You Have Strength of a Different Kind

The day after these events took place

Are you telling me I don't get to see Javert dunk on Marius for never firing the gun??????? What a disappointment. No Marius realizing that if Leblanc's handkerchief is U.F., he's most likely been sniffing and sleeping with and showing off the old man's handkerchief and being embarrassed about it because he's too busy freaking out about Thénardier (maybe he would be too weird to even care in the first place), and now no getting made fun of for not being able to fire the gun like he said he would. Bummer.

Darkness had fallen. This child was pale, thin, dressed in rags, wearing cotton trousers in the month of February, and he was singing at the top of his voice.

orz

Another poor child underdressed for the cold urghh

At the corner of Rue du Petit-Banquier a bent old woman was rummaging in a pile of rubbish by the light of a street lantern. The child bumped into her as he went by, then backed away, crying out, ‘Hey! There was me thinking that was a huge, huge dog!’ He pronounced the word ‘huge’ the second time with a swell of his jeering voice that might be fairly well represented by capital letters: ‘a huge, HUGE dog’.

HAHAHA???? WHAT A BRAT

The old woman straightened up in a fury. ‘Cheeky brat!’ she grumbled. ‘If I hadn’t been bending over, I can tell you where you’d have felt the end of my foot.’ The boy was already some way off. ‘Kss! kss!’ he goaded her. ‘And you know what? Maybe I was right!’ Choking with indignation, the old woman drew herself up to her full height, and the red gleam of the lantern fell directly on her ghastly pale face, all sharp angles and wrinkles thrown into relief, crow’s-feet down to the corners of her mouth. Her body disappeared into the shadows and only her head was visible. She looked like a mask of Decrepitude carved out by a light in the dark. The boy considered her. ‘Madame’s is not my kind of beauty,’ he said.

Wow this kid is just fine actually, huh

Must be that healing Paris air. I think that Paris air should heal Éponine a bit more, and Azelma too. They seem all sad and messed up but this kid is having a grand ol' time. Maybe they need to get out of the house more and away from their dad. That might be the cure, actually

At the end of these three lines he paused. He had arrived outside number 50–52, and finding the door closed he began to kick it, delivering resounding and heroic kicks more indicative of the man’s shoes he wore than the child’s feet he had.

Wait isn't that The Place. The place we just left. The den of criminals.

The old woman was shouting herself hoarse. ‘Is that how buildings are treated these days?’ All of a sudden she stopped. She had recognized the lad. ‘Why, it’s that little devil!’ ‘Well, if it isn’t the old biddy,’ said the boy. ‘Good evening, Burgonmuche. I’ve come to see my kin.’

OH!!! Omg I forgot Éponine mentioned a brother

More proof that the cure is staying away from those parents...?

‘There’s no one here, ragamuffin.’ ‘Bah!’ retorted the boy. ‘Where’s my father, then?’ ‘At La Force.’ ‘You don’t say! And my mother?’ ‘At St-Lazare.’ ‘Oh well! And my sisters?’ ‘At Les Madelonnettes.’ The lad scratched behind his ear, stared at Mame Burgon and said, ‘Ah!’ Then he twirled on his heels, and a moment later the old woman, still standing on the doorstep, heard him singing in his clear young voice as he headed off under the elm trees, shivering in the winter wind.

WOW HE'S SO CHILL ABOUT IT?

How many times has this happened. Like is this a reoccurring event he's used to - his entire family being gone, that is - or is this the first and he's just so whatever about it anyway

Actually though where is Éponine

I suppose it's smart not to come back to the scene of the crime so to speak, but. But where is she. Where did she sleep last night.

Glad he said "screw it" and went in anyway because good grief these guys should not get away with this. Stupid Marius

Dismayed, the villains scrambled for the weapons they had abandoned all over the place in the interests of escape. In less than a second these seven men, dreadful to behold, had grouped together and adopted a defensive stance, one with his poleaxe, another with his key, another with his cudgel, the rest with shears, crowbars and hammers. Thénardier had his knife in his hand. The Thénardier woman took up an enormous paving-stone that stood in the corner by the window and served her daughters as a stool. 

1v9(?) (Not sure if Thénardier is being counted as part of the 7 or not, and I've lost track of how many there were)

Javert put his hat back on his head and took a couple of steps into the room, with his arms folded, his cane under one arm, his sword in its scabbard. 

1 sword and cane vs 9(?) Weapon Variety Pack

Good luck 🫡

‘Stop right there!’ he said. ‘You won’t exit by the window, you’ll exit by the door. It’s less dangerous that way. There are seven of you, there are fifteen of us. Let’s not descend to brawling like a bunch of Auvergne peasants. Let’s have some co-operation.’ 

Oh, Thénardier must count as part of the seven. And I guess the woman is of no concern to Javert, which is stupid. I think she could bash someone's head in.

Also love him trying to talk them down lol yeah I'm sure that'll work

Bigrenaille drew out a pistol he had concealed under his overall and placed it in Thénardier’s hand, whispering in his ear, ‘It’s Javert. I daren’t fire at that man. What about you?’  ‘God damn it!’ replied Thénardier.  ‘Well, you shoot then.’ 

HAHA dang, what kind of rep does this guy have to where he's scared to shoot at him?? Gun vs sword generally does not bode well for the sword side. 

Thénardier took the pistol and aimed at Javert.  Only three paces away, Javert gazed steadily at him and merely said, ‘Now then, don’t shoot. You’ll miss.’ 

THE CONFIDENCE IS ASTONISHING

Thénardier pulled the trigger. He missed.  ‘Didn’t I tell you!’ said Javert. 

THE CONFIDENCE IS WELL-PLACED???????????

Bigrenaille threw his bludgeon at Javert’s feet. ‘You’re the devil supreme! I surrender.’  ‘And the rest of you?’ Javert asked the other villains.  They responded, ‘Us too.’  Javert went on calmly, ‘That’s it, well done, as I said, we’re co-operating.’ 

I THOUGHT HE WAS INSANE TO TELL THEM TO COOPERATE BUT NO HE'S JUST-

Well maybe he is insane, so insane it scares them. Who has that kinda confidence. It's clearly not baseless look at that, absolutely buckwild. A devil supreme indeed.

‘I have just one request,’ said Bigrenaille, ‘that I won’t have to go without tobacco while I’m in solitary.’  ‘Granted,’ said Javert. 

Love the calm little negotiation here. This is all so funny

And he turned and called out behind him, ‘Come in now!’  A squad of police officers, swords in hand, and policemen armed with truncheons and clubs, poured in at Javert’s summons.

Dude had so many fellas with him and came charging in suavely with just himself. Incredible.

‘Handcuff the lot of them!’ shouted Javert.  ‘Just you try!’ yelled a voice, which was not the voice of a man, but no one would ever have been able to tell it was a woman’s. The Thénardier woman had entrenched herself in one of the corners by the window, and it was she who had just let out this bellow. The policemen and agents fell back. She had thrown off her shawl but kept her hat on. Her husband, crouching behind her, was almost hidden under the discarded shawl; she was shielding him with her body, the paving-stone raised above her head, poised like a giantess about to hurl a rock. 

LOL her husband hiding behind her under the shawl, crazy coward behavior

Everyone retreated towards the corridor. . . . Javert smiled and stepped forward into the empty space that the Thénardier woman kept under her smouldering gaze.  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ she shouted, ‘or I’ll flatten you.’  ‘What a fighter!’ said Javert. ‘You’ve got the beard of a man, missus, but I’ve got the claws of a woman.’  And he continued to advance on her. 

