Part I, Book 7, Chapter 10
Systematic Denials
Hugo really understands a horrible paradox about human nature, which is that the people who are most marginalized or beaten down by society are often their own worst defenders—their rawness, messiness, and appearance of disorder (in short, the authenticity of their suffering) come across as too chaotic, distasteful, or incoherent for “cultured” people to parse.
We saw this with the rambling story Fantine gave to the unfeeling Javert in the previous book, where Madeleine’s kindness lies not only in his financial generosity but in the fact that he actually listened to her and made space to understand her story and her character. We see this again in this chapter, where poor unlucky Champmathieu is made to defend himself.
As Madeleine came in near the end of the proceedings, the trial is coming to an end, and the judge, after the opposing lawyers’ arguments, asks Champmathieu himself if he has anything to add.
If this were a cheesy, trashy novel, perhaps the type of book Madame Thénardier loves to read, this would be the moment where Champmathieu, speaking earnestly and from the heart, wins over the jury and moves everyone with the undeniable force of his plainly spoken innocence. However, Les Misérables is committed to realism, and what actually happens is that Champmathieu erupts into a long awkward ramble.
We get, through his last attempt to defend himself, his backstory, and it’s so wretched that perhaps he and the real Jean Valjean truly have something in common after all. Champmathieu was a cartwright (not one named River, sadly) in Paris, he says, and proceeds to explain how hard the work was, how his body broke down in the punishing conditions of work that he was severely underpaid for. He adds that his daughter fared no better than him, living a hard life working nonstop as a washerwoman who was beaten by her husband and ended up dying (jfc, this book is not called Les Misérables for nothing).
He implores anyone listening to look up the man he worked for, a Monsieur Baloup, who can prove that he was indeed a cartwright, finishing by saying, “I don’t know what more you want of me.”
The sloppiness of his speech with all its tangents irrelevant to the case, his entire lack of refinement and unsophisticated way of speaking, all causes the courtroom audience to start laughing when he is done. Poor Champmathieu doesn’t understand why they’re laughing, so he starts laughing too, which is obviously not a good look.
The prosecutor’s case is in the bag. He declares that it’s clear Champmathieu is really Jean Valjean—just look at him! Obviously the jury will do the right thing and sentence this man guilty!
This is all too much for the overwhelmed Champmathieu, who has another messy outburst. “You’re very wicked, you are!” he shouts at the prosecutor. “I’m a man that doesn’t eat every day,” he continues, and explains that he found the broken branch with apples on the ground after a storm, and as a result of picking it up has been imprisoned and persecuted for three months. He didn’t go to school, he doesn’t know what’s going on, and he has no idea who Jean Valjean is and why everyone is saying that’s who he is.
In response to this word vomit, the prosecutor asks for the witnesses to be called. This is when we learn that Javert already gave his statement and left to attend to business—presumably arresting the wrong people in altercations. The prosecutor presents Javert’s recorded statement: that Javert immediately recognized Champmathieu as the long-lost Jean Valjean, that he believes him guilty of robbing Petit-Gervais (omg, will you let that go already) and suspects that he robbed the bishop. What the hell, I thought the bishop already cleared that up, why are you bringing up this definite non-crime, Javert???
Then three convicts who knew Jean Valjean are brought in to testify. Man, this is DRAMA. I love that Hugo basically flexes his ability to write in a whole multitude of genres in this novel—this series of chapters is as good of a courtroom drama as anything else I’ve seen or read.
The first convict, Brevet, “had a kind of businessman’s face and the air of a crook.” Incredible description, and one that describes way too many public figures today.
The judge tells Brevet that he’s a convicted felon who has lost his civil rights and can’t take the oath, but appeals to his sense of honor. Oh thanks, that should do it.
Brevet announces to the court that the guy on trial is Jean Valjean, though he does note that Valjean “was cunning in prison,” and that this guy he’s looking at “has the air of a dolt now.” Omg. Things are already so bad for Champmathieu and he’s still catching strays.
The other two convicts, Chenildieu and Cochepaille, confirm what Brevet has said, stating that they do indeed recognize the prisoner as Jean Valjean. Each statement causes more buzz in the audience.
Champmathieu’s response to hearing these randos he’s never met seal his fate is a bitter “Terrific!” The audience goes wild. “It was obvious the man was doomed.”
AND THEN!
Our darling, beloved Madeleine, who we know full well is the real Jean Valjean, pushes into the middle of the chamber, calling the three convicts’ names, and yells, “Look over here!” The sound of his voice sends chills through everyone in the courtroom.
Courtroom dramas don’t get better than this. I am so hyped for what happens next.
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