Original subtitles

Dark theme

The women chat and laugh.

Mine.

A young girl tells.

- In the first days of December 1815,

about an hour before sunset,

a man came into town.

He presented himself to the police station.

Nobody knew him.

Where did he come from?

From the South.

From the seaside, perhaps.

Men laugh, hubbub.

Never! Candy.

Oh...

- Where were you? How long does it take you to wash clothes?

It's true, where were you?

- I missed you. Come on, come here.

Come! The jug breaks.

Can't you be careful?

Isn't it enough for you to be late?

I will deduct the price of the jug from your wages.

And try to be more friendly with customers.

It's my tour, guys.

He breathes deeply.

Unintelligible words

- A woman: - He's a convict.

Look at him.

Hubbub

- I'm sorry, I can't see you.

These gentlemen have

reserved all the rooms.

The stables will do the trick.

- The horses take up all the space. - I need a little.

Well, it's already too much.

- I walked as soon as the sun rose, I covered twelve leagues, I am hungry.

And I have nothing for you.

The customers are silent.

Just a piece of bread.

- Come on, go away.

Disturbing theme

Someone throws rocks at him.

- A child: - Starve your hunger!

We don't want you here!

Assassin!

The storm is brewing.

The dog growls.

Growl

The dog is crying.

Don't move!

The storm is brewing.

Intriguing theme

Squeaks

- What are you doing here, my friend?

I'm trying to sleep.

On the stone, outside?

I've had worse.

So go to the inn.

Alas,

you have no money?

- I only have four cents. - Always give.

We could accommodate you.

Out of charity.

I knocked on every door.

And everywhere, I was chased away.

There's a house

down the road there.

Did you knock there?

No.

- Hit it.

Hmm?

My cousin's neighbor was the one the

police were looking for, the counterfeiter.

Evil is everywhere.

They even arrested his wife.

The prosecutor says he will obtain a confession within the week.

What if he is innocent?

- In that case, what is he doing in prison? - Good question.

What should we do with an accused man before he goes to trial?

Leaving him free means taking the risk that he will do it again.

If he committed the act for which he is accused.

To put him in prison is to treat him as guilty.

And this, even if he is innocent.

- These people are scoundrels, they are everywhere.

One even came to town today.

Yes, miss.

This man would be dangerous.

They say it is horrible: ugly, hairy, stinking.

The horror.

Certainly a bohemian, a man of sacks and ropes.

- Really? - As I say.

There are going to be misfortunes, everyone says that.

- Everyone, that's a lot of people.

She coughs.

- Let me tell the locksmith

to put back the old locks, we have them there.

- At this time? - It's three houses from here.

He will be happy to be useful. His sister is a friend.

It's a matter of a minute.

- Madame Magloire, there is no need to invent the pretext of the lock

to go see your good friend the locksmith.

These are slanders, Monseigneur.

- Stupidity spewed by jealous people. - We could put a latch.

So we are in serious danger?

- We do not see the door open to all the winds.

- Talk to him, he doesn't listen to me. - If that reassures Mrs. Magloire.

- At least for tonight, until this danger is over.

We would even let the devil into this house!

- Locking yourself away is not just refusing the other.

It is also refusing what we could be or become.

A doctor's door should always remain open.

But you are not a doctor.

- Every man is another's doctor.

I'm a... Someone is banging on the door.

Come in!

My name is Jean Valjean.

I spent nineteen years in prison.

I have been released for four days.

Four days that I have been walking since Toulon.

Four days I hear: “Go away.”

Nobody wanted me, I lay down outside, a

good woman told me to knock at your house.

I knocked.

- Mrs. Magloire, set another place.

- Did you hear me?

I am a convict.

Here is my passport.

It's used to introduce me to the authorities

when I arrive in town and have me chased away.

Do you want to read!?

“Stayed in the penal colony for nineteen years.

“Five years for burglary.

“Fourteen for trying to escape, this man is dangerous.”

So.

- I see that you have received the rain, sir.

You must be tired.

Come closer, the fire will warm you.

You will have supper

while we make your bed.

