road_to_calvary | (no subject)

Entry tags:

fantine,
in-bar

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It seems Milliways has been storing up its surprises, ready to catch him while he has no defences.

Valjean had been leaving. He has spent days in Enjolras's body, he has been visited by Combeferre and Bahorel, who have read his life and tried to push him towards...he does not know what. He is tired, and he misses Cosette...and now, here is her mother.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in gentleman's clothes because he had come here from a visit to the Pontmercy's. His hands grip the rim of his hat - there is a cobweb on it - held before him as if it were a shield. Fantine is between him and the door, but he does not think he would avoid her if she were not. Still. It is not easy to see her.

'Mademoiselle,' he says, in a clear and respectful tone.

'Good evening.'

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"Of course I remember," says Fantine. How could she ever forget those words, that moment? "He said--" She looks around, and lowers her voice. "He said you were a convict. So what? Why should that make you hurt my Cosette so?" She's honestly puzzled. "All the more reason to stay close to her. That inspector will never find you in a respectable young lady's house."

'Being found is not the issue, Fantine. Javert knows exactly where I am.'

His tone is flat, and it seems to cost him great effort to speak at all.

'Mademoiselle, Cosette is a respectable young lady, a Baroness, married into a distinguised family. I have been careful to hide any association with myself, so that my past may not jeopardise her happiness. If it is discovered that she were raised by an ex-convict, a parole breaker, she would be ruined. Do you not see? And then, she knows nothing of this and I must implore you, if you please, not to reveal it to her. She...I do not think she would take it well, and then how would I explain? She has seen convicts, she does not think they can be real men and she is quite right, we are not, and I do not want her tarnished because of me, you understand?'

By the time he is finished, his voice is desperate, imploring. It remains quiet, but he is clearly begging, no shame left.

"Oh!" Fantine hadn't even considered this. She'd thought she would shame Cosette, but that M. Madeleine should worry over such a thing hadn't crossed her mind.

And now that it has, she finds it utterly ridiculous. "But monsieur, of course you can't hide your association with Cosette. There was a wedding, wasn't there? You didn't hide from that, surely. People must know who raised her, and as for your past, why, no one will find that out. You say Javert knows where you live. But he's said nothing, he hasn't arrested you yet. That must mean you've checked him somehow. Good! So who else knows? He's the only one wicked enough to remember and chase you. Everyone else must have forgotten. You're so very old," she says, forgetting to be tactful. "No one will turn up and shame you. No one will even think of you in connection with whatever you did when you were young."

Why, M. Madeleine was gray when she herself knew him, and now he looks older still. He must have been arrested ages ago.

"And you're wrong about Cosette, so very wrong, monsieur, you deserve a scolding for it. Once she knows you're a convict, she will change her ideas, because she loves you. Not real men! What nonsense. I've told her all about your kindness in Montreuil-sur-Mer. She already thought you were an angel, even before that, even though she was so angry and hurt with you. Why--"

Fantine has been keeping her voice lowered while discussing M. Madeleine's secret, speaking in a furious hiss. Now she lowers it even more, looking around again.

"She knows what I am," Fantine says. "She knows I wasn't married to her father. It saddened her to hear it, but she's such a sweet, loving girl. It's her nature, and you've raised her so well, she is so kind and so generous. She will love you all the more for the troubles you've undergone for her, and for me."

'She knows of her father?'

He, of course, was never going to bring up such a delicate subject, and now it has been broached he finds his mind swimming with the implications. Cosette will know he lied again, and yes, she is the sweetest girl, but he has been careful to ensure that she should not come into contact with darkness - no more since her time with the Thenardiers, at least - and then, there is Marius.

'She knows I am not, but I had told her that it was old Fauchelevent - I had to fabricate...it does not matter, but you see, she-'

He breaks off, and tries to calm his thoughts. Little of the internal turmoil shows on his face, but he cannot find the right words. No one seems to understand.

'Fantine, society is not kind to people who do not fit. Not mothers who find themselves alone, not convicts who have stolen and hidden their name, not to many others. Do you think it would be kind to Cosette? Whether she minded or not, do you think she would be accepted into the respectable houses in Paris, if people knew? They are a young couple, just starting out in life, and I do not want their chances blighted.'

He could also explain that Marius's reaction to the news had not been very good, but he cannot bring himself to dare impugn the name of that good young man, and then, Fantine might tell Cosette. No, the best thing to do is to take himself away and hope that this place influences his life no more.

Fantine looks away. "She knows, yes. But she doesn't want to hide from me, nor will she from you. You say respectable houses won't let her in. Well, even if she cares for them, how are they to know? You won't tell them, evidently that Javert won't tell them. There is no problem. You are being overly cautious. Oh, monsieur, I know you want what's best for Cosette. You've been so good, so kind! But if you knew how she worries for you, you'd understand it cannot be good for her if you leave her so."

'But I will know, Fantine.'

He cannot explain it much further than that. He tried, with Marius. But how can anyone understand honesty from a convict?

'Cosette knows that I am not her father, mademoiselle. She has a husband, she has an aunt, and a grandfather. And best of all, now she has her mother. She is blessed, and with all these things that will not cause her any trouble. I have my ways, and she knows of them, and I still see her a little every day.'

There is, of course, one more pertinent fact.

