A/N Death boring chapter in which nothing happens, and packed with OCs to boot. I apologise but had to get it in somehow
Could someone tell me if Debelleyme was prefect in 23 - all my reference books are in Bristol so I can't check and may well be imagineing things
Oh, and someone wanted a French glossary - here we go:
Chapter 1 - diligence - stage coach, intérieur, coupé and impériale - different classes of travel on these coaches, poire-boire - tip, fiacre - hackney carriage, cab, matelote - fish stew, Bonsoir - good evening, freluquet - insolent pup
Chapter 2 - tiens, ma belle - well, my pretty, rentier - one who lives of income from the stock exchange or other assets,
Chapter 3 - fac - a quebecois word used to change the subject or make another such interjection in a conversation. I'm using it (wrongly) as a northernism. Mec - bloke, in this context rather like saying "The Man!", Meg - old slang for God, tapis-franc - sleazy bar, eau d'aff - brandy. As for what Nana says, you're not getting a translation, so there!
The second revision. Think I might be ill ;-)


On the first of March, 1823, Louis Javert began his duties as an inspector of police stationed at rue Pontoise, Paris, and so the author now turns to the words of the man himself to recount the day – for who better to do so?

Astute readers may wonder as to the provenance of this narrative and I feel it is my authorial duty to explain how it was constructed.. The Author has created itfrom accounts of the incident in his possession - letters, private notebooks and the like – as well as from verbal accounts from those concerned. Where there are lacunae in these sources of information I have taken the liberty of using my own imaginative faculties to bridge them

V.H. 1846


12ieme Mars 1823

. . . As for my own duties, well, I have high hopes that they shall at last prove to be . . . interesting (certainly more interesting than M-sur-M before a certain recent occurrence)

At 8:00am on the morning of the 6th I presented myself to my new commissaire, a M Claude Simonet, for the first time. He was a little, jolly sort of man – very Ancien Régime – with powder in his hair (not that he needed it since what little there was quite grey).

I stepped into the room and bowed deeply, offering him my papers. He responded in the most informal manner, as if I were an old friend he had not seen in years: "Now, you must be the famous Monsieur Javert! Delighted to meet you. Delighted!"

I did not really know what to make of this attitude, being little accustomen to the more social forms of greeting, and must have appeared very stiff. I was even more discomfited when I heard a knock at the door – I had expected that this initial interview would be conducted alone.

"Come in, come in," M Simonet called with the air of an affable priest or schoolmaster. I noted that he had a habit of saying everything twice.

The visitor was a man of my own age, who made me think of what Renée la Bossé used to say about why one should never trust short men – brains too near their bottoms (first damn thing she ever said to me when I came to M-sur-M, now I think about it).who did not take my hand when I offered it, simply glared at me. I glared at him, too. I knew him, I was sure of that, and in no pleasant connection. But it couldn't be, surely? Surely the Good Lord does not hate me that much . . .

"Inspector Leopold Daguerre, of the first class" said M Simonet and the only thing I could register, in my shock, was the ridiculous fact that That Man - Daguerre -was now my superior.

"And this is our new chap, Monsieur Javert! You've heard about him no doubt, Daguerre? Exposed the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer as a recidivist housebreaker, no less!"

There was something about this impish old man with his powder – was he mocking me?

Daguerre remained impassive, sniffed and remarked (rather loftily) that he "did not concern himself with provincial cases." Maybe he has a point. Perhaps it is rather ridiculous of me to be so very vain of having exposed Madeleine?

"Ah, Monsieur Javert, you will have to excuse our Monsieur Daguerre – a very talented man. Again I find myself thinking of little Renée la Bossépulling insolent faces to her girls. I straighten my shoulders, stand up very straight and try not to laugh

" . . . of course, nominally you'll be working under him – as a sort of apprenticeship – but he's a very busy man, so you'll have a very heavy workload of your own – and a degree of autonomy, up to a point, with men under you. Understood?"

"Yes Monsieur" To work under Daguerre? Oh my stars! But I will not argue . . .

The commissaire gave Daguerre a sly look. Daguerre gave him a nod which I suppose was meant to be imperceptible, and then turned to me: "I'll give you fifteen minutes, Javert, and then I'll join you. Can't have the man who arrested the mayor of Montreuil idling the day away now, can we?"

"But of course not," I replied, pretending I'd missed the sarcasm. Of all days, I will not be provoked today. Not by Leopold Daguerre of all people.

"Come, come! I'll show you to you're office myself!" beamed Simonet and almost ricocheted from desk to door. He's very spry, despite his grey hair. But then, as I have been fighting a loosing campaign against grey from my thirtieth year, I suppose it doesn't mean much.

