#Champmathieu

[i-go-like-the-raven]

Back at it

[lesmisscraper]

All the people in the tribunal got chilled. Volume 1, Book 7, Chapter 10.

Clips from <Il cuore di Cosette>.

[ueinra]

The prisoner had finally resumed his seat; he arose abruptly when the district-attorney had finished, and exclaimed:—

“You are very wicked; that you are! This what I wanted to say; I could not find words for it at first. I have stolen nothing. I am a man who does not have something to eat every day. I was coming from Ailly; I was walking through the country after a shower, which had made the whole country yellow: even the ponds were overflowed, and nothing sprang from the sand any more but the little blades of grass at the wayside. I found a broken branch with apples on the ground; I picked up the branch without knowing that it would get me into trouble.”

— Les Misérables, I.VII.X Illustrated by Carlo Chiostri (Italian Edition, 1930)

[a-moon-eclipsed]

"his hair, which had still been gray on his arrival in Arras, was now entirely white: it had turned white during the hour he had sat there."

les misérables 1.7.11

my dude literally just

[hadleysmis]

Hadley's notes on the Châtelet production

Champmathieu's trial

In ‘Who Am I’, you can see Champmathieu be carried to trial, and he helplessly looks at Jean Valjean.

Champmathieu is on the stand, bars in front of him mimicking prison bars.

[psalm22-6]

Belgian collector's cards advertising Les Misérables (1934) at the Majestic in Gand [source]

[dolphin1812]

We’re continuing with the strictness of the convent, with Hugo again emphasizing how nuns are even more limited in their behavior, but the girls are still very, very constrained. However, just because there are rules doesn’t mean they adhere to all of them rigidly. In many cases, they break or bend them out of their own interests (I think Hugo is mainly implying their wish to explore romance and/or sexuality with all the stories about boys, but I’m not the best person to examine that).

Hugo returns to the idea of historical documentation when describing these instances of rule-bending:

“I will now cede the privilege of speech to a letter which lies before me, a letter written five and twenty years ago by an old pupil, now Madame la Duchesse de ——, one of the most elegant women in Paris. I quote literally: “One hides one’s pear or one’s apple as best one may. When one goes upstairs to put the veil on the bed before supper, one stuffs them under one’s pillow and at night one eats them in bed, and when one cannot do that, one eats them in the closet.” That was one of their greatest luxuries.”

The letter grants legitimacy to his words, and the woman’s high status suggests that most pupils (”good” or “bad”) engaged in these sorts of behaviors. It wasn’t a predictor for success or failure, but a part of the boundary-pushing of childhood.

It’s also interesting that the girls specifically take apples and pears that they’re not supposed to. Apples are common in Biblical imagery (think Eve in the Garden of Eden). They’re associated with original sin in that context. Similarly, in his Confessions, Augustine (an early Christian who’s considered a saint) wrote about stealing pears as a boy and his subsequent guilt over that act. He, too, was drawing on that Biblical connection, but notably, Hugo doesn’t attach any blame or guilt to their actions. These fruits are purely a “luxury,” without any moral connotations attached to them. He seems to expect childhood to be filled with minor mischiefs, and the girls aren’t an exception just because they’re in a convent. They also specifically take fruit that’s fallen or that’s spoiled, suggesting that it’s more of a game that comes up when a fruit has fallen than a plan to take fruits.

Of course, the girls’ “luxuries” are more acceptable because they’re (mostly) wealthy. They have to hide the fruits, but if caught, their punishment is likely something within the convent. Outside its walls, for the poor, punishment is more severe. Champmathieu was almost sentenced to life in prison for “stealing” apples, and he claimed to have picked them up from the ground in the same way these girls did. These girls deserve to have their luxuries, but the overlap in what’s taken reminds us of how harsh judgments can be towards those of lower classes.

[a-la-sante-du-progres]

Obviously a joke but that's unironically the issue I have with deontological ethics, you take care only about your own virtue, not about the people who theorically should be the target of your good deeds.

I love how Who am I? Is basically just Jean Valjean's own personal trolley problem.

Like:

[croc-odette]

just thought about avery brooks as jean valjean

[ofpd]

guys i donated blood and didn't pass out this time

[javertautismtruther]

M. Madeleine.

Like if you agree

[lesmisscraper]

Who am I? Volume 1, Book 7, Chapter 11.

[lesmislettersdaily]

Champmathieu More And More Astonished

Volume 1: Fanitne; Book 7: The Champmathieu Affair; Chapter 11: Champmathieu More And More Astonished

It was he, in fact. The clerk’s lamp illumined his countenance. He held his hat in his hand; there was no disorder in his clothing; his coat was carefully buttoned; he was very pale, and he trembled slightly; his hair, which had still been gray on his arrival in Arras, was now entirely white: it had turned white during the hour he had sat there.