Madame Magloire, put white sheets on the bed in the alcove.

Please, sir, sit down.

What is it here?

Who are you?

A priest.

A priest?

A brave man of a priest.

Who lives with two women, on top of that.

- There are things I refuse to hear, I will be in the kitchen.

- A man opens his door to you, feeds you, and you slander him?

That wasn't my intention.

That's what you did.

Two men were there, face to face.

One, the convict,

was boorish, but had hidden nothing about his past.

The other, the brave man of a priest, was more obviously amiable,

but it remained a mystery to everyone.

A few decades earlier,

he had gone to Italy on the arm of his wife

to come back alone and cantankerous.

The death of the one he loved had changed him.

He had left the century to enter religion.

He had convinced himself that he must become a merciless servant of God,

but his transformation was not yet complete.

And to understand the rest,

it is appropriate to return to his first visit to this place.

- The sisters work miracles, but we lack everything, Monsignor.

Bandages, potions and even food.

You should be able to buy meat from time to time.

A sick person must be able to eat to regain health.

Oh...

A man coughs.

- Mr. Director. - Yes?

Excuse me, Monsignor.

What's going on?

- That day, the one who was now bishop visited the hospital.

A chore he promised himself he would never impose on himself again.

Monsignor Myriel, because that was his real name,

had the title and all the attributes of his position.

His Eminence preferred to visit the rich

and frequent the powerful.

He lived as a notable, one of those who judge and condemn.

And then, one day, something happened.

No one knows what.

But it happened.

He changed.

But even better, he changed.

And what was a chore to run away from

became a daily event.

- Have a nice day, my friend. - Thank you, Monsignor.

- The beds are very close together.

It's getting worse and worse.

I am very worried about the future.

The upstairs is full, we have installed some unfortunate people in the courtyard.

Not to mention future epidemics.

This year we had typhus.

Try to sleep.

- Space ran out and it will happen again.

What do you want, you have to resign yourself to reality.

We will no longer be able to accept everyone.

- How many beds could fit in my dining room?

- My lord, please. - I am here.

You mean at the palace?

- To understand the director's surprise,

you should know that the episcopal palace

was a lordly home, everything had a great air.

The bishop's apartments, the galleries, the stairs,

fountains, gardens.

Everything was grandiose.

In your dining room?

I don't really know, but

I imagine it could hold

sixty patients.

At least.

So there is a mistake, my friend.

The man coughs.

You have my place and I have yours.

Give me back my house, I'm at home here.

The bells are ringing.

- The next day, twenty-six patients were installed in the palace,

and Mgr Myriel took as accommodation what served as a hospital.

- A man like that is a gift from heaven.

He is no longer the same, he no longer wants a bishop's meal.

If I had to listen to him, he would

have lunch with oil soup and bread.

It seems that it feeds on the smell of flowers.

- These are not very episcopal ways.

Let's not forget that it was the emperor who made him bishop.

It is said that he abandoned his carriage and is trotting on a donkey.

- He will donate his carriage fee allowances to the poor

and his pastoral tour expenses.

What if he inflicted penance on himself

- because he made a mistake? - This man is different.

He visits the poor as long as he has money.

When he no longer has any, he visits the rich.

He says that's where he can find some to redistribute.

- He knew how to be accepted by his flock.

Do you know what he was nicknamed?

“Welcome”, “Monseigneur Welcome”.

That's what they call you.

- I like this name. “Welcome” corrects the “Monseigneur”.

I find you very tolerant.

Here, many mouths speak and very few heads think.

Your Lordship, it is not your

place to pick the potatoes.

- A man of the Church must kneel as often as possible

or he ends up believing

- that it is important. - And about me?

What do they say about me?

I guess I'm making people talk.

- Let them try, they will have to deal with me.

They know that, without you, he would never answer his mail.

He would be forgotten by his friends,

his cousins ​​and the episcopal council.

- The other bishops prefer not to hear from me.

For them, I am an open door and they don't like fresh air.

- Big miters, like bigwigs, are not the fairest.

You who write so well should write about your brother.

Great men deserve great tributes.

- I don't have this talent, and even, editors

would never trust a woman.

