THAT's The Way To Please The Lord! (Javert)

[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

It was your typical busy day in the slums of Saint Michel, the dayworkers milling together with the beggars, the whores and the children that more often than not were pickpockets, out to seize a moment of inattentiveness of whoever who would be so unlucky to pass them by. It was a colourful conglomeration of humanity, and you would think that no one could ever stick out there – though the sight of a monk in brown robes, wearing a satchel slung over his shoulders was still a sight to behold to any foreign eye. To the people of Saint Michel however, Frère Nicephore was a well-known sight, sometimes welcome, sometimes accepted with an eyeroll and a sigh. “There goes Frère Pardon!” a few of the children exclaimed, laughing as they formed a circle around him, tugging at his robe. One particularly bold boy grinned up at him, saying: “I’ve just stole ten francs off a wealthy man, will ye pardon me, Frère Pardon?”

Nicephore raised his brow and bent slightly to look down at the boy. “Do you regret it? Forgiveness is only truthful if the repentance is truthful as well!” The boy gave a laugh. “How can I regret it? He’s been te stupid te not mind his belongings an’ he won’ miss these ten francs!” There was a certain, undeniable logic in the boy’s words, but Nicephore still could not let him get away with stealing. What about the seventh commandment?! He was just about to start explaining to the boy how important it was to not let the crimes of others affect your own view of the world and starting to copy them – an eye for an eye was probably one of the most misunderstood phrases of the Old Testament after all – when suddenly something else diverted his attention.

There was a commotion a little down the road, angry shouts, something about ‘thief’, and then Nicephore saw another of those rascals slipping through the crowd, running smack into a young man who nearly stumble and fell, looking bewildered and a little moony, as if he hadn’t even noticed what was going on. The boy had dropped part of what he had been carrying and rather betook himself to flight than risking being caught while retrieving part of his bounty, and the children that had been flocking around Nicephore quickly followed suit. Now the young man, still not getting what was going on, bent down and looked at the golden watch he had picked from the ground, dumbstruck. And then there was already the shrill tone of a police whistle to be heard and the crowd parted to let through what looked like a Parisean Inspector.

Sadly, Nicephore shook his head, starting forward, as he could already guess what would follow now. The poor simple man had no idea what was dawning on him now...

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Even while on a special mission for the préfet, Inspector Javert could always spare a moment for his ordinary duties. Unfortunately, his investigations had brought him to a quarter where if he was not careful, he would devote too much attention to these moments and not enough to the investigation he was supposed to be conducting. So after a few days of being assigned to the area, he began to make compromises. Anyone who knew him might have thought him incapable of it, but he could compartmentalize and prioritize as needed. Whatever did not pertain to his investigation would have to be set aside. Some things, however, he could not ignore. When he witnessed a theft with his own eyes, for example.

A wealthy or even reasonably well-off man passing through the slums was bound to attract attention no matter what he did. Money, just the slightest whiff of it, drew pickpockets and thieves like moths to a flame. Well, Javert had been watching the young dandy carefully, suspecting that someone would soon get singed. This man was either not familiar with the quarter or a fool because everything about his dress was designed to be conspicuous—bright colors, rich fabrics, cut in the latest fashion. So it came as no surprise when the cry of 'thief' went up, but there was such a crowd surrounding the man, each no doubt hoping to get his share, that Javert didn't see which was the actual culprit.

Chaos descended immediately and Javert rushed to intervene before the thief used the maelstrom to his advantage and vanished into the Paris labyrinth. He was not in uniform but still had his lead-topped cane if anyone doubted his authority, and most were willing to let someone else deal with it anyway. So despite the thick throng he had little difficulty making his way swiftly through it. He was just unsure where it was he should be going. So many people were moving at once, and it was far from sure which was the thief. Javert headed for what seemed the largest disturbance and at last found himself looming over a youth clutching the evidence, or a piece of it, an ornate gold watch. The tiniest upturn of his lips expressed his satisfaction but otherwise his face remained coldly professional.

"Aha! I have my man. Well, you'll soon be marking time very differently. Tally marks against a cell wall." He stared down at the man, an eagle who has caught his prey; but when he received no answer, he barked impatiently, "Are you deaf, or dumb? I have no time for dawdlers; come, spit it out now." For he could see the man was finally attempting to speak but only hesitatingly. Under the inspector's keen gaze he continued to stammer without any coherence, and that was when Javert reached for the handcuffs. "We'll see if you're still so shy in the dock," he commented grimly as he turned to lead the man away, then added to the crowd that had gathered, "Clear the streets!" There was always an audience for this kind of spectacle, and even after his order, a few stragglers remained out of morbid curiosity, sure something might still happen… hoping for it.