This dude is nuts, I kinda love it

Dishevelled and terrifying, the Thénardier woman . . . hurled the paving-stone at Javert’s head.  Javert ducked, the stone flew over him, struck the wall behind, knocked off a huge piece of plaster and, ricocheting from one corner to another across the luckily almost empty hovel, eventually came to rest at Javert’s heels. 

AMAZING

At the same moment Javert reached the Thénardier couple. One of his big hands clamped on the woman’s shoulder, the other on her husband’s head.  ‘Cuffs!’ he shouted.  The policemen crowded back in and within a few seconds Javert’s order had been carried out. 

The way the other cops dipped the second she made that threat. Like… are they cowards or do they know that Javert is a cryptid that can't be hurt, so they were just getting out of the way for him to do his thing

Defeated, the Thénardier woman stared at her shackled hands and at those of her husband, dropped to the floor and cried out, weeping, ‘My daughters!’  ‘They’re in the clink,’ said Javert. 

One of them is, which is kind of crazy; she's like, what, fifteen? And put up to this by her parents? Well. Javert wouldn't care, I guess.

‘Keep your masks on,’ said Javert.  And inspecting them . . . he said to the three ‘sweeps’, ‘Good evening, Bigrenaille! Good evening, Brujon! Good evening, Deux-Milliards!’  Then turning to the three masked men, he said to the man with the poleaxe, ‘Good evening, Gueulemer!’  And to the man with the cudgel, ‘Good evening, Babet!’  And to the ventriloquist, ‘Greetings, Claquesous!’ 

Yeah this guy is a cryptid, he is not of this world, he is a creature, not a man, he's. Crazy. This is fun.

At that moment he caught sight of the villains’ prisoner, who, keeping his head down, had not uttered a word since the police came in.  ‘Untie the gentleman!’ said Javert. ‘And no one’s to leave!’  That said, in the manner of one whose authority is beyond question he sat at the table . . . and began to write his report. When he had written the first lines, which were just the standard wording, he looked up.  ‘Bring forward the gentleman whom these gentlemen here had tied up.’  The policemen looked round.  ‘Well,’ said Javert, ‘where is he?’  The villains’ prisoner . . . had disappeared. The door was guarded, but not the window. As soon as he was left untied and while Javert was drawing up his report, he had taken advantage of the confusion . . . to make a dash for the window. An agent ran to the casement and looked out. There was no one to be seen outside. The rope ladder was still swaying.  ‘Damn it!’ Javert said to himself. ‘He must have been the real prize.’ 

‘Where’s Montparnasse, then?’ ‘The leading man stopped to chat with your daughter.’

😒

Monsieur Leblanc was very pale. He was looking at everything around him in that wretched place like a man who realizes full well his predicament, and his head, turning to all the faces surrounding him one by one, moved on his neck with an attentive and wondering slowness, but there was nothing in his manner resembling fear. He had improvised for himself a defence wall out of the table, and the man who only a moment ago had seemed just a kindly old gent had suddenly turned into some sort of athlete, laying his robust fist on the back of his chair in a gesture that was fearsome and unexpected.  So resolute and so brave in the face of such danger, this old man seemed to be one of those people who are courageous in the same way as they are kind – easily and simply. The father of a woman we love is never a stranger to us. Marius felt proud of this man he did not know. 

I know I just mentioned Marius, but I immediately forgot about him and then got confused for a second when it started talking about "the father of a woman we love". Then I saw Marius' name and I went Ah. Right.

+1 point to Val theory. Suddenly strong and agile? Sounds like him.

Three of the bare-armed men . . . had helped themselves from the pile of old iron, one, to a pair of heavy shears, another, to a crowbar, the third, to a hammer, and had without uttering a word taken up a position barring the door. . . .  Marius decided that within a few seconds it would be time to intervene, and he raised his right hand towards the ceiling in the direction of the corridor, ready to fire his pistol. 

Oh good he remembers what he's here for

Jondrette turned back to Monsieur Leblanc and repeated his question, accompanying it with that terrible, low suppressed laugh of his, ‘So you don’t recognize me?’ Monsieur Leblanc looked him straight in the face, and replied, ‘No.’

lol. lmbo even.

. . . in this attitude of wild beast about to bite he cried, ‘My name isn’t Fabantou, my name isn’t Jondrette, my name is Thénardier. I’m the innkeeper at Montfermeil! Do you hear? Thénardier! Now do you recognize me?’ 

YEAHHHHHH THEORY CONFIRMED HAHAHA I NAILED IT

An almost imperceptible flush passed across Monsieur Leblanc’s brow, and with not a tremor in his voice, without raising it he replied with his customary serenity, ‘No more than before.’ 

+1 point to Val theory. Always cool as a cucumber under these types of circumstances.

Marius did not hear this reply. Anyone who had seen him at that moment in that darkness would have seen that he was aghast, stupefied, thunderstruck. At that moment when Jondrette said, ‘My name is Thénardier’, Marius had trembled in every limb and collapsed against the wall as if he felt the cold blade of a sword run through his heart. 

OH NO I FORGOT HE WAS LOOKING FOR THIS GUY BECAUSE HE (supposedly) SAVED HIS DAD

Is he going to have a mental breakdown over the fact that the man who saved his father is actually a terrible criminal 

Now is not the time, Marius

Then his right arm, ready to fire the signal, had slowly dropped, and when Jondrette repeated ‘Do you hear? Thénardier?’ Marius’s wilting fingers had almost let the pistol fall. By revealing who he was, Jondrette had left Monsieur Leblanc unmoved, but he had thrown Marius into turmoil. 

Now is not the time, Marius

That name he had worn on his heart, written in his father’s will! He bore it in the depths of his mind, in the depths of his memory, in that sacred injunction: ‘A man by the name of Thénardier saved my life. If my son ever meets him, he will do the best he can for him.’ That name, remember, was one that his soul held in veneration, that in his filial devotion was associated with his father’s name. What! This was Thénardier, this was the innkeeper of Montfermeil he had for so long sought in vain! He had found him at last and – how could this be? – his father’s saviour was a villain! That man, to whom Marius had a burning desire to dedicate himself, was a monster! The man to whom Colonel Pontmercy owed his deliverance was engaged in a crime whose precise nature Marius did not yet clearly apprehend but which looked like murder! And God Almighty! – who was his victim! What a twist of fate! What a bitter irony! 

Welp, them's the breaks. Aim your pistol at the sky, Marius, there are more important things at stake than your mental breakdown

At last he was going repay this man for saving his father’s life amid a hail of grapeshot on the heroic battlefield of Waterloo – and he was going to repay him with the scaffold! 

Wait

He had sworn to himself that if ever he found this Thénardier he would approach him only by throwing himself at his feet. And now he had actually found him, but he was delivering him to the executioner! His father had said to him, ‘Help Thénardier!’ And he was responding to that adored and sainted voice by destroying Thénardier! 

Now hold on a moment

Georges was a good man, I don't think he'd condone the actions taking place here, I think he'd probably change his instructions if he knew

Marius-

Treating his father, in his tomb, to the spectacle of the execution on Place St-Jacques of the man who at the risk of his own life had wrested him from death. Executed because of his son, because of this same Marius to whom he had commended that man! And what a mockery for so long to have worn on his breast his father’s last wishes, written in his own hand, and then, appallingly, to have done exactly the opposite! 

Marius, are we sure he'd even get executed-

But on the other hand, to be witness to an ambush and not prevent it! 

