Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [98]
“Denounced me?”
“To the Prefecture of Police at Paris.”
Monsieur Madeleine, who did not laugh much oftener than Javert, began to laugh:
“As a mayor having encroached upon the police?”
“As a former convict.”
The mayor became livid.
Javert, who had not raised his eyes, continued:
“I believed it. For a long while I had had suspicions. A resemblance, information you obtained at Faverolles, your immense strength; the affair of old Fauchelevent; your skill as a marksman; your leg which drags a little—and in fact I don’t know what other trivial details; but at last I took you for a man named Jean Valjean.”
“Named what? What name did you say?”
“Jean Valjean. He was a convict I saw twenty years ago, when I was adjutant of the galley guard at Toulon. After leaving the galleys this Valjean, it appears, robbed a bishop’s palace, then he committed another robbery with weapons in his hands, in a highway, on a little chimneysweep. For eight years his whereabouts have been unknown, and search has been made for him. I fancied—in short, I have done this thing. Anger determined me, and I denounced you to the prefect.”
M. Madeleine, who had taken up the file of papers again, a few moments before, said with a tone of perfect indifference: “And what answer did you get?”
“That I was crazy.”
“Well!”
“Well; they were right.”
“It is fortunate that you admit it!”
“It must be so, for the real Jean Valjean has been found.”
The paper that M. Madeleine held fell from his hand; he raised his head, looked steadily at Javert, and said in an inexpressible tone:
“Ah!”
Javert continued:
“I will tell you how it is, Monsieur Mayor. There was, it appears, in the country, near Ailly-le-Haut Clocher, a simple sort of fellow who was called Old Champmathieu. He was very poor. Nobody paid any attention to him. Such folks live, one hardly knows how. Finally, this last fall, Old Champmathieu was arrested for stealing cider apples from—, but that is of no consequence. There was a theft, a wall scaled, branches of trees broken. Our Champmathieu was arrested; he had even then a branch of an apple-tree in his hand. The rogue was caged. So far, it was nothing more than a penitentiary matter. But here comes in the hand of Providence. The jail being in a bad condition, the police justice thought it best to take him to Arras, where the prison of the department is. In this prison at Arras there was a former convict named Brevet, who is there for some trifle, and who, for his good conduct, has been made turnkey. No sooner was Champmathieu set down, than Brevet cried out: ‘Ha, ha! I know that man. He is a fagot.’am
“ ‘Look up here, my good man. You are Jean Valjean.’ ‘Jean Valjean, who is Jean Valjean?’ Champmathieu feigns astonishment. ‘Don’t play ignorance,’ said Brevet. ‘You are Jean Valjean; you were in the galleys at Toulon. It is twenty years ago. We were there together.’ Champmathieu denied it all. Of course! you understand; they investigated it. The case was worked up and this was what they found. This Champmathieu thirty years ago was a pruner in divers places, particularly in Faverolles. There we lose trace of him. A long time afterwards we find him at Auvergne; then at Paris, where he is said to have been a wheelwright and to have had a daughter—a washerwoman, but that is not proven, and finally in this part of the country. Now before going to the galleys for burglary, what was Jean Valjean? A pruner. Where? At Faverolles. Another fact. This Valjean’s baptismal name was Jean; his mother’s family name, Mathieu. Nothing could be more natural, on leaving the galleys, than to take his mother’s name to disguise himself; then he would be called Jean Mathieu. He goes to Auvergne, the pronunciation of that region would make Chan of Jean—they would call him Chan Mathieu. Our man adopts it, and now you have him transformed into Champmathieu. You follow me, do you not? Search has been made at Faverolles; the family of Jean Valjean are no longer there. Nobody knows where they are. You know in such classes