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1862年出版的法语小说《悲惨世界》是19世纪最伟大的小说之一。在英语国家，小说沿用其法文书名“悲惨的人们”（Les Misérables）。
故事设定在自拿破仑遭遇滑铁卢战役的1815年及之后二十多年间的法国，小说刻画了这个时代背景下的几个人物形象：因偷窃面包入狱的获释罪犯冉阿让，狂热的警察沙威，仁爱的米里哀主教，美丽女工芳汀及其私生女珂赛特，无赖的酒馆老板夫妇，六月暴动中“ABC之友”组织的领袖安灼拉，与保皇派祖父决裂后加入“ABC之友”的贵族青年学生马留斯等等。主线围绕冉阿让试图赎罪的历程，检视他的赎罪行为在当时的社会环境下所造成的影响。这部宏大的小说，融进了法国的历史，以及巴黎的建筑、政治、道德哲学、法律、正义、宗教信仰，检视了善、恶和法律的本质，同样还有爱情与亲情的种类和本质。用雨果的话来说。这是一部“宗教作品”。
以下选段中，警察沙威，一个法律的执行者，在被他竭力追捕的卑贱苦役犯冉阿让饶过一命后他内心极度冲突和挣扎。沙威可以说是一个有强烈道德感的人，这从他自尽之前在“呈政府的报告”中仍考虑怎样替政府节省开支的细节中可以看得出来，在沙威的世界里，冉阿让是一个一次入狱终身携带有色身份证的“坏人”，他无法理解这样一个被法律界定为罪犯的人会是善良的人。他无法行使他的职责，抓捕罪犯、他的救命名恩人冉阿让，他又谴责自己吃着政府的面包却不履行职责，在内心得不到解脱的情况下投河结束生命。
比起因为偷盗一块面包而入狱19年的冉阿让，比起出售了自己的头发、牙齿和身体的女工芳汀，比起在以失败告终的六月暴动中牺牲的起义者，沙威是“悲惨的人们”之一吗？是！他的世界被一个他所鄙夷的人完全颠覆，在他的认知世界里，他找不到出路，只有一死解脱。
同样的无力感，我们在德国作家施林克小说《朗读者》中也可以体会得到。6个纳粹集中营的女看守在教堂失火的情况下仍然不肯打开大门，以致里面的600人全部葬身火海。战后，看守之一汉娜在接受法庭审判时，在被告席上用充满正义的坚定语气拍着桌子解释自己为什么在失火的情况下仍不打开大门：“明显的，原因是很明显的，我们不能开门，（因为）我们是守卫，我们的工作是看着囚犯，我们不能让她们逃跑……我们不能让她们逃跑，看守她们，这是我们的责任！”这样的描写带给读者内心的无力感沉重到了让人头皮发麻的程度，你会觉得汉娜是“坏人”吗？很可能会，甚至会觉得她是“恶魔”。其余5人一口咬定汉娜是主使，并且作假指认6人共同签名的事件报告是汉娜一个人起草的，而起草人这个细节很可能影响判决结果。但汉娜为了保守自己不识字不会写字的这个秘密，没有进行笔迹对照，承认是自己起草了报告。汉娜入狱服刑了。从我们的角度来看，纳粹分子得到审判，正义得到了伸张。我们从汉娜的角度来看，她的内心并不认为自己有过错，正义得到伸张正是这个“恶魔”展现出了一点每个人都有的一种羞耻感。她在她的世界里活得卑微。
难怪莫言会说“最好的小说一定是叫人欲哭无泪的。”（张丹凤）
BOOK FOURTH.JAVERT DERAILED
CHAPTER I
[1] Javert leaned both elbows on the parapet， his chin resting in both hands， and， while his nails were mechanically twined in the abundance of his whiskers， he meditated. A novelty， a revolution， a catastrophe had just taken place in the depths of his being； and he had something upon which to examine himself.
[2] Javert was undergoing horrible suffering.
[3] For several hours， Javert had ceased to be simple. He was troubled； that brain， so limpid in its blindness， had lost its transparency； that crystal was clouded. Javert felt duty divided within his conscience， and he could not conceal the fact from himself. When he had so unexpectedly encountered Jean Valjean on the banks of the Seine， there had been in him something of the wolf which regains his grip on his prey， and of the dog who finds his master again.