All heads were raised: the sensation was indescribable; there was a momentary hesitation in the audience, the voice had been so heart-rending; the man who stood there appeared so calm that they did not understand at first. They asked themselves whether he had indeed uttered that cry; they could not believe that that tranquil man had been the one to give that terrible outcry.

This indecision only lasted a few seconds. Even before the President and the district-attorney could utter a word, before the ushers and the gendarmes could make a gesture, the man whom all still called, at that moment, M. Madeleine, had advanced towards the witnesses Cochepaille, Brevet, and Chenildieu.

“Do you not recognize me?” said he.

All three remained speechless, and indicated by a sign of the head that they did not know him. Cochepaille, who was intimidated, made a military salute. M. Madeleine turned towards the jury and the court, and said in a gentle voice:—

“Gentlemen of the jury, order the prisoner to be released! Mr. President, have me arrested. He is not the man whom you are in search of; it is I: I am Jean Valjean.”

Not a mouth breathed; the first commotion of astonishment had been followed by a silence like that of the grave; those within the hall experienced that sort of religious terror which seizes the masses when something grand has been done.

In the meantime, the face of the President was stamped with sympathy and sadness; he had exchanged a rapid sign with the district-attorney and a few low-toned words with the assistant judges; he addressed the public, and asked in accents which all understood:—

“Is there a physician present?”

The district-attorney took the word:—

“Gentlemen of the jury, the very strange and unexpected incident which disturbs the audience inspires us, like yourselves, only with a sentiment which it is unnecessary for us to express. You all know, by reputation at least, the honorable M. Madeleine, mayor of M. sur M.; if there is a physician in the audience, we join the President in requesting him to attend to M. Madeleine, and to conduct him to his home.”

M. Madeleine did not allow the district-attorney to finish; he interrupted him in accents full of suavity and authority. These are the words which he uttered; here they are literally, as they were written down, immediately after the trial by one of the witnesses to this scene, and as they now ring in the ears of those who heard them nearly forty years ago:—

“I thank you, Mr. District-Attorney, but I am not mad; you shall see; you were on the point of committing a great error; release this man! I am fulfilling a duty; I am that miserable criminal. I am the only one here who sees the matter clearly, and I am telling you the truth. God, who is on high, looks down on what I am doing at this moment, and that suffices. You can take me, for here I am: but I have done my best; I concealed myself under another name; I have become rich; I have become a mayor; I have tried to re-enter the ranks of the honest. It seems that that is not to be done. In short, there are many things which I cannot tell. I will not narrate the story of my life to you; you will hear it one of these days. I robbed Monseigneur the Bishop, it is true; it is true that I robbed Little Gervais; they were right in telling you that Jean Valjean was a very vicious wretch. Perhaps it was not altogether his fault. Listen, honorable judges! a man who has been so greatly humbled as I have has neither any remonstrances to make to Providence, nor any advice to give to society; but, you see, the infamy from which I have tried to escape is an injurious thing; the galleys make the convict what he is; reflect upon that, if you please. Before going to the galleys, I was a poor peasant, with very little intelligence, a sort of idiot; the galleys wrought a change in me. I was stupid; I became vicious: I was a block of wood; I became a firebrand. Later on, indulgence and kindness saved me, as severity had ruined me. But, pardon me, you cannot understand what I am saying. You will find at my house, among the ashes in the fireplace, the forty-sou piece which I stole, seven years ago, from Little Gervais. I have nothing farther to add; take me. Good God! the district-attorney shakes his head; you say, ‘M. Madeleine has gone mad!’ you do not believe me! that is distressing. Do not, at least, condemn this man! What! these men do not recognize me! I wish Javert were here; he would recognize me.”

Nothing can reproduce the sombre and kindly melancholy of tone which accompanied these words.

He turned to the three convicts, and said:—

“Well, I recognize you; do you remember, Brevet?”

He paused, hesitated for an instant, and said:—

“Do you remember the knitted suspenders with a checked pattern which you wore in the galleys?”

Brevet gave a start of surprise, and surveyed him from head to foot with a frightened air. He continued:—

“Chenildieu, you who conferred on yourself the name of ‘Jenie-Dieu,’ your whole right shoulder bears a deep burn, because you one day laid your shoulder against the chafing-dish full of coals, in order to efface the three letters T. F. P., which are still visible, nevertheless; answer, is this true?”

“It is true,” said Chenildieu.

