#for fauchelevent I think it’s more about. the joy of being able to do a service by someone who made such a profound effect on your life

[dolphin1812]

Why did Hugo have to include his Thoughts on Women when talking about the bishop’s death? I saw the chapter title and was prepared to grieve for him, and then he started writing about feminine virtue and I wanted to scream.

If he hadn’t made this gendered, this section would have been much more beautiful. Although I’m sad that Myriel died, I love knowing that he was happy in his last days because of the unconditional love of his sister. While some of the possessive language he uses is uncomfortable (like the part about “possessing the whole of her heart” because she spends all her time on him), he does have some nice lines in there. I especially like this one:

“The supreme happiness of life consists in the conviction that one is loved; loved for one’s own sake—let us say rather, loved in spite of one’s self”

Although we’ve always seen the bishop as a happy person, the fact that he dedicates his life to serving others makes it easy to interpret love for him as love for what he does rather than for who he is intrinsically. Here, though, we see that even when he is no longer able to do many of the things he once did (like write his book, for instance), the love others have for him doesn’t disappear. That idea of being able to completely rely on others when in need because they love you entirely, not just something about you, is really moving, and not even Hugo’s treatment of Baptistine can fully ruin my joy at knowing that Myriel was cared for to that extent.

(Of course, this idea of being “loved in spite of one’s self” is interesting to think about in relation to Madeleine as well; he, like Myriel, dedicates his life to others, but he doesn’t have that kind of support system.)

For the last chapter, I commented on the use of the passive voice to characterize Madeleine. When we return to him here, this style of narration continues. His mourning “was noticed” and “commented on;” “it was concluded” that he was connected to Myriel; it “was remarked” that he was generous to the Savoyards. We still see him from an outsider’s perspective, even when we (having been introduced to the bishop before) know more about this situation than the townspeople do.

Spoilers below:

I’m not over the idea of unconditional love in relation to Madeleine/Valjean. I think that Cosette does love him unconditionally, but he also never realizes this. For Myriel, blindness showed him the depth of his sister’s love because he needed more things done for him than before. For Valjean, what he needs to be loved for “in spite of” himself is his past, which Cosette never learns about. It’s easy for him to see how Cosette could love her father as M. Fauchelevent, but the idea that she could love and accept Valjean as a father is unthinkable to him. Although he’s surrounded by love in his last moment, it’s devastating that he never got the chance to have Myriel’s faith in someone else’s love.

[fellhellion]

Hugo kind of insane for giving both Javert and Fauchelevent the dog seeing it’s master imagery

[fremedon]

Brickclub 2.5.8, “The Mystery Deepens,” and 2.5.9, “The Man with the Bell”

Valjean contemplates the sleeping Cosette, and has an epiphany, or thinks he does:

“He clearly perceived this truth, the bedrock of his life from now one, that so long as she was there, so long as he had her by him, he would have no need of anything but for her sake, nor fear of anything except on her account.”

This is going to be literally true, and if Valjean were actually in that place of clarity where he thinks he is, I might say that he’s recognizing that he’s already dead, and merely allowed to keep existing for Cosette’s sake.

But he’s not. @everyonewasabird points out that this is where Valjean makes his fundamental error:

He thinks he has his clarity of mind back.

But he doesn’t! He doesn’t even know he’s cold!

And here, (HERE!?) we get the thesis of the rest of Valjean’s life. Everything revolves around Cosette, she is his sole purpose, and his continued existence is synonymous with her continued proximity.

That’s going to be a problem! She’s going to meet a boy one day, and Valjean will literally die of it!

And there’s always been this question in my head, of what error does Valjean make, and when does he make it?

And the answer is: he makes it RIGHT HERE. In this dead place, thinking he’s clear of mind when actually he’s nothing of the sort.

If we didn’t get that point clearly enough, we soon learn that his calm reassurance comes from contemplating a child he thinks is sleeping who is actually close to death. Cosette in this moment is one more thing that seems like a true light to follow that actually conceals a tomb.

It does feel like there’s some magical bargain being made here. The certainty he feels gazing at Cosette seems almost like a prayer--as long as Cosette is safe, he won’t ask for anything, or need anything for himself.

Valjean is starting to subconsciously notice Fauchelevent’s bell, and after this he’ll notice it properly and be cast back into an immediate and justified terror for his freedom. And he is still terrified by the sight of the prostrate nun--which is fascinating. As much as Hugo is laying on the Gothic horror, why is the nun the most terrifying thing Valjean has ever seen? He’s been in the bagne! Twice! He’s seen some shit. What about the nun performing the reparation is so existentially terrifying?

Even after he finds out where he is and what that prostrate figure was doing, he’s still going to be Weird about it. Later, he will kneel and pray just outside the chapel wall, contemplating the sister at the post, the way he knelt on the doorstep of the Bishop of Digne, and the way he approaches Fantine and Cosette as figures of worship.

