I’m not as inspired to write as I used to be, I feel like my writing lacks depth, and thus I do not attempt to write everything that comes to me. I enjoy writing, don’t get me wrong, but I just haven’t had the desire to write in a long time. I don’t feel as though I am as developed as I need to be to put my thoughts or my stories down on paper and have them convey anything at all. I also am unsure of what I desire them to convey. So I don’t write until a moment such as this one, a moment when everything falls into place inside my head, and I find peace, knowing that what I am writing now is what I want to say. Generally, I am inspired by something I am currently reading, or have just finished reading.
The first section of Les Miserables is called “Fantine,” although the first few chapters are about M. Myriel, otherwise known as Monseigneur Bienvenu, the bishop. Knowing the story from such a young age, I have always known the bishop as Monseigneur Bienvenu, yet in this translation, it goes so far as to translate Bienvenu for the reader: Monseigneur Welcome. “‘I like that name,’ he would say. ‘The Welcome corrects the Monseigneur.’” From the start, Hugo makes fun of the church and the despots who ran it. Here we have a perfect philanthropist, dedicated to his faith and to the people the Lord has entrusted to him. He is perfectly loveable!
As a young man, M. Myriel is described as “elegant, graceful, and witty; and the earlier part of his life was devoted to the world and to gallantry.” His wife passes, and he becomes a Curé, and after a short exchange with Napoleon, he becomes a bishop. Immediately, he gives his home to the hospital so they can have more room, while taking up residence in a much smaller more humble place. He then divides his stipend of 15,000 francs for the poor and unfortunates in his towns. He does not hesitate to travel any distance to any who call for him. When given another stipend for travelling, he immediately divides it up yet again, leaving himself only 1000 francs for “personal expenses” between himself, his sister, and his maid.
His sister is a curious character. She follows him, and does not question him at all. I see her as one of benevolence. She has great pride for her brother, and often I read of her smile and feel she is an essential character to M. Myriel’s support. She is called a “sainted woman” who “loved and venerated him in the simplest way.” Their relationship is a beautiful thing, described as “friend[s] according to nature, [he was] her superior according to the Church.”
Originally, I started writing this because Victor Hugo very clearly attacks what the French did to Louis XVI. Monseigneur Bienvenu attends to man sentenced to death. He returns after the gruesome display of “justice” very troubled by the guillotine. He personifies the guillotine as a spectre, a spirit which calls to each person individually. “The guillotine is the concretion of the law, it calls itself vindicta; it is not neutral and does not allow you to remain neutral.” Previous to this statement, Hugo writes that one may “feel a certain amount of indifference” on the death penalty “so long as we have never seen a guillotine.” He further personifies the guillotine as an accomplice to the executioner, as a monster that “devours, it eats flesh and drinks blood.”
Monseigneur Bienvenu is very disturbed by the guillotine, but does not turn away from those who call for his guidance. One line describes his duty to the dying beautifully: “He knew that belief is healthy, and he sought to counsel and calm the desperate man by pointing out to him the resigned man, and to transform the grief that gazes at a grave by showing it the grief that looks at a star.”
Isn’t that just beautiful? I love the use of “desperate” and “resigned” to describe the dying. The desperate man fears death and grieves the life he lived, missed out on living, or didn’t get the chance to live. The resigned man is just that: resigned to his fate, perhaps not at peace, but at least accepted the fact that he will die. Monseigneur Bienvenu does more than turn a desperate man into a resigned man. He gives hope. The grief that gazes at a grave belongs to the desperate man, who fears the end, and cherishes his body enough to fear what comes after death in a purely physical form. The grief that looks at a star… hope is the gift that Monseigneur Bienvenu gives. Hugo’s reference to looking at the stars is the bishop’s way of turning the dying towards heaven. The bishop is capable of defeating the fear of death and giving them hope for a life in heaven.
When I look at a star I know that there is so much out there that I don’t know, and so much I may never know. Yet I also know the universe works the way that it is designed to. So I look at the stars, and I feel comforted, knowing that they are in their place doing what they were designed to do and I am in mine.
It just makes me happy to know that my love to read still belongs to me, and my inspiration to write hasn’t deserted me. I have definitely become more selective in both categories, but this bothers me very little.