Imagine what must have been the haze of such a vision, not led up to, not attained to as by the gradual steps of a ladder, but reached without transition and without previous warning.

A man going to sleep in a mole’s burrow, and awaking on the top of the Strasbourg steeple; such was the state of Gwynplaine.

Giddiness is a dangerous kind of glare, particularly that which bears you at once towards the day and towards the night, forming two whirlwinds, one opposed to the other.

He saw too much, and not enough.

He saw all, and nothing.

His state was what the author of this book has somewhere expressed as the blind man dazzled.

Gwynplaine, left by himself, began to walk with long strides.  A bubbling precedes an explosion.

Notwithstanding his agitation, in this impossibility of keeping still, he meditated.  His mind liquefied as it boiled.  He began to recall things to his memory.  It is surprising how we find that we have heard so clearly that to which we scarcely listened.  The declaration of the shipwrecked men, read by the sheriff in the Southwark cell, came back to him clearly and intelligibly.  He recalled every word, he saw under it his whole infancy.

Suddenly he stopped, his hands clasped behind his back, looking up to the ceilings—­the sky—­no matter what—­whatever was above him.

“Quits!” he cried.

He felt like one whose head rises out of the water.  It seemed to him that he saw everything—­the past, the future, the present—­in the accession of a sudden flash of light.

“Oh!” he cried, for there are cries in the depths of thought.  “Oh! it was so, was it!  I was a lord.  All is discovered.  They stole, betrayed, destroyed, abandoned, disinherited, murdered me!  The corpse of my destiny floated fifteen years on the sea; all at once it touched the earth, and it started up, erect and living.  I am reborn.  I am born.  I felt under my rags that the breast there palpitating was not that of a wretch; and when I looked on crowds of men, I felt that they were the flocks, and that I was not the dog, but the shepherd!  Shepherds of the people, leaders of men, guides and masters, such were my fathers; and what they were I am!  I am a gentleman, and I have a sword; I am a baron, and I have a casque; I am a marquis, and I have a plume; I am a peer, and I have a coronet.  Lo! they deprived me of all this.  I dwelt in light, they flung me into darkness.  Those who proscribed the father, sold the son.  When my father was dead, they took from beneath his head the stone of exile which he had placed for his pillow, and, tying it to my neck, they flung me into a sewer.  Oh! those scoundrels who tortured my infancy!  Yes, they rise and move in the depths of my memory.  Yes; I see them again.  I was that morsel of flesh pecked to pieces on a tomb by a flight of crows.  I bled and cried under all those horrible shadows.  Lo! it was there that