And then, Monsignor Bienvenu

would have to reveal his whole life to us.

However, there are things he does not want to talk about.

Monsignor is a holy man.

If you don't write this book, someone will have to.

Some great author.

Someone like Mr. Châteaubriand.

But I refuse to let him

write that I let you starve!

She coughs.

Melancholic theme

What if we went to the garden?

Cut with pruning shears

It's very practical.

It is said that it was a retired minister

who invented it because he was bored.

We should never underestimate the virtues of boredom.

- It's not the object I'm looking at, it's you.

Hmm.

She coughs.

Why didn't you come see me sooner?

- Your letters were intended to put me back on the right path.

Then the tone of your mail changed, so I came.

- Forgive me.

- And then, I wanted you to keep another memory of me.

- You will remain the one who defended me with our parents

when I fought.

- A saint? - Hey...

- To the one who will write your life, I will ask to portray myself as a virgin

with barely enough body for there to be a penis there.

A diaphanous, fine and transparent creature.

- “A diaphanous, fine and transparent creature.”

Not everyone can be a holy man.

- No one is interested in stories about priests.

Your great author would be

better off finding another character.

In the meantime, the holy man is hungry.

She laughs.

Someone is coming.

Jean snores.

- Is Monsignor certain that he wants to welcome this beast?

- Certain gestures are acts of faith.

- Sit down, miss.

- Let me do my job. - I can be useful.

I was supposed to stay a few days, it's been three months.

You are at home here.

Shock

Hmm...

Since you are a priest, you won't ask me for money?

- God is your host, here or elsewhere, He is everywhere.

- Not there.

That's a shame.

It’s a place that deserves his presence.

- Don't hire me on this ground, you'll throw me out.

You can speak freely.

Nothing will deprive you of room or board.

Admit that the gods rarely show themselves,

especially where they are needed.

Neither yours nor the others.

My sister shares your questions

about the existence of God.

For my part, I admit that I try to believe as much as I can.

- It is never too late to meet God.

God or man, which

created the other?

Beneath the veneer of the gods, you find man.

- This one is no better than the other.

My God...

- If it's yours, teach him good manners.

I forbid you to blaspheme.

- You said it was a house where you could be honest,

- without fear of being chased away. - And I repeat it to you.

I've had my share of lies.

Too much to be garlanded with nonsense

that we give to the low-income earners, to the miserable.

To these, we give legends to swallow:

the soul, immortality, paradise.

They chew it all, they put it on their dry bread.

He who has nothing has the good Lord.

Well no.

- He who has nothing has nothing. - What do you do with the Gospels?

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

“Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be filled.

“Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

It's gibberish.

The poor are not happy.

To sacrifice the earth to paradise

is to release the prey for the shadow.

- I cannot prepare the bed for such an individual.

Monsieur is our guest!

- The poor are not happy. They're not pretty either.

It is better to be the tooth than the grass.

I'll help you get rid of it.

Please.

THANKS.

- Wait, miss, I'll help you.

We must notify the police.

We will do as my brother wishes.

- Monsignor does not know these men.

He attacked me.

He's just unfortunate.

- These unfortunate people have nothing to do here.

These unfortunate people are already there.

Why do you say that?

- A single mother who sends her child to boarding school

to find a way to feed her, isn't she unfortunate?

A woman who, the day her little daughter falls ill,

cannot care for her or see her before she is buried,

Isn't she unfortunate?

A mother who cried so much

that she no longer has the slightest tear, isn't she unfortunate?

- You are the sister of Monseigneur. - So I am both.

- I say, miss, that you are mixing everything up

and that there is, on the other side of

this wall, the closest thing to an angel

and a demon.

I'm going to bed.

Can you show me a hot brick?

- Of course. Let your herbal tea steep, I will bring it to you.

And barricade yourself.

We don't know anything about him.

Monsignor did not ask what his story was.

However, his fault is in his history.

- That's why my brother didn't tell him about it.

There are guilty people who are only too aware of their misery.

The best thing is to distract them by making them believe that they are

- people like others. - But it's an animal.

A beast.