[4] He beheld before him two paths， both equally straight， but he beheld two； and that terrified him； him， who had never in all his life known more than one straight line. And， the poignant anguish lay in this， that the two paths were contrary to each other. One of these straight lines excluded the other. Which of the two was the true one？ [5] His situation was indescribable.
[6] To owe his life to a malefactor， to accept that debt and to repay it； to be， in spite of himself， on a level with a fugitive from justice， and to repay his service with another service； to allow it to be said to him， "Go，" and to say to the latter in his turn： "Be free"； to sacrifice to personal motives duty， that general obligation， and to be conscious， in those personal motives， of something that was also general， and， perchance， superior， to betray society in order to remain true to his conscience； that all these absurdities should be realized and should accumulate upon him，—this was what overwhelmed him.
[7] One thing had amazed him，—this was that Jean Valjean should have done him a favor， and one thing petrified him，—that he， Javert， should have done Jean Valjean a favor.
[8] Where did he stand？ He sought to comprehend his position， and could no longer find his bearings.
[9] What was he to do now？ To deliver up Jean Valjean was bad； to leave Jean Valjean at liberty was bad. In the first case， the man of authority fell lower than the man of the galleys， in the second， a convict rose above the law， and set his foot upon it. In both cases， dishonor for him， Javert. There was disgrace in any resolution at which he might arrive. Destiny has some extremities which rise perpendicularly from the impossible， and beyond which life is no longer anything but a precipice. Javert had reached one of those extremities.
[10] One of his anxieties consisted in being constrained to think. The very violence of all these conflicting emotions forced him to it. Thought was something to which he was unused， and which was peculiarly painful.
[11] In thought there always exists a certain amount of internal rebellion； and it irritated him to have that within him.
[12] Thought on any subject whatever， outside of the restricted circle of his functions， would have been for him in any case useless and a fatigue； thought on the day which had just passed was a torture. Nevertheless， it was indispensable that he should take a look into his conscience， after such shocks， and render to himself an account of himself.
[13] What he had just done made him shudder. He， Javert， had seen fit to decide， contrary to all the regulations of the police， contrary to the whole social and judicial organization， contrary to the entire code， upon a release； this had suited him； he had substituted his own affairs for the affairs of the public； was not this unjustifiable？ [14] Every time that he brought himself face to face with this deed without a name which he had committed， he trembled from head to foot. Upon what should he decide？ One sole resource remained to him； to return in all haste to the Rue de l'Homme Arme， and commit Jean Valjean to prison. It was clear that that was what he ought to do. He could not.
[15] Something barred his way in that direction.
[16] Something？ What？ Is there in the world， anything outside of the tribunals， executory sentences， the police and the authorities？ Javert was overwhelmed.
[17] A galley-slave sacred！ A convict who could not be touched by the law！ And that the deed of Javert！
[18] Was it not a fearful thing that Javert and Jean Valjean， the man made to proceed with vigor， the man made to submit，—that these two men who were both the things of the law， should have come to such a pass， that both of them had set themselves above the law？ What then！ such enormities were to happen and no one was to be punished！ Jean Valjean， stronger than the whole social order， was to remain at liberty， and he， Javert， was to go on eating the government's bread！
[19] His revery gradually became terrible.
[20] He might， athwart this revery， have also reproached himself on the subject of that insurgent who had been taken to the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire； but he never even thought of that. The lesser fault was lost in the greater. Besides， that insurgent was， obviously， a dead man， and， legally， death puts an end to pursuit.
[21] Jean Valjean was the load which weighed upon his spirit.
[22] Jean Valjean disconcerted him. All the axioms which had served him as points of support all his life long， had crumbled away in the presence of this man. Jean Valjean's generosity towards him， Javert， crushed him. Other facts which he now recalled， and which he had formerly treated as lies and folly， now recurred to him as realities. M. Madeleine re-appeared behind Jean Valjean， and the two figures were superposed in such fashion that they now formed but one， which was venerable. Javert felt that something terrible was penetrating his soul—admiration for a convict. Respect for a galley-slave—is that a possible thing？ He shuddered at it， yet could not escape from it. In vain did he struggle， he was reduced to confess， in his inmost heart， the sublimity of that wretch. This was odious.
