Victor Hugo (1802-1885), poet, dramatist, and
novelist, dominated the literature of France during
the nineteenth century. His novel, _Les
Misérables_, written in 1862, during Hugo's long
political exile, exemplifies his extensive
knowledge of the deplorable conditions of life in
France at that time, his understanding of the human
heart, and his marvelous literary ability.
In the following extract from _Les Misérables_, the
most famous character of the book, Jean Valjean, an
ex-convict, takes his first step toward final
regeneration by meeting Bishop D. The Bishop, known
also as Monseigneur Welcome, voluntarily lived a
simple and austere life with his sister and old
housekeeper, but had humored his one weakness by
retaining his table silver and handsome silver
candlesticks.
Valjean is speaking to the Bishop at the beginning
of the extract.
"You! Listen! I am Jean Valjean, the galley slave.
I was nineteen years in prison. Four days ago
they let me out and I started for Pontarlier. I have been
tramping for four days since I left Toulon, and to-day I
walked twelve leagues. When I came into the town this 5
evening I went to the inn, but because of my yellow passport
that I had shown at the police office, they drove me
out. Then I went to the other inn and the landlord said
to me, 'Off with you!' Everywhere it was the same;
no one would have anything to do with me. Even the 10
jailer of the prison would not take me in. So I was lying
on a stone in the square, when a good woman came along
and she said to me, pointing to this place, 'Knock there.
They will take you in.' What is this? Is it an inn? I
have money--all that I earned in the prison for nineteen
years--109 francs and 15 sous. I will pay. I am terribly
tired and almost famished. Will you let me stay here?"
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop to his aged housekeeper,
"you will please lay another place for supper." 5
Jean Valjean shuffled to the table where the lamp stood.
He took a large yellow paper from his pocket and unfolded
it. "Wait," he said, "You don't seem to understand. I
am a galley slave, a convict, just from prison. This is
my yellow passport which makes everyone drive me away. 10
You must read it. I can read it myself; I learned to
read in the prison, where they have a class for those that
want to learn. This is what it says on my yellow paper:
'Jean Valjean, a liberated convict, has been nineteen years
at the galleys. Five years for burglary, fourteen years 15
for having tried four times to escape. A very dangerous
man.' Now, will you turn me away like all the others,
or will you give me food and a bed? Perhaps you have
a stable?"
"Madame Magloire," said the Bishop, "kindly put clean 20
sheets on our extra bed in the alcove."
Madame Magloire left the room at once to carry out
these instructions. The Bishop turned to the ex-convict,
saying, "Draw a chair to the fire, sir, we shall eat presently.
Your bed will be prepared while we are at supper." 25
* * * * *
After bidding good-night to his sister and Madame Magloire,
the Bishop took one of the silver candlesticks and
handing the other to his guest, Jean Valjean, he said, "I
will conduct you to your room, sir. I trust you will have
a good night's rest. To-morrow morning, before you leave, 30
you will drink a glass of milk from our cow."
As the cathedral bell struck two, Jean Valjean awoke.
The strange sensation of sleeping in a comfortable bed once
more, after nineteen years of life in the galleys, disturbed
his sleep. His first weariness had worn off after a few
hours of deep sleep. After looking into the darkness 5
about him, he tried to sleep again. When many agitating
sensations have filled a man's day, and still preoccupy his
mind, he may fall asleep once, but he cannot go to sleep a
second time. So sleep had come to Jean Valjean, but would
not return to him, and he lay awake thinking. 10
His mind was filled with troubled ideas, which seemed
to float in a kind of obscurity. His old recollections and
recent experiences became confused, lost their identity,
grew out of proportion, dwindled, then disappeared entirely,
all in a distressing vagueness. But one thought persistently 15
returned, to the exclusion of all the others. It was this:
the six silver forks and spoons and the handsome silver
ladle were in the next room, only a few yards from him. He
had seen Madame Magloire put them into a small cupboard
in the adjoining room, on the right as you came from 20
the dining room. It was fine, old silver--the ladle alone
must be worth at least 200 francs, which was twice as
much as he had earned during his nineteen years in the
galleys.
For one hour his mind was occupied with this absorbing 25
theme--weighing, wavering, even struggling. Suddenly
at the stroke of three, he sat upright, reached out for his
knapsack, which he had thrown into a corner, and found
himself, to his surprise, seated on the edge of the bed. He
sat thus for a while, deep in thought; then stooped, took 30
off his shoes; then once more resumed his thoughts, sitting
motionless. During this period, he again had the sensation
of all his old and new experiences crossing and recrossing
each other in his mind and weighing upon him. He was
thinking of an old companion of the galleys, recalling his
queer mannerisms, when the clock struck the quarter or
half hour, seeming to call to him "To work!" 5
He stood up and listened. The house was absolutely
silent. He tiptoed to the window and looked out. The
wind was driving heavy clouds across a full moon, producing
alternate light and darkness, within and without. Jean
Valjean examined the window; it was closed by a small peg, 10
had no bars, and looked upon the little garden. He opened
it, but closed it again promptly upon the sharp cold wind
that entered. A study of the garden showed it to be inclosed
by a low whitewashed wall, and a view of treetops
at regular intervals beyond indicated a public walk. 15
This study being completed, Jean Valjean returned to
the alcove, drew from his knapsack an iron bar which he
placed on the bed, put his shoes in a compartment of his
knapsack, which he then lifted to his shoulders, drew his
cap down over his eyes, took his stick from the corner, and 20
finally returning to the bed, took up the article which he
had laid there.
* * * * *
At sunrise the following morning, the Bishop was walking
as usual in his little garden, when Madame Magloire
came hurrying toward him in the greatest excitement. 25
"Monseigneur," she exclaimed, "all our table silver is
stolen and the man is gone."
Just then, glancing at the corner of the garden, she saw
that the coping of the wall had been broken away.
"Look at the wall! He must have climbed over into the 30
lane! And all our silver stolen! What a crime!"
After a moment's silence, the Bishop said earnestly to
Madame Magloire,
"As a matter of fact, was the silver really ours?"
The old housekeeper stood speechless. The Bishop
continued, 5
"It was wrong of me to keep that silver; it belonged
rightfully to the poor. And that man was a poor man,
surely."
"Oh, Monseigneur!" murmured Madame Magloire,
"neither Mademoiselle your sister, nor I, care about the 10
silver. It was only for you. What will Monseigneur eat
with now?"
"Are not pewter forks and spoons to be had?" said the
Bishop.
"Pewter smells," said Madame Magloire. 15
"Then iron?" continued the Bishop.
"Iron has a bad taste," and Madame Magloire grimaced
expressively.
"That still leaves wood," exclaimed the Bishop triumphantly.
Later, at breakfast, the Bishop jokingly commented 20
to his silent sister and grumbling housekeeper, that
for a breakfast of bread and milk even a wooden fork was
unnecessary.
"Just think of it," muttered Madame Magloire as she
trotted back and forth between the dining room and kitchen, 25
"to take in a convict like that, and let him eat and sleep
with decent people. It's lucky that he didn't do worse
than steal. It terrifies one just to think of what might have
happened."
At the moment that the Bishop and his sister were 30
leaving the table, there was a knock at the door.
"Enter," said the Bishop.
The door opened, and there appeared three gendarmes
holding a man by the collar. The man was Jean Valjean.
The leader of the party, a corporal, saluted the Bishop.
"Monseigneur," he began.