A man.

Good night, Mrs. Magloire.

- You think I'll be able to sleep

with a convict under our roof?

The latch, miss.

Remember to close it.

Do I scare you?

I was surprised.

My brother is not with you?

- I was looking for the latrines while he found us some wine.

You defended me, why?

- Because I know that certain mistakes follow you throughout your life.

Come.

For your arm.

Then I agree with you, how could we be happy

when children work like beasts of burden

and women sell their teeth for 40 francs?

The price of a bunch of asparagus.

When it's not their teeth, it's the rest, the body and the soul.

She coughs.

The night is going to be cold.

- Isn't it always cold for people like you and me?

- The maid is right, lock your door with the bolt.

- I have too little time left to live in fear.

Then what do you want to happen to me?

I died a long time ago.

Intriguing theme

- I'm glad you like this wine.

Grab some cookies too.

How about taking a few steps outside?

- This way. - I follow you.

- Earlier, you tried to make yourself hated, why?

I give what is expected of me.

I understand.

I doubt it.

-How do you want to be forgiven?

İf you are at war with everyone?

I neither ask nor grant forgiveness.

- But being naughty is an effort, right?

You have paid your debt to society,

your rights are today the same as mine.

- You have the right to a roof over your head and I have the right to sleep outside.

- You will not sleep outside. - The exception does not change the rule.

What I see in your servant's

eyes is in everyone's looks.

Myriel sighs.

I love these moments.

They make me accept infinity.

The end of the day announces another, everything will start again.

The spectacle of nature has always seemed invigorating to me.

And it's the time when the perfumes are exhaled.

The energy of the world waters

us and the sky becomes permission.

It all depends on who you are.

You believe that the happiness of some

is based on the unhappiness of others.

- The stars are not enough to alleviate suffering.

Those at the top praise the celestial vault while those at the bottom only see the night.

But the stars are there.

- Some lights highlight the darkness.

- I had never seen things like that.

Your wall is in poor condition.

Over there, near the stairs.

Get it fixed or someone will sneak into your house.

Why climb over the wall

when the door is open?

Disturbing theme

I will accompany you to your room.

Metallic ringing

- Between the large spoon and the cutlery, it costs 200 francs.

That's double what I've earned in nineteen years.

So.

All the justice in the world summarized in a cupboard.

I haven't slept under the same roof as a woman

for nineteen years.

Do you really think a latch will stop me?

The only question you have to ask yourself,

it's: "What time will he come?"

Someone is coming.

It's over here.

Please, sir.

Will this suit you?

I got you a glass of water.

Tomorrow morning you will drink a cup of milk from our cow.

I milk it myself.

- I tell you that I am a convict, you call me “sir”.

Who tells you I didn't murder?

Have a good night, sir.

Intriguing theme

Clinking chains

A man shouts orders.

A man says:

- Whatever his fate, every time he peers into the darkness,

anyone who has known the channel sees the same faces again.

The same proofs of the darkness of the world.

Aaah...!

He remains forever prey to the hilarity of darkness.

The wind whistles.

Fff...

Gue...

Crunches

It's pouring rain.

Thunderclap

Thunderclap

She coughs.

Thunderclap

Thunderclap

The man says:

- Jean Valjean had dropped himself fully dressed on the bed.

His whole story came back to him.

Everything that had brought him there.

Dramatic theme

He had lost his father and mother at a very young age.

All he had left of his family was one sister.

She already had five children when she became a widow.

He stayed and provided for their needs.

He had hired himself as a laborer to bring bread

at home.

Pruner.

Maneuver. Lumberjack.

He accepted all work.

- Don't worry, go get the others.

Hurry up!

The wind whistles.

It happened that one winter was harsh.

Food ran out.

Five children, no bread.

What do you want to happen?

Broken glass

Someone knocks.

This loaf of bread sealed his fate.

Clinking chains

Disturbing theme

Stop!

If you are here, it is because society no

longer wants you, because you are guilty.

If you die, no one will regret you.

So don't stand out.

Go to work.

The penal colony,

it is not just the deprivation of liberty.

This is also forced labor.

