Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [100]
“Sooner than that, Monsieur Mayor.”
“What day then?”
“I think I told monsieur that the case would be tried to-morrow, and that I should leave by the stagecoach to-night.”
Monsieur Madeleine made an imperceptible motion.
“And how long will the matter last?”
“One day at longest. Sentence will be pronounced at latest to-morrow evening. But I shall not wait for the sentence, which is certain; as soon as my testimony is given I shall return here.”
“Very well,” said Monsieur Madeleine.
And he dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
Javert did not go.
“Excuse me, monsieur,” said he.
“What more is there?” asked Monsieur Madeleine.
“Monsieur Mayor, there is one thing more to which I desire to call your attention.”
“What is it?”
“It is that I ought to be dismissed.”
Monsieur Madeleine arose. “Javert, you are a man of honour and I esteem you. You exaggerate your fault. Besides, this is an offence which concerns me. You are worthy of promotion rather than disgrace. I desire you to keep your place.”
Javert looked at Monsieur Madeleine with his calm eyes, in whose depths it seemed that one beheld his conscience, unenlightened, but stern and pure, and said in a tranquil voice:
“Monsieur Mayor, I cannot agree to that.”
“I repeat,” said Monsieur Madeleine, “that this matter concerns me.”
But Javert, with his one idea, continued:
“As to exaggerating, I do not exaggerate. This is the way I reason. I have unjustly suspected you. That is nothing. It is our province to suspect, although it may be an abuse of our right to suspect our superiors. But without proofs and in a fit of anger, with revenge as my aim, I denounced you as a convict—you, a respectable man, a mayor, and a magistrate. This is a serious matter, very serious. I have committed an offence against authority in your person, I, who am the agent of authority. If one of my subordinates had done what I have, I would have pronounced him unworthy of the service, and sent him away. Well, listen a moment, Monsieur Mayor; I have often been severe in my life towards others. It was just. I did right. Now if I were not severe towards myself, all I have justly done would become injustice. Should I spare myself more than others? No. What! if I should be prompt only to punish others and not myself, I should be a wretch indeed!an They who say: ‘That blackguard, Javert,’ would be right. Monsieur Mayor, I do not wish you to treat me with kindness. Your kindness, when it was for others, enraged me; I do not wish it for myself. That kindness which consists in defending a woman of the town against a citizen, a police agent against the mayor, the inferior against the superior, that is what I call ill-judged kindness. Such kindness disorganizes society. Good God, it is easy to be kind, the difficulty is to be just. Had you been what I thought, I should not have been kind to you; not I. You would have seen, Monsieur Mayor. I ought to treat myself as I would treat anybody else. When I put down malefactors, when I rigorously punished offenders, I often said to myself: ‘You, if you ever trip; if ever I catch you doing wrong, look out!’ I have tripped, I have caught myself doing wrong. So much the worse! I must be sent away, broken, dismissed, that is right. I have hands: I can till the ground. It is all the same to me. Monsieur Mayor, the good of the service demands an example. I simply ask the dismissal of Inspector Javert.”
All this was said in a tone of proud humility, a desperate and resolute tone, which gave an indescribably bizarre grandeur to this oddly honest man.
“We will see,” said Monsieur Madeleine.
And he held out his hand to him.
Javert started back, and said fiercely:
“Pardon, Monsieur Mayor, that should not be. A mayor does not give his hand to a spy.”
He added between his teeth:
“Spy, yes; from the moment I abused