IS THAT EVEN ON THE TABLE??

MARIUS YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY HAVE THAT OPTION ON THE TABLE

Everything depended on him. He held in his hand the fate of these unwitting individuals playing out their parts beneath his gaze. If he fired his pistol Monsieur Leblanc was saved and Thénardier doomed. If he did not fire it Monsieur Leblanc would be sacrificed and – who knows? – Thénardier would escape. Be the undoing of one, or the downfall of the other! Remorse, either way. What should he do? What should he choose? 

TO SAVE THE INNOCENT MAN YOU ABSOLUTE BAFOON YOU BOOBY YOU NINNY YOU IDIOT WITH A HEAD FULL OF PILLOW FLUFF

It seemed to him that he could hear ‘his Ursule’ on the one hand, beseeching him for her father’s sake, and the colonel on the other commending Thénardier to him. 

You spent so long learning about your father and yet 

And yet you seriously think he'd want you to spare a criminal at risk of an innocent life

Boy you don't know your father at all what did you even go around talking to all the people who knew him for????

‘Ah!’ he cried. ‘At last I’ve found you, monsieur the philanthropist! Monsieur the threadbare millionaire! Monsieur who gives away dolls! Old fool! Ah! you don’t recognize me! No, it wasn’t you who came to Montfermeil, to my inn, eight years ago, on Christmas night of 1823! It wasn’t you who carried away from my house Fantine’s child, Alouette! . . . You don’t recognize me? Well, I recognize you! I recognized you straight away, the minute you poked your nose in here. And now you’re about to find out it isn’t all roses, going into people’s houses like that, on the grounds that they’re inns, dressed all shabby, looking that much of a pauper anyone would’ve given you a sou, deceiving people, acting bountiful, taking away their livelihood, threatening them in the woods. And you don’t get away with it just because later, when people are ruined, you bring them a coat that’s too big and two miserable hospital blankets, you old scoundrel, you child-stealer!’ 

SO IT IS (almost definitely) COSETTE WITH HIM!!!

+1 point to Val theory, though there's still a chance for her to be retrieved by someone else… Heavily doubt it though…

I was licking your boots this morning but I’ll be sinking my teeth into you this evening!”’ 

Gotta hand it to Thénardier, he can do a good monologue sometimes

Monsieur Leblanc did not interrupt him, but when he paused said, ‘I don’t know what you mean. You’re mistaken. I’m a very poor man and anything but a millionaire. I don’t know you. You’re getting me mixed up with someone else.’  ‘Ah!’ growled Thénardier. ‘What humbug! You’re sticking to that story! You’re floundering, old man! Ah! You don’t remember! You can’t see who I am!’  ‘Forgive me, monsieur,’ said Monsieur Leblanc in a polite tone of voice that was strangely powerful at such a moment, ‘I see that you’re a villain!’ 

HAHA

Who has not noticed that hateful individuals have their own sensitivity, that monsters are ticklish! At this word ‘villain’ the Thénardier woman sprang from the bed, Thénardier grabbed his chair as if he was going to smash it to pieces.  ‘You stay where you are!’ he shouted to his wife. And turning to Monsieur Leblanc he went on, ‘Villain! Yes, I know that’s what you call us, you rich folk! Well, it’s true my business went bust, I’m in hiding, I’ve no food, I’ve no money, I’m a villain! I’ve not eaten for three days, I’m a villain! 

Yes… Yes it's you being hungry and poor that makes you a villain, yes that's definitely why he called you that. It has nothing to do with the group of men with their weapons and the very obvious trap laid and threats you have made. He only said that because you're poor.

And you come into our dens, yes, our dens, and call us villains! But we shall eat you, poor things! We’ll devour you! 

Nothing villainous about that statement, nope 

Then, addressing Monsieur Leblanc with renewed frenzy, ‘And this too I’ll have you know, monsieur the philanthropist! I’m not some shady customer! I’m not some nameless individual who comes along and abducts children from people’s houses! I’m a French veteran, I should have been decorated! I was at Waterloo, I was! And in the battle I saved a general called Comte somebody-or-other. He told me his name but his damned voice was so weak I didn’t hear. All I heard was “merci”. I’d sooner have had his name than his thanks. It would have helped me to find him again. This picture you see here, it was painted by David in Brussels. You know what it represents? It represents me. David wanted to immortalize that feat of valour. I have that general on my back, and I’m carrying him through the grapeshot. That’s the story! And he never did a thing for me, that general, he was no better than the others! But all the same I saved his life at the risk of my own, and I have pockets full of documents to prove it! I was a soldier at Waterloo, for God’s sake! And now I’ve been good enough to tell you all that, let’s get on with it, I want cash, I want a great deal of cash, I want enormous quantities of cash, or I’ll kill you, God damn it!’ 

Hey Marius look he insulted your dad, maybe you should forget about helping that guy (but of all the times to bring up the Waterloo thing, ugh)

Marius had regained some control over his feelings of anguish and was listening. The last possibility of any remaining uncertainty had just vanished. This was, for sure, the Thénardier of the will. Marius shuddered at this accusation of ingratitude directed against his father and which he was so perniciously about to justify. It worsened his predicament. 

Okay worsened it in what direction though

Since he had stopped blocking Marius’s field of vision, Marius could now observe this object, and in the daub he actually recognized a battle, a smoky background and a man carrying another man. This was the Thénardier and Pontmercy composition, the saviour sergeant and the colonel saved. Marius felt as if drunk. This picture in some way brought his father back to life, it was no longer the signboard of the tavern at Montfermeil, it was a resurrection, in which a tomb opened and a ghost arose from it. Marius heard his heart pounding at his temples, he had the cannon of Waterloo in his ears, his bleeding father indistinctly depicted on that sinister panel scared him, and it seemed to him this shapeless figure was staring at him. 

He's a total goner isn't he

Very well, I'll do it myself

In the midst of this silence a throaty voice delivered this ominous gibe from the corridor, ‘If there’s heavy work needs doing, I’m your man!’  It was the man with the poleaxe, who was looking forward to some fun. 

Why is that so character select screen dialogue

‘Why’ve you taken your mask off?’ Thénardier shouted angrily.  ‘For a laugh,’ replied the man. 

HAHA well it made me laugh

While rebuking the man with the poleaxe, he turned his back on Monsieur Leblanc.  Monsieur Leblanc seized this moment. He kicked the chair over, shoved the table back, then, before Thénardier had time to turn round, with amazing agility and in one bound he was at the window. To open it, to clamber on to the sill and climb over it, took a second. He was half out when six strong hands grabbed hold of him and forcibly dragged him back into the den. 

MAN SO CLOSE

+1 Val theory though with that agility (am I reading into everything now? Perhaps)

One of the ‘sweeps’ . . . whom Marius recognized in spite of the grime as Panchaud, alias Printanier, alias Bigrenaille, raised above Monsieur Leblanc’s head some kind of bludgeon consisting of an iron bar with a leaden knob at either end.  Marius could not hold out against this spectacle. ‘Father,’ he thought, ‘forgive me!’ And his finger sought the trigger of his pistol. 

FINALLY

The shot was about to go off when Thénardier’s voice shouted, ‘Don’t harm him!’ 

You've gotta be fricking kidding me if you don't try to harm him the booby next door won't ever fire his gosh darn gun and if he doesn't fire his gosh darn gun I am going to tear my ears off

And unwittingly, his first achievement was to stop the pistol going off and to paralyse Marius, for whom all urgency disappeared and who, faced with this new development, saw no harm in further delay. Who could tell? Something might turn up that would deliver him from the horrible alternatives of either letting Ursule’s father perish or sealing the doom of the colonel’s saviour. 

