Story Hour Readings: Seventh Year Part 53

BY VICTOR HUGO

Victor Hugo (1802-1885), poet, dramatist, and novelist, dominated the literature of France during the nineteenth century. His novel, _Les Miserables_, 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 Miserables_, 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 pa.s.sport 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 pa.s.sport 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 cla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 ident.i.ty, 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.

Jean Valjean looked up, dazed. 5

"Monseigneur!" he muttered, "then this is not an inn.

He is not just a priest!"

"Silence," commanded the corporal. "This is Monseigneur the Bishop."

The aged Bishop was making his way to Jean Valjean as 10 rapidly as he could.

"Ah, here you are again," he said, "I am glad to see you. You know I gave you the candlesticks, too. Why did you not take them? They are worth at least 200 francs. You should have taken them along with the plate 15 silver."

Words cannot describe the expression in the eyes of Jean Valjean as he gazed at the Bishop.

"Then, Monseigneur, what this man says is true?" asked the corporal. "He looked as if he was escaping from somewhere, 20 so we arrested him. And then we found this silver plate upon him."

"And then," interrupted the Bishop, "he explained, of course, that an old priest at whose house he stayed last night gave him the plate? I see. And you brought him 25 back. You were wrong."

"Then we are to let him go?" asked the corporal.