Part Three
…
Contrary to what might be expected, when Marion returned to the hospital it was not with a collection of essays on legalism and the moral foundations of an independent system of law. It had not been her business to prepare an attack. She had merely meant to improve her ideas so she would be a better conversational partner on the topic.
She had certainly overestimated the amount of information she supposed Javert's convictions to be based on. He had never read with ease and most of his ideas came from the harsh education he had benefited from in his youth and his later training as a police officer. Any form of reflective thought he had always did his best to avoid, because this inevitably involved at least a partial questioning of authority.
However, there is not a lot a man confined to a bed can do, besides think. And where thought is ceaseless, reflections must intrude.
So when Marion returned to Javert's bedside she found a very different man than she had left at the end of her last visit. She found a man quite eager to talk, though obviously very uncertain as to how he should undertake this.
"I thank you for coming again, Mademoiselle Beaumont," he greeted her, with as dignified a look as he could achieve.
"It is good to see you again, Inspector Javert," she smiled.
The nurse had told her that Monsieur Javert was an inspector of the first class and that they had informed the constabulary of his situation.
"I hope," Javert said in a formal, but sincere voice. "That the time spent on me does not prevent you from attending to those patients in this establishment more deserving of your aid and attention."
Marion sat down and repressed a smile.
"Since our first meeting I have always concluded my visit with a visit to you," she said. "To give us ample time for our book."
She neglected to say what she really thought: that there was not another patient present that seemed to her to be in more need of her attention than himself.
"The nurse informed me a representative of the constabulary has visited you," she said.
"That is correct," Javert confirmed.
"They will be glad not to have lost you," Marion smiled.
A silence met her, instead of the gratified answer that she had expected.
"Shall we choose a new book?" she suggested, a little hastily. "I have rather forced my last selection on you, this time you must certainly choose yourself."
"If you do not find it impertinent, Mademoiselle," Javert said. "I would wish to ask you the meaning behind some of the things you told me the last time we spoke."
"Not at all, Monsieur," Marion answered, rather pleased. "Do ask me."
"What is it," he asked gravely. "That you consider the goal of the laws of man and God alike, if it is not the righteousness I spoke of."
"The laws of God and the laws of man are very different," Marion said seriously. "Although the latter wish to base themselves on the first."
Javert regarded her with great discomfort. He did not understand her meaning. And still less could he understand how her face was so calm and complacent, while stating as she did that the two kinds of laws he had always considered as one, were no such thing.
"The laws that flow from our constitution," Marion carried on. "Cannot comprehend all that God has meant for human lives. They can only describe what men feel to be our rights and prohibit what men feel a society cannot allow. The laws of God are not written down, one cannot read them, they must be felt."
"Felt!" exclaimed Javert.
"Do not blame me for my opinion, Monsieur," Marion said earnestly. "And I beg you, do not direct me to that one book that I do not read so well as I should. I do not consider the Bible, in all its wisdom, as containing God's law. Not in full."
Javert could not speak.
Marion saw his distress and she blamed herself for upsetting a man who was by no means in the full possession of his strength, but she felt she must explain herself fully now.
"What is right and what is wrong in the eyes of God, must be what is called what is Good and what is Evil. These are grand concepts and they change their meaning in every situation of life. Still, I have always found that I felt myself to be right or wrong, whenever I undertook an action. Have you not felt the same?"
"Yes," Javert admitted. "Until recently, I have."
"Do you mean that your feelings have changed recently?" Marion asked.
"In the most terrible way imaginable," Javert replied.
"To be sure," Marion said compassionately. "It is painful to look back on previous actions and feel that what felt right then, your feelings now tell you to be wrong. But if men and women are not allowed to change their minds, how would we improve ourselves?"
"You believe that what is Right and what is Wrong will change with your fancy?" he reproached her.
"Not at all, Inspector," Marion said warmly. "I believe that I have no alternative but to feel, think and judge what is Good every time the question arises and to live with the decision I make at that time. If I look back and find myself wrong, my consolation must be that I have always tried to do good, that I now know better than I once did and that in future I will strive to do good once more."
Whatever feelings these words inspired in Javert, they could not fill his mind completely. For he was very aware that Marion's eyes were fixed on him with such earnest compassion as he had never seen before. A woman like her, he thought, could not be evil. Her logic certainly seemed flawed to him and her conclusions dangerous. But his own logic and conclusions, once a source of pride and satisfaction, he could no longer call comprehensible either.
"I see you do not agree with me, Inspector," Marion said softly. "And I fear I cannot defend my position any further. I can only say that I must believe that God, who knows our hearts, will not judge us if we did wrong, while all of our being believed we did what was right."
She smiled.
"Just as I do not think the men charged with upholding the law will judge the starving thief as harshly as the cold hearted extortionist."
Javert closed his eyes, overcome with misery.
"I have distressed you further," Marion said sorrowfully. "Do forgive me, Monsieur."
