Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fifty-fourth chapter of Les Miserables.

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>> Speaker A: Take a look, in the book and let's see

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Take it chapter by chapter. One

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>> Brie Carlisle: Welcome.

>> Brie Carlisle: To bite at a time books where we read you your favorite

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>> Brie Carlisle: Values today well be

continuing.

Les Miserable by Victor Hugo

chapter two how Jean may become

champ one

morning, Monsieur Madeleine was in his

study, occupied in arranging in

advance some pressing matters connected with the mayors

office in case he should decide to take the

trip to Montfermeil. When he was informed that

police inspector Javert, ah, was desirous of speaking with

him, Madeleine could not refrain from a

disagreeable impression on hearing this name.

Javert had avoided him more than ever since the affair of the police

station, and Monsieur Madeleine had not

seen him admit him, he said.

Javert entered. Monsieur Madeleine had

retained his seat near the fire, pin in

hand, his eyes fixed on the docket which he was

turning over and annotating, and which contained the

trials of the commission on highways for the infraction of police

regulations. He did not disturb himself

on Javert's account. He could not help thinking of poor

Fantine, and it suited him to be glacial

in his manner. Javert bestowed a respectful salute on the

mayor, whose back was turned to him.

The mayor did not look at him, but went on annotating

this docket. Javert advanced two or

three paces into the study and halted without breaking the

silence. If any

physiognomist who had been familiar with Javert. And who

had made a lengthy study of this savage in the service of civilization.

This singular composite of the Roman, the

Spartan, the monk and the corporal.

This spy who was incapable of a lie, this

unspotted police agent. If any

physiognomist had known his secret and long cherished diversion

from Monsieur Madeleine, his conflict with the

mayor on the subject of Fantine, and had examined

Javert at that moment, he would have said to himself

what has taken place. It was evident

to anyone acquainted with that clear, upright, sincere,

honest, austere, and ferocious conscience that

Javert had but just gone through some

great interior struggle. Javert had

nothing in his soul which he had not also in his countenance,

like violent people in general, he was subject to

abrupt changes of opinion. His

physiognomy had never been more peculiar and

startling. On entering, he bowed to Monsieur

Madeleine. With a look in which there was neither

rancor, anger nor distrust.

He halted a few paces in the rear of the mayors

armchair. And there he stood,

perfectly erect in an attitude almost of

discipline. With the cold, ingenious

roughness of a man who has never been gentle and

who has always been patient. He waited without

uttering a word, without making a movement.

In genuine humility and tranquil

resignation. Calm,

serious, hat in hand, with eyes

cast down. And an expression which was halfway between that of

a soldier in the presence of his officer. And a

criminal in the presence of his judge. Until

it should please the mayor to turn round.

All the sentiments as well as all the memories which one might have

attributed to him had, ah, disappeared.

That face, as impenetrable and

simple as granite. No longer bore any trace of

anything but a melancholy depression. His

whole person breathed lowliness and firmness.

And an indescribable, courageous despondency.

At last the mayor laid down his pen and turned half

round. Well, what is

it? What is the matter, Javert?

Javert remained silent for an instant as though collecting

his ideas. Then raised his voice with

a sort of sad solemnity. Which did

not, however, preclude simplicity. This,

is the matter, mister mayor. A, culpable

act has been committed. What act?

An inferior agent of the authorities has failed in

respect and in the gravest manner towards a

magistrate. I have come to bring the fact to your

knowledge, as it is my duty to do. Who is

the agent? Asked Monsieur Madeleine.

I, said Javert. You?

I. And who is the magistrate who has

reason to complain of the agent? You, mister

mayor. Monsieur Madeleine sat erect

in his armchair. Javert went on with a

severe air and his eyes still cast down.

Mister mayor, ive come to request you to instigate the

authorities to dismiss me. Monsieur, Madeleine

opened his mouth in amazement. Javert interrupted

him. You will say that I might have handed in my

resignation, but that does not suffice.

Handing anyone's resignation is honorable.

I have failed in my duty. I ought to be punished. I must

be turned out. And after a pause he

added, Mister mayor, you were severe with me the other

day, and unjustly be so

today with justice. Come, Now.

Why. Exclaimed Monsieur Madeleine.

