Two years before Fantine had left her little Cosette with the Thénardiers in 1818, the town where she found work had seen an important event. The town was Montreuil in the north of France, and the event had to do with the local industry. What had taken place there had greatly added to the prosperity of the little town, not to mention the surrounding area.
As long as anyone could remember, Montreuil had been known for the making of a special kind of black glass trinkets and jewelry. This industry had never prospered, however, because the cost of the raw materials was always so high. It seems that near the end of 1815 a stranger had established himself as a resident in town and had been inspired with an idea to change the manufacturing process of those trinkets. By simply substituting a different resin for another, and by bending the clasps rather than soldering them together, he set off a revolution.
In less than three years’ time, the inventor of these changes had become rich, which was good. But what was even better was that nearly everyone around him had become rich as well. The man had been a stranger to the industry and to the town when he arrived there. Nothing was known of his background, and it was rumored he had come to town with very little money—only a few hundred francs at the most. It was with this meager amount of financial capital, along with an ingenious idea, that he had made his fortune, and the fortune of the entire surrounding countryside. Yet when he had arrived in Montreuil, this man had the appearance, the clothing, and the language of a common laborer.
He had made his humble entry into the little town just at nightfall on a December evening with a knapsack on his back and a walking stick in his hand. On that very evening, a large fire had broken out in the town hall, and the stranger had rushed into the flames, risking his own life. He saved the lives of two children, both of whom belonged to the chief of police, explaining why the officials had totally forgotten to ask him for his passport. Then because of his reputation as a local hero, they were embarrassed to ask for his passport, but simply had asked him his name. He was called Monsieur Madeleine.
He appeared to be about fifty years of age and typically seemed somewhat preoccupied. In spite of that he was a good-natured man and offered employment to nearly everyone in the area. His only condition for employment was, in his words, “Be an honest man” or “Be an honest woman.”
Although Monsieur Madeleine was a prosperous businessman and was the impetus behind the dramatic turnaround of the industry in which he had made his fortune, it seemed his primary concern was not the business itself. His chief concern was for people, for he was constantly thinking of others, not himself. Within five years of his arrival in town, he was known to have some 630,000 francs in his account at the Bank of Laffitte in Paris, yet during this same time period he had spent more than one million francs of his own money to benefit the town and its poor. He was considered to be a religious person, something looked upon quite favorably during that time, and he attended Mass every Sunday.
In 1820 Monsieur Madeleine and his service to the community had become so renowned that the king of France appointed him mayor of the town. Madeleine declined the appointment, but after being beseeched by other notable people, the citizens he encountered in the streets, and with additional pressure from the king himself, he relented and accepted the position. But the final nudge that swayed his decision was what an old woman angrily shouted from her doorway: “A good mayor can be a useful thing! Why are you running from all the good you could do?”
Yet from his first day as mayor, he remained a simple man. His hair was gray, his eyes were penetrating, and his skin had the suntanned complexion of a laborer, yet his countenance was that of a thoughtful philosopher. He always wore a hat with a wide brim and a coat of heavy cloth, which he kept buttoned to the chin. He fulfilled his duties as mayor, but other than that one exception, he kept to himself, seldom speaking to others. His primary pleasure consisted of taking daily walks through the open fields.
Madeleine always ate his meals alone while reading a book. He loved books, which he saw as cold, but safe, friends. As a result of his avid reading and his desire to cultivate his mind, each passing year saw his somewhat unrefined language grow to be more genteel and polished.
Although he was no longer young, he was known to be a man of amazing physical strength. He would always offer his assistance to anyone who needed him, whether the task was to lift a horse, push a wagon from the mud, or stop a runaway bull by the horns. And whenever he went out, his pockets were full of money yet empty upon his return. He performed a multitude of good deeds, concealing his involvement, just as others would try to conceal their evil deeds.
People perceived Monsieur Madeleine as one who was happy and sad at the same time. They often would say of him, “Here is a rich man who is humble. Yet he possesses a certain happiness without contentment.”
His room was furnished very simply. There was nothing there even worth mentioning, except that on his fireplace mantel stood two antique candlesticks, which appeared to be made of silver.
Before Madeleine was appointed mayor, near the beginning of 1820, the local newspaper of Montreuil printed an announcement of the death of Monseigneur Bienvenu, bishop of Digne, who had died at the advanced age of eighty-two. The following day, Madeleine was seen dressed totally in black—even with black crepe on his hat to further signify his grief.
