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- I –
Il dort. Quoique le sort fût pour lui bien étrange…
He sleeps. Although so much he was denied…
“Uncle Jean?”
Those were the first words Jean Valjean heard when he opened his eyes again, but he did not quite process them. Before him lay a man, whom he did not recognise at first.
It was he – he was looking at the body his soul had just departed from, but he did not panic, did not fear. In fact, he was feeling perfectly calm as a small hand took his own, not needing to turn to see who it was, for he had recognised the presence of her very soul. Nonetheless, he turned to see her, whom he had missed so dearly, and kneeled.
In front of him stood a little girl seemingly no older than seven. She wore a dress woven out of stars, her brown hair was like a beautiful bronze crown underneath the halo she bore. She had the body of the child and the appearance of a saint. Society had made her miserable, but suffering had made her holy.
“Jeanne,” Jean Valjean let out in a voice barely above a whisper, as if something inside him was still worried to disturb the body he had just left, or the soul before him. “I…”
He bowed his head before her, unsure of what to say. It is impossible to say what went through his thoughts at that very moment. Despite everything – it was a child who stood before him.
“Has it all been for nothing, then?”
Jeanne simply smiled, gently, as if she’d expected the question. “I can’t answer that, dear uncle.”
“But I couldn’t save you.” His head was still bowed, his knees still on the floor before the martyr he had adored in life – and still, he adored her.
The smile had not disappeared from her face. If anything, it had become kinder, more vibrant than before. “Look at them,” she said, softly taking her uncle’s shoulder to turn him around.
Cosette and Marius had embraced each other, and had not yet let go.
There are, according to Scripture, no tears in Paradise – yet for a second, it seemed like Jean Valjean was about to cry.
Jeanne placed her hand on her uncle’s shoulder and broke the silence. “You saved them. I’m sure that kind lady can tell you the same.”
“What kind lady?” Jean Valjean asked, turning to see his niece again.
“She’ll be here any second!” Jeanne replied, a beaming smile on her face. “Oh, and before I go, uncle Jean…”
“Don’t go,” he interrupted her.
“I’ll be back – you’ll see us again There .”
Jean Valjean didn’t need her to explain what she meant, and Jeanne knew she didn’t have to tell him from the gentle smile on his lips. She simply embraced him, and in that, to him, he was There already.
“But what I wanted to say, uncle Jean…” Jeanne continued. “I love you.”
- II –
Il vivait. Il mourut quand il n’eut plus son ange.
He lived; and when his dear love left him, died.
Where had Jeanne gone? She’d gone There , no doubt, and ‘that kind lady’ had taken her place.
The kind lady, of whom Jeanne had spoken, smiled at him.
It was only now Jean Valjean realised how much Cosette looked like her mother, and he returned the smile. “It’s good to see you again, Fantine.”
“I would say the same, but I’m sure you already know I never left your side.”
“I never doubted it,” Jean Valjean replied, when a realization suddenly dawned on him. “Then you also know Javert…” he was unsure of how to finish the sentence.
“...Was right then? That you were an ex-convict?” Fantine let out a gentle laugh. “Oh, monsieur, I have seen your soul,” she said as she took Jean Valjean’s hands. “There isn’t a person in the world I’d rather have trusted Cosette with.”
Jean Valjean looked at their conjoined hands, then at the woman before him. “I’m happy I did well. I suppose in a way, we saved each other. She has brought me more joy than I could have ever imagined.”
“I can assure you that that joy was shared by many.”
Jean Valjean couldn’t help but laugh. “You make it sound like I was watched by more than just you.”
“There are many souls rejoicing that you're joining us There now, monsieur. We’ve been waiting to see you again.”
For a second, Jean Valjean stayed silent. Then, he asked the question he had been afraid to ask. “The children… Jeanne…”
Fantine nodded. Her smile faded, but it still conveyed a certain sadness. “She told me you have suffered greatly, monsieur. She wanted to be there for you.”
“I’d rather she’d not seen me… there.”