Shaking him shaking him shaking him shaking him

Dang you get em Leblanc (+1 for Val theor-)

Aww, they got him back...

Thus, overpowering some and overpowered by the others, crushing those below, smothered by those on top, vainly trying to shake off all the constraints piled on top of him, Monsieur Leblanc disappeared beneath the heinous band of ruffians like a wild boar beneath a howling pack of mastiffs and bloodhounds. 

Not a pack of wolves? Lol

They succeeded in throwing him back on the bed nearest the window, and kept him at bay there. The Thénardier woman had not let go of his hair.  ‘You keep out of this,’ said Thénardier. ‘You’ll tear your shawl.’  The Thénardier woman obeyed, as the she-wolf obeys the male, with a growl. 

…

I spoke too soon

Monsieur Leblanc seemed to have given up resisting. He was searched. He had nothing on him except a leather purse containing six francs, and his handkerchief. Thénardier put the handkerchief into his own pocket. 

Huh

‘Tie him to the foot of the bed,’ he said.  And noticing the old man who had been left sprawled across the room by the punch from Monsieur Leblanc and was not stirring, he asked, ‘Is Boulatruelle dead?’  ‘No,’ replied Bigrenaille, ‘he’s drunk.’  ‘Sweep him into a corner,’ said Thénardier.  Two of the sweeps shoved the inebriate with their feet over to the heap of old iron.  ‘Babet,’ Thénardier said quietly to the man with the cudgel, ‘why did you bring so many. They weren’t needed.’  ‘What can you do?’ replied the man with the cudgel. ‘They all wanted to be in on it. It’s a bad time. There’s nothing doing.’ 

Incredibly funny stuff actually

"Sweep him into a corner" and "I didn't plan to bring this many guys but there's nothing else to do and they all wanted to come :( "

‘Monsieur, you shouldn’t have tried to jump out of the window. You might have broken your leg. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going to have a quiet chat. First of all, I have to tell you something I’ve noticed, which is that we’ve not yet heard so much as a peep out of you.’  Thénardier was right. True as it was, though, this detail had in his agitation escaped Marius. Monsieur Leblanc had uttered no more than a few words, without raising his voice. Even in his struggle with the six blackguards by the window he had maintained the most profound and peculiar silence.  Thénardier went on, ‘My God! You might have cried thief and I wouldn’t have thought it improper! Or murder! People do on occasion – and I wouldn’t have taken it amiss. It’s perfectly normal to create a bit of a rumpus when you find yourself with individuals that don’t inspire enough trust. If you had, no one would have stopped you. You wouldn’t even have been gagged. And I’ll tell you why. This room’s very out of the way. That’s the only thing in its favour but it has got that. It’s like a cellar. You might let a bomb off inside it, and at the nearest guard-house it’d sound like the snoring of a drunk. Here a cannon would make a pop and thunder a whisper. It’s a handy place to live. But anyhow, you didn’t cry out, and so much the better, I congratulate you on that, and I’ll tell you what conclusion I draw. My dear monsieur, when you cry out, who comes? The police. And after the police? Justice. Well! You didn’t cry out. That’s because you’re no keener than we are to have the police and justice turn up. That’s because – I’ve long suspected it – you’ve an interest in hiding something. We ourselves have the same interest. So we can come to an understanding.’ 

Where's my popcorn 

Also +1 Val theory- now I'm definitely reading into things. Making stuff up. Last I saw him he said "come arrest me as you please". But maybe something changed. Look, listen to me, I want it to be him. It would be so very tasty of a plot if it was. Imagine when Javert arrives. Well, if Marius ever actually fires his gun. But imagine. Presumably, if this is Val, Javert still has it out for him. Another assumption, I'll admit, but wouldn't it make for a good story?

Except, darn, wait a second. If Marius believes this, he'll go, "well then, what's the problem with letting Thénardier get away with it? This man must be a crook too!" And excuse his conscience like that. 

But whoever he might be, trussed up, surrounded by thugs, half buried, as it were, in a hole that every moment deepened beneath him inch by inch, in the face of Thénardier’s fury as in the face of his suaveness, this man remained impassive. And Marius could not helping admiring, at such a time as this, that magnificently melancholy countenance.  This was obviously a person incapable of being scared and with no notion of what it was to feel panic-stricken. He was one of those men who in desperate circumstances overcome their bewilderment. No matter how dire his predicament, no matter how inescapable his doom, there was nothing here of the drowning man’s anguish, with those ghastly eyes, open underwater. 

+1 V-

(Also not the reaction I expected from Marius, but alright. A better one, to be sure.)

Thénardier stood up in a matter-of-fact way, went to the fireplace, moved aside the screen, which he rested against the nearby pallet, and thus exposed the brazier full of glowing embers in which the prisoner could plainly see the white-hot chisel, spangled here and there with little flecks of scarlet. 

Uh oh

‘We can come to an understanding. Let’s settle this amicably. I was wrong to lose my temper just now, I don’t know what I was thinking of, I went much too far, I was talking wildly. For example, because you’re a millionaire I told you I was demanding money, a lot of money, a huge amount of money. That would be unreasonable. Good God, for all that you’re rich, you have your expenses, who hasn’t? I don’t want to ruin you, after all I’m no bloodsucker! I’m not one of those people who, because they’re in a stronger position, take advantage of it to be ridiculous. Listen, I’ll take a cut and make a sacrifice on my side. All I want is two hundred thousand francs.’ 

I gotta admit, I enjoy his dialogue. He makes for an entertaining, interesting villain. Even if I wanna remove him from this plane sometimes for how he treats his family.

Thénardier went on, ‘As you see, I take my wine with a fair amount of water. I don’t know what your fortune stands at but I do know that money’s no object to you, and a charitable man like yourself can well afford to give two hundred thousand francs to a family man down on his luck. You too are surely reasonable, you don’t imagine I’d go to all this trouble and organize this evening, a well planned operation as all these gentlemen will agree, to end up asking you for enough to go and drink red at fifteen sous a glass and eat veal at Desnoyers’s. Two hundred thousand francs, that’s what it’s worth. Once that little trifle is out of your pocket, I assure you, that’ll be that, and you need have no fear anyone will lay a finger on you. You’ll say: “But I haven’t got two hundred thousand francs on me.” Oh! I’m not unrealistic. I’m not expecting that. I ask only one thing of you. Be good enough to write down what I am about to dictate to you.’  Here Thénardier paused, then lingering on his words and casting a smile towards the brazier, he added, ‘I warn you, I won’t accept that you don’t know how to write.’ 

What did I say about torture

I don't remember if it was here or discord but STILL

Okay this isn't really a torturing interrogation like I'd mentioned but a threat of physical pain is still happening

The prisoner finally spoke. ‘How do you expect me to write? I’m tied up.’ ‘That’s true,’ said Thénardier, ‘you’re right, forgive me.’ And turning to Bigrenaille, ‘Untie the gentleman’s right arm.’ 

Bold. Brave. Bhoping he takes advantage of freedom.

‘Bear in mind, monsieur, that you’re in our power, at our mercy, that no human strength can get you out of this 

You don't know. You don't know what Val is capable of (I slip further into potential delusion. Am I no better than Marius?)

Thénardier began to dictate. ‘“My daughter—”’  The prisoner shuddered and looked up at Thénardier. 