Every day of the year.

Year after year.

The stone exhausts you.

It dries you out.

It destroys you.

Identity dissolves into dust.

Men become ghosts.

He coughs.

Time is measured by the marks it leaves on faces.

Yet it's the scars we don't see

which are the deepest.

Those who let hope slip away.

Jean Valjean had stolen a loaf of bread.

Claude Gueux had stolen a loaf of bread.

What are you doing?

Mr. Director.

I'm judging someone.

- Four out of five flights are caused by hunger.

Hello, Mr. Director.

Claude Gueux

was a calm man. Shock and scream

But the prison director

had separated him from his only friend without giving him the reason.

Lift! Lift!

My legs! My legs!

The weeks passed,

and every time Claude questioned him

on the reason for his decision...

- Go ahead! - Take these!

The other gave him the same answer.

"Because."

"Because."

The director was one of those men who like to abuse

of the power they have.

For what?

Because.

- The spark that such lighters extract from such stones

often starts fires.

- Oh! - Go ahead Claude, bleed him!

- Bleed him, come on!

Come on! Come on!

Come on! Tap!

Finish this bitch! Go ahead, go ahead!

Bleed him!

Finish it!

This is the kind of event that every convict witnesses

every day of his sentence.

The humiliations of one

sometimes help to understand the behavior of others.

And what Claude had endured

was in many ways similar to what John had endured.

Where hope should have been found,

trust, friendship,

he found nothing.

You know what Claude said to the judge when

the judge asked him: “Why did you do that?”

"Because."

"Because."

"Because."

Hey! "Because."

"Because."

Come on, guys, I'm in a good mood today.

I am sending you a letter of twenty lines to a piece of bronze.

Whoever adds a finger of tobacco, I make

him a lover, a prince, a literary person.

So he tried to flee.

To go away.

Gunshots

To be free.

To escape this hell.

With each escape attempt, he risked his life.

Barking in the distance Once.

Twice. Three times.

But even for this he lost his taste.

Barking

Don't squirm, it's your turn.

Aren't you going to prefer the diarrhea bowl to freedom?

You're going to wait out your sentence,

spend half your money at a thrift store

to try to make people forget what you are.

Have you seen what we look like when we leave here?

Good people will just have to see your eyes.

You will be marked, like all of us.

You might as well make yourself look good while you still have the strength.

- To escape is to turn your head at every moment,

flinch at every noise, be afraid of everything.

From the smoking roof.

Of the man who passes. From the barking dog.

Barking

From the path, from the bush.

Sleep.

This is another punishment.

Another wear.

Barking

Another void.

Distressing theme

All my attempts to escape

only earned me sentence extensions.

It all cost me too much.

The years go by, those I loved have forgotten me.

I don't know where they are, or even if they are alive.

I don't even remember their faces anymore.

- Then he retreated into his consciousness.

And constituted itself as a tribunal.

He began by judging himself.

He recognized that he was not an innocent person unjustly punished.

- Be careful! - That he was wrong.

Ouch! Ah!

- Leave me! Leave me!

- Then he wondered if he was the only one guilty

in this fatal story.

If his sentence was not some kind of attack

from the strongest to the weakest.

A crime of society against the individual.

A crime that started again every day.

A crime that had lasted for nineteen years.

It must speak to citizens.

- I already told you to stop shitting ink!

- Canings - Ouch!

Do you want some extra?

Does that suit you?

These questions made and resolved,

he judged society and condemned it.

He condemned her to her hatred.

Oh!

- What's happening to you?

Come on, Jean!

Shouts, encouragement

Yes, yes, Jean!

Boos

- If the grain of millet under the millstone had thoughts,

he would no doubt think what this man thought.

Human society had only done him harm.

The man was still good when he arrived at the penal colony.

He felt he was becoming naughty.

Intriguing theme

He breathes fast and hard.

He blows.

Someone is snoring.

He breaks the window.

Intriguing theme

A door slams.

He bangs on the door.

No! No!

He hits her.

Madame Magloire falls.

Metallic ringing

She breathes.

The door creaks.

He hits her.