He doesn’t know yet who the nun is or what she’s doing, but the echoes of that tendency to set up intermediaries between himself and the divine has some really interesting resonances with the conversation with Fauchelevent.

“Père Fauchelvent, I saved your life.” 

“I was the first to remember it,” replied Fauchelevent.

“Well, today you can do for me what I once did for you.”

Fauchelevent took in his old, wrinkled and trembling hands Jean Valjean’s two sturdy hands and for several minutes seemed unable to speak. Finally he exclaimed, “Oh! that would be a blessing from the good Lord if I could pay you back a little! I, save your life! Monsieur le Maire, this old man is at your service!”

A wonderful joy had in some way transfigured the old man. His face seemed to radiate light.

As Bird pointed out, the conversation at the end of the chapter where Fauchelevent calls Valjean an ingrate for saving his life and forgetting him--and implicit in forgetting, not giving him an opportunity to return gratitude or service--recalls “Enjolras and His Lieutenants,” the other big non-Marius-related use of “ingrate” in dialog. And this scene recalls OFPD--the handclasp, the moment of transfiguration. 

And this scene goes well, mostly? Fauchelevent gets to save Valjean. Valjean gets the help and the refuge that he needs. And he gets a friend--he makes the one human connection outside Cosette that we’ll ever see him make.

And yet the fact that it is the only one really suggests that something here is still broken. There’s a lesson he’s not learning, or at least not able to apply ever again. He will be in this position again, face to face with a person whose life he has saved, twice again and he will fail to make a connection with Javert and do everything in his power to thwart making one with Marius.

I’m not sure exactly what the lesson is, but there’s something here I can’t quite put into words about how saving or transforming a life creates a mutual obligation. We’ve just seen Valjean gaze at Cosette in worship, without waking her and without, at least at first, understanding what she needs. And we’ve seen him run in absolute terror from a figure who he will later turn to with that same worship. But we’re never going to see him reach out, the way Fauchelevent does, to anyone of the people who have transformed his life and try to meet them as equals, or to ask whether worship is what they need or want of him. And he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure that no one else he helps, no one he saves, has the knowledge or opportunity to reach out to him.

[random-red-ramblings]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean Characters: Javert (Les Misérables), Jean Valjean, Cosette Fauchelevent, Toussaint (Les Misérables) Additional Tags: Post-Seine, Javert Lives, Slow Burn, old man virgins, Eventual Porn, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, guys getting through their issues, tentative friendship, Friends to Lovers, will update tags and ratings as we go Summary:

Javert's moment with the Seine is interrupted but his confusion and uncertainty remain Life continues to be difficult for him with these new trials of conscience, but perhaps it gets somewhat easier in the presence of a friend

Friendship is the last thing either of them expected and maybe, in the end, it's a bond that runs far deeper

Thanks again to @avatoh for betaing

Chapter 2.

“Papa! Oh, Papa! What has happened? We got your note but I was still so worried! There has been fighting on the streets, you know! Oh, it’s terrible!”

Thankfully, Valjean had awoken moments before Cosette’s arrival, and wasn't shocked awake as he had been by Javert earlier. He thought he must have heard her approaching the house. He did not have time to remember and worry about Javert. He hurriedly buttoned his shirt to the neck.

“Cosette! You should not be out in these streets! Oh God, Cosette, you didn't see anything did you?”

“Oh no, Papa. The driver had to avoid those barricades. I know you sent your note this morning and the fighting was last night but I was just beside myself! Toussaint told me you came home in the evening and your clothes were filthy! Papa! Whyever would you do such a thing? And leave again in the dead of night! With all this fighting! Papa you are reckless and you worry me so!”

She flung her arms around him and he kissed her hair. He knew it was bad to feel such joy at her worry but how much longer would she worry over him? He treasured it.

He had intended to return to Rue de l’Homme Armé with Javert, it was far closer to the Pont du Change, but he had seen a fiacre and taken it as a sign. It was much more sensible for them to come here and he had thought he would avoid difficult questions. It seemed he was not so fortunate in that regard. No matter, Javert was likely sleeping, although it seemed to be getting dark outside.

“Monsieur, I believe there is someone in your quarters,” Toussaint said, face pale. “I thought I saw a shadow at the window when we passed by and just now, I looked out to check and-”

“It's alright ladies,” Valjean assured them as Cossette had put her hand to her mouth, doubtless imagining some violent insurgent hiding there. He may as well have returned to Rue de l’Homme Armé after all. “It is only… a friend of mine.”

“Friend?” Cosette somehow looked even more surprised by this notion.

“Yes,” Valjean hurried to cover this revelation as ordinary circumstance. “He needed somewhere to stay to avoid the fighting, that's why I had to come back here last night. There's nothing to worry about.”

“Well! He must dine with us! After such a stressful night and not being able to return home, we must make him feel at home here.”

