In the first place, did you or did you not climb the wall of the Pierron orchard, break the branch, and steal the apples; that is to say, commit the crime of breaking in and theft? In the second place, are you the discharged convict, Jean Valjean-- yes or no?"
The prisoner shook his head with a capable air, like a man who has thoroughly understood, and who knows what answer he is going to make. He opened his mouth, turned towards the President, and said:--
"In the first place--"
Then he stared at his cap, stared at the ceiling, and held his peace.
"Prisoner," said the district-attorney, in a severe voice; "pay attention.
You are not answering anything that has been asked of you.
Your embarrassment condemns you.
It is evident that your name is not Champmathieu; that you are the convict, Jean Valjean, concealed first under the name of Jean Mathieu, which was the name of his mother; that you went to Auvergne; that you were born at Faverolles, where you were a pruner of trees. It is evident that you have been guilty of entering, and of the theft of ripe apples from the Pierron orchard.
The gentlemen of the jury will form their own opinion."
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.
I have been in prison, and they have been dragging me about for the last three months; more than that I cannot say; people talk against me, they tell me, `Answer!' The gendarme, who is a good fellow, nudges my elbow, and says to me in a low voice, `Come, answer!'
I don't know how to explain; I have no education; I am a poor man; that is where they wrong me, because they do not see this.
I have not stolen; I picked up from the ground things that were lying there. You say, Jean Valjean, Jean Mathieu!
I don't know those persons; they are villagers.
I worked for M. Baloup, Boulevard de l'Hopital; my name is Champmathieu.