He addressed himself to Cochepaille:—

“Cochepaille, you have, near the bend in your left arm, a date stamped in blue letters with burnt powder; the date is that of the landing of the Emperor at Cannes, March 1, 1815; pull up your sleeve!”

Cochepaille pushed up his sleeve; all eyes were focused on him and on his bare arm.

A gendarme held a light close to it; there was the date.

The unhappy man turned to the spectators and the judges with a smile which still rends the hearts of all who saw it whenever they think of it. It was a smile of triumph; it was also a smile of despair.

“You see plainly,” he said, “that I am Jean Valjean.”

In that chamber there were no longer either judges, accusers, nor gendarmes; there was nothing but staring eyes and sympathizing hearts. No one recalled any longer the part that each might be called upon to play; the district-attorney forgot he was there for the purpose of prosecuting, the President that he was there to preside, the counsel for the defence that he was there to defend. It was a striking circumstance that no question was put, that no authority intervened. The peculiarity of sublime spectacles is, that they capture all souls and turn witnesses into spectators. No one, probably, could have explained what he felt; no one, probably, said to himself that he was witnessing the splendid outburst of a grand light: all felt themselves inwardly dazzled.

It was evident that they had Jean Valjean before their eyes. That was clear. The appearance of this man had sufficed to suffuse with light that matter which had been so obscure but a moment previously, without any further explanation: the whole crowd, as by a sort of electric revelation, understood instantly and at a single glance the simple and magnificent history of a man who was delivering himself up so that another man might not be condemned in his stead. The details, the hesitations, little possible oppositions, were swallowed up in that vast and luminous fact.

It was an impression which vanished speedily, but which was irresistible at the moment.

“I do not wish to disturb the court further,” resumed Jean Valjean. “I shall withdraw, since you do not arrest me. I have many things to do. The district-attorney knows who I am; he knows whither I am going; he can have me arrested when he likes.”

He directed his steps towards the door. Not a voice was raised, not an arm extended to hinder him. All stood aside. At that moment there was about him that divine something which causes multitudes to stand aside and make way for a man. He traversed the crowd slowly. It was never known who opened the door, but it is certain that he found the door open when he reached it. On arriving there he turned round and said:—

“I am at your command, Mr. District-Attorney.”

Then he addressed the audience:—

“All of you, all who are present—consider me worthy of pity, do you not? Good God! When I think of what I was on the point of doing, I consider that I am to be envied. Nevertheless, I should have preferred not to have had this occur.”

He withdrew, and the door closed behind him as it had opened, for those who do certain sovereign things are always sure of being served by some one in the crowd.

Less than an hour after this, the verdict of the jury freed the said Champmathieu from all accusations; and Champmathieu, being at once released, went off in a state of stupefaction, thinking that all men were fools, and comprehending nothing of this vision.

[cometomecosette]

Inspired by this Dracula poll.

[secretmellowblog]

One of my pet peeve misinterpretations of Les Mis— which I see in both adaptations, analysis, and fandom— is that “the criminal Justice system’s mistreatment of Valjean was wrong because Valjean was innocent. He was not like other criminals, he was a special exception, a good person who was arrested by mistake.”

The implication is that if Jean Valjean were not innocent, if he were a “real criminal,” the abuse and persecution would have been justified.

One example of this is in the 1935 American Les Mis adaptation. The judge who sentences Valjean proudly says that he is “guilty until proven innocent”— implying that the reason he was arrested was because 19th century France was savage and uncivilized in a way that the very wonderful fair equal society of 1935 America was not, and that Valjean would never have been declared guilty in a country with a proper court system. (Never mind that people are still given inhumanly long sentences for petty crimes even in 2024 America.)

Essentially, rather than analyze the way Les Mis criticizes the cruelty/inhumanity of prison,…..the novel gets framed as a simple story of mistaken identity. Jean Valjean is framed as a good person who is “falsely accused” of being a criminal, when in reality he never actually did a crime, or he “expiated” it, and should be considered wholly innocent ……Unlike Those Other Dirty Criminals Who Deserve What They Get.

This really stands out to me because of one of the things that separates Jean Valjean from Thenardier/Javert is is his unwillingness to betray other people from his class in order to save himself. He refuses to say “I’m not like other criminals” and to claim that he is a unique exception. He is tempted to do it— ex, when he briefly tries to convince himself that his life is worth more than Champmathieu’s, and that his life of theft and poverty isn’t as valuable as his own— but he recognizes how cruel and wrong the idea is. He is an ordinary John Doe that happened to be given a life changing act of grace and mercy; he’s not an innocent angel who was sent to the galleys by mistake.

As a character, Jean Valjean is marked by his refusal to declare himself the “deserving poor” and the others as “undeserving” criminals, so it’s strange that take rears its head so often.