The System of Denials — Les Misérables

The President asks if he has anything to add. The man twists a terrible cap, as if he did not understand. The question is repeated. Then it is like an eruption. He has been a wheelwright in Paris, with Baloup, always in the open air; ice between the paving-stones; old at forty, done for at fifty-three; thirty sous a day. His daughter washed at the river and at the Enfants-Rouges; steam ruined her eyes; her husband beat her; she is dead. Paris is a gulf. Who knows Father Champmathieu there? But Baloup does. Go see at Baloup's. After all, I don't know what is wanted of me. He flings the words out like a wood-cutter splitting wood. The audience bursts into a laugh. Seeing them laugh, and not understanding why, he laughs too. It is inauspicious.

The President, attentive and benevolent, reminds the jury that Baloup was summoned in vain: bankrupt, not to be found. Two points, for the last time: did he climb the Pierron wall and steal the apples? Is he the discharged convict Jean Valjean? In the first place, says the prisoner, then stares at his cap and the ceiling and holds his peace. The district-attorney: your embarrassment condemns you. You are Valjean, born at Faverolles, a pruner; you stole the apples. The prisoner rises: You are very wicked. I have stolen nothing. I found a broken branch after a shower. They have been dragging me about for three months. I have no education. I do not know those persons; I worked for Baloup; my name is Champmathieu. I do not know where I was born; they called me young fellow, then old Fellow. Can a man have been at Faverolles without having been in the galleys? Why is everybody pursuing me so furiously? The prosecutor calls the denials confused but exceedingly clever, and wants the three convicts and Javert summoned again. Javert has already left, recalled by his duties. His deposition is read: I recognize him perfectly; nineteen years; five or six escapes; I suspect the Bishop's house as well.

Brevet, who tries to make himself of use, is reminded he cannot take an oath. He sticks to it: that man is Jean Valjean, sly at the galleys, brutalized by age. Chenildieu, I-deny-God, in the red cassock, bursts out laughing: we were attached to the same chain for five years. So you are sulking, old fellow? Cochepaille, half-bear of the Pyrenees: he is Jean Valjean; they even called him Jean-the-Screw. Each affirmation raises a longer murmur. The prisoner mutters, Ah, well, he's a nice one; then Good; then, almost with satisfaction, Famous. Have you heard? I say Famous. An uproar. It is evident the man is lost. The President is about to sum up when a voice cries, Brevet, Chenildieu, Cochepaille, look here. All who hear it are chilled. A man among the privileged spectators has pushed open the half-door and is standing in the middle of the hall. Twenty persons recognize him and exclaim in concert: Madeleine.