He forced himself to look at her.
"No, Mademoiselle," he said. "I distress myself. Do not feel uneasy on my account."
"I have certainly failed miserably in my object," Marion said with a sad smile. "Which was to support your spirits."
"You are mistaken, Mademoiselle," Javert said, making an effort. "I am merely in need of rest." He hesitated. "If you would come again some other time," he added. "I would be very grateful."
"Then I certainly will, Inspector," Marion answered, rising as quietly as possible.
"Good day to you."
"Good day."
Javert lay staring at the ceiling for a long time after she had gone. Mademoiselle Beaumont's self-reproach had cut him deeply. She wished to support his spirits. She had endured his indifferent treatment of her and now she suffered his impertinent questions. A lady like her… The least he could do was try and collect his thoughts, give her some reward for her efforts. He would try.
…
"I do believe your visits to the hospital are doing you more harm than good lately," Monsieur Beaumont exclaimed later that day.
"Oh, papa," Marion sighed. "I fear they do harm to more than myself."
"Come now, my dear," her father said soothingly. "Sit by me and explain."
Marion sat down by her father and told him all about the nameless man that had been rescued from the river. How he had not spoken, how she had read to him, how he had told her his name and how she had tried ever since to introduce new ideas to him. Ideas that might support instead of depress and that might alleviate his suffering.
Monsieur Beaumont listened to his daughter with quiet attention. He had long ago been forced to admit to himself that his daughter was no longer a little girl. However, whenever she was in the flow of strong emotions, he could not see her as anything else. He would always endeavour to comfort her, but to the woman she now was comfort without explanation was worth very little.
"Have you considered, Marion," he said finally. "That this depressed state of feelings may not have originated from this gentleman's injury, but may actually be the cause of it?"
"What make you think so?" Marion inquired.
"Remember," her father said gravely. "That there was no injury to the gentleman's person other than might originate from a great fall and the near drowning in the very river they found him in."
Marion looked at her father with a pained expression.
"You mean to imply…" she began.
"It is very possible," her father said. "That the inspector was not thrown in the river, but lost himself in it by design. Which must necessarily make his state of mind considerably harder to influence."
Marion said nothing, she was looking down at her hands, which lay folded in her lap. Her life had not been as sheltered as that of most ladies from the higher middle class, but she had long felt that she knew very little of the hardships of life in general. The idea of someone taking their own life distressed her greatly. She thought of the man she had met in a hospital bed and thought of him looking to the cold river Seine as his only source of relief. She bowed her head even lower.
"I know, my dear," her father said earnestly. "But do not let it discourage you, consider how remarkable his speaking so freely to you is, under these supposed circumstances."
"That is true," Marion admitted. She smiled at her father. "I shall not be discouraged."
…
Indeed, Marion had every reason to feel encouraged when she next visited Javert, for he made an effort to show her she had not spoken to him in vain. He was more communicative and seemed calmer than she had ever found him.
Still, she did not dare talk about morality again and therefore she proposed to read to him again. He agreed, but before they had chosen a book Marion happened to mention that she had borrowed one of them from her brother. This lead Javert to ask after her family and Marion, who was very fond of her brothers, proceeded to talk about them for quite some time.
"Philippe travels a great deal," she said sorrowfully. "But he is distinguishing himself, which is what he wanted."
"It is important to a man that he should be active," Javert said by way of reply.
"Very true," Marion smiled. "My eldest brother Luc lives not far from papa and me, with his wife and children, which rather fixes him in Paris."
"A man may be active without traveling," Javert suggested.
"Also very true," Marion replied.
After a while she asked Javert after his own family, suggesting his relations probably did not live close by.
"I am afraid I have no family to speak of," Javert answered shortly.
"Forgive me," Marion said. "It was an impertinent question."
Javert could not bear the expression on her face and in an attempt to remove it, he said:
"I will not trouble you with my own family history, it is not worth your notice."
"But I should very much like to hear it," Marion protested. "If you would not object to telling me."
Javert looked at her open face and sighed.
"The truth of the matter is," he said. "Is that I was born in a prison, to a fortune-teller whose husband was in the prison galleys."
A very heavy silence followed. Javert could not bear to look at Marion's face, fully expecting her to be disgusted.
"I am afraid to speak for fear of offending you," Marion finally broke the silence.
"Offending me," Javert spoke incredulously. "There is nothing you could say that would do so."
"Then let me express my admiration for the hard work that must have brought you to your present position," Marion said earnestly. "I can only imagine…"
She shook her head and sank into silence.
Javert did not speak either, but he watched her with wonder. He had himself always been proud of his accomplishments, but his parentage was a shameful secret to him that he guarded well. His confession seemed not to have sunk him in Mademoiselle Beaumont's esteem however, quite the reverse.
"Well," Marion said after a long time. "Now we must really choose a book or we shall never begin."
A book was chosen and she read to him once more.