CHAPTER X--THE SYSTEM OF DENIALS

  The moment for closing the debate had arrived. The President had theaccused stand up, and addressed to him the customary question, "Have youanything to add to your defence?"

  The man did not appear to understand, as he stood there, twisting in hishands a terrible cap which he had.

  The President repeated the question.

  This time the man heard it. He seemed to understand. He made a motionlike a man who is just waking up, cast his eyes about him, stared atthe audience, the gendarmes, his counsel, the jury, the court, laidhis monstrous fist on the rim of woodwork in front of his bench,took another look, and all at once, fixing his glance upon thedistrict-attorney, he began to speak. It was like an eruption.It seemed, from the manner in which the words escaped from hismouth,--incoherent, impetuous, pell-mell, tumbling over each other,--asthough they were all pressing forward to issue forth at once. He said:--

  "This is what I have to say. That I have been a wheelwright in Paris,and that it was with Monsieur Baloup. It is a hard trade. In thewheelwright's trade one works always in the open air, in courtyards,under sheds when the masters are good, never in closed workshops,because space is required, you see. In winter one gets so cold that onebeats one's arms together to warm one's self; but the masters don't likeit; they say it wastes time. Handling iron when there is ice betweenthe paving-stones is hard work. That wears a man out quickly. One is oldwhile he is still quite young in that trade. At forty a man is done for.I was fifty-three. I was in a bad state. And then, workmen are so mean!When a man is no longer young, they call him nothing but an old bird,old beast! I was not earning more than thirty sous a day. They paid meas little as possible. The masters took advantage of my age--and then Ihad my daughter, who was a laundress at the river. She earned a littlealso. It sufficed for us two. She had trouble, also; all day long up toher waist in a tub, in rain, in snow. When the wind cuts your face, whenit freezes, it is all the same; you must still wash. There are peoplewho have not much linen, and wait until late; if you do not wash, youlose your custom. The planks are badly joined, and water drops on youfrom everywhere; you have your petticoats all damp above and below. Thatpenetrates. She has also worked at the laundry of the Enfants-Rouges,where the water comes through faucets. You are not in the tub there; youwash at the faucet in front of you, and rinse in a basin behind you. Asit is enclosed, you are not so cold; but there is that hot steam, whichis terrible, and which ruins your eyes. She came home at seven o'clockin the evening, and went to bed at once, she was so tired. Her husbandbeat her. She is dead. We have not been very happy. She was a good girl,who did not go to the ball, and who was very peaceable. I rememberone Shrove-Tuesday when she went to bed at eight o'clock. There, I amtelling the truth; you have only to ask. Ah, yes! how stupid I am! Parisis a gulf. Who knows Father Champmathieu there? But M. Baloup does, Itell you. Go see at M. Baloup's; and after all, I don't know what iswanted of me."

  The man ceased speaking, and remained standing. He had said these thingsin a loud, rapid, hoarse voice, with a sort of irritated and savageingenuousness. Once he paused to salute some one in the crowd. The sortof affirmations which he seemed to fling out before him at random camelike hiccoughs, and to each he added the gesture of a wood-cutter who issplitting wood. When he had finished, the audience burst into a laugh.He stared at the public, and, perceiving that they were laughing, andnot understanding why, he began to laugh himself.

  It was inauspicious.

  The President, an attentive and benevolent man, raised his voice.

  He reminded "the gentlemen of the jury" that "the sieur Baloup, formerlya master-wheelwright, with whom the accused stated that he had served,had been summoned in vain. He had become bankrupt, and was not to befound." Then turning to the accused, he enjoined him to listen to whathe was about to say, and added: "You are in a position where reflectionis necessary. The gravest presumptions rest upon you, and may inducevital results. Prisoner, in your own interests, I summon you for thelast time to explain yourself clearly on two points. In the first place,did you or did you not climb the wall of the Pierron orchard, breakthe branch, and steal the apples; that is to say, commit the crimeof breaking in and theft? In the second place, are you the dischargedconvict, Jean Valjean--yes or no?"

  The prisoner shook his head with a capable air, like a man who hasthoroughly understood, and who knows what answer he is going to make. Heopened his mouth, turned towards the President, and said:--

  "In the first place--"

  Then he stared at his cap, stared at the ceiling, and held his peace.

