Les Misérables, page 126
CHAPTER X--WHICH EXPLAINS HOW JAVERT GOT ON THE SCENT
The events of which we have just beheld the reverse side, so to speak,had come about in the simplest possible manner.
When Jean Valjean, on the evening of the very day when Javert hadarrested him beside Fantine's death-bed, had escaped from the town jailof M. sur M., the police had supposed that he had betaken himself toParis. Paris is a maelstrom where everything is lost, and everythingdisappears in this belly of the world, as in the belly of the sea. Noforest hides a man as does that crowd. Fugitives of every sort knowthis. They go to Paris as to an abyss; there are gulfs which save. Thepolice know it also, and it is in Paris that they seek what theyhave lost elsewhere. They sought the ex-mayor of M. sur M. Javert wassummoned to Paris to throw light on their researches. Javert had, infact, rendered powerful assistance in the recapture of Jean Valjean.Javert's zeal and intelligence on that occasion had been remarked byM. Chabouillet, secretary of the Prefecture under Comte Anglès. M.Chabouillet, who had, moreover, already been Javert's patron, had theinspector of M. sur M. attached to the police force of Paris. ThereJavert rendered himself useful in divers and, though the word may seemstrange for such services, honorable manners.
He no longer thought of Jean Valjean,--the wolf of to-day causes thesedogs who are always on the chase to forget the wolf of yesterday,--when,in December, 1823, he read a newspaper, he who never read newspapers;but Javert, a monarchical man, had a desire to know the particulars ofthe triumphal entry of the "Prince Generalissimo" into Bayonne. Just ashe was finishing the article, which interested him; a name, the name ofJean Valjean, attracted his attention at the bottom of a page. The paperannounced that the convict Jean Valjean was dead, and published the factin such formal terms that Javert did not doubt it. He confined himselfto the remark, "That's a good entry." Then he threw aside the paper, andthought no more about it.
Some time afterwards, it chanced that a police report was transmittedfrom the prefecture of the Seine-et-Oise to the prefecture of police inParis, concerning the abduction of a child, which had taken place, underpeculiar circumstances, as it was said, in the commune of Montfermeil.A little girl of seven or eight years of age, the report said, who hadbeen intrusted by her mother to an inn-keeper of that neighborhood, hadbeen stolen by a stranger; this child answered to the name of Cosette,and was the daughter of a girl named Fantine, who had died in thehospital, it was not known where or when.
This report came under Javert's eye and set him to thinking.
The name of Fantine was well known to him. He remembered that JeanValjean had made him, Javert, burst into laughter, by asking him for arespite of three days, for the purpose of going to fetch that creature'schild. He recalled the fact that Jean Valjean had been arrested in Parisat the very moment when he was stepping into the coach for Montfermeil.Some signs had made him suspect at the time that this was the secondoccasion of his entering that coach, and that he had already, on theprevious day, made an excursion to the neighborhood of that village, forhe had not been seen in the village itself. What had he been intendingto do in that region of Montfermeil? It could not even be surmised.Javert understood it now. Fantine's daughter was there. Jean Valjean wasgoing there in search of her. And now this child had been stolen by astranger! Who could that stranger be? Could it be Jean Valjean? But JeanValjean was dead. Javert, without saying anything to anybody, took thecoach from the _Pewter Platter_, Cul-de-Sac de la Planchette, and made atrip to Montfermeil.
He expected to find a great deal of light on the subject there; he founda great deal of obscurity.
For the first few days the Thénardiers had chattered in their rage. Thedisappearance of the Lark had created a sensation in the village. Heimmediately obtained numerous versions of the story, which ended in theabduction of a child. Hence the police report. But their first vexationhaving passed off, Thénardier, with his wonderful instinct, hadvery quickly comprehended that it is never advisable to stir up theprosecutor of the Crown, and that his complaints with regard to the_abduction_ of Cosette would have as their first result to fix uponhimself, and upon many dark affairs which he had on hand, the glitteringeye of justice. The last thing that owls desire is to have a candlebrought to them. And in the first place, how explain the fifteen hundredfrancs which he had received? He turned squarely round, put a gag onhis wife's mouth, and feigned astonishment when the _stolen child_was mentioned to him. He understood nothing about it; no doubt he hadgrumbled for awhile at having that dear little creature "taken from him"so hastily; he should have liked to keep her two or three days longer,out of tenderness; but her "grandfather" had come for her in the mostnatural way in the world. He added the "grandfather," which produced agood effect. This was the story that Javert hit upon when he arrived atMontfermeil. The grandfather caused Jean Valjean to vanish.