I have an office, no more working in the corner of a stuffy fuggy room, having to wipe coal smuts of every damn thing with people coming and going and making a ruckus. Admittedly, when I die I will probably get a coffin only a very little smaller than the room allocated to me at Pontoise, but it is a start, it is private and it is mine.

Two men had seated themselves in the odd little corners between bits of furniture – I noticed that they had left them most imposing chair, the one behind the desk, and the older of the two men looked at me as if I was expected to take it. But Monsieur Simonet was still in the room, and I did not wish to sit in the presence of my superior officer. Instead I rolled down the collar of my coat, crossed my arms and fell to studying the two men before me, whom I presumed to be the ones described by Simonet as especially mine. The first was a captain, a short, stocky man with a pockmarked face, some ten years older than myself and of a soldierly aspect. The second was a sergeant and – you can imagine my surprise at this – the very same young man that I have mentioned as having followed me on the previous day. I said nothing but looked at him closely and could see that he recognized me also, although he seemed not so much abashed as confused. I seem to attract coincidence - ah, what's the damn word? Like a compass? Magnetism! – with a sort of magnetism today. And they say that these things always come in threes.

"Gentlemen, your new superior, Inspector Javert" I note that he did not give my Christian name: no-one ever does, as if from instinct. "Captain Chrétien Minot and Sergeant Etienne Jolivet – he's new, like yourself. Monsieur Daguerre will be along soon, I should fancy. Minot, I can trust you to tell the inspector all that he needs to know. Good day!"

And so I was alone with my men and, oh rare occurrence! - rather found myself at a loss for words. Maybe it is my gypsy blood, but I am not usually caught at a loss for a phrase or two but . . . perhaps it was my eagerness to make an impression of some kind in the capital, perhaps that everyone I had met here so far seemed quite mad – I do not know . . . I tried to think about what I had said this time three years ago, upon my arrival in Montreuil. I could not remember a word. Ah yes! I had made some speech about it being my first post of command as an inspector and how I intended to make a success of it. All too obviously inappropriate here. Now, if I weren't such a cocksure ass I'd have made some notes for this . . .

"Officers, my name is Inspector Javert, of the second class –" but then they already knew that. "– but then you already know that. Fac – " Fac? Fac! What dammed Artois provincialism is this? Time for an entirely knew tactic, I feel, since the "Buonaparte addressing his troops" lark is not having at all the desired effect. I turned sharply to face the young lad, Jolivet, looked at him very intently and remarked, "I know you." Then, before he had a chance to reply that it simply wasn't possible, I continued: "You were following me yesterday afternoon – around the Quartier Mouffetard."

"I wasn't following you, sir"

"I saw you quite distinctly outside the ironmonger's"

"Please, Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I was in the Quartier Mouffetard yesterday, and I was following someone, but I wasn't following you."

"I see"

"I noticed you though – that's why I might have looked surprised when you came in. I guessed you might be "in our line" but I thought that you might be . . . from Judée."

"I see"

The boy looked very embarrassed, and he had the sort of fine pale skin that shows it too. He bit his lower lip but then, being a candid sort, continued: "To be honest sir, at first . . . At first I thought you might be . . the Mec – "

"Meg, d'you mean? You thought I was God? Well, I'm very flattered Sergeant Jolivet but – "

"No, Sir, the Mec – you know, Vidocq. I've not met him, you see – I've only been here a month – but I've heard about him and from a distance there's something about you. But then I got closer and realized it couldn't be – you're too tall for one thing. But I still thought you might be one of his"

I was almost offended at the thought that I might be mistaken for one of that bunch of brigands and scowled. But then I reflected that it would be churlish to be displeased with a boy who didn't know me from Vidocq or either of us from Adam – how was he to know it was a sensitive point? – and that it was a neat point of observation for someone who had only been in the force a month

"I see. And so, Sergeant Etienne Jolivet, who were you following?"

"An old woman – I'd noticed her about, coming and going, while I was on patrol. Seemed a bit odd."

"I noticed an old woman too – carry on"

"Well, I know this might sound mad, sir, but it looked like she was following you, sir"

"Well now, I can't account for that. And you, Captain – have you got anything to add to our discussion on peculiar old women?"

"Only my wife, Sir"

I glared at him.

"Very sorry, Sir"

"Yes, well, it serves as a timely reminder that we are here to do business. Let me make a few points plain about the way in which I wish to work and then we can get down to it. Firstly, the dignity of the Law is – "

But my two men never did get to find out what the dignity of the law was (it's paramount, by the way) for at that moment we were interrupted by Monsieur Daguerre.