B( he wants to keep her out of this…

‘Put “My dear daughter”,’ said Thénardier.  Monsieur Leblanc obeyed.  Thénardier continued, ‘“Come immediately—”’ He interrupted himself. ‘You use tu when you address her, don’t you?’  ‘Who?’ asked Monsieur Leblanc.

LOL

‘Damn it!’ cried Thénardier. ‘The child, Alouette.’  Monsieur Leblanc replied without showing the slightest emotion, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’  ‘Just carry on,’ said Thénardier, and he went on dictating, ‘“Come immediately. I need you urgently. The person who delivers this note is instructed to bring you to me. I’m depending on you. Come without any misgiving.”’  Monsieur Leblanc had written all of this down.  Thénardier reconsidered. ‘Cross out “Come without any misgiving”. That might suggest everything was not quite straightforward and that there might be room for misgivings.’ 

Man he's so funny sometimes

‘Now,’ said Thénardier, ‘sign it. What’s your name?’  The prisoner laid down the pen and asked, ‘Who’s this letter for?’  ‘You know full well,’ replied Thénardier. ‘For the child. I just told you so.’ 

Play dumb x100

He went on, ‘Sign. What’s your name?’  ‘Urbain Fabre,’ said the prisoner.  Thénardier, with a cat-like movement, stuck his hand in his pocket and drew out the handkerchief that had been taken from Monsieur Leblanc. He held it up to the candlelight, looking for the initials on it.  ‘UF. That’s right. Urbain Fabre. Well, sign it UF.’ 

I was hoping he'd pick a fake name as a sign, but if it's just initials… darn it. Too clever.

That done, Thénardier said, ‘Write the address. “Mademoiselle Fabre”, at your house. I know you live not very far from here, somewhere near StJacques-du-Haut-Pas, because that’s where you go to mass every day, but I don’t know what street it is. I see that you understand your situation. As you haven’t lied about your name, you won’t lie about your address. Write it yourself.’  The prisoner remained thoughtful for a moment, then he took up the pen and wrote, ‘Mademoiselle Fabre, care of Monsieur Urbain Fabre, Rue St-Dominique-d’Enfer, number 17’. 

Here's to hoping Marius doesn't have hawk eyes and can't see the address written 🙄 he doesn't need that info. I hope he didn't even give a real address. Also maybe Fabre isn't the real surname, so it won't work after all...

And off goes wife and polearm guy to deliver the letter and, in return, the girl

Which, by the way, Marius, you have put at risk by not firing the gun before they left to get her

Marius waited, with everything adding to his anxiety. The mystery was more impenetrable than ever. Who was this ‘child’ that Thénardier had called Alouette? Was she his ‘Ursule’? The prisoner had seemed unresponsive to that word ‘Alouette’, and had replied as naturally as could be, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ On the other hand, the two letters UF were explained: they stood for Urbain Fabre, and Ursule was no longer called Ursule. It was this that Marius saw most clearly. Some sort of ghastly fascination kept him nailed to the spot, where he was able to observe this whole scene from a commanding viewpoint. There he stood, almost incapable of thought or movement, as though overwhelmed by such dreadful things seen at close hand. He waited, hoping for something to happen, no matter what, unable to collect his wits and not knowing what to do. 

When is he ever capable of thought

‘In any case,’ he said, ‘if she is Alouette, I’m sure to find out, for the Thénardier woman is going to bring her here. Then there are no two ways about it, I shall lay down my life if necessary, but I shall save her! Nothing will stop me!’ 

(head in hands with the deepest sigh)

Right… be her white knight… of course… 

Thénardier went on: ‘Be patient, my wife will be back shortly. I think Alouette is in fact your daughter and it seems to me quite right you should keep her. Now pay attention. My wife’s going to fetch her with your letter. I told my wife to dress up, as you saw, so that your young lady would go along with her without any fuss. They’ll both get into the carriage with my colleague behind. Somewhere beyond the gate there’s a gig with two very good horses harnessed to it. Your young lady will be taken there. She’ll get out of the carriage. My colleague will get into the gig with her, and my wife’ll come back here to tell us it’s done. As for the young lady, no harm will come to her. The gig will take her somewhere safe and just as soon as you’ve given me the small sum of two hundred thousand francs she’ll be returned to you. If you have me arrested, my colleague will take care of Alouette. There you have it.’ 

It's almost like making stupid choices leads to bad consequences, Marius. The girl won't even be here for you to save, idiot

Frightful images went through Marius’s mind. What! That young girl they were abducting was not going to be brought back? One of those monsters was going to carry her off into the dark? Where to? And what if it was her? – and it was all too clear that it was! Marius felt his heart stop beating. What was he to do? Fire the pistol? Put all these wretches in the hands of the law? But that dreadful man with the poleaxe would still be completely beyond reach with the young girl, and Marius thought about those words of Thénardier’s, suspecting their deadly meaning: ‘If you have me arrested, my colleague will take care of Alouette.’ 

I wish he would learn from this, but alas

I have not any hope

And no sooner had he spoken than the Thénardier woman rushed into the room, red-faced, breathless, panting, eyes ablaze, and slapping her huge hands on both thighs simultaneously she cried out, ‘False address!’ 

YEAHHHHH HAHAHA I WAS HOPING HE MIGHT DO THAT

Choked, she paused, then continued, ‘Monsieur Thénardier! That gaffer’s been stringing you along! You’re too good, you see! If it’d been me I’d’ve carved his face up to begin with! And if he’d fought back I’d have roasted him alive! He’d have had to talk, and tell us where the girl is and where he keeps his hoard! 

TORTURE INTERROGATION

But wow dang no mercy with this lady

Finally he said to the prisoner in a measured and particularly ferocious tone of voice, ‘A false address? What did you expect to gain by that?’  ‘Time!’ cried the prisoner in a ringing voice.  And in the same instant he shook off his bonds. They had been cut. The prisoner was now tied to the bed by only one leg. 

+10 TO VAL THEORY I BELIEVE IN IT I BELIEVE IN HIM WHO ELSE COULD DO SUCH A THING

Though uh. One leg. A whole bed. I hope he didn't skip leg day.

Before the seven men had time to gather their wits and throw themselves at him, he leaned over to the hearth, reached out his hand to the brazier, then straightened up again. And now Thénardier, the Thénardier woman and the ruffians, huddled in shock at the far end of the hovel, stared at him dumbfounded as he stood there, almost free, and striking a fearsome attitude with the red-hot chisel raised above his head, casting a sinister glow. 

Hand back in the popcorn bowl 

The subsequent judicial investigation into the ambush at the Gorbeau tenement recorded that a ten-centime coin, cut and worked in a special way, was found in the garret when the police raided it. This ten-centime coin was one of those marvels of ingenuity produced in the shadows, and for the shadows, by patience learned in the prison hulks – marvels that are nothing less than instruments of escape. . . . The poor wretch who aspires to free himself contrives, sometimes without any tools, with just a pocketknife or any old blade, to saw a coin into two thin discs, to hollow out these discs without damaging the impressions stamped on the coin, and to work a thread into the rim of the coin so that the discs can be put back together again. To be screwed and unscrewed at will. The thing is a box. In this box he hides a watch-spring, and this watch-spring, adeptly handled, cuts heavy shackles and iron bars. . . . They also found a tiny blue-steel saw that could be hidden inside the coin. 