  "Prisoner," said the district-attorney, in a severe voice; "payattention. You are not answering anything that has been asked of you.Your embarrassment condemns you. It is evident that your name is notChampmathieu; that you are the convict, Jean Valjean, concealed firstunder the name of Jean Mathieu, which was the name of his mother; thatyou went to Auvergne; that you were born at Faverolles, where you werea pruner of trees. It is evident that you have been guilty of entering,and of the theft of ripe apples from the Pierron orchard. The gentlemenof the jury will form their own opinion."

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  The prisoner had finally resumed his seat; he arose abruptly when thedistrict-attorney had finished, and exclaimed:--

  "You are very wicked; that you are! This what I wanted to say; I couldnot find words for it at first. I have stolen nothing. I am a man whodoes not have something to eat every day. I was coming from Ailly; Iwas walking through the country after a shower, which had made the wholecountry yellow: even the ponds were overflowed, and nothing sprang fromthe sand any more but the little blades of grass at the wayside. Ifound a broken branch with apples on the ground; I picked up the branchwithout knowing that it would get me into trouble. I have been inprison, and they have been dragging me about for the last three months;more than that I cannot say; people talk against me, they tell me,'Answer!' The gendarme, who is a good fellow, nudges my elbow, and saysto me in a low voice, 'Come, answer!' I don't know how to explain; Ihave no education; I am a poor man; that is where they wrong me, becausethey do not see this. I have not stolen; I picked up from the groundthings that were lying there. You say, Jean Valjean, Jean Mathieu! Idon't know those persons; they are villagers. I worked for M. Baloup,Boulevard de l'Hôpital; my name is Champmathieu. You are very clever totell me where I was born; I don't know myself: it's not everybodywho has a house in which to come into the world; that would be tooconvenient. I think that my father and mother were people who strolledalong the highways; I know nothing different. When I was a child, theycalled me _young fellow_; now they call me _old Fellow_; those are mybaptismal names; take that as you like. I have been in Auvergne; I havebeen at Faverolles. Pardi. Well! can't a man have been in Auvergne, orat Faverolles, without having been in the galleys? I tell you that Ihave not stolen, and that I am Father Champmathieu; I have been with M.Baloup; I have had a settled residence. You worry me with your nonsense,there! Why is everybody pursuing me so furiously?"

  The district-attorney had remained standing; he addressed thePresident:--

  "Monsieur le Président, in view of the confused but exceedingly cleverdenials of the prisoner, who would like to pass himself off as an idiot,but who will not succeed in so doing,--we shall attend to that,--wedemand that it shall please you and that it shall please the court tosummon once more into this place the convicts Brevet, Cochepaille, andChenildieu, and Police-Inspector Javert, and question them for the lasttime as to the identity of the prisoner with the convict Jean Valjean."

  "I would remind the district-attorney," said the President, "thatPolice-Inspector Javert, recalled by his duties to the capital of aneighboring arrondissement, left the court-room and the town as soon ashe had made his deposition; we have accorded him permission, with theconsent of the district-attorney and of the counsel for the prisoner."

  "That is true, Mr. President," responded the district-attorney. "In theabsence of sieur Javert, I think it my duty to remind the gentlemen ofthe jury of what he said here a few hours ago. Javert is an estimableman, who does honor by his rigorous and strict probity to inferior butimportant functions. These are the terms of his deposition: 'I do noteven stand in need of circumstantial proofs and moral presumptions togive the lie to the prisoner's denial. I recognize him perfectly. Thename of this man is not Champmathieu; he is an ex-convict named JeanValjean, and is very vicious and much to be feared. It is only withextreme regret that he was released at the expiration of his term. Heunderwent nineteen years of penal servitude for theft. He made five orsix attempts to escape. Besides the theft from Little Gervais, and fromthe Pierron orchard, I suspect him of a theft committed in the house ofHis Grace the late Bishop of D---- I often saw him at the time when Iwas adjutant of the galley-guard at the prison in Toulon. I repeat thatI recognize him perfectly.'"

  This extremely precise statement appeared to produce a vivid impressionon the public and on the jury. The district-attorney concluded byinsisting, that in default of Javert, the three witnesses Brevet,Chenildieu, and Cochepaille should be heard once more and solemnlyinterrogated.

  The President transmitted the order to an usher, and, a moment later,the door of the witnesses' room opened. The usher, accompanied by agendarme ready to lend him armed assistance, introduced the convictBrevet. The audience was in suspense; and all breasts heaved as thoughthey had contained but one soul.

  The ex-convict Brevet wore the black and gray waistcoat of the centralprisons. Brevet was a person sixty years of age, who had a sort ofbusiness man's face, and the air of a rascal. The two sometimes gotogether. In prison, whither fresh misdeeds had led him, he had becomesomething in the nature of a turnkey. He was a man of whom his superiorssaid, "He tries to make himself of use." The chaplains bore goodtestimony as to his religious habits. It must not be forgotten that thispassed under the Restoration.