His mourning prompted a great deal of speculation in town, especially regarding his past. Of course, it was assumed some relationship must have existed between him and the venerable bishop. Yet the great deal of conversation swirling around him actually served to raise his esteem even more in the eyes of the townspeople, especially among the wealthy. One evening an elderly woman, who was considered to be the “leader” in this petty world of gossip and who was no longer able to constrain herself, ventured to ask him, “Sir, you are no doubt a cousin of the late bishop of Digne?”
“No, madam,” Madeleine responded simply.
“But,” resumed the elderly woman, “you are in mourning for him.”
He replied, “It is because I was a servant in his family in my youth.”
Another topic that prompted additional speculation in the community was Madeleine’s treatment of the young lads from Savoy who traveled the country as chimney sweeps. Each time he would see one of these boys, he would stop the lad, inquire as to his name, and then give him some money. The youths told each other about this, and a great many of them began passing through Montreuil as a result.
Over the course of time, all the speculation regarding Madeleine’s past subsided. His level of respect among the people continued to grow until he was as highly regarded as the bishop of Digne had been during his life. People traveled from more than thirty miles around to consult with Madeleine. He settled differences, prevented lawsuits, and helped to reconcile enemies. The people came to regard him as their judge, and with good reason, for an understanding of the law seemed to be written on his soul.
In spite of his growing esteem, there was one man in town who escaped the contagion. He was an employee of the French government and opposed everything Madeleine did as though some imperceivable yet unstoppable instinct kept him uneasy and alert.
Frequently, as Madeleine walked along the street receiving affectionate greetings from the people, this French official of lofty stature, wearing a heavy gray coat and hat and armed with a thick cane, would abruptly begin to follow him with his eyes. He would stand there slowly shaking his head with his arms folded, while a sneer would cover his face as though he were saying, “Who and what is this man? I’m certain I have seen him somewhere. Whatever the case, I will not be fooled by him!”
This man, whose stern features were almost menacing, was named Javert, and he worked for the police. Madeleine had made his fortune and had already become highly esteemed before Javert had been assigned as a police inspector in Montreuil, so he had seen nothing of Madeleine’s beginnings in the town.
Javert was regarded by the townspeople, especially those who were vagrants, with sheer dread. Even the mention of his name often would cause a person to tremble in fear, and encountering his face unexpectedly would shake someone to the foundation of his soul.
Javert, the detective
He became like an eye, full of suspicion and conjecture, which stared unblinkingly at Madeleine. Madeleine had certainly noticed the scrutiny, but it appeared to be of no importance to him. He never questioned Javert about it, and he never sought him out, but neither did he seek to avoid him. He endured that embarrassing and nearly oppressive gaze without appearing to notice it. In fact, he treated Javert with grace and courtesy, just as he did the rest of the community. Madeleine’s sense of tranquillity and confidence, in spite of this relentless scrutiny, caused Javert some obvious disconcertedness.
Nevertheless, there was soon to be an occasion that would produce a crack in the otherwise firm facade portrayed by Madeleine. One morning as he was walking along an unpaved alley of Montreuil, he heard a noise and then saw a group of people beginning to gather. He approached and saw an accident. A man by the name of Monsieur Fauchelevent was lying beneath his cart after his horse had lost its footing and fallen.
It seems this man was also one of the few enemies Madeleine had at the time. When Madeleine had arrived in the town, Fauchelevent had been a lawyer whose firm was failing. Therefore, he was forced to watch Madeleine, a simple workman, grow rich, while he himself faced ruin. This had filled him with jealousy, and at every opportunity he had done whatever he could to cause harm to Madeleine and his business. Upon becoming bankrupt, he was left with nothing more than this very cart and horse. He then earned his living using his only remaining possessions as a vehicle for hire.
Fauchelevent’s horse had two broken legs and could not stand, and the old man was trapped under the wheels of his cart. To make matters worse, the cart was heavily loaded, and its entire weight was resting on the man’s chest. The men gathering around him had tried unsuccessfully to drag him free, and now one wrong move might kill him. It quickly became evident his only hope was to have the vehicle lifted off him.