Rustle of the wind

Birds are chirping.

Hello, Mrs. Magloire.

Hello, Monsignor.

The awful man is the talk of the town.

Everyone chatters and eats your ear.

- Fortunately you're not like them.

No, I'm not like them.

Me, I'm learning to read.

Maybe one day I can discuss great authors with you

- and understand what you are saying. - I don't doubt it.

I don't doubt it.

Your Lordship, I repeat to you:

these flowers are useless, it would be better to have salads.

- I do not agree with you, Mrs. Magloire.

The beautiful is as useful as the useful.

More, perhaps.

Bring me a chair, my greatness does not extend to this branch.

- You deserve that I deprive you of lunch.

I found a basket.

I placed it on the edge of the well.

- This is the silverware basket. - Maybe.

- Monsignor, where did the silverware go?

That, I don't know.

- My God, it was the man from yesterday who stole it.

I saw the way he looked at the silverware last night.

And there it was, I was sure of it!

He's not here anymore, he's gone!

My lord!

Monsignor.

The man is gone, the silverware stolen.

I told you, these men are monsters.

- Was this silverware really ours?

Mrs. Magloire, I wrongly held

this silverware for a very long time.

She was for the poor.

And what was this man?

A poor man, obviously.

Alas, Jesus, it's neither for me

nor for Mademoiselle, we don't care.

But it's for Monseigneur, what will he eat with now?

Let's call the police.

Monsignor is too good,

he will end up naked.

I mean, you shouldn't let yourself be robbed.

Here you are with wooden cutlery. A bishop has the right to comfort.

Madame Magloire, an opulent

priest is a contradiction in terms.

Your comfort is a superfluity that

would constantly scream in my ears:

“Men are hungry, cold, there are poor people.”

And there always will be.

This is no reason to deprive yourself of the essentials.

Even less to let yourself be robbed.

I have everything I need.

- Help me, miss. When you have a big heart, you deserve

- honors and gilding. - I agree with you.

My brother has a heart of gold.

But don't confuse

gold with gilding.

If you think about it, gilding rarely covers gold.

- Was there theft, yes or no?

When there is theft, there are police.

Do we have any idea, sweet Jesus, of receiving such a man?

A joy again that he only flew.

It's scary when you think about it.

- No need to imagine tragedies that did not take place.

But they will take place.

That's why you have to notify the police.

Think of others.

To the next ones that this animal will fly.

The old women he will scare. To the good men he will betray.

We must denounce him out of charity!

I mean he... We knock.

Come in!

Stop.

Praise God.

Well done, gentlemen, we were going...

Ah, here you are!

So what?

You didn't want to wake us, but

to leave without saying goodbye...

- We saw this guy running with a bag, like someone running away, we caught him.

He presented us with his yellow passport when he arrived in town.

He's a repeat offender.

- Liberation is therefore not deliverance.

We leave the prison, but not the condemnation.

- Monsignor, there is what was in the bag.

Silver cutlery.

There is the coat of arms of the bishopric on the

napkin surrounding them, so I said to myself that...

This is a mistake.

This cutlery does come from here, but it was given as a gift.

Jean collects the cutlery.

And you forgot...

“Monseigneur”, isn’t that a priest?

- Quiet, you. It is Monseigneur the bishop.

The candlesticks.

In this case.

Excuse us for disturbing you, Monseigneur.

No.

You didn't bother me. Gentlemen.

Ladies.

- I have no taste for gallows or scaffolds.

- Punishment must be done, otherwise there will be pandemonium.

And these men never stay innocent for long.

Look at the history of counterfeit money.

You doubted who was guilty, but the prosecutor obtained a confession.

- Oh? - Yes.

This prosecutor is very clever.

He made the good wife believe that the husband was sleeping

elsewhere by showing her letters from an alleged mistress.

The wife believed him and reported the husband.

- Where will we judge this couple? - At the Assize Court.

- Oh. And where will we judge the prosecutor?

- Have a good day, Monsignor. - Have a nice day, gentlemen.

Monsignor.

Someone comes in.

- Would you like a glass of water?

- Mrs. Magloire, isn't it time to milk the cow?