[23] A benevolent malefactor， merciful， gentle， helpful， clement， a convict， returning good for evil， giving back pardon for hatred， preferring pity to vengeance， preferring to ruin himself rather than to ruin his enemy， saving him who had smitten him， kneeling on the heights of virtue， more nearly akin to an angel than to a man. Javert was constrained to admit to himself that this monster existed. [24] Things could not go on in this manner.
[25] Certainly， and we insist upon this point， he had not yielded without resistance to that monster， to that infamous angel， to that hideous hero， who enraged almost as much as he amazed him. Twenty times， as he sat in that carriage face to face with Jean Valjean， the legal tiger had roared within him. A score of times he had been tempted to fling himself upon Jean Valjean， to seize him and devour him， that is to say， to arrest him.
[26] What more simple， in fact？ To cry out at the first post that they passed：—"Here is a fugitive from justice， who has broken his ban！" to summon the gendarmes and say to them： "This man is yours！" then to go off， leaving that condemned man there， to ignore the rest and not to meddle further in the matter. This man is forever a prisoner of the law； the law may do with him what it will. What could be more just？ Javert had said all this to himself； he had wished to pass beyond， to act， to apprehend the man， and then， as at present， he had not been able to do it； and every time that his arm had been raised convulsively towards Jean Valjean's collar， his hand had fallen back again， as beneath an enormous weight， and in the depths of his thought he had heard a voice， a strange voice crying to him：—"It is well. Deliver up your savior. Then have the basin of Pontius Pilate brought and wash your claws."
[27] Then his reflections reverted to himself and beside Jean Valjean glorified he beheld himself， Javert， degraded.
[28] A convict was his benefactor！
[29] But then， why had he permitted that man to leave him alive？ He had the right to be killed in that barricade. He should have asserted that right. It would have been better to summon the other insurgents to his succor against Jean Valjean， to get himself shot by force.
[30] His supreme anguish was the loss of certainty. He felt that he had been uprooted. The code was no longer anything more than a stump in his hand. He had to deal with scruples of an unknown species. There had taken place within him a sentimental revelation entirely distinct from legal affirmation， his only standard of measurement hitherto. To remain in his former uprightness did not suffice. A whole order of unexpected facts had cropped up and subjugated him. A whole new world was dawning on his soul： kindness accepted and repaid， devotion， mercy， indulgence， violences committed by pity on austerity， respect for persons， no more definitive condemnation， no more conviction， the possibility of a tear in the eye of the law， no one knows what justice according to God， running in inverse sense to justice according to men. He perceived amid the shadows the terrible rising of an unknown moral sun； it horrified and dazzled him. An owl forced to the gaze of an eagle. [31] He said to himself that it was true that there were exceptional cases， that authority might be put out of countenance， that the rule might be inadequate in the presence of a fact， that everything could not be framed within the text of the code， that the unforeseen compelled obedience， that the virtue of a convict might set a snare for the virtue of the functionary， that destiny did indulge in such ambushes， and he reflected with despair that he himself had not even been fortified against a surprise.
[32] He was forced to acknowledge that goodness did exist. This convict had been good. And he himself， unprecedented circumstance， had just been good also. So he was becoming depraved.
[33] He found that he was a coward. He conceived a horror of himself.
[34] Javert's ideal， was not to be human， to be grand， to be sublime； it was to be irreproachable.
[35] Now， he had just failed in this.
[36] How had he come to such a pass？ How had all this happened？ He could not have told himself. He clasped his head in both hands， but in spite of all that he could do， he could not contrive to explain it to himself.
[37] He had certainly always entertained the intention of restoring Jean Valjean to the law of which Jean Valjean was the captive， and of which he， Javert， was the slave. Not for a single instant while he held him in his grasp had he confessed to himself that he entertained the idea of releasing him. It was， in some sort， without his consciousness， that his hand had relaxed and had let him go free.