Javert had witnessed the accident and already had sent for a jackscrew to lift the cart. When Madeleine arrived, the people respectfully stood aside. Just then Fauchelevent cried out in pain, pleading for help.
Madeleine turned to those around him and asked, “Is there a jackscrew available?”
“We have already sent for one,” answered one of the townspeople.
“But how long will it take to get it?” Madeleine continued.
“We have sent word to the nearest blacksmith, but it will still take a good quarter of an hour,” was the answer.
“A quarter of an hour!” exclaimed Madeleine.
As they waited, the cart continued to sink more deeply into the mud. It had rained the previous evening, and the ground was completely soaked. It became evident that waiting even five more minutes might result in the old man’s chest being crushed.
“It’s impossible to wait a quarter of an hour! It will be too late! Can’t you see that the cart is sinking?” Madeleine exclaimed to those around him.
“We have no other option but to wait,” one man responded.
But Madeleine continued, “There is still room under the cart for one man to crawl beneath it and to raise it with his back. A minute more and this poor man will be gone. Who here has a strong back and legs? I offer five Louis to the man who will do it!”
Yet not a man in the group stirred. “Ten Louis then!” shouted Madeleine.
At this all the men present dropped their eyes to the ground, until one of them muttered, “A man would need to be devilish strong. And even then he runs the risk of getting crushed himself!”
“Come now!” Madeleine insisted, “Twenty Louis!” Yet the same silence remained.
One of the men finally spoke: “It’s not our will that is lacking.”
Javert, whom Madeleine to this point had not noticed in the crowd, added, “What is lacking is strength. One would have to be a hulk of a man to lift a cart like this on his back.” Then, with his eyes fixed on Madeleine and while emphasizing every word he uttered, he said, “Monsieur Madeleine, in all my years, I have known but one man capable of doing what you ask.”
Madeleine shuddered. Javert then added, with an air of indifference, but without removing his eyes from Madeleine, “He was a convict.”
“Is that right?” asked Madeleine.
“Yes, in the prison at Toulon,” Javert stated. At these words, Madeleine turned pale.
Meanwhile the cart slowly continued to sink. Monsieur Fauchelevent screamed, “I can’t breathe! My ribs are breaking! Do something!”
Madeleine glanced about once more before asking, “Is there no one here who wishes to earn twenty Louis and save this poor man’s life?” Again, no one stirred.
Javert reiterated, “As I said, I’ve only known one man who could take the place of a jackscrew, and he was that convict.” Madeleine raised his head, met Javert’s steely gaze, and smiled sadly. Then, without another word, he fell to his knees and crawled under the cart.
The others held their breath as they watched Madeleine, who was now almost flat on his stomach. He made two vain attempts to lift the vehicle from the mud. They pleaded with him to come out, after which the injured old man himself said, “Go away, Madeleine! Can’t you see I’m fated to die? You are going to be crushed as well!” Madeleine did not reply.
At this point, it was nearly impossible for Madeleine to make his way from underneath the cart. Yet suddenly the enormous weight above him seemed to shake, and the wheels began to emerge from their ruts of mud. The men suddenly rushed forward, helped to further lift the cart, and finally pulled the old man to safety. It seems the commitment and bravery of one man suddenly had given strength and courage to them all.
Fauchelevent was extremely fortunate, for although he was badly bruised and sore, his worst injury was a dislocated knee and a broken kneecap. Madeleine instructed that the injured man be taken to an infirmary he had established for his workers in his own factory building, and which was staffed by two Sisters of Charity. When the poor man awoke the following morning, he found a 1,000-franc banknote on his nightstand along with a note in the handwriting of Madeleine, which said, “I am purchasing your horse and your cart.” Of course, the horse was dead and the cart was broken beyond repair.
Fauchelevent recovered fully except that his knee remained somewhat stiff. Madeleine, on the recommendation of the Sisters of Charity and their priest, found the man a job as a gardener in a convent for nuns on the rue Saint Antoine in Paris.
It was shortly afterward that the king had appointed Madeleine mayor of the town. The first time Javert saw Madeleine in his new role as the town’s mayor, he shuddered in the manner a watchdog might experience upon smelling the scent of a wolf on his master’s clothing. From that time forward, Javert avoided the mayor as much as possible. Yet when his duties as a policeman demanded it and he was required to see Madeleine, he addressed him with profound respect—at least outwardly.