What nonsense is this? What is the meaning of

this? What culpable act have you been guilty of towards

me? What have you done to me? What are your wrongs with

regard to me? You accuse yourself. You wish to be

superseded? Turned out, said

Javert. Turned out? So be

it then. That is well, I do not

understand. You shall understand, Mister

mayor. Javert sighed from

the very bottom of his chest and resumed

still, coldly and sadly, mister

mayor, six weeks ago, in consequence of the scene over

that woman, I was furious. And I informed

against you. Informed against me?

At the prefecture of police in Paris.

Monsieur Madeleine, who was not in the habit of

laughing much oftener than Javert himself, burst out laughing

now as, ah. A mayor who had encroached

on the province of police as an ex

convict. The mayor

turned livid. Javert, who had

not raised his eyes, went on. I thought it was

so. I had had an idea for a long time,

a resemblance, inquiries which you had caused to be made

at Favarole. The strength of your loins,

the adventure with old Fauchelevert, your

skill in marksmanship, your leg, which you drag a

little. I hardly know what all

absurdities, but at all events, I took

you for a certain Jean Valjean. A

certain. What did you say the name was?

Jean Valjean. He was a convict whom I

was in the habit of seeing 20 years ago, when I was

a jutant guard of convicts at Toulon, on

leaving the galley.

Is this Jean Valjean, as it appears, robbed a

bishop. Then he committed another theft, accompanied with

violence on a public highway, on the person of a little

savoyard. He disappeared eight years

ago. No, one knows how. And he has been sought. I

fancied. In short, I did this

thing. Wrath impelled me. I denounced you at the

prefecture, Monsieur Madeleine,

who had taken up the docket again several moments before

this, resumed with an air of perfect

indifference. And what reply did you

receive? That I was mad.

Well, they were right.

It is lucky that you recognize the fact I

am forced to do so. Since the real Jean Valjean has been

found. The sheet of paper which

Monsieur Madeleine was holding dropped from his hand.

He raised his head, gazed fixedly at

Javert, and said, with his indescribable accent,

ah, Javert continued, this is the way it is, mister

mayor. It seems that there was in the neighborhood near

Eile Hat Claudia, an old fellow who was called Father

Chantmanetheu. He was a very wretched

creature. No one paid any attention to

him. No one knows what such people subsist

on lately. Last autumn, Father

Chantmanethew was arrested on the theft of some cider apples

from. Well, no matter. A

theft had been committed. A wall scaled, branches

of trees broken. My champ monotheu was

arrested. He still had the branch of apple tree in

his hand. The scamp is locked up. Up to

this point, it was merely an affair of a misdemeanor.

But here is where providence intervened.

The jail being in a bad condition, the

examining magistrate finds it convenient to transfer

Champmanathew to Aerys, where the departmental prison

is situated. In this prison at Arras,

theres an ex convict named Brevet who is

detained for I know not what, and who has been

appointed turnkey of the house because of good

behavior, mister mayor, no sooner had

Champ Mathieu arrived than brevet

exclaims, why? Know that man? Take

a good look at me, my good man. You are Jean

Valjean. Jean Valjean? Whos Jean

Valjean? Champ Mathieu feigns astonishment.

Dont play the innocent dodge, says Brevet.

You are Jean Valjean. Youve been in the galleys of

Toulon. It was 20 years ago. We were there

together. Chantmathew denies it.

Par blue, you understand? The case is investigated.

The thing was well ventilated for me, this is what they

discovered. This chimp Mathieu, had been,

30 years ago, a pruner of trees in various

localities, notably at

favrole. There, all trace of him was

lost. A long time afterwards, he was seen again

in Auvergne, then in Paris, where he

is said to have been a wheelwright and to have had a daughter

who was a laundress. But that has not been

proved. Now, before going to the galleys for

theft, what was Jean Valjean? A pruner of

trees. Where? At, fevrole.

Another fact. This Valjeans Christian name

was Jean, and his mothers surname was

Mathieu. What more natural to suppose than

that? On emerging from the galleys, he should have taken his

mothers name for the purpose of concealing himself. And

if called himself Jean Mathieu, he goes to

Auvergne. The local pronunciation turns

Jean into chan. Its chan Mathieu.

Our man offers no opposition. And behold

him transformed into chant. Mathieu, you

follow me, do you not? Inquiries are made at

favrole. The family of Jean Valjean is no

longer there. It is not known where they have gone.