[38] All sorts of interrogation points flashed before his eyes. He put questions to himself， and made replies to himself， and his replies frightened him. He asked himself： "What has that convict done， that desperate fellow， whom I have pursued even to persecution， and who has had me under his foot， and who could have avenged himself， and who owed it both to his rancor and to his safety， in leaving me my life， in showing mercy upon me？ His duty？ No. Something more. And I in showing mercy upon him in my turn—what have I done？ My duty？ No. Something more. So there is something beyond duty？" Here he took fright； his balance became disjointed； one of the scales fell into the abyss， the other rose heavenward， and Javert was no less terrified by the one which was on high than by the one which was below. Without being in the least in the world what is called Voltairian or a philosopher， or incredulous， being， on the contrary， respectful by instinct， towards the established church， he knew it only as an august fragment of the social whole； order was his dogma， and sufficed for him； ever since he had attained to man's estate and the rank of a functionary， he had centred nearly all his religion in the police. Being，—and here we employ words without the least irony and in their most serious acceptation， being， as we have said， a spy as other men are priests. He had a superior， M. Gisquet； up to that day he had never dreamed of that other superior， God. [39] This new chief， God， he became unexpectedly conscious of， and he felt embarrassed by him. This unforeseen presence threw him off his bearings； he did not know what to do with this superior， he， who was not ignorant of the fact that the subordinate is bound always to bow， that he must not disobey， nor find fault， nor discuss， and that， in the presence of a superior who amazes him too greatly， the inferior has no other resource than that of handing in his resignation.
[40] But how was he to set about handing in his resignation to God？
[41] However things might stand，—and it was to this point that he reverted constantly，—one fact dominated everything else for him， and that was， that he had just committed a terrible infraction of the law. He had just shut his eyes on an escaped convict who had broken his ban. He had just set a galley-slave at large. He had just robbed the laws of a man who belonged to them. That was what he had done. He no longer understood himself. The very reasons for his action escaped him； only their vertigo was left with him. Up to that moment he had lived with that blind faith which gloomy probity engenders. This faith had quitted him， this probity had deserted him. All that he had believed in melted away. Truths which he did not wish to recognize were besieging him， inexorably. Henceforth， he must be a different man. He was suffering from the strange pains of a conscience abruptly operated on for the cataract. He saw that which it was repugnant to him to behold. He felt himself emptied， useless， put out of joint with his past life， turned out， dissolved. Authority was dead within him. He had no longer any reason for existing.
[42] A terrible situation！ to be touched.
故事设定在自拿破仑遭遇滑铁卢战役的1815年及之后二十多年间的法国，小说刻画了这个时代背景下的几个人物形象：因偷窃面包入狱的获释罪犯冉阿让，狂热的警察沙威，仁爱的米里哀主教，美丽女工芳汀及其私生女珂赛特，无赖的酒馆老板夫妇，六月暴动中“ABC之友”组织的领袖安灼拉，与保皇派祖父决裂后加入“ABC之友”的贵族青年学生马留斯等等。主线围绕冉阿让试图赎罪的历程，检视他的赎罪行为在当时的社会环境下所造成的影响。这部宏大的小说，融进了法国的历史，以及巴黎的建筑、政治、道德哲学、法律、正义、宗教信仰，检视了善、恶和法律的本质，同样还有爱情与亲情的种类和本质。用雨果的话来说。这是一部“宗教作品”。
以下选段中，警察沙威，一个法律的执行者，在被他竭力追捕的卑贱苦役犯冉阿让饶过一命后他内心极度冲突和挣扎。沙威可以说是一个有强烈道德感的人，这从他自尽之前在“呈政府的报告”中仍考虑怎样替政府节省开支的细节中可以看得出来，在沙威的世界里，冉阿让是一个一次入狱终身携带有色身份证的“坏人”，他无法理解这样一个被法律界定为罪犯的人会是善良的人。他无法行使他的职责，抓捕罪犯、他的救命名恩人冉阿让，他又谴责自己吃着政府的面包却不履行职责，在内心得不到解脱的情况下投河结束生命。
比起因为偷盗一块面包而入狱19年的冉阿让，比起出售了自己的头发、牙齿和身体的女工芳汀，比起在以失败告终的六月暴动中牺牲的起义者，沙威是“悲惨的人们”之一吗？是！他的世界被一个他所鄙夷的人完全颠覆，在他的认知世界里，他找不到出路，只有一死解脱。