  "Brevet," said the President, "you have undergone an ignominioussentence, and you cannot take an oath."

  Brevet dropped his eyes.

  "Nevertheless," continued the President, "even in the man whom the lawhas degraded, there may remain, when the divine mercy permits it, asentiment of honor and of equity. It is to this sentiment that Iappeal at this decisive hour. If it still exists in you,--and I hopeit does,--reflect before replying to me: consider on the one hand, thisman, whom a word from you may ruin; on the other hand, justice, which aword from you may enlighten. The instant is solemn; there is still timeto retract if you think you have been mistaken. Rise, prisoner. Brevet,take a good look at the accused, recall your souvenirs, and tell us onyour soul and conscience, if you persist in recognizing this man as yourformer companion in the galleys, Jean Valjean?"

  Brevet looked at the prisoner, then turned towards the court.

  "Yes, Mr. President, I was the first to recognize him, and I stick toit; that man is Jean Valjean, who entered at Toulon in 1796, and left in1815. I left a year later. He has the air of a brute now; but it must bebecause age has brutalized him; he was sly at the galleys: I recognizehim positively."

  "Take your seat," said the President. "Prisoner, remain standing."

  Chenildieu was brought in, a prisoner for life, as was indicated by hisred cassock and his green cap. He was serving out his sentence at thegalleys of Toulon, whence he had been brought for this case. He was asmall man of about fifty, brisk, wrinkled, frail, yellow, brazen-faced,feverish, who had a sort of sickly feebleness about all his limbs andhis whole person, and an immense force in his glance. His companions inthe galleys had nicknamed him _I-deny-God_ (_Je-nie Dieu_, Chenildieu).

  The President addressed him in nearly the same words which he hadused to Brevet. At the moment when he reminded him of his infamy whichdeprived him of the right to take an oath, Chenildieu raised hishead and looked the crowd in the face. The President invited him toreflection, and asked him as he had asked Brevet, if he persisted inrecognition of the prisoner.

  Chenildieu burst out laughing.

  "Pardieu, as if I didn't recognize him! We were attached to the samechain for five years. So you are sulking, old fellow?"

  "Go take your seat," said the President.

  The usher brought in Cochepaille. He was another convict for life, whohad come from the galleys, and was dressed in red, like Chenildieu, wasa peasant from Lourdes, and a half-bear of the Pyrenees. He had guardedthe flocks among the mountains, and from a shepherd he had slipped intoa brigand. Cochepaille was no less savage and seemed even more stupidthan the prisoner. He was one of those wretched men whom nature hassketched out for wild beasts, and on whom society puts the finishingtouches as convicts in the galleys.

  The President tried to touch him with some grave and pathetic words,and asked him, as he had asked the other two, if he persisted, withouthesitation or trouble, in recognizing the man who was standing beforehim.

  "He is Jean Valjean," said Cochepaille. "He was even calledJean-the-Screw, because he was so strong."

  Each of these affirmations from these three men, evidently sincere andin good faith, had raised in the audience a murmur of bad augury for theprisoner,--a murmur which increased and lasted longer each time that afresh declaration was added to the proceeding.

  The prisoner had listened to them, with that astounded face which was,according to the accusation, his principal means of defence; at thefirst, the gendarmes, his neighbors, had heard him mutter between histeeth: "Ah, well, he's a nice one!" after the second, he said, a littlelouder, with an air that was almost that of satisfaction, "Good!" at thethird, he cried, "Famous!"

  The President addressed him:--

  "Have you heard, prisoner? What have you to say?"

  He replied:--

  "I say, 'Famous!'"

  An uproar broke out among the audience, and was communicated to thejury; it was evident that the man was lost.

  "Ushers," said the President, "enforce silence! I am going to sum up thearguments."

  At that moment there was a movement just beside the President; a voicewas heard crying:--

  "Brevet! Chenildieu! Cochepaille! look here!"

  All who heard that voice were chilled, so lamentable and terrible wasit; all eyes were turned to the point whence it had proceeded. A man,placed among the privileged spectators who were seated behind thecourt, had just risen, had pushed open the half-door which separated thetribunal from the audience, and was standing in the middle of the hall;the President, the district-attorney, M. Bamatabois, twenty persons,recognized him, and exclaimed in concert:--

  "M. Madeleine!"