CHAMPMATHIEU (OR, NOT VALJEAN)

I was dead already.

The young Champmathieu died on fortune's wheel.

Now only broken, old Champmathieu lives.

And they will kill him, too.

​

I ate forbidden fruit, so these men say,

And thieved and robbed and sinned in manifold

Ways—I have sinned before the Lord,

But no the sins which they accuse me of.

Yet it is true that I have sinned. Perhaps

Is this God's punishment for my own sins?

I do not know. All that I know for sure

IS that I am Champmathieu, and not Valjean.

​

Then in court, I could not speak or think.

And now I still cannot, for all I know

Is I was all but dead, yet now I live.

​

He said he was Valjean when he came in.

But that was not the Valjean of whom they spoke.

He looked like somthing from another world—

The world of light—with whitened hair and face

And mighty mien commanding men's respect.

There was no malic in his Christian eyes.

He told the court his name was Jean Valjean,

But that was not Valjean. But who was he?

If an angel, why would he save me?

If a man, then he's an idiot and a fool.

Only a fool would throw all that away

For a dead man.

Yet I still know but nothing now, except

That I was dead and bound, and now am free.

​

I saw the Crucifix above the wall

Before I turned to go. Did they not say

That He, the Crucified, was a fool, too?

Only a fool would throw all that away

For dead men.

We, wretches, are not worth dying for,

But still He sacrificed—and so did he.

​

What now am I to do with this new life

They gave me? I still don't understand

Why I live, and why men act like fools.

Perhaps I'll join their foolery, and lay

My life upon the ground time and again—

Lay it down for all my fellow me.