And pick our eggs?

Goodbye, sir.

- Would you like to come and sit down?

Jean puts the glass down abruptly.

I wasn't always the man I am today.

One day in Italy, years ago, I...

I lost the person I loved most in the world.

That day, I was nothing but anger and violence.

I wanted it on the whole Earth.

I returned to religion

like others choose hatred.

My faith was that of those who want to fight and evangelize.

A faith full of certainties.

Tight.

A missionary faith.

Everywhere I went, I had to convince

and impose my faith.

I had learned that a hermit suffering from the worst reputation

was at its worst.

He was presented to me as an enemy of the Church.

A conventioneer having voted for the death of the king.

I once again saw the opportunity to prove my worth.

To convince a lost soul to get right with God.

I was promised great misfortunes when I came to see you.

Beatings and insults.

All in abundance.

- I no longer have the energy for such welcomes.

People like to continue seeing you according to their desires.

I have my reputation.

- You don't have much time to change it.

- I'm at the end of my journey, indeed.

But finishing is a simple matter.

I will die here tonight.

Under the stars.

I'm leaving because I want to.

My time has come.

I want to be free even in my agony.

- If you are sure, it would be regrettable

that we had met for nothing.

- If you came in the hope of confessing to me, Mr. priest,

you will have eaten dust for nothing.

- If I'm here, it's because you got lost

and you need it.

- I admit having voted for the end of the tyrant.

But it was also voting for the end of prostitution for women,

the end of slavery for men, the end of the night for children.

By voting for the republic, I voted for that.

I voted for fraternity, concord.

Dawn.

- Maybe. But you forget the Terror.

There were 89, but there were also 93.

- A cloud formed over 1,500 years.

He finally had a flat tire and you're suing him out of thin air?

- This lightning will not always have struck in the right place.

- I will cry with you over the children of kings

if you cry with me for the little ones of the people.

- I cry over everyone. - Also.

But if the balance must tip, let it be on the side of the people.

He has been

suffering for longer.

Do not believe in the virtues of holy water,

to the motherhood of a virgin

or the resurrection of a tortured person with a crown of thorns

does not necessarily mean not disbelieving.

The human race exists.

- I often see the nobility of that face again.

Time written in his hands.

This tear shed on humankind.

God is in these moments.

This man reconciled me with the world.

Men are mothers, but they don't know it.

Don't forget.

Never forget.

What then?

- That you promised me to become an honest man thanks to this money.

Jean Valjean.

Besides.

Melancholic theme

- Monseigneur's sister: - Jean Valjean was fleeing.

He didn't know what, but he was running away.

He felt a kind of anger.

He didn't know against whom.

He saw with concern the sort of terrible calm being shaken

that the injustice of his misfortune had given him.

Your arm.

Come on!

Besides.

- A child: - Ah, it will be fine, it will be fine, it will be fine

The aristocrats with the lantern Ah, it will be fine, it will be fine, it will be fine

The aristocrats, we will hang them

Despotism will expire

Freedom will triumph

Ah, it'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay

We no longer have nobles or priests

Ah, it'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay

Equality everywhere will reign

A room tinkles.

Hi.

Hi.

My coin, sir, it rolled under your foot.

My forty cent coin.

She's mine.

This is... my room!

- Who are you?

- My name is Petit-Gervais, I am a chimney sweep.

You took my money.

Give it back to me!

- Go away.

- Not without my coin! - Go away, I tell you!

Little!

Little!

Come back so I can give you back your coin!

Symphonic theme

Small!

Little!

Little!!

Little!!

Little!!

Little!!

Birds are chirping.

Jean Valjean:

The story of a man is not just the story of a man.

It is also that of those he meets.

These are sometimes forgotten.

Because their fate is less memorable,

less extraordinary, less romantic.

However, there are exceptional beings among them.

Beings who give hope by reducing space

between what is and what should be.

These do more than show the way.

They give you an example of what is possible.

They give you back your innocence.

Melancholic theme

The dikes had broken.

And since it was no longer a question of being the worst,

from now on we would have to be the best of men.