同样的无力感，我们在德国作家施林克小说《朗读者》中也可以体会得到。6个纳粹集中营的女看守在教堂失火的情况下仍然不肯打开大门，以致里面的600人全部葬身火海。战后，看守之一汉娜在接受法庭审判时，在被告席上用充满正义的坚定语气拍着桌子解释自己为什么在失火的情况下仍不打开大门：“明显的，原因是很明显的，我们不能开门，（因为）我们是守卫，我们的工作是看着囚犯，我们不能让她们逃跑……我们不能让她们逃跑，看守她们，这是我们的责任！”这样的描写带给读者内心的无力感沉重到了让人头皮发麻的程度，你会觉得汉娜是“坏人”吗？很可能会，甚至会觉得她是“恶魔”。其余5人一口咬定汉娜是主使，并且作假指认6人共同签名的事件报告是汉娜一个人起草的，而起草人这个细节很可能影响判决结果。但汉娜为了保守自己不识字不会写字的这个秘密，没有进行笔迹对照，承认是自己起草了报告。汉娜入狱服刑了。从我们的角度来看，纳粹分子得到审判，正义得到了伸张。我们从汉娜的角度来看，她的内心并不认为自己有过错，正义得到伸张正是这个“恶魔”展现出了一点每个人都有的一种羞耻感。她在她的世界里活得卑微。
难怪莫言会说“最好的小说一定是叫人欲哭无泪的。”（张丹凤）
BOOK FOURTH.JAVERT DERAILED
CHAPTER I
[1] Javert leaned both elbows on the parapet， his chin resting in both hands， and， while his nails were mechanically twined in the abundance of his whiskers， he meditated. A novelty， a revolution， a catastrophe had just taken place in the depths of his being； and he had something upon which to examine himself.
[2] Javert was undergoing horrible suffering.
[3] For several hours， Javert had ceased to be simple. He was troubled； that brain， so limpid in its blindness， had lost its transparency； that crystal was clouded. Javert felt duty divided within his conscience， and he could not conceal the fact from himself. When he had so unexpectedly encountered Jean Valjean on the banks of the Seine， there had been in him something of the wolf which regains his grip on his prey， and of the dog who finds his master again.
[4] He beheld before him two paths， both equally straight， but he beheld two； and that terrified him； him， who had never in all his life known more than one straight line. And， the poignant anguish lay in this， that the two paths were contrary to each other. One of these straight lines excluded the other. Which of the two was the true one？ [5] His situation was indescribable.
[6] To owe his life to a malefactor， to accept that debt and to repay it； to be， in spite of himself， on a level with a fugitive from justice， and to repay his service with another service； to allow it to be said to him， "Go，" and to say to the latter in his turn： "Be free"； to sacrifice to personal motives duty， that general obligation， and to be conscious， in those personal motives， of something that was also general， and， perchance， superior， to betray society in order to remain true to his conscience； that all these absurdities should be realized and should accumulate upon him，—this was what overwhelmed him.
[7] One thing had amazed him，—this was that Jean Valjean should have done him a favor， and one thing petrified him，—that he， Javert， should have done Jean Valjean a favor.
[8] Where did he stand？ He sought to comprehend his position， and could no longer find his bearings.
[9] What was he to do now？ To deliver up Jean Valjean was bad； to leave Jean Valjean at liberty was bad. In the first case， the man of authority fell lower than the man of the galleys， in the second， a convict rose above the law， and set his foot upon it. In both cases， dishonor for him， Javert. There was disgrace in any resolution at which he might arrive. Destiny has some extremities which rise perpendicularly from the impossible， and beyond which life is no longer anything but a precipice. Javert had reached one of those extremities.
[10] One of his anxieties consisted in being constrained to think. The very violence of all these conflicting emotions forced him to it. Thought was something to which he was unused， and which was peculiarly painful.
[11] In thought there always exists a certain amount of internal rebellion； and it irritated him to have that within him.
[12] Thought on any subject whatever， outside of the restricted circle of his functions， would have been for him in any case useless and a fatigue； thought on the day which had just passed was a torture. Nevertheless， it was indispensable that he should take a look into his conscience， after such shocks， and render to himself an account of himself.