[FRÈRE NICÉPHORE]

Only when Javert had practically planted himself in front of the young man, did he realize that something was off. From the blank look on his face, it was clear that he might not understand each and every word that was given with such a morbid eloquence by the Inspector, but the gist of it was clear to him very well. His large, guileless eyes grew even wider and Nicephore saw him open his mouth and close it again a few times, at a total loss at what to say. Then he started to shake his head, subconsciously clutching the pocket watch even tighter. “Bu—Bu M’sieur! I din do nuthin’, I swear. This jus’ lay on the ground, as tha’ boy dropped it, an’ it was so shiny I had te pick it up!” he stuttered, his voice a high, almost boyish pitch. “I dun do stealin’, M’sieur, God an’ all his saints be me witness!”

But Nicephore guessed that would be by no means enough to convince Javert. He had heard of the man and recognized him easily by the descriptions given, as he was surely an imposing figure. What he said to the poor man was maybe right by his own accounts, but it was completely misplaced in the current circumstances as this man clearly had not done wrong. Javert might be thinking he had all the facts by the evidence of the man holding part of the stolen goods, but he had not seen him taking it with his own eyes and therefore could not make assumptions. This was why Nicephore himself needed to clear this up, it was all just a misunderstanding, and surely Javert would see that once he had pointed out what he had seen. That was his firm, if yet a little naïve belief.

Quickly closing the distance between him and the Inspector, he gave a polite incline of his head and tried his most engaging smile. “If you have a moment, Inspector, I think I can clear up this misunderstanding in a heartbeat”, he promised, and gave the poor simple man who practically trembled now an encouraging glance. “I am neither God nor a saint, yet I will try my best to bear witness to his innocence. It is indeed as he says, he was not involved in the initial theft at all, but was so mindless as to pick up the watch when it fell from the true thief’s hands. I have seen it, standing over there!” He pointed back to the house wall and then looked at Javert expectantly, waiting for him to let the man go.

[ÉMILE JAVERT]

Javert was no longer even looking at his catch—the fisherman already pondering his profits—but he did hear the high-pitched voice behind him and after sending most of the gawkers away with a glare, he turned back to the thief. All the while he had been listening with only superficial attention, sure that the whole of it was a pack of lies. Still, he acknowledged the stumbling speech, saying, "So, the cuffs have loosened your tongue! It's a pity you didn't also listen to their counsel. You should listen to them next time. They always advise truth-telling." The inspector thought nothing of the man's confused air, which if he had looked without prejudice, he would have seen as genuine. Certain rogues always tried to play dumb in the hopes of garnering sympathy. It might work with some, but not Javert. He smiled in that terrible, crooked way he had at the thief's attempt at an excuse. "That is a good one—but as many in La Force could tell you, it won't save you."

But not all the onlookers had gone, and as he delivered the blunt facts to this thief who still thought he could dodge the courts entirely, one of them stepped forward. The sight threw Javert instantly into silence and his demeanor shifted to one of deepest respect. True, this man was only a brother, but only in the same sense that a gem was 'only' an emerald. To the inspector, who put all forms of authority on a pedestal, without exceptions, ecclesiastical authority loomed above all the others and even the lowliest monk seemed worthier to him than the highest magistrate. So he stood and listened to the Franciscan without interruption or argument.

It took great effort for him not to speak though; the man's words had put him directly on the horns of a dilemma. He was sure he had his culprit, but on the other hand, a holy man could not lie. Also, if the guilty man was not in custody, it meant he had successfully gotten away and now would be impossible to trace. Casting an eye further along the street he saw nothing but the tattered remnants of the crowd that had caused this, and Javert turned back to the monk in a huff. "Thank you for bearing witness, Frère. You would swear to this in court, if asked to?" The Franciscan's word here on the streets would have been enough for the inspector, but there was a procedure that must be followed. "Before I release him, however, I must check for the rest of what was stolen. The thief—this man or some other—took more than just a watch."

In his search he found nothing; to the thief who was not a thief he said, unlocking the handcuffs with the greatest reluctance, "You should thank the Lord this holy man was here to vouch for you, and pray to Him that he might make you less of a fool." Some, when freed, tried to thank Javert himself, but he was only doing his duty, which called against seizing a man who was not guilty. There was one thing more, though. The inspector put out a hand, palm up, and fixed the man with a stare that was insistent but slightly less hostile. "The watch, if you please. You took it from the ground, that does not make it yours. It belongs to that gentleman over there." He indicated the direction with his eyes. "Unless you want the cuffs to return. That could also be arranged if you'd rather keep that shiny bauble."