"So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, "Oh, God! that horrid, horrid dream And my right red hand grows raging hot, "And still no peace for the restless clay, The horrid thing pursues my soul,- That very night, while gentle sleep Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, And Eugene Aram walked between, Thomas Hood. JEAN VALJEAN. Jean Valjean was an escaped convict. In his youth he had stolen a loaf of bread for his sister's starving children, for which crime he had spent nineteen years as a galley slave. Through the influence of a Bishop, the only man who had ever been kind to him, Jean Valjean had taken a new departure in life. He went to a town where he was not known, worked hard, and soon became a rich man at the head of a great factory. He became so well known and so dearly beloved for his many deeds of kindness that he was unanimously elected Mayor of the city. He had held this position for about five years, having assumed the name of Monsieur Madeleine, when he learned that in a neigh boring town an old man was to be tried for stealing, and that this man was strongly suspected of being the long-lost Jean Valjean, in which case the punishment would be the galleys for life. The real Jean Valjean would have to reach Arras the next day in order to prevent an innocent man from being convicted. He passed the night in awful conflict with himself. He examined the situation and found it an unheard of one, so unheard of that, in the midst of his reverie, by some strange impulse of almost inexplicable anxiety, he rose from his chair and bolted his door. He feared lest something might yet enter. A moment after he blew out his light. It annoyed him. It seemed to him that somebody could see him. Somebody? Who? Alas! what he wanted to keep out of doors had entered; what he wanted to render blind was looking upon him— his conscience. "Well, what am I afraid of? Why do I ponder over these things? Have I the right to disarrange what Providence arranges? No, let the matter alone! let us not interfere with God." But the current of his thoughts had not changed. He still saw his duty, written in luminous letters which flared out before his eyes. "Go! Avow the name! Denounce thyself." Denounce himself! Great God! Give himself up! He saw with infinite despair all that he must leave, all that he must resume. He must then bid farewell to this existence, so good, so pure, so radiant, to this respect of all, to honor, to liberty! No more would he go out in the fields; never again would he hear the birds singing in the month of May; never more give alms to the little children; no longer would he feel the sweetness of gratitude and love; instead of that, the galley crew, the iron collar, the red blouse, the chain at his foot, fatigue, the dungeon, the plank-bed, all these horrors which he knew so well! At his age, after being what he was! If he were still young! But so old, to be tumbled about by the prison guard, to be struck by the jailer's stick, to endure the curiosity of strangers, who would be told, "This one is the famous Jean Valjean, who was Mayor of M--m!!" At that moment there was a rap at the door of his room. He shuddered from head to foot. "Who is there?" "I, Monsieur Mayor." He recognized the voice of the old woman, his portress. "The driver says he has come for Monsieur, the Mayor." There was a long silence. He examined the flame of the candle with a stupid air, took some of the melted wax from around the wick and rolled it in his fingers. The old woman ventured to speak again. "Monsieur Mayor, what shall I say?" He "Say that it is right, and that I am coming down." It was broad day when he arrived at Herdin. stopped before an inn to let his horse breathe and to give him some oats. The stable-boy stooped down suddenly and examined the left wheel, then asked: "Have you come far?" "Five leagues from here. It is a miracle that you have come five leagues without tumbling you and your horse into some ditch on the way. Look for yourself." The wheel, in fact, was badly damaged. The wheelwright came and examined it. "Can you mend that wheel on the spot? I must leave in an hour at the latest." "Impossible to-day! There are two spokes and a hub to be repaired. Monsieur cannot start again before to morrow. "My business cannot wait until to-morrow. of mending this wheel, cannot it be replaced?" Instead "It's of no use, Monsieur. I have nothing but cart wheels to sell. We are a small place here." "But I can surely find in the village a horse to let?" "It would take a better horse than there is in these parts to reach Arras before to-morrow. "Is there no livery stable in the village?" "No!" He felt an immense joy. It was evident that Providence was in the matter. It was Providence that had broken the wheel of the tilbury, and stopped him on his way. He had not yielded to the first summons; he had made all possible effort to continue his journey; he had faithfully and scrupulously exhausted every means. "Monsieur," said a woman standing near, "my boy tells me that you are anxious to hire a carriage?" This simple speech, made by a poor woman, made him cold. He thought he saw the hand he was but now freed from reappear in the shadow behind him, all ready to seize him again. "Yes, good woman, I am looking for a carriage to hire, but there is none in the place. "Yes, there is." He shuddered. The fatal hand had closed on him again. The poor woman had, in fact, under a shed, a sort of willow cariole. It was a frightful go-cart; it had no springs, but it went upon two wheels, and could go to Arras. He paid what was asked, and resumed the route he had followed since morning. It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when the cariole drove into the yard of the Hotel de la Poste at Arras. He was not acquainted with the city; the streets were dark, and he went haphazard. A citizen came along with a lantern. "Monsieur, the courthouse, if you please?" "If Monsieur wishes to see a trial he is rather late. Ordinarily, the sessions close at six o'clock. However, when they reached the great square, the citizen showed him four long, lighted windows on the front of a vast dark building. "Faith, Monsieur, you are in time, you are fortunate." Suddenly, without knowing how, he found himself near the door; he seized the knob convulsively; the door opened; he was in the courtroom. It was a large hall, dimly lighted, and noisy and silent by turns, where all the machinery of a criminal trial was exhibited with its petty, yet solemn gravity. No man in this multitude paid any attention to him. All eyes converged on a single point, a wooden bench placed along the wall at the left hand of the judge. Upon this bench, which was lighted by several candles, was a man between two officers. This was the man. He did not look for him, he saw him. His eyes went towards him naturally, as if they had known in advance where he was. Judges, clerks, a throng of heads cruelly curious-he had seen all these once before, twenty-seven years ago. He had fallen again upon these fearful things; they were before him; they moved, they had being; it was no longer an effort of his memory, a mirage of his fancy; he saw reappearing and living again around him, with all the frightfulness of reality, the monstrous visions of the past. All this was yawning before him. Stricken with horror he closed his eyes and exclaimed from the depths of his soul, "Never!" The judge gave an order, and a moment afterwards a door opened and an officer led in the first witness, the convict Brevet. "Brevet, look well upon the prisoner, collect your remembrance, and say on your soul and conscience whether you still recognize this man as your former friend in the galleys, Jean Valjean." "Yes, your honor, I was the first to recognize him, and still do so. This man is Jean Valjean, who came to Toulon in 1796 and left in 1815. I recognize him now positively." Another witness was brought in, a convict for life, as was shown by his red cloak and green cap. The judge addressed nearly the same words to him as to Brevet. "Gad, do I recognize him? We were five years on the same chain.” An officer brought in Cochepaille, another convict for life. His testimony was: "It is Jean Valjean, the same they called Jean the Jack, he was so strong. A buzz ran through the crowd and almost invaded the jury. It was evident that the man was lost. "Officers," said the judge, "enforce order; I am about to sum up the case.' At this moment there was a movement near the judge. Monsieur Madeleine, who had been sitting among the privileged spectators behind the court, had risen, pushed open the low door which separated the tribunal from the bar, and was standing in the center of the hall. All eyes were strained towards him as he exclaimed, "Gentlemen of the jury, release the accused. Your honor, order my arrest. He is not the man whom you seek; it is I! I am Jean Valjean!! Victor Hugo. |