'It is not quite right to say no one else suspects anything of me. Thenardier is aware. He will not hesitate to use the information to his advantage.'

He does not know if Thenardier realises his entire past, or still simply believes that he is a millionaire who is there to be blackmailed. But he does not doubt that that man will find out all he can - and there is the link to Montreuil that he is quite aware of, through the letters from Fantine; there is little hope that a mayor arrested as an ex-con will not be remembered, and passed on to people who might come and inquire. No, he cannot dare hope that it is only he and Javert who know the truth back in Paris.

'So you see, it is not safe at all.'

But I will know, he says, and Fantine sees things all too clearly. "You're ashamed of yourself. But you can't be--you shouldn't be--you've done so much good, monsieur. You saved my Cosette. You are her father, in her heart. You should see the way she speaks of you. Her husband's aunt and grandfather--no doubt they're kind, but she doesn't speak of them like she speaks of you."

As for his last objection, that's too feeble for words. It's obvious he's just looking for reasons because he feels ashamed, and that won't do at all. "Thénardier! I've seen his daughter here. The poor girl. Éponine, her name is--I don't know if you met her. When I saw her she was a small child, plump and playful, and now? She looks like a beggar. I know something of what's befallen Thénardier, monsieur. He can take his tales where he likes, but what respectable person would believe him? He's a ruffian. You needn't worry about him."

He will not touch the first of her comments. Yes, of course, he is ashamed of himself as the world has shown him he must be. He is quite in agreement with it.

To the second, he shakes his head and says, gently, 'he is not to be underestimated. He is a dangerous man; he has threatened Cosette before, he has found where we live, and I have no doubt he can find any proof he needs. He makes his living through crime. He is adept at doing what he needs to to find money, you are aware of this yourself.'

After all, she believed the lies he wrote her. Who else might? And Thenardier has the advantage of not having to tell any lies at all.

'He will not go to the police, at least not until a last resort. He is known to them and in any case, there is no profit in that for him. But he will use it to gain money if he can. I will not take the risk.'

He has no fear of Thenardier for what he can do to him, but he is certainly a danger to Cosette's reputation. And if he is a convenient way to bring this danger home to Fantine, in terms she might grasp fully, then so much the better.

"Indeed he won't go to the police," says Fantine, "he's a rogue! Oh, yes, I believed him, when I thought him an honest innkeeper. But he's lost his inn, and no one thinks him honest anymore. Even if he demanded money, no one would pay for his information, I'm sure. Monsieur, you're looking for a reason to abandon Cosette because you feel ashamed. You shouldn't. You're like an angel sent from God, monsieur, and Cosette loves you so."

She doesn't even feel the need to answer M. Madeleine's hint of physical danger from Thénardier. She knows M. Madeleine, even as old as he is, could tie Thénardier in knots.

Edited 2015-11-29 03:07 (UTC)

It takes another moment before he can force words out, so taken aback is he by one of her comments.

'Abandon her? No, mademoiselle. Never.'

Never that. Never.

'I have done all I can for her, you must see that. She has a husband now, she has a good name, she has her whole life ahead of her. She does not need me shackled around her ankle, but I would never abandon her in my life, you must believe that.'

It is a distressing notion that she might. Even worse that Cosette might think it, though she is so happy with Marius it surely cannot be.

"Oh, monsieur," says Fantine, her eyes filling with tears to see his sorrow, "you believe you've done all you can for her, and you believe you're now a burden, but you're not, you're not. And to leave her now, with no explanation, and for no good reason--that is abandoning her, though you don't know it. If you'd only seen her face when she told me of it!"

Her little Cosette, all grown up but looking so sad and frustrated and confused. Surely M. Madeleine must see it's much better for him to do as Cosette wants.

Surely Fantine can see that Cosette is consumed by Marius: that his will is her will, and their happiness is all that matters to any of them. He is not going to try and push his way into it. It is only right that he step back and allow them to live.

'I see her every day,' he repeats quietly.

'I will not stop seeing her. It is permitted.'

He will not ask for any more, and no more will be given. This is what it is. Even if he were to ask, it would not be granted. But he will not detail this, he will not give any reason for anyone to think badly of Marius.

He stands up instead.

'I am glad to see you, mademoiselle. I hope you are very happy, and that you will be able to see Cosette whenever you wish. I must leave you. I thank you for your kind words.'

But he does not want any more of them, and he does not want to hear that he is making Cosette sad. It is hard to understand, because she does not seem very sad when he sees her any more. She seems happy. She has Marius.

"You see her only a little, in a cold and dreadful room. And--permitted? Permitted by who? Cosette would permit so much more..."

She trails off, seeing him rise. Who would permit M. Madeleine so little? Marius? His grandfather? Now here is a mystery, and M. Madeleine doesn't seem inclined to help her with it. "I'm glad to see you, too," she says. "Thank you again for all you've done for Cosette--and oh, please do be more sensible about her, from now on. Don't grieve her by staying away."

His eyes remain downcast, but there is nothing sullen in his manner.

'Her happiness is everything to me mademoiselle, I assure you. Good day.'

He bows deeply to her then, and tips his hat, and takes his leave. Perhaps another time they can talk of happier matters, and he can see if there is anything she needs. For now, it is best to withdraw. He must get away from this place for a while, he must see Cosette, and perhaps after that, he will be able to think again.

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