1078 Les Miserables
more than it did Robespierre. It had very cleverly turned to
sufficiently good account the fatigue of the nation, and the
hatred of mothers. Bonaparte had become an almost fabu-
lous monster, and in order to paint him to the imagination
of the people, which, as we lately pointed out, resembles the
imagination of children, the party of 1814 made him appear
under all sorts of terrifying masks in succession, from that
which is terrible though it remains grandiose to that which
is terrible and becomes grotesque, from Tiberius to the bug-
aboo. Thus, in speaking of Bonaparte, one was free to sob
or to puff up with laughter, provided that hatred lay at the
bottom. Marius had never entertained— about that man, as
he was called—any other ideas in his mind. They had com-
bined with the tenacity which existed in his nature. There
was in him a headstrong little man who hated Napoleon.
On reading history, on studying him, especially in the
documents and materials for history, the veil which con-
cealed Napoleon from the eyes of Marius was gradually
rent. He caught a glimpse of something immense, and he
suspected that he had been deceived up to that moment, on
the score of Bonaparte as about all the rest; each day he saw
more distinctly; and he set about mounting, slowly, step by
step, almost regretfully in the beginning, then with intoxi-
cation and as though attracted by an irresistible fascination,
first the sombre steps, then the vaguely illuminated steps, at
last the luminous and splendid steps of enthusiasm.
One night, he was alone in his little chamber near the
roof. His candle was burning; he was reading, with his el-
bows resting on his table close to the open window. All