[13] What he had just done made him shudder. He， Javert， had seen fit to decide， contrary to all the regulations of the police， contrary to the whole social and judicial organization， contrary to the entire code， upon a release； this had suited him； he had substituted his own affairs for the affairs of the public； was not this unjustifiable？ [14] Every time that he brought himself face to face with this deed without a name which he had committed， he trembled from head to foot. Upon what should he decide？ One sole resource remained to him； to return in all haste to the Rue de l'Homme Arme， and commit Jean Valjean to prison. It was clear that that was what he ought to do. He could not.
[15] Something barred his way in that direction.
[16] Something？ What？ Is there in the world， anything outside of the tribunals， executory sentences， the police and the authorities？ Javert was overwhelmed.
[17] A galley-slave sacred！ A convict who could not be touched by the law！ And that the deed of Javert！
[18] Was it not a fearful thing that Javert and Jean Valjean， the man made to proceed with vigor， the man made to submit，—that these two men who were both the things of the law， should have come to such a pass， that both of them had set themselves above the law？ What then！ such enormities were to happen and no one was to be punished！ Jean Valjean， stronger than the whole social order， was to remain at liberty， and he， Javert， was to go on eating the government's bread！
[19] His revery gradually became terrible.
[20] He might， athwart this revery， have also reproached himself on the subject of that insurgent who had been taken to the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire； but he never even thought of that. The lesser fault was lost in the greater. Besides， that insurgent was， obviously， a dead man， and， legally， death puts an end to pursuit.
[21] Jean Valjean was the load which weighed upon his spirit.
[22] Jean Valjean disconcerted him. All the axioms which had served him as points of support all his life long， had crumbled away in the presence of this man. Jean Valjean's generosity towards him， Javert， crushed him. Other facts which he now recalled， and which he had formerly treated as lies and folly， now recurred to him as realities. M. Madeleine re-appeared behind Jean Valjean， and the two figures were superposed in such fashion that they now formed but one， which was venerable. Javert felt that something terrible was penetrating his soul—admiration for a convict. Respect for a galley-slave—is that a possible thing？ He shuddered at it， yet could not escape from it. In vain did he struggle， he was reduced to confess， in his inmost heart， the sublimity of that wretch. This was odious.
[23] A benevolent malefactor， merciful， gentle， helpful， clement， a convict， returning good for evil， giving back pardon for hatred， preferring pity to vengeance， preferring to ruin himself rather than to ruin his enemy， saving him who had smitten him， kneeling on the heights of virtue， more nearly akin to an angel than to a man. Javert was constrained to admit to himself that this monster existed. [24] Things could not go on in this manner.
[25] Certainly， and we insist upon this point， he had not yielded without resistance to that monster， to that infamous angel， to that hideous hero， who enraged almost as much as he amazed him. Twenty times， as he sat in that carriage face to face with Jean Valjean， the legal tiger had roared within him. A score of times he had been tempted to fling himself upon Jean Valjean， to seize him and devour him， that is to say， to arrest him.
[26] What more simple， in fact？ To cry out at the first post that they passed：—"Here is a fugitive from justice， who has broken his ban！" to summon the gendarmes and say to them： "This man is yours！" then to go off， leaving that condemned man there， to ignore the rest and not to meddle further in the matter. This man is forever a prisoner of the law； the law may do with him what it will. What could be more just？ Javert had said all this to himself； he had wished to pass beyond， to act， to apprehend the man， and then， as at present， he had not been able to do it； and every time that his arm had been raised convulsively towards Jean Valjean's collar， his hand had fallen back again， as beneath an enormous weight， and in the depths of his thought he had heard a voice， a strange voice crying to him：—"It is well. Deliver up your savior. Then have the basin of Pontius Pilate brought and wash your claws."
[27] Then his reflections reverted to himself and beside Jean Valjean glorified he beheld himself， Javert， degraded.
[28] A convict was his benefactor！
[29] But then， why had he permitted that man to leave him alive？ He had the right to be killed in that barricade. He should have asserted that right. It would have been better to summon the other insurgents to his succor against Jean Valjean， to get himself shot by force.