“But she saw you there as well.” The smile had returned to Fantine’s lips.
“Where?” Jean Valjean asked.
“He’s coming!” Fantine suddenly replied. “And, monsieur… I thank you.”
- III –
La chose simplement d’elle-même arriva…
It happened in itself, in the calm way…
There had been a priest present at the moment of Jean Valjean’s death.
When he saw him, he dropped to his knees instantly, bowing his head to the saint before him, mumbling words of gratitude, which were interrupted when he felt a hand upon his head.
“It should be me thanking you, my brother. Come, stand, I want to see you properly.”
“Monseigneur, I…” He was speechless. Nonetheless, Jean Valjean rose to his feet, his gaze still turned towards the floor. After all these years, there was still a painful combination of shame and gratitude in his heart, and he wasn’t sure of what to make of it.
Monseigneur Bienvenu simply laid a hand on Jean Valjean’s shoulder.
Jean Valjean couldn’t help but flinch when he felt the gentle touch on the brand upon his skin. The second the good bishop realised this, he quickly moved to the other shoulder, and smiled.
“Do not worry, my brother. The natural body is but what we sow – the spiritual body is raised as the good God wants it to be, and Scripture tells us there shall be no more sorrow. Scars are but a physical manifestation of our sorrow – they are no more.”
Monseigneur Bienvenu took Jean Valjean’s hand, waited for him to nod in permission, then rolled his sleeve up slightly.
Jean Valjean let him – the bishop had been right, the scars, which had been caused by the chains, always too tight, were no longer there. He let out a sigh of relief, and Monseigneur Bienvenu smiled.
“See? You have a good soul, I have always known that. A soul like yours could never be fully corrupted by man, you simply needed someone to show you the way.”
“You saved my life,” Jean Valjean murmured. “Not just my life, my soul!”
“You have saved many yourself,” said the bishop. “And I am certain you can save one more.”
“What do you mean, Monseigneur?”
The bishop said nothing for a while, simply smiling. “My brother,” he eventually said, “I bless you.”
- IV –
Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le jour s’en va.
That in the evening night-time follows day.
Before Jean Valjean had the chance to say anything else, the Bishop had vanished and the faint light which had been cast by the saintly glow of those who had spoken to him had disappeared.
For a second, he thought he was alone again, and he turned to look at Cosette and Marius, who had still not let go of each other. Did time pass differently now, or was the embrace truly that long? Jean Valjean could not tell.
“She loved you,” someone stated matter-of-factly.
The voice made Jean Valjean shiver, and he didn’t even turn around to see the next person this time, though he couldn’t help but laugh. “Even in death, you can’t seem to leave me alone.”
“Are you surprised?”
Finally, Jean Valjean turned around to look at Javert. He was standing in the corner of the room, much farther away than those before him had been. “A little.”
“I would rather not be here.” Not once had Javert looked directly at Jean Valjean. His eyes were fixed on the window and on the young couple. “But I was told to be here.”
“By whom?”
“By Him.”
“What for?”
“I can’t say.”
While they were talking, Jean Valjean walked to the corner where Javert was standing, and met his eyes, a tentative smile on his lips. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I am aware of that,” replied Javert.
Silence followed. It seemed to last for ages, while the two men kept watching each other.
It was Javert who broke the silence. “Fine. I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I’m not here for you to say I deserve Heaven. I’m here to apologize, that’s all.”
“Apologize?”
“Apparently men can change.”
It was at that moment Jean Valjean realised: “Is that…”
“...What killed me?” Javert continued. “I suppose.”
“Oh, Javert!” Jean Valjean cried out, and as he took Javert’s hands with a sad sigh, he noticed his own hands had gained that faint glow the people he’d spoken to also had.
Javert noticed, too. “Looks like the tables have turned, then.”
“Then I pray this is what will save you, Javert,” Jean Valjean said, glancing at the candlesticks on the table next to his body for a brief second, before meeting Javert’s eyes again. “I forgive you.”