Nevertheless, Javert dropped a few questions, like plummets, intoThénardier's history. "Who was that grandfather? and what was his name?"Thénardier replied with simplicity: "He is a wealthy farmer. I saw hispassport. I think his name was M. Guillaume Lambert."
Lambert is a respectable and extremely reassuring name. Thereupon Javertreturned to Paris.
"Jean Valjean is certainly dead," said he, "and I am a ninny."
He had again begun to forget this history, when, in the course ofMarch, 1824, he heard of a singular personage who dwelt in the parish ofSaint-Médard and who had been surnamed "the mendicant who gives alms."This person, the story ran, was a man of means, whose name no one knewexactly, and who lived alone with a little girl of eight years, whoknew nothing about herself, save that she had come from Montfermeil.Montfermeil! that name was always coming up, and it made Javert prickup his ears. An old beggar police spy, an ex-beadle, to whom this personhad given alms, added a few more details. This gentleman of property wasvery shy,--never coming out except in the evening, speaking to no one,except, occasionally to the poor, and never allowing any one to approachhim. He wore a horrible old yellow frock-coat, which was worth manymillions, being all wadded with bank-bills. This piqued Javert'scuriosity in a decided manner. In order to get a close look at thisfantastic gentleman without alarming him, he borrowed the beadle'soutfit for a day, and the place where the old spy was in the habit ofcrouching every evening, whining orisons through his nose, and playingthe spy under cover of prayer.
"The suspected individual" did indeed approach Javert thus disguised,and bestow alms on him. At that moment Javert raised his head, and theshock which Jean Valjean received on recognizing Javert was equal to theone received by Javert when he thought he recognized Jean Valjean.
However, the darkness might have misled him; Jean Valjean's death wasofficial; Javert cherished very grave doubts; and when in doubt, Javert,the man of scruples, never laid a finger on any one's collar.
He followed his man to the Gorbeau house, and got "the old woman" totalking, which was no difficult matter. The old woman confirmed the factregarding the coat lined with millions, and narrated to him the episodeof the thousand-franc bill. She had seen it! She had handled it! Javerthired a room; that evening he installed himself in it. He came andlistened at the mysterious lodger's door, hoping to catch the sound ofhis voice, but Jean Valjean saw his candle through the key-hole, andfoiled the spy by keeping silent.
On the following day Jean Valjean decamped; but the noise made by thefall of the five-franc piece was noticed by the old woman, who, hearingthe rattling of coin, suspected that he might be intending to leave, andmade haste to warn Javert. At night, when Jean Valjean came out, Javertwas waiting for him behind the trees of the boulevard with two men.
Javert had demanded assistance at the Prefecture, but he had notmentioned the name of the individual whom he hoped to seize; that washis secret, and he had kept it for three reasons: in the first place,because the slightest indiscretion might put Jean Valjean on the alert;next, because, to lay hands on an ex-convict who had made his escapeand was reputed dead, on a criminal whom justice had formerly classedforever as _among malefactors of the most dangerous sort_, was amagnificent success which the old members of the Parisian police wouldassuredly not leave to a new-comer like Javert, and he was afraid ofbeing deprived of his convict; and lastly, because Javert, being anartist, had a taste for the unforeseen. He hated those well-heraldedsuccesses which are talked of long in advance and have had the bloombrushed off. He preferred to elaborate his masterpieces in the dark andto unveil them suddenly at the last.
Javert had followed Jean Valjean from tree to tree, then from cornerto corner of the street, and had not lost sight of him for a singleinstant; even at the moments when Jean Valjean believed himself tobe the most secure Javert's eye had been on him. Why had not Javertarrested Jean Valjean? Because he was still in doubt.
