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Les Miserables is, amongst other things, very much a tragedy about children.
Jean Valjean was twenty-seven when he was incarcerated for the simple act of stealing to feed his starving family, an act that altered the entire course of his life and, for a long time, turned him into a hardened and bitter man.
Fantine was eighteen when she gave birth to Cosette and twenty when she was abandoned by Tholomyes, a treachery that left her so destitute that she was forced to resort to prostitution. She was twenty-seven when she died and was thrown into an unmarked grave as if she never existed for the tragically short amount of time she was on Earth.
Until the age of eight, Cosette was mercilessly abused by the Thenardiers, both physically and mentally, a stage in life when she should have been playing out in the sun carefree, not fearing the strike of a hand.
Eponine was seventeen when she died uncared for, never having the love she held for the man she had for so long admired from afar requited, after having spent so long in miserable poverty.
Gavroche was only twelve when he was shot—bright and bold, he still had so much life left to live.
None of Les Amis managed to breach the age of thirty; they were students, children who were brutally slaughtered for standing against tyranny when they shouldn’t have had to fight an adult’s battle and rather should have been able to mess around in their twenties.
Enjolras never grew to see the republic he had for so long dreamed of come into existence because he died when he was twenty-six.
Marius was twenty-one when he woke to realize that every single friend he had ever known was dead, that he would never again be able to speak or laugh or see the people he held so close in his heart again.
Les Miserables is, amongst other things, very much a tragedy of children, a tale that tells of a society seeking to crush the innocence and safety that should be guaranteed in one’s childhood.