He barged in without knocking, as is his right as my superior and he barked at me rather rudely that he hoped I was "Ready to see what a hard day's work in the capital looked like", as was his right as my superior officer. I told him that I was, narrowing my eyes and frowning, as is just within my rights as an inferior officer.

For the rest of the day I followed either Daguerre, or Captain Minot around on patrol work that was of the most routine and dull kind. I was told that I needed to be "made acquainted with my patch" – no-one seemed to consider that I might have taken the trouble to have done that before I began, or that I might have been here before. Although now I can honestly say that I am intimately acquainted with every leaky gutter and streetlamp, each costermonger, fish-hawker and rag-picker and any clumsy horse or bad driver to be found in the quartier Mouffetard!

Minot, at least was a pleasant and efficient guide and companion, seeming to not only know but be on friendly terms with everybody (Although this is not my style of policing, I see that it can have its benefits, particular in a junior officer) aand ever ready to volunteer information – along with considerable chunks of his life history. He had, as I guessed, been a soldier – served in the Russian campaign, no less – who had joined the police when Buonaparte got packed off to Elba. As I already knew, he had a wife and also children and grandchildren. I don't entirely approve of agents having families, but he was obviously very proud of them.

At about seven we came upon Daguerre, who was leaving a tapis-franc with a bottle of what looked like the cheapest sort of eau d'aff.

"Well," he said, "Well. Monsieur Minot, do you think we can trust Javert, apprehender of the famous mayor of Montreuil, out on his own tonight"

"I would have thought yes," answered Minot with a neutral, military face.

"Fine and good - he can take my beat for tonight"

I must have made some foolish little fish gasp in the back of my throat as he turn to me and snapped, "Well, I'm meant to be training you, aren't I? Besides, frees me up to work for Delavau, you'd be doing us all a favour. Take and hour to sort yourself out if you must, then get on with it. Start up round Panthéon –I showed you the route."

How like Daguerre to mention the prefect! No-one changes!

With that he disappeared back into the tapis-franc.

Well, I had no intention of taking that hour he'd offered me – although I'd not eaten since the morning. All I wanted was to get down to the job, finally alone and in a position to do something useful. Maybe I would try to rejoin Minot later – to whom I had taken a liking since he seemed so calm and professional, despite his awful jokes. But when I went to my watch pocket to check the hour, I'd only forgotten the wretched thing. I'd had no occasion to use it thus far but I knew I would have to go back home for it now.

I walked home and let myself in. In the hallway I found the student and young Moulin busying themselves to got out to some public ball

"Now, don't you give me any trouble later on, my young blades," I remarked to them

On the second floor I overheard the man with the painter, Monsieur Fameuil, and his stockfish of a wife having a quarrel. On the third floor I got out my key, let myself in, hastily retrieved my watch from my other waistcoat and locked up behind me. On the stairs going down I was passed by the Viau girl, rather flustered and swathed in a black domino "Where the devil could she be off to?" I thought. I caught her eye and she looked down, as if embarrassed "To the same place as the two young men, perhaps?"

"You're out late, Monsieur" she said.

"As are you, Mademoiselle Viau. I keep late hours in my profession."

"Nana, please – everyone else does. Have you eaten, Monsieur? she said, not unkindly

"No," answered I, surprised at the question.

"You should," she went on, then stuck her hand out from inside the domino with a slice of coarse bread in it and said in an indifferent tone "Take this then. Not as if I want it"

"No. Thank you, mademoiselle," I aid, more harshly than perhaps I ought, I don't know why. There was not much of charity in the way she said it, after all – more as if I was a silly, wayward child.

"Fine, suit yourself. But Kousket Zo hanter voued"

Or, at least, that's what I think she said. That's the best I can render it on paper. I've no idea what it was supposed to mean.

"What was that?"

"Nothing"

"What was that you said?"

"I didn't say anything" she said in a surly, fearful voice

"Look, kid, it's not the sort of thing you can lie about. What did you say?" God but I was not in the mood to have some daft bint playing silly buggers with me at home – I get enough of that at work. Especially not this strange, insolent cat of a girl. She looked at me as if judging her next step, then, as if she understood me very well, looked away and said: "I just said that you could please yourself and . . . oh, does it matter? . . . that you should eat something"

"Well, next time hopefully all this fuss won't be necessary. Eh, Mademoiselle Viau?"

She looked like a kid that's been smacked by her mother for taking sweets, and said nothing.

"Now, I'll whistle you a cab if you like – "

She gave me a look that said most wonderfully "And how am I going to pay for that?" which would have earned her a fortune (or, at least her fare) at the Variétés.

I think I have already remarked to you that everyone I've met in Paris seems somehow odd. But there is a better illustration than even this to follow . . .