CHAPTER III.
JAVERT IS SATISFIED.
This is what had occurred. Half-past twelve was striking when M.Madeleine left the assize court of Arras; and he returned to thehotel just in time to start by the mail-cart in which he had bookedhis place. A little before six A.M. he reached M----, and his firstcare was to post the letter for M. Lafitte, and then proceed to theinfirmary and see Fantine. Still, he had scarce quitted the court erethe public prosecutor, recovering from his stupor, rose on his legs,deplored the act of mania on the part of the honorable Mayor of M----,declared that his convictions were in no way modified by this strangeincident, which would be cleared up at a later date, and demanded, inthe interim, the conviction of this Champmathieu, evidently the trueJean Valjean. The persistency of the public prosecutor was visibly incontradiction with the feelings of all,--the public, the court, andthe jury. The counsel for the defence had little difficulty in refutinghis arguments, and establishing that through the revelations of M.Madeleine, that is to say, the real Jean Valjean, circumstances wereentirely altered, and the jury had an innocent man before them. Thebarrister deduced a few arguments, unfortunately rather stale, aboutjudicial errors, etc., the President in his summing-up supported thedefence, and the jury in a few moments acquitted Champmathieu. Still,the public prosecutor wanted a Jean Valjean; and, as he no longer hadChampmathieu, he took Madeleine. Immediately after Champmathieu wasacquitted, he had a conference with the President as to the necessityof seizing the person of the Mayor of M----, and after the firstemotion had passed, the President raised but few objections. Justicemust take its course; and then, to tell the whole truth, although thePresident was a kind and rather sensible man, he was at the same timea very ardent Royalist, and had been offended by the way in whichthe Mayor of M----, in alluding to the landing at Cannes, employedthe words "the Emperor" and not "Buonaparte." The order of arrestwas consequently made out, and the prosecutor at once sent it off byexpress to M----, addressed to Inspector Javert, who, as we know,returned home immediately after he had given his evidence.
Javert was getting up at the moment when the messenger handed himthe order of arrest and the warrant. This messenger was himself avery skilful policeman, who informed Javert in two words of whathad occurred at Arras. The order of arrest, signed by the publicprosecutor, was thus conceived: "Inspector Javert will apprehendMonsieur Madeleine, Mayor of M----, who in this day's session wasrecognized as the liberated convict, Jean Valjean." Any one who didnot know Javert and had seen him at the moment when he entered theinfirmary ante-room, could not have guessed what was taking place, butwould have considered him to be as usual. He was cold, calm, serious,his gray hair was smoothed down on his temples, and he went up thestairs with his usual slowness. But any one who was well acquaintedwith him, and examined him closely, would have shuddered; the buckleof his leathern stock, instead of sitting in the nape of his neck, wasunder his left ear. This revealed an extraordinary agitation. Javertwas a complete character, without a crease in his duty or in hisuniform: methodical with criminals, and rigid with his coat-buttons.For him to have his stock out of order, it was necessary for him to besuffering from one of those emotions which might be called internalearthquakes. He had merely fetched a corporal and four men from theguardhouse close by, left them in the yard, and had Fantine's roompointed out to him by the unsuspecting portress, who was accustomed tosee policemen ask for the Mayor.
On reaching Fantine's door, Javert turned the key, pushed the door withthe gentleness either of a sick-nurse or a spy, and entered. Correctlyspeaking, he did not enter: he stood in the half-opened door withhis hat on his head, and his left hand thrust into the breast of hisgreat-coat, which was buttoned to the chin. Under his elbow could beseen the leaden knob of his enormous cane, which was concealed behindhis back. He remained thus for many a minute, no one perceiving hispresence. All at once Fantine raised her eyes, saw him, and made M.Madeleine turn. At the moment when Madeleine's glance met Javert's,the latter, without stirring or drawing near, became fearful. No humanfeeling can succeed in being so horrible as joy. It was the face of afiend who has just found a condemned soul again. The certainty of atlength holding Jean Valjean caused all he had in his soul to appearon his countenance, and the stirred-up sediment rose to the surface.The humiliation of having lost the trail for a while and having beenmistaken with regard to Champmathieu was effaced by his pride at havingguessed so correctly at the beginning, and having a right instinctfor such a length of time. Javert's satisfaction was displayed in hissovereign attitude, and the deformity of triumph was spread over hisnarrow forehead.
Javert at this moment was in heaven: without distinctly comprehendingthe fact, but still with a confused intuition of his necessity and hissuccess, he, Javert, personified justice, light, and truth in theircelestial function of crushing evil. He had behind him, around him, atan infinite depth, authority, reason, the legal conscience, the publicvindication, all the stars: he protected order, he drew the lightningfrom the law, he avenged society, he rendered assistance to theabsolute. There was in his victory a remnant of defiance and contest:upright, haughty, and dazzling, he displayed the superhuman bestialityof a ferocious archangel in the bright azure of heaven. The formidableshadow of the deed he was doing rendered visible to his clutching fistthe flashing social sword. Happy and indignant, he held beneath hisheel, crime, vice, perdition, rebellion, and hell: he was radiant, heexterminated, he smiled, and there was an incontestable grandeur inthis monstrous St. Michael. Javert, though terrifying, was not ignoble.Probity, sincerity, candor, conviction, and the idea of duty, arethings which, by deceiving themselves, may become hideous, but which,even if hideous, remain grand; their majesty, peculiar to the humanconscience, persists in horror; they are virtues which have but onevice, error. The pitiless honest joy of a fanatic, in the midst of hisatrocity, retains a mournfully venerable radiance. Without suspectingit, Javert, in his formidable happiness, was worthy of pity, like everyignorant man who triumphs; nothing could be so poignant and terrible asthis face, in which was displayed all that may be called the wickednessof good.