In prison hulks, you say? 👁️👁️ +20 again, why not

Nevertheless the prisoner spoke out. ‘You’re miserable wretches, but my life isn’t that much worth protecting. As for thinking that you’ll make me talk, that you’ll make me write what I don’t want to write, that you’ll make me say what I don’t want to say …’ He rolled up his left sleeve: ‘Look!’ At the same time he stretched out his arm and laid on his bare flesh the glowing chisel that he held by the wooden handle in his right hand. 

…

(looks at camera)

(looks at book)

…

(gestures in a "are you reading what I'm reading?" type of way)

…

????????

The sizzle of burning flesh could be heard and the smell that belongs to torture chambers spread through the hovel. Marius reeled, horror-stricken, the villains themselves shuddered, the strange old man’s features barely contracted; and while the red-hot iron sank into the steaming wound, impassive and almost sublime he fixed on Thénardier his splendid gaze bearing no hatred, in which suffering dissolved into serene majesty.

You. You were so cool, freeing yourself and grabbing the iron, like who needs Marius, you can save yourself, and ???

You use it for this??? Is this roll for intimidation??? Is this part of the plan????

‘Wretches!’ he said. ‘Have no more fear of me than I have of you!’  And drawing the chisel away from the wound he hurled it through the window, which had been left open. The horrible glowing implement disappeared, spinning into the darkness and falling to the ground far off, where it was quenched by the snow.  The prisoner said, ‘Do what you will with me.’ 

???????????????

Val or not, I think THIS guy needs a doctor, what the HECK

‘There’s only one thing left to do.’  ‘Finish him off.’  ‘That’s right.’  It was the husband and wife conferring. Thénardier slowly walked over to the table, opened the drawer and took out the knife. 

Well? Well? This is more of a threat than an iron knob or whatever poised to strike him in the head!! Marius, go on!!! Go on now!!!!

Marius worried the handle of his pistol. In an agony of indecision! For the last hour there had been two voices in his conscience, one telling him to respect his father’s will, the other calling on him to rescue the prisoner. These two conflicting voices kept up an uninterrupted battle that was torture to him. Right up until then he had been vaguely hoping to find some way of reconciling these two duties, but no possible solution had emerged. However, the danger was now urgent, there was no more time to delay, a few paces from the prisoner was Thénardier, considering, knife in hand. 

I'm so sick of this guy. Fellas, I'm so sick of this guy. Please. Are you for real. What. What. I am. I don't even. I don't evne know. Take a good look down the barrel of the gun, Marius, a really good long last final look. Please. Where's Bahorel, he could fix all of this. Any of the Amis could, I'm sure of it. Skies above, stars in heaven, take me back to them. I miss them.

Marius looked round in panic, the automatic last resort of despair. Suddenly he gave a start.  At his feet, on the table, a beam of bright light cast by the full moon illuminated and seemed to point out to him a sheet of paper, on which he read the following line, written in big letters by the older Thénardier girl that very morning: ‘THE BASHERS ARE HERE.’  An idea flashed into Marius’s mind. This was what he was looking for, the solution to the dreadful problem that was torturing him: how to spare the assassin and save the victim. He knelt down on the chest of drawers, reached out his arm, grabbed the sheet of paper, quietly detached a chunk of plaster from the partition wall, wrapped the paper round it, and threw them both together through the hole in the wall into the middle of the den. 

The… The hole is that big???

‘How did that get in here?’ asked Thénardier.  ‘Honestly!’ said the woman. ‘How do you think it got in? It came in through the window, of course.’  ‘I saw it come in,’ said Bigrenaille.  Thénardier rapidly unfolded the paper and held it up to the candle. ‘It’s Éponine’s handwriting. Damn it!’  He signalled to his wife, who hurried over; he showed her the line written on the sheet of paper, then added in a lowered voice, ‘Quick! The ladder! Leave the bacon in the mousetrap and let’s get out of here!’  ‘Without cutting the man’s throat?’ asked the Thénardier woman.  ‘We haven’t time.’ 

I'm relieved Leblanc will go unharmed (well, save for the harm he inflicted upon himself, the freak), but like. I'm kind of mad that it worked out for Marius. When is that blockhead going to actually have to make a real decision with real consequences and learn a thing that sticks.

As soon as the ladder was fixed in place, Thénardier cried, ‘Come on, wife!’ And he rushed to the window.   But just as he was about to climb through it Bigrenaille seized him roughly by the collar. ‘Not so fast, old man! After us!’  ‘After us!’ yelled the villains.  ‘You’re behaving like children,’ said Thénardier, ‘we’re wasting time. We’ve got the law at our heels.’  ‘Well,’ said one of the villains, ‘let’s draw lots for who goes first.’ 

HAHAHA they're so cartoonish I love it

Not enough time to slit his throats, but let's draw lots, fellas!

Seriously though, the villains are outshining Marius by far. Hugo why are your villains more entertaining than one of your main characters.

‘Are you mad!’ Thénardier exclaimed. ‘Are you crazy! What a bunch of idiots! You want to waste time, do you? Draw lots? By choosing the wet finger? Or the short straw! By writing down our names! And putting them in a hat!’  ‘Would you like my hat?’ a voice called out from the doorway.  Everyone turned round.  It was Javert. He had his hat in his hand and was holding it out to them with a smile. 

BY THE STARS IT'S THE MAN

AND WHAT AN ENTRANCE HE HAS MADE 👏👏👏👏 10/10 FOR STYLE AND WIT AND A SMILE TO BOOT

. . . the man whom all at that moment still called Monsieur Madeleine stepped towards the witnesses Cochepaille, Brevet and Chenildieu. ‘You don’t recognize me?’ he said.  All three remained dumbfounded and indicated by a shake of the head that they did not know him. Feeling intimidated, Cochepaille gave a military salute. 

LOL

Monsieur Madeleine turned to the jury and the court, and said in a quiet voice, ‘Gentlemen of the jury, let the defendant go free! Monsieur le président, have me arrested. That is not the man you seek. I am. I am Jean Valjean.’ 

Can you imagine. They gotta think this man is off his rocker. The mayor has lost his mind.

I'm proud of him though. That's my Jean Valjean o7

He turned to the public and asked in a tone that was understood by all, ‘Is there a doctor present?’ 

HAHAHA WHAT DID I SAY, THEY THINK HE'S CRAZY

‘Thank you, monsieur l’avocat général, but I am not mad. You shall see. You were on the point of committing a grave mistake. Release that man. I’m doing what I have to. I am that wretched felon. I’m the only one here who understands the situation clearly, and I’m telling you the truth. What I’m doing at this moment God is watching from above, and that’s enough. You can take me into custody, here I am. Yet I did the best I could. I hid behind an assumed name. I became rich. I became mayor. I wanted to return among honest folk. It seems that cannot be. Anyway, there are many things I can’t express, I’m not going to tell the story of my life, one day it will become known. I robbed Monseigneur l’évêque, that’s true; I robbed PetitGervais, that’s true. What you were told was right, Jean Valjean is a very wicked wretch. It may not have been entirely his fault. Listen, messieurs les juges, a man who has sunk as low as I is in no position to chide providence or to give advice to society, but you see, the infamy from which I tried to escape is a harmful thing. Harsh prisons make hardened criminals. Reflect on that, if you will. Before I was in the prison hulks I was a poor peasant and not very bright, something of a dolt. The prison hulks changed me. I was stupid, I became wicked. I was a blockhead, I became a firebrand. Later on, kindness and goodness saved me, as harshness had been the ruin of me. But, forgive me, you can’t understand what I’m saying. You’ll find at my house among the ashes in the fireplace the forty-sou coin I stole from Petit-Gervais seven years ago. I’ve nothing more to add. Arrest me. My God! Monsieur l’avocat général shakes his head. Monsieur Madeleine has taken leave of his senses, you say! You don’t believe me! Now that’s distressing. Don’t convict this man, at least! What! These men don’t recognize me! I wish Javert were here. He would certainly recognize me.’