You know that among those classes, a family often

disappears. Search was made and nothing was

found. When such people are not mud, they are

dust. And then, as the beginning of the story dates

30 years back. Theres no longer anyone at favrole who

knew Jean Valjean. Inquiries are made at

Toulon. Besides brevet, there are only

two convicts in existence who have seen Jean Valjean.

Theyre Cocopel and Chen Endieu, and

are sentenced for life. They are taken from the

galleys and confronted with the pretended chat Mathieu,

they do not hesitate. He is Jean Valjean, for

them as well as for brevet. The same age,

he is 54. The same height, the

same air, the same man. In short, it

is he. It was precisely at this moment

that I forwarded my denunciation to the prefecture in

Paris. I was told that I had lost my

reason and that Jean Valjean is at Arras

in the power of the authorities. You can

imagine whether this surprised me when I thought

that I had the same Jean Valjean. Here. I, write to

the examining judge. He sends for me.

Champ Mathieu is conducted to me.

Well interposed, Monsieur Madeleine,

Javert replied, his face incorruptible

and as melancholy as ever. Mister

Mayor, the truth is the truth. Im sorry,

but that man is Jean Valjean. I recognized

him also. Monster, Madeleine

resumed in a very low voice. Youre

sure? Javert began to

laugh with that mournful laugh which comes from

profound conviction. Oh, sure.

He stood there thoughtfully for a moment, mechanically

taking pinches of powdered wood. For blotting ink from the wooden

bowl which stood on the table. And he added,

and even now that ive seen the real Jean Valjean,

I do not see how I could have thought otherwise. I beg

your pardon, mister mayor. Javert. Ah.

As he addressed these grave and supplicating words to the man

who six weeks before, had humiliated him in the presence of

the whole station house and bade him leave the

room. Javert. Ah, that huh?

Haughty man was unconsciously full of simplicity. And

dignity. Monsieur Madeleine made no other

reply to his prayer than the abrupt question.

And what does this man say? Indeed,

mister mayor, its a bad business if he is

Jean Valjean. He has his previous conviction against

him. To climb a wall, to break a branch,

to purloin apples. It is a mischievous trick in a

child. For a man, it is a misdemeanor.

For a convict, it is a crime. Robbing

and housebreaking, it is all there. It is no

longer a question of correctional police. It is a matter for

the court of assizes. It is no longer a matter of a

few days in prison. it is the galleys for life.

And then there is the affair with the little saviard.

Who will return, I hope, deuce. There is

plenty to dispute in the matter, is there not?

Yes, for anyone but Jean Valjean. But, Jean

Valjean is a sly dog. That is the way I

recognized him. Any other man would have felt that things

were getting hot for him. He would struggle, he would

cry out, but the kettle sings before the

fire. He would not be Jean Valjean,

etcetera. but he has not the appearance of understanding.

He says, I am champ Mathieu and I wont depart

from that. He has an astonished air. He

pretends to be stupid. It is far better.

Oh, the rogue is clever, but it makes no difference.

The proofs are there. He has been recognized

by four persons. The old scamp will be

condemned. The case has been taken to the assizes at

Aerys. I shall go there to give my

testimony. I have been summoned.

Monster Madeleine had turned to his desk again and taken

up his docket and was turning over the leaves

tranquilly, reading and writing by turns, like

a busy man. He turned to Javert.

That will do, Javert. In truth, all these

details interest me but little. We are wasting our

time and we have pressing business on hand.

Javert, you will betake yourself at once to the house

of the woman Busipede, who sells herbs at the corner of

the rue Saint Sauve. He will tell her that she must

enter her complaint against Carter Pierre Schassenlong.

The man is a brute who came near crushing this woman

and her child. He must be punished. You

will then go to Monsieur Charcelet, rue montre de

Chacini. he complained that there is a gutter on the adjoining

house which discharges rainwater on its premises

and is undermining the foundations of his house.

After that, you will verify the infractions of police

regulations which have been reported to me in rue Gurbourg

at widow Doriss and rue du Gariblanc

at Madame Rene Labaces. And you will prepare

documents. But I am giving you a great deal of

work. Are you not to be absent? Did you not

tell me that you were going to arras on that matter in a week or ten

days? Sooner than that, Mister mayor.

