I’ve attached to this post a YouTube segment from the stage production. In it the bishop tells Valjean that, like it or not, “I have purchased your soul and given it to God.” The price? Six heirloom silver plates and two silver candlesticks. The bishop did not ask Jean Valjean if his soul was for sale. With some holy sleight of hand, he purchased the rights and transferred the deed at once in perpetuity to the Lord. Jean Valjean stood agape, an uncooperative bystander at the sale of his immortal soul, his life here on earth and hereafter.

This catalytic event sets the entire novel in motion. Composer and dramatist Boublil and Schonberg captured all the tenderness and mystery of this scene. I invite you to watch and listen as the bishop exchanges a family treasure for Jean Valjean’s soul. Phantom Promise

It happened so fast. On the first day of our Mediterranean vacation.  I had just paid four euros for a Margherita pizza-to-die-for in a Naples ristorante. A place recommended by Vito, our all-knowing guide through the unearthed ruins of Pompei. I secured my wallet inside my zippered and clasped shoulder bag (a remnant of last summer’s Alaskan cruise). Feeling positive about our good fortune, Esther and I set off on the two-block journey back to the port and our Carnival Freedom home away from home for the next two weeks.

Prior to this first venture off the ship, the staff had warned us that we had entered a city where “a red traffic light is only a suggestion.” Huddled on a street corner with a mass of death-defying pedestrians, we let the natives run interference until we reached safety. It wasn’t until we crossed the gangway to the ship’s security station that I noticed my shoulder bag unlatched, the wallet compartment empty.

The reality so shocked me, I refused to believe what my mind and senses reported. This couldn’t be happening; not to me. I had taken precautions. To think that someone had targeted me as a rube and overcome my prudent defenses caused dismay and shame, along with a sense of having been victimized. 

Reason forced its way through this emotional turmoil and I assessed the damage. Five hundred dollars in euros and U.S. greenbacks. An assortment of credit cards. My Social Security and medical cards. Driver’s license. Two missing photos of my grandson cost me the pride of showing him off to shipmates. Not my passport, thank God. Esther held that precious document which became my only photo ID. It took the rest of the afternoon, with the patient help of the ship’s Pursers, to block credit cards and order new ones, forestalling further financial damage. A close call, because $3,000 in purchases had been attempted—and rejected—within the hour it took us to return to the ship.

Back in our stateroom, we faced two options. Declare our vacation ruined from the start and go through the motions for the rest of the cruise. Or, accept what had happened and move on. In the end, we decided, “It’s only money we’ve lost.” Plus, we still had half of what we had brought and could charge whatever we needed on other cards. More important, we had each other and no one had gotten hurt.

Yet, something remained unfinished. Our decision to go on had outrun my personal emotional damage. Inner peace stalled at the bitterness I held against the person who had violated my life. Jean Valjean, my literary hero and moral model, nudged me toward recovery. Echoing Jesus’ call to “love our enemies,” he urged his daughter Cosette, “Those Thenardiers [the innkeepers] were wicked. We must forgive them,” despite the physical and emotional abuse she had suffered. A supporting voice came from Stanford professor Fred Luskin, author of Forgive For Good, who outlines the physical and mental health benefits of forgiving and getting on with one’s life.

To catch up with my “move on” decision, I had to forgive the anonymous thief and pray for his or her welfare and change of heart. So I did—or tried to, given my fragile resolve. The rest of our trip was truly amazing and thoroughly enjoyable. But the Naples experience remained a pebble in my shoe,  a discomfort that has lingered into the post-vacation business of identity protection.

Lessons learned from this incident are many. The most lasting is the wisdom of a forgiving heart. Thank you, Jesus; thank you, Jean Valjean; and thank you, Fred Luskin.

It would please me no end to share this book with you. To order, you may go to www.lulu.com/content/1795167 or you can use the mail-in order form on my website (www.blsinc.com/garrotto.htm). 

In future posts, I will talk about the cover art and the artist, a possible second Les Mis book, why I chose to self-publish, and other topics I hope will be of interest to the book’s and this blog’s readers.

What can a nineteenth century French novel teach us about life and love in the 21st century? Plenty. In “The Wisdom of Les Miserables: Lessons From the Heart of Jean Valjean,” Alfred J. Garrotto offers Victor Hugo’s flawed protagonist as a model for anyone in search of practical wisdom for everyday living. One of fiction’s most beloved characters, the former convict and life-long fugitive, represents humanity in both its brokenness and its potential for selfless—even saintly—living. The author offers his reader a set of intimate, meditative Reflections on topics ranging from principled living and forgiveness to parenting and the primacy of love. Each Reflection explores a universal theme, including the daily call to spiritual and moral conversion and the summary life-lessons parents impart to their children. Questions at the end of each Reflection invite the reader to use the book as a personal wisdom journal. Alfred J. Garrotto has authored four religious nonfiction books and five novels. His long experience as teacher and spiritual guide has prepared him to harvest the deeper meaning of “Les Miserables” and apply its inspiring message to modern daily life.   Cover art by Douglas M. Lawson