Those last two lines are soooo funny to me

That was what I feared, though, that they wouldn't- well? Maybe they wouldn't even believe Javert in this case

Anyway fantastic monologue there

He turned to the three convicts and said, ‘Well, I recognize you. Brevet! Do you remember—’ He paused, hesitated for a moment, and said, ‘Do you (fn5) remember those chequered knitted braces you had in the prison hulks?’ 

Footnote: Having started to address Brevet as ‘vous’, Monsieur Madeleine pauses, then continues to address the convicts individually as ‘tu’, underlining his close association with them. 

Oooooooh

He went on: ‘Chenildieu, who gave yourself the nickname “Je-nie-Dieu”, the whole of your right shoulder is badly burned because one day you lay with your shoulder on a chafing-dish full of hot coals in order to efface the three letters TFP, which for all that are still visible. Answer, is this true?’  ‘It is true,’ said Chenildieu.  He turned to Cochepaille. ‘Cochepaille, near the crook of your left arm you have a date in blue letters burned into your flesh with gunpowder. That date is the day the emperor landed at Cannes, the first of March 1815. Pull up your sleeve!’  Cochepaille pulled up his sleeve, all eyes around him focused on his bare arm. A gendarme held a lamp to it. There was the date.  The poor man turned to the spectators and the judges with a smile that when they think of it still grieves those who saw it. It was the smile of triumph, it was also the smile of despair.  ‘You can see now,’ he said, ‘that I am Jean Valjean.’ 

[STANDING OVATION OF ONE]

In that court room there were no longer judges, prosecutors or gendarmes. There were only riveted gazes and aching hearts. No one was mindful any longer of the role that each might have to play. The public prosecutor forgot he was there to seek a conviction, the presiding judge that he was there to preside, the defence counsel that he was there to defend.  Remarkably, no question was asked, no authority intervened. It is in the nature of sublime spectacles that they capture all souls and turn all witnesses into spectators. . . . It was obvious they had Jean Valjean before their eyes. It was radiantly clear. . . . Without any further explanation being necessary, as if by a kind of electric exposure, this whole crowd understood immediately and at a single glance the simple and magnificent story of a man who was giving himself up so that another man might not be condemned in his place. . . .  ‘I don’t want to disturb the hearing any further,’ said Jean Valjean. ‘I’m going, since no one’s arresting me. I have several things to do. The public prosecutor knows who I am, he knows where I’m going, he can have me arrested when he pleases.’ 

INCREDIBLE

He made his way towards the door. Not a voice was raised, not an arm extended to prevent him. Everyone stood aside. There was at that moment something divine about him, something that causes multitudes to fall back and make way for one man. He walked through the crowd slowly. It was never known who opened the door but it is certain the door was open when he reached it. 

THEY EVEN OPENED THE DOOR FOR HIM. CRAZY

But hey. You know what. If he goes fast enough, he can get Cosette in time. (manifesting)

Magistrates, a clerk, gendarmes, a crowd of cruelly curious faces, he had seen this once already, in days gone by, twenty-seven years ago. These ominous things he was re-experiencing – they were here, they were astir, they existed. This was no longer an effort of memory, no mental illusion, these were real gendarmes and real magistrates, a real crowd and real men of flesh and blood. The worst had happened: he saw around him the monstrous aspects of his past, reappearing, reviving, with all the fearsomeness of reality.

OH YEAH BEING BACK IN A COURTROOM WOULD BE KINDA TRIGGERING I forgot he'd have been in one like this before dang

All this yawned before him. He was horrified, he closed his eyes, and cried out in the deepest recesses of his soul: Never! And by a tragic twist of fate that made all his thoughts quake and almost drove him mad, it was another incarnation of himself who sat there! . . . He had before his eyes an extraordinary vision, a kind of re-enactment of the most horrible moment of his life, played by his ghost.

Oh big fan of that. A re-enactment played by his ghost. SO good

It was all there: the same trappings, the same late hour, almost the same faces of magistrates, soldiers and spectators. Only, above the judge’s head there was a crucifix, something that was missing from the courts at the time of his conviction. When he was tried, God was absent.

BIG FAN OF THAT TOO AGH HUGO YOU ARE SO GOOD AT THIS

There was no mercy, no consideration of his situation… but now he can be here to provide the fairness he didn't receive. God - mercy, fairness, conscience, etc - is not absent this time.

Okayyy Hugo, I don't think the list of fancied up terminology used by lawyers needed to be that long

His client, whom he persisted in his capacity as defence counsel in calling Champmathieu, had not been seen, by anyone, climbing the wall or breaking off the branch. He had been apprehended in possession of that branch (which the lawyer more readily called a ‘bough’), but he said he had found it on the ground and picked it up. Where was the proof to the contrary? This branch had undoubtedly been broken off and stolen after the wall had been climbed, then thrown down by the frightened thief. Undoubtedly there was a thief. But what proved that Champmathieu was that thief? One thing only: the fact that he was a convicted felon. The lawyer did not deny that, unfortunately, this fact seemed to be well established . . . The lawyer concluded by entreating the court and the jury – if it seemed to them Jean Valjean’s identity had been proven – to apply the legal penalties pertaining to a breach of parole and not the appalling punishment imposed on the convicted felon who re-offends.

Nod nod nod good points good points, excellent work

The public prosecutor responded to the defence counsel. He was fierce and florid, as public prosecutors usually are. He congratulated the defence counsel on his ‘fairness’, and skilfully exploited this fairness. With every concession made by his lawyer, he struck a blow against the defendant. The lawyer seemed to admit the defendant was Jean Valjean. He took cognizance of the fact. So this man was Jean Valjean. The point had been conceded to the prosecution and could no longer be disputed. . . . Who was this Jean Valjean? Description of Jean Valjean: a spewed-up monster, and so on. . . . The court and the jury ‘shuddered’. His description concluded, the public prosecutor went on with an oratorial flourish calculated to excite the utmost enthusiasm in next morning’s Journal de la Préfecture: ‘And it is such a man – a vagrant, a beggar, with no means of existence … inured by a life of crime and little reformed by his sentence of penal servitude, as proved by the offence committed against Petit-Gervais … caught red-handed on the public highway, committing theft, a few paces from a scaled wall, still clutching the stolen object – it is such a man who denies the obvious crime, the theft, the climbing of the wall, denies everything, denies even his own name, denies his identity! In addition to countless other proofs that we shall not hark back to, four witnesses recognize him – Javert, the upright inspector of police Javert, and three of his former companions in ignominy, the convicts Brevet, Chenildieu and Cochepaille. How does he counter this damning unanimity? With denial. What a hardened criminal! You will deal justly, gentlemen of the jury …’

Okay Mr. Ad Hominem

LM 1.7.10

This poor accused man. He's so confused and freaked out and tired of these false accusations. That would be absolutely terrifying. Trying to explain yourself and no one believes a word of it.

The judge said, ‘I draw monsieur l’avocat général’s attention to the fact that Police Inspector Javert, recalled by his duties to the chief town of a neighbouring arrondissement, left the court room, indeed left town, as soon as he had made his statement. We gave him permission to do so with the consent of both monsieur l’avocat général and the defence counsel.’

