An hour before sunset in October 1815, a man traveling on foot entered a little town in France. The few people who were at their windows at that hour nervously watched this wretched-looking traveler. He wore a coarse yellow shirt, blue trousers with holes in the knees, and a ragged, gray smock that was patched with green cloth sewed with twine. His hair was short and his beard was long. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, although it was difficult to tell because a leather cap hid part of his sweaty, dusty face.
The man must have been walking all day because he appeared very weary. When he reached the center of town, he walked toward the mayor’s office. He went in and fifteen minutes later, he came out. The stranger made his way toward the inn and entered the kitchen. The innkeeper was busy preparing a huge dinner in the fireplace.
Hearing the door open and a newcomer enter, the innkeeper asked, without raising his eyes, "What does monsieur want?"
"Something to eat and a place to stay."
"Nothing is easier." The innkeeper looked up and started to smile, but then he saw his ragged guest. "For pay."
The man drew a large leather purse from his pocket. "I have money."
"Then I am at your service. Have a seat."
While the stranger waited for his dinner, the innkeeper scribbled a note and handed it to a boy. He whispered something to the child, who ran off. In a few minutes the boy returned and showed a scrap of paper to the innkeeper.
The innkeeper went over to the stranger, who was sitting by the fire.
"Is dinner ready?" asked the man.
"Get out!" the innkeeper whispered in his ear. "I was suspicious when you arrived so I sent a message to the mayor’s office. I know you’re Jean Valjean and I also know what you are."
The stranger bowed his head, picked up his knapsack, and went outside. He walked through the town, stopping to ask for food and lodgings at a tavern and a house, but no one would let him in. The weary man even tried the prison.
"A prison isn’t a tavern," said the guard at the door. "Get yourself arrested and we’ll open the door for you."
It was now dark, and the exhausted stranger lay on a stone bench in front of the church. Just then an old woman emerged from the church.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Can’t you see I’m going to sleep?" he said angrily.
"You can’t sleep there. Have you tried the inn?"
"I don’t have enough money for the inn," Valjean lied. "I’ve knocked on every door, and everybody has driven me away."
The woman handed him four coins. "Take these and knock on that door over there." She pointed to a small house next to the church.
Bishop Myriel lived there with his sister, Mademoiselle Baptistine, and their housekeeper, Madame Magloire. The bishop was famous for giving away most of his wealth to the poor. The only luxury he allowed himself was to keep some silver: a set of six plates, a ladle, and two candlesticks. There were no locks on his doors.
While Madame Magloire was at the market, she heard that a dangerous man had arrived in town.
"He’s a dangerous beggar!" she said breathlessly to Bishop Myriel as he sat before the fire with his sister. "Everyone is locking their doors, but we don’t have locks and you have the bad habit of saying, ‘Come in,’ even at midnight and . . ."
She chattered on about the dangerous man, but the bishop wasn’t listening. Just then there was a violent knock at the door.
"Come in!" said the bishop.
The door opened wide as if pushed by someone with great strength, and the stranger entered. Madame Magloire didn’t dare to scream. Mademoiselle Baptistine sat trembling with her mouth open. Bishop Myriel looked calmly at the intruder.
"My name is Jean Valjean and I’m a convict!" blurted out the man. "I spent 19 years on the prison ships. Four days ago I was set free, and I’ve walked thirty miles today. Can I stay here?"
"Madame Magloire, set another place at the table," said the bishop.
"Did you hear me? I’m a convict!" said Valjean. "Here’s my yellow identity card. That’s enough to get me kicked out wherever I go! It says right here: ‘This man is very dangerous.’ I must show it at the mayor’s office in every town where I spend the night."
"Monsieur, sit down," said the bishop. "We’ll eat shortly and your bed will be made ready."
Valjean could not believe that someone was treating him so kindly. He was soon eating from the silver plates with the bishop and Mademoiselle Baptistine. After dinner the bishop showed him to a bed near the bishop’s own bedroom. As they were passing through the bishop’s room, Madame Magloire was putting away the silver in the cupboard behind the bed.
"A good night’s rest will make you feel better," said the bishop.
"Thank you," said Valjean quietly, but then his voice turned harsh. "You let me sleep so close to you. How do you know I’m not a murderer?"
The bishop just smiled and said, "Good night."
Although Valjean had told the bishop that he was a convict, he hadn’t told the whole story. He'd been born into a poor peasant family. After he grew up, he became a tree pruner like his father. Valjean’s parents had died when he was very young. He had only one relative left, a sister who took him in. When her husband died, she had seven children ranging in age from one to eight. Valjean was then in his mid-twenties and took his place as head of the household.
He earned 18 sous a day during tree-pruning season. After that season ended, he worked as a reaper, driver, or laborer. He did whatever work he could find. His sister also worked, but misery closed in on this sad family. There was a very severe winter. Valjean had no work, and the family had nothing to eat. Valjean broke into a bakery and stole a loaf of bread for the children. The baker ran after him and caught him.
Valjean was arrested and sentenced to five years on a prison ship. He was dressed in a red smock, and his past life was erased, even his name. He was now a prisoner—Number 24601. His four escape attempts lengthened his sentence to 19 years. He lost track of his family, although he later heard that his sister and one child had moved to Paris.
There was one area where Valjean excelled in prison: He was stronger than the other inmates and could lift and hold enormous weights on his back. Jean Valjean had walked onto the prison ship sobbing and shuddering, but he left it hardened physically, mentally, and spiritually.
He was a very dangerous man indeed.