It must be remembered that at that epoch the police was not preciselyat its ease; the free press embarrassed it; several arbitrary arrestsdenounced by the newspapers, had echoed even as far as the Chambers, andhad rendered the Prefecture timid. Interference with individual libertywas a grave matter. The police agents were afraid of making a mistake;the prefect laid the blame on them; a mistake meant dismissal. Thereader can imagine the effect which this brief paragraph, reproducedby twenty newspapers, would have caused in Paris: "Yesterday, an agedgrandfather, with white hair, a respectable and well-to-do gentleman,who was walking with his grandchild, aged eight, was arrested andconducted to the agency of the Prefecture as an escaped convict!"
Let us repeat in addition that Javert had scruples of his own;injunctions of his conscience were added to the injunctions of theprefect. He was really in doubt.
Jean Valjean turned his back on him and walked in the dark.
Sadness, uneasiness, anxiety, depression, this fresh misfortune of beingforced to flee by night, to seek a chance refuge in Paris for Cosetteand himself, the necessity of regulating his pace to the pace ofthe child--all this, without his being aware of it, had altered JeanValjean's walk, and impressed on his bearing such senility, that thepolice themselves, incarnate in the person of Javert, might, and did infact, make a mistake. The impossibility of approaching too close, hiscostume of an _émigré_ preceptor, the declaration of Thénardier whichmade a grandfather of him, and, finally, the belief in his death inprison, added still further to the uncertainty which gathered thick inJavert's mind.
For an instant it occurred to him to make an abrupt demand for hispapers; but if the man was not Jean Valjean, and if this man was not agood, honest old fellow living on his income, he was probably some merryblade deeply and cunningly implicated in the obscure web of Parisianmisdeeds, some chief of a dangerous band, who gave alms to concealhis other talents, which was an old dodge. He had trusty fellows,accomplices' retreats in case of emergencies, in which he would, nodoubt, take refuge. All these turns which he was making through thestreets seemed to indicate that he was not a simple and honest man. Toarrest him too hastily would be "to kill the hen that laid the goldeneggs." Where was the inconvenience in waiting? Javert was very sure thathe would not escape.
Thus he proceeded in a tolerably perplexed state of mind, putting tohimself a hundred questions about this enigmatical personage.
It was only quite late in the Rue de Pontoise, that, thanks to thebrilliant light thrown from a dram-shop, he decidedly recognized JeanValjean.
There are in this world two beings who give a profound start,--themother who recovers her child and the tiger who recovers his prey.Javert gave that profound start.
As soon as he had positively recognized Jean Valjean, the formidableconvict, he perceived that there were only three of them, and he askedfor reinforcements at the police station of the Rue de Pontoise. Oneputs on gloves before grasping a thorn cudgel.
This delay and the halt at the Carrefour Rollin to consult with hisagents came near causing him to lose the trail. He speedily divined,however, that Jean Valjean would want to put the river between hispursuers and himself. He bent his head and reflected like a blood-houndwho puts his nose to the ground to make sure that he is on the rightscent. Javert, with his powerful rectitude of instinct, went straight tothe bridge of Austerlitz. A word with the toll-keeper furnished him withthe information which he required: "Have you seen a man with a littlegirl?" "I made him pay two sous," replied the toll-keeper. Javertreached the bridge in season to see Jean Valjean traverse the smallilluminated spot on the other side of the water, leading Cosette bythe hand. He saw him enter the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine; heremembered the Cul-de-Sac Genrot arranged there like a trap, and of thesole exit of the Rue Droit-Mur into the Rue Petit-Picpus. _He made sureof his back burrows_, as huntsmen say; he hastily despatched one of hisagents, by a roundabout way, to guard that issue. A patrol which wasreturning to the Arsenal post having passed him, he made a requisitionon it, and caused it to accompany him. In such games soldiers are aces.Moreover, the principle is, that in order to get the best of a wildboar, one must employ the science of venery and plenty of dogs. Thesecombinations having been effected, feeling that Jean Valjean was caughtbetween the blind alley Genrot on the right, his agent on the left, andhimself, Javert, in the rear, he took a pinch of snuff.
