There is a scene
in both the book and every version of the movie, “Les Miserables” (by Victor
Hugo and set in early 1800’s France) in which an escaped convict knocks on a
priest’s door, and explains that he is hungry and needing a place to lay his
head for the night. Father Myriel invites Jean (pronounced John) Val Jean into
his humble abode, much to the consternation of the kindly priest’s housekeeper.
As the unlikely trio sit down for supper, we notice the convict’s eyes widen as
a set of ornate silverware is laid out before him, and a contrastingly small,
but evil smile appears on his lips.
The supper over,
Bishop Myriel and Jean Val Jean sit before the fire awhile, before eventually
retiring for the evening. As the stars navigate their evening circuit across
the sky, and the fireflies flit here and there throughout the nearby pastures,
the criminal opens his eyes, and looks around his borrowed room. Jean silently
dresses, and steals into the kitchen. Emptying his own knapsack of a few
worthless odds and ends, he helps himself to the sterling silver plates and
utensils.
It is a full moon,
and as Jean Val Jean walks across the open threshold of Father Myriel’s room,
the old priest opens his eyes and immediately understands the import of the
scene that is playing itself out in his presence. But after an almost
imperceptible shake of his head, and a knowing smile, the parson closes his
eyes, and is soon overtaken by slumber.
The morning dawns
bright and fair, and there is a shriek as the housekeeper opens the silver
cabinet for the breakfast meal, and becomes all too aware of what has taken
place in the night.
“Bishop, dear
Bishop, that man you allowed into your home has robbed you of your silver!
Quickly Sir. We must contact the magistrate.”
The kindly priest
walks into the kitchen, and merely says,
“Well now, good
woman. He must have needed the stuff more than we.”
and
“After all, the
silver is not ours, but God’s. It is
best used for the poor. And was our dear brother not poor in both goods, and
spirit? It is well. It is well.”
Pt. 2
Shortly
afterwards there is a loud banging on the door, and the harried housekeeper
hastens to open it. Before her stands a middle aged man adorned in the clothing
of the city magistrate. He holds a dirty knapsack in his hands. Behind him
stands, well, you guessed it, Jean Val Jean; iron shackles adorning his hands
and feet. A slightly built police sergeant holds him by the arm.
“Excuse me,
Bishop Myriel. A moment of your time, please. This wicked fellow here, well, we
caught him with a sack full of silver, and when we asked him where he got it,
he claimed, well, he claimed you gave it to him.”
The kindly priest
smiled and responded,
“Well, yes, I
gave him the silver. Please release him. You were only doing your duty, sir,
but he did nothing wrong.”
The magistrate
was incredulous. “You mean he was telling us the truth?” And he couldn’t quit
shaking his head in disbelief.
There was nothing
else to do but release the poor shackled soul. And the magistrate gave his
assistant instructions to do so.
As the chains
fells off Jean Val Jean’s hands and feet, the kindly bishop whispered to his
housekeeper. She hurried off into the house, and quickly returned with
something in her hands.
The priest
accepted two similar items from her, and thrust them into the hands of the
escaped convict.
“And my dear sir,
you forgot these silver candlesticks. Didn’t I remind you to pack them before
you left this morning?”
The magistrate
was aghast, and could only shake his head, and say,
“Well, Bishop
Myriel. We will take our leave now. Thank you very much for clearing this up
for us, Sir.”
And then they
were left alone. Without a word, the kindly bishop motioned Jean Val Jean to
step into his humble home.
Pt. 3
As they entered
the small living area, neither man sat down. The bishop starred unblinking into
Jean Val Jean’s eyes for what seemed the longest time, and Jean could not help
but returning his gaze.
The priest knew
the convict’s story. The big brute had unraveled the tale for him the night
before. His sister and her little son, and he were without work, and
desperately hungry. And in a moment of desperation Jean Val Jean had gone
looking for,… for bread. Oh, he’d found it, he’d found it behind a bakery
display window. The hungry man had picked up a rock and smashed what lay
between him and his prize. A single loaf of bread, and as a result of that
momentary decision, he’d spent 19 years in prison.
The bishop
finally spoke,
“Jean Val Jean.
You have been tried and convicted for a crime of passion. A passion that is
common to all of us. Your stomach ached for food, and your relatives suffered
from the same temptation. You have suffered a great wrong perpetrated by a
callous judge who stole a third of your life from you, and understandably your
soul is dark with vengeance.”
It was at then
that the kindly bishop grasped Jean’s two hands with his own. The hapless
convict still clung to the silver candlesticks in those over-sized hands.
“Jean Val Jean.
You are no longer the man who knocked on my door yesterday. A sinner and a
stranger stepped across my threshold yesterday. Before me now stands my brother
in Christ. You are changed, you are
purified. With these candlesticks
I buy back your soul. And as often as you look at them, you must remember
this day. You must spend the rest of your life doing good, as Christ our Lord
also did good.”
Pt. 4
And the kindly
priest’s words seemed at the same time a weight and a grace to the rough-hewn
Val Jean. And the years of pain and bitterness escaped him in a torrent of
tears. Suddenly, the convict dropped to his knees, and a wail escaped his lips
that might have easily been heard outside the house.
Bishop Myriel
stooped down, and took the repentant man by his burly arms, lifted him to his
feet, and lovingly embraced him.
“Jean Val Jean,
my brother. Go now. Go in peace.”
And Jean stepped
out of that old cottage door; a changed man.
I have always been
captivated by this story. I read it in high school English, and this scene from
one particular version of the movie impacted me unlike almost nothing ever didby William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 27. Copyright pending
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