[30] His supreme anguish was the loss of certainty. He felt that he had been uprooted. The code was no longer anything more than a stump in his hand. He had to deal with scruples of an unknown species. There had taken place within him a sentimental revelation entirely distinct from legal affirmation， his only standard of measurement hitherto. To remain in his former uprightness did not suffice. A whole order of unexpected facts had cropped up and subjugated him. A whole new world was dawning on his soul： kindness accepted and repaid， devotion， mercy， indulgence， violences committed by pity on austerity， respect for persons， no more definitive condemnation， no more conviction， the possibility of a tear in the eye of the law， no one knows what justice according to God， running in inverse sense to justice according to men. He perceived amid the shadows the terrible rising of an unknown moral sun； it horrified and dazzled him. An owl forced to the gaze of an eagle. [31] He said to himself that it was true that there were exceptional cases， that authority might be put out of countenance， that the rule might be inadequate in the presence of a fact， that everything could not be framed within the text of the code， that the unforeseen compelled obedience， that the virtue of a convict might set a snare for the virtue of the functionary， that destiny did indulge in such ambushes， and he reflected with despair that he himself had not even been fortified against a surprise.
[32] He was forced to acknowledge that goodness did exist. This convict had been good. And he himself， unprecedented circumstance， had just been good also. So he was becoming depraved.
[33] He found that he was a coward. He conceived a horror of himself.
[34] Javert's ideal， was not to be human， to be grand， to be sublime； it was to be irreproachable.
[35] Now， he had just failed in this.
[36] How had he come to such a pass？ How had all this happened？ He could not have told himself. He clasped his head in both hands， but in spite of all that he could do， he could not contrive to explain it to himself.
[37] He had certainly always entertained the intention of restoring Jean Valjean to the law of which Jean Valjean was the captive， and of which he， Javert， was the slave. Not for a single instant while he held him in his grasp had he confessed to himself that he entertained the idea of releasing him. It was， in some sort， without his consciousness， that his hand had relaxed and had let him go free.
[38] All sorts of interrogation points flashed before his eyes. He put questions to himself， and made replies to himself， and his replies frightened him. He asked himself： "What has that convict done， that desperate fellow， whom I have pursued even to persecution， and who has had me under his foot， and who could have avenged himself， and who owed it both to his rancor and to his safety， in leaving me my life， in showing mercy upon me？ His duty？ No. Something more. And I in showing mercy upon him in my turn—what have I done？ My duty？ No. Something more. So there is something beyond duty？" Here he took fright； his balance became disjointed； one of the scales fell into the abyss， the other rose heavenward， and Javert was no less terrified by the one which was on high than by the one which was below. Without being in the least in the world what is called Voltairian or a philosopher， or incredulous， being， on the contrary， respectful by instinct， towards the established church， he knew it only as an august fragment of the social whole； order was his dogma， and sufficed for him； ever since he had attained to man's estate and the rank of a functionary， he had centred nearly all his religion in the police. Being，—and here we employ words without the least irony and in their most serious acceptation， being， as we have said， a spy as other men are priests. He had a superior， M. Gisquet； up to that day he had never dreamed of that other superior， God. [39] This new chief， God， he became unexpectedly conscious of， and he felt embarrassed by him. This unforeseen presence threw him off his bearings； he did not know what to do with this superior， he， who was not ignorant of the fact that the subordinate is bound always to bow， that he must not disobey， nor find fault， nor discuss， and that， in the presence of a superior who amazes him too greatly， the inferior has no other resource than that of handing in his resignation.
[40] But how was he to set about handing in his resignation to God？
[41] However things might stand，—and it was to this point that he reverted constantly，—one fact dominated everything else for him， and that was， that he had just committed a terrible infraction of the law. He had just shut his eyes on an escaped convict who had broken his ban. He had just set a galley-slave at large. He had just robbed the laws of a man who belonged to them. That was what he had done. He no longer understood himself. The very reasons for his action escaped him； only their vertigo was left with him. Up to that moment he had lived with that blind faith which gloomy probity engenders. This faith had quitted him， this probity had deserted him. All that he had believed in melted away. Truths which he did not wish to recognize were besieging him， inexorably. Henceforth， he must be a different man. He was suffering from the strange pains of a conscience abruptly operated on for the cataract. He saw that which it was repugnant to him to behold. He felt himself emptied， useless， put out of joint with his past life， turned out， dissolved. Authority was dead within him. He had no longer any reason for existing.
[42] A terrible situation！ to be touched.