Then he began the game. He experienced one ecstatic and infernal moment;he allowed his man to go on ahead, knowing that he had him safe, butdesirous of postponing the moment of arrest as long as possible, happyat the thought that he was taken and yet at seeing him free, gloatingover him with his gaze, with that voluptuousness of the spider whichallows the fly to flutter, and of the cat which lets the mouse run.Claws and talons possess a monstrous sensuality,--the obscure movementsof the creature imprisoned in their pincers. What a delight thisstrangling is!
Javert was enjoying himself. The meshes of his net were stoutly knotted.He was sure of success; all he had to do now was to close his hand.
Accompanied as he was, the very idea of resistance was impossible,however vigorous, energetic, and desperate Jean Valjean might be.
Enlarge
Javert advanced slowly, sounding, searching on his way all the nooks ofthe street like so many pockets of thieves.
When he reached the centre of the web he found the fly no longer there.
His exasperation can be imagined.
He interrogated his sentinel of the Rues Droit-Mur and Petit-Picpus;that agent, who had remained imperturbably at his post, had not seen theman pass.
It sometimes happens that a stag is lost head and horns; that is tosay, he escapes although he has the pack on his very heels, and then theoldest huntsmen know not what to say. Duvivier, Ligniville, and Desprezhalt short. In a discomfiture of this sort, Artonge exclaims, "It wasnot a stag, but a sorcerer." Javert would have liked to utter the samecry.
His disappointment bordered for a moment on despair and rage.
It is certain that Napoleon made mistakes during the war with Russia,that Alexander committed blunders in the war in India, that Cæsar mademistakes in the war in Africa, that Cyrus was at fault in the warin Scythia, and that Javert blundered in this campaign against JeanValjean. He was wrong, perhaps, in hesitating in his recognition of theexconvict. The first glance should have sufficed him. He was wrong innot arresting him purely and simply in the old building; he was wrongin not arresting him when he positively recognized him in the Rue dePontoise. He was wrong in taking counsel with his auxiliaries in thefull light of the moon in the Carrefour Rollin. Advice is certainlyuseful; it is a good thing to know and to interrogate those of the dogswho deserve confidence; but the hunter cannot be too cautious when he ischasing uneasy animals like the wolf and the convict. Javert, by takingtoo much thought as to how he should set the bloodhounds of the pack onthe trail, alarmed the beast by giving him wind of the dart, and somade him run. Above all, he was wrong in that after he had picked up thescent again on the bridge of Austerlitz, he played that formidable andpuerile game of keeping such a man at the end of a thread. He thoughthimself stronger than he was, and believed that he could play at thegame of the mouse and the lion. At the same time, he reckoned himselfas too weak, when he judged it necessary to obtain reinforcement. Fatalprecaution, waste of precious time! Javert committed all these blunders,and none the less was one of the cleverest and most correct spies thatever existed. He was, in the full force of the term, what is called invenery a _knowing dog_. But what is there that is perfect?
Great strategists have their eclipses.
The greatest follies are often composed, like the largest ropes, ofa multitude of strands. Take the cable thread by thread, take all thepetty determining motives separately, and you can break them one afterthe other, and you say, "That is all there is of it!" Braid them, twistthem together; the result is enormous: it is Attila hesitating betweenMarcian on the east and Valentinian on the west; it is Hannibal tarryingat Capua; it is Danton falling asleep at Arcis-sur-Aube.
However that may be, even at the moment when he saw that Jean Valjeanhad escaped him, Javert did not lose his head. Sure that the convict whohad broken his ban could not be far off, he established sentinels, heorganized traps and ambuscades, and beat the quarter all that night. Thefirst thing he saw was the disorder in the street lantern whose ropehad been cut. A precious sign which, however, led him astray, since itcaused him to turn all his researches in the direction of the Cul-de-SacGenrot. In this blind alley there were tolerably low walls which abuttedon gardens whose bounds adjoined the immense stretches of waste land.Jean Valjean evidently must have fled in that direction. The fact is,that had he penetrated a little further in the Cul-de-Sac Genrot, hewould probably have done so and have been lost. Javert explored thesegardens and these waste stretches as though he had been hunting for aneedle.
At daybreak he left two intelligent men on the outlook, and returned tothe Prefecture of Police, as much ashamed as a police spy who had beencaptured by a robber might have been.
BOOK SIXTH.--LE PETIT-PICPUS
