mollusk. The creature super-
imposes itself upon you by a thousand mouths; the hydra incor-
porates itself with the man; the man amalgamates himself with
the hydra.
You form but one. This dream is upon you. The
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VICTOR HUGO
7765
tiger can only devour you; the octopus, oh horror! breathes you
in. It draws you to it, and into it; and bound, ensnared, power-
less, you feel yourself slowly emptied into that frightful pond,
which is the monster itself.
Beyond the terrible, being devoured alive, is the inexpressi-
ble, being drunk alive.
SUCH was the creature in whose power Gilliatt had been for
several moments.
This monster was the inhabitant of that grotto. It was the
frightful genius of the place. A sort of sombre demon of the
water.
All these magnificences had horror for their centre.
A month previously, on the day when for the first time Gill-
iatt had made his way into the grotto, the dark outline, of which
he had caught a glimpse in the ripples of the water, was this
octopus.
This was its home.
When Gilliatt, entering that cave for the second time in pur-
suit of the crab, had perceived the crevices in which he thought
the crab had taken refuge, the octopus was lying in wait in that
hole.
Can the reader picture that lying in wait?
Not a bird would dare to brood, not an egg would dare to
hatch, not a flower would dare to open, not a breast would dare
to give suck, not a heart would dare to love, not a spirit would
dare to take flight, if one meditated on the sinister shapes pa-
tiently lying in ambush in the abyss.
Gilliatt had thrust his arm into the hole; the octopus had
seized it.
It held it.
He was the fly for this spider.
Gilliatt stood in water to his waist, his feet clinging to the
slippery roundness of the stones, his right arm grasped and sub-
dued by the flat coils of the octopus's thongs, and his body
almost hidden by the folds and crossings of that horrible band-
age. Of the eight arms of the octopus, three adhered to the
rock while five adhered to Gilliatt. In this manner, clamped cn
one side to the granite, on the other to the man, it chained
Gilliatt to the rock. Gilliatt had two hundred and fifty suckers
## p. 7766 (#584) ###########################################
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VICTOR HUGO
upon him.
A combination of anguish and disgust. To be
crushed in a gigantic fist, whose elastic fingers, nearly a metre
in length, are inwardly full of living pustules which ransack
your flesh.
As we have said, one cannot tear one's self away from the
octopus. If one attempts it, one is but the more surely bound.
It only clings the closer. Its efforts increase in proportion to
yours. A greater struggle produces a greater constriction.
Gilliatt had but one resource,- his knife.
He had only his left hand free; but as the reader knows, he
could make powerful use of it. It might have been said of him
that he had two right hands.
His open knife was in his hand.
The tentacles of an octopus cannot be cut off; it is leathery
and difficult to sever, it slips away from under the blade. More-
over, the superposition is such that a cut into these thongs would
attack your own flesh.
The octopus is formidable; nevertheless there is a way of
getting away from it. The fishermen of Sark are acquainted
with it; any one who has seen them executing abrupt move-
ments at sea knows it. Porpoises also know it: they have a
way of biting the cuttlefish which cuts off its head. Hence all
the headless squids and cuttlefish which are met with on the
open sea.
The octopus is in fact vulnerable only in the head.
Gilliatt was not ignorant of this fact.
He had never seen an octopus of this size. He found himself
seized at the outset by one of the larger species. Any other
man would have been terrified.
In the case of the octopus as in that of the bull, there is
a certain moment at which to seize it: it is the instant when
the bull lowers his neck, it is the instant when the octopus
thrusts forward its head - a sudden movement. He who misses
that juncture is lost.
All that we have related lasted but a few minutes. But
Gilliatt felt the suction of the two hundred and fifty cupping-
glasses increasing.
The octopus is cunning. It tries to stupefy its prey in the
first place. It seizes, then waits as long as it can.
Gilliatt held his knife. The suction increased.
He gazed at the octopus, which stared at him.
## p. 7767 (#585) ###########################################
VICTOR HUGO
7767
All at once the creature detached its sixth tentacle from the
rock, and launching it at him, attempted to seize his left arm.
At the same time it thrust its head forward swiftly. A second
more and its mouth would have been applied to Gilliatt's breast.
Gilliatt, wounded in the flank and with both arms pinioned,
would have been a dead man.
But Gilliatt was on his guard. Being watched, he watched.
He avoided the tentacle, and at the moment when the creat-
ure was about to bite his breast, his armed fist descended on the
monster.
Two convulsions in opposite directions ensued: that of Gilliatt
and that of the octopus.
It was like the conflict of two flashes of lightning.
Gilliatt plunged the point of his knife into the flat, viscous
mass, and with a twisting movement, similar to the flourish of a
whip, describing a circle around the two eyes, he tore out the
head as one wrenches out a tooth.
It was finished.
The whole creature dropped.
It resembled a sheet detaching itself. The air-pump destroyed,
the vacuum no longer existed. The four hundred suckers released
their hold, simultaneously, of the rock and the man.
It sank to the bottom.
Gilliatt, panting with the combat, could perceive on the rocks
at his feet two shapeless, gelatinous masses, the head on one
side, the rest on the other. We say "the rest," because one
could not say the body.
Gilliatt, however, fearing some convulsive return of agony,
retreated beyond the reach of the tentacles.
But the monster was really dead.
Gilliatt closed his knife.
IT WAS time that Gilliatt killed the octopus.