Ohh he's not even here >B0

Well that may be good for Val

…. Or maybe it would be bad for him. Javert would probably leap at the chance to be proven right about this, but if he's not here, there's a chance no one will believe Val about his identity, and then he might not be able to save this man 🤔

The public prosecutor concluded by insisting that despite the absence of Javert the three witnesses Brevet, Chenildieu and Cochepaille should be heard again and formally questioned.

I mean, I'm not sure what this is going to do. If they all say the same thing again - that this is JVJ - then all he's doing is giving the jury one last reminder that there's a lot of "evidence" against this guy

‘Brevet,’ said the presiding judge, ‘as a convicted felon, you have lost your civil rights and you cannot take the oath.’

Huh. I didn't know that was a thing. Is that still a thing?

. . . Consider on the one hand this man: a word from you may ruin him; on the other hand, justice: a word from you may enlighten it. This is a solemn moment, and there is still time to retract if you think you were mistaken. Prisoner at the bar, rise. Brevet, take a good look at the accused, summon up your memories and tell us in all good faith if you persist in recognizing this man as your former fellow convict, Jean Valjean.’

It kind of feels like that first sentence there is being directed at Val without intending to be.

‘Yes, monsieur le président. It was I who first recognized him, and I do persist. That man is Jean Valjean. Who came to Toulon in 1796 and left in 1815. I left a year later. He has the air of a dolt now, so it must be age that has dulled him. He was cunning in prison. I recognize him without the shadow of a doubt.’

I dunno, shouldn't we perhaps take into account a changed personality… just a little bit…

Yeah I figured nothing would change. All three confirming it 😮‍💨

At that moment there was a stir very close to the judge. A voice was heard to cry out, ‘Brevet! Chenildieu! Cochepaille! Look over here!’

I WAS ALREADY SAT BUT NOW SATTING STRAIGHTER OH BOY OH BOY

All who heard that voice felt chilled, so mournful and terrible was it. All eyes turned to the place it came from. A man who had been among the privileged spectators seated behind the bench had just got to his feet, pushed open the breast-high door that separated the bench from the floor of the court, and was standing in the middle of the chamber. The judge, the public prosecutor, Monsieur Bamatabois, two dozen people recognized him and cried out in unison, ‘Monsieur Madeleine!’

The man said to him as they walked along, ‘If it’s a trial that monsieur wants to watch, it’s rather late. Usually the sittings end at six o’clock.’ However, when they came to the main square the man pointed out to him four long lighted windows in the façade of a huge dark building. ‘Upon my word, monsieur, you’re not too late, you’re in luck. Do you see those four windows? That’s the court of assizes. It’s lit up. So it’s not over. The case must have dragged on and they’re having an evening hearing. Have you an interest in this case? Is it a criminal trial? Are you a witness?’ He replied, ‘I haven’t come for any trial, I just need to speak to a lawyer.’

Oooooooooo

It was so ill-lit he was not afraid to address the first lawyer he encountered. ‘Monsieur, what stage are they at?’ he asked. ‘It’s over,’ said the lawyer. ‘Over!’ This word was repeated in such a tone of voice that the lawyer turned round. ‘Forgive me, monsieur, are you perhaps a relative?’ ‘No. I don’t know anyone here. Has sentence been passed?’ ‘Indeed. It was almost inevitable.’ ‘Penal servitude?’ ‘For life.’

Aw man

He continued in a voice so weak it was barely audible, ‘Identification was made then?’ ‘What identification?’ replied the lawyer. ‘There was no identification to be made. The case was straightforward. The woman killed her child, infanticide was proven, the jury ruled out premeditation, she was sentenced to life imprisonment.’

OH?????

‘Nothing. But if it’s all over, why would the hall still be lit up?’ ‘For the other case that began about two hours ago.’ ‘What other case?’ ‘Oh, that one’s also straightforward. Some sort of ruffian, a re-offender, a convicted felon, up for stealing. I don’t remember quite what his name is. Now there’s someone who looks like a villain! Just for having a face like that, I’d clap him in chains.’ ‘Monsieur, is there any chance of getting into the court room?’ he said. ‘I really don’t think so. It’s very crowded. However, the hearing’s been adjourned. There were some people who came out. When the hearing resumes you could try.’

👀

When he saw that nothing was over, he breathed again. But he could not have said whether it was satisfaction or pain that he felt.

Perhaps both

‘Of course,’ the usher added after a pause, ‘there are still two or three places behind monsieur le président, but monsieur le président only lets public officials sit there.’

I mean. He's a mayor. Does that count

Heck yeah that's the way tell em you're the mayor

1.7.8

Though he was entirely unaware of it, the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer enjoyed a kind of celebrity. After seven years in which the reputation of his goodness filled the whole of Lower Boulonnais, it had eventually crossed the boundaries of a small community and spread into two or three neighbouring départements. Aside from the considerable service he had rendered the chief town of Montreuil-sur-Mer itself by reviving the blackglass industry, there was not one out of the one hundred and forty-one local municipalities in the arrondissement that did not owe some benefit to him. . . . Monsieur Madeleine was a name everywhere mentioned with great esteem. 

THAT'S MY MAYOR 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

(hacker voice) we're in

The final moment had come. He tried to gather his thoughts, but without succeeding. It is especially at those times when they most need to be attached to the painful realities of life that the threads of thought all break in the mind. He was in the very place where the judges deliberate and reach a verdict. With a dazed tranquillity he surveyed this quiet and forbidding room where so many lives had been destroyed, where his name was soon to reverberate, and through which his fate was now taking him. He stared at the wall, then stared at himself, wondering at this chamber and wondering at his being here. 

Eating figurative popcorn right now

He was thinking of Fantine and Cosette. 

Yeah me too dude B(

While musing, he turned round, and his eyes fell on the brass handle of the door that separated him from the assizes court room. He had almost forgotten about this door. His gaze, at first calm, settled on it, remained fastened on that brass handle, then became scared and intent, and little by little was stamped with terror.  Beads of sweat seeped through his hair and trickled down his temples. At a certain moment, with a kind of authority mixed with rebellion, he made that indescribable gesture that expresses its meaning very well: ‘Damn it! Who’s forcing me to do this?’ Then he wheeled round, saw before him the door he had come in by, went over to it, opened it, and walked out. He was no longer in that chamber, he was outside in a corridor . . . lighted here and there by lamps similar to the night-lights of the sick: the corridor that had brought him here. He inhaled, he listened: not a sound behind him, not a sound ahead of him. Then he fled as if he were being chased. 

The comparison to the lights of the sick is really neat here since he's been thinking about Fantine

When he had turned several corners along this corridor he listened again. There was still the same silence and the same gloom around him. He was breathless. He was reeling. He leaned against the wall. The stone was cold. His sweat was icy on his brow. He drew himself up with a shiver.  Then, standing there alone in the darkness, trembling with cold, and something else as well perhaps, he pondered. . . .  A quarter of an hour went by like this. Finally he bowed his head, sighed with anguish, let his arms drop, and retraced his steps. He walked slowly and as though crushed. It was as if someone had caught up with him as he fled and was bringing him back. He re-entered the chamber. The first thing he saw was the door knob. That round knob of polished brass shone for him like some terrible star. He stared at it as a lamb would stare into the eyes of a tiger. He could not tear his gaze away from it. . . . Without knowing how, he suddenly found himself at the door. He grabbed the knob convulsively. The door opened. He was inside the court room.