On what day? Then? I thought that I had

said to Monsieur le Maire that the case was to be tried tomorrow

and that I am to be set out by diligence. Tonight

Monseigneur Madeleine made an imperceptible movement.

And how long will the case last?

One day at the most. The judgment will be

pronounced tomorrow evening at the latest. But I shall not

wait for the sentence, which is certain. I shall return

here as soon as my deposition has been taken.

That is well said, Monsieur Madeleine.

And he dismissed Javert. Ah. With a wave of the hand.

Javert did not withdraw. Excuse me,

Mister mayor, said he. What is it

now? Demanded Monsieur Madeleine. Mister

mayor, there is still something of which I must remind you.

What is it? That I must be

dismissed, Monsieur Madeleine. Rose.

Javert, you are a man of honor and I esteem

you. You exaggerate your fault.

Moreover, this is an offense which concerns me.

Javert. You deserve promotion instead of

degradation. I wish you to retain your post.

Javert gazed at Monsieur Madeleine with his candid

eyes, in whose depths his not very

enlightened but pure and rigid conscience seemed

visible, and said in a tranquil voice,

Mister mayor, I cannot grant you that. I

repeat, replied Monsieur Madeleine,

not the matter concerns me.

But, Javert, heeding his own thought, only

continued. So far as exaggeration is

concerned, I am not exaggerating. This is the way

I reason.

I have suspected you unjustly. That is

nothing. It is our right to cherish suspicion. Although

suspicion directed above ourselves is an abuse.

But without proofs, in a fit of rage, with the object

of wreaking my vengeance, I have denounced you as a

convict. You, a respectable man, a

mayor, a magistrate. That is serious.

Very serious. I have insulted authority in your

person. I, an agent of the authorities.

If one of my subordinates had done what I have done, I

should have declared him unworthy of the service and have expelled

him. Well. Stop. Mister

Mayor, one word more. I have often been severe in

the course of my life towards others. That is

just. I have done well. Now, if I were not

severe towards myself, all the justice that I have done would

become injustice. Ought I to spare myself more

than others? No. What? I should

be good for nothing but to chastise others and not

myself, why I should be a blackguard.

Those who say that blackguard of a javert would be in the right.

Mister mayor, I do not desire that you should treat me

kindly. Your kindness roused sufficient bad

blood in me when it was directed to others. I want none

of it for myself. The kindness which consists

in upholding a woman of the town against a citizen, the

police against the mayor, the man who is down against the man who is

up in the world, is what I call false

kindness. That is the sort of kindness which

disorganizes society. Good God. It is

very easy to be kind. The difficulty lies in being

just. Come, if you have been what I thought

you. I should not have been kind to you. Not

I. You would have. When seen. Mister

mayor, I treat myself as I would treat any

other man. When I have subdued malefactors, when I

have proceeded with vigor against rascals, I have often

said to myself, if you flinch, if I ever catch you

in fault, you may rest at your ease. I have

flinched. I have caught myself in a fault.

So much the worse. Come.

Discharged, cashiered, expelled, that

is. Well, I have arms. I will till the soil.

It makes no difference to me, mister mayor. The good of

the service demands an example. I simply

require the discharge of Inspector Javert.

All this was uttered in a proud,

humble, despairing, yet convinced

tone which lent indescribable grandeur to

the singular, honest man. We shall

see, said M. Madeleine, and he

offered him his hand. Javert recoiled

and said in a wild excuse me, mister

mayor, but this must not be. A mayor does not offer his

hand to a police spy, he added

between his teeth. A police spy? Yes. From the

moment when ive misused the police, I am no more than

a police spy. Then he bowed

profoundly and directed his steps towards the door.

There he wheeled round, and with eyes still

downcast, Mister mayor, he

said, I, shall continue to serve until I am

superseded. He withdrew.

Monsieur Madeleine remained thoughtfully listening to the firm sure

step which died away on the pavement of the corridor.

Thank you for joining Byte at a time books today while we

read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again. My name is Brie Carlisle,

and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next

bite of Les Miserable.

>> Brie Carlisle: Dont forget to sign up for our

newsletter@byteoutimebooks.com and

check out the shop. You can check out the show notes

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>> Speaker A: m

mountains we can climb

take your words go word line by

line one bite at a time.