“Cosette- he is very tired.”

“And once he has rested he will be very hungry. Why, it's only being a good host!” She put her hands on her hips and tutted at him. “Really Papa, you give him your awful little shed to stay in when we have lovely rooms here. I know you like it there, but it's no place for guests.”

Valjean floundered for an excuse but Cosette wasn't finished.

“And Papa,” her perfect and delicate hand took hold of his own. “You are exhausted too. He cannot expect you to host him and cook his meals. Toussaint is here.”

“It would be my pleasure Monsieur,” Toussaint bowed her head and gestured to the basket she held. “I was concerned you might not have eaten well so I came prepared.”

“Oh Toussaint, whatever have I done to deserve you? You may prepare a meal if you must,” Valjean said feebly, sinking back into his chair.

“That's right Papa! You continue to rest. I will help Toussaint and when your friend is ready he will join us here.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then she was gone in a flurry of ribbon and lace. Valjean closed his eyes, putting a hand to his forehead. He had no idea what he was going to do. An instinct told him to run: go to Javert, tell him he had to escort his daughter back home, tell Cosette that his guest had vanished, return home and pack for England because he didn't want to stay in Paris after all of the bloodshed. It would solve all of his problems but he abandoned such plans when he decided to go to the barricade. Cosette would be unhappy parted from the boy and Valjean would hate for her to grow bitter towards him for separating them.

Then there was Javert. Valjean could see him standing on the parapet, lost in the darkness. Valjean wasn't sure what would happen to him if he were left alone: he couldn't leave. He would be plagued with thoughts of Javert taking his own life and not knowing what had become of him.

He thought of Javert's blank acceptance that night after his inner turmoil and Valjean was harshly reminded of himself, years ago- bitter and snarling, snapping at the only man who thought to help him. The Bishop had put up with him doing much worse. The only thing he feared Javert would do was tell the truth about Valjean’s past and Valjean could not fault him if he did so.

“I require a comb.”

Valjean jumped off his seat, feeling as if he had nearly leapt out of his very skin in fright at the timbre of Javert's voice. He tried to level out his breathing and not look so stricken. He wasn't sure if he succeeded.

“Valjean?” Javert frowned at him from the doorway, taking a step closer.  

“Cosette-” he said weakly.

“I know. I took my opportunity when they were no longer in your company but I really-”

“Oh! Good evening Monsieur!” Cosette entered the room, stopping beside Javert with a confidence that Valjean didn't think he would ever be able to possess in the presence of the inspector. “You will be joining us for dinner won't you? Toussaint is cooking as we speak.”

Javert looked just as frozen as Valjean felt. He did not move his gaze to Cosette but remained staring at Valjean. Javert closed his eyes.

“Please excuse me, Mademoiselle. I fear I am in disarray.” He fiddled with his collar and Valjean realised he hadn't put on a cravat, although he was wearing a coat. His hair wasn't in its usual neat queue.

“Oh no, you are injured-”

“Hardly.” Javert did turn to look at her then but, remarkably, Cosette was not deterred.

“You have been under such strain. Do not concern yourself with your appearance on my account Monsieur. Oh please, do sit. Toussaint will bring tea shortly.”

“I really must insist on a comb,” he said, eyes flicking back to Valjean.

“That's no problem at all, follow me.”

Javert cast one last scrutinising look at him before he followed Cosette out of the room. Valjean could hear her merrily relaying their dinner plans as they went down the corridor.

Valjean set about making himself presentable too - tying his cravat, putting on his waistcoat and frock coat. Before long Cosette was back.

“You were right Papa, he is tired. He doesn't talk much at all. Is he shy?”

Valjean exhaled a laugh. “Shy? Oh no, never shy. Now fetch that tea from Toussaint so she can make the dinner.”

An excuse to buy a few more minutes to try and devise a plan. He was unsuccessful. Javert returned sooner than anticipated. He stood with his arms folded glaring at Valjean. Valjean could not maintain eye contact. His gaze slid to his hands in his lap.

“... Are you feeling any better?”

“No.”

The uncomfortable silence stretched until Cosette arrived with a rattling tea tray.

“Monsieur! Please, sit!”

She placed the tray on the small table beside Valjean's chair and went to move another chair closer.

“Mademoiselle, I can do that.”

Javert strode over and moved the chair so that the table was between the armrests of both of them. Valjean was relieved not to be facing him. Likely Javert felt the same and was disheartened when Cosette pulled up a dining chair to sit opposite them.

“Papa, you have not introduced us,” she scolded in a lighthearted manner.

“Ah. Forgive me. Cosette this is Inspector Javert, Javert this is Cosette Fauchelevent, my daughter.” He gave Javert the full name in the hope he would catch on to Valjean’s current alias and use it.

“An inspector! How exciting! Papa never told me he had such interesting friends.”

“You romanticise it,” Javert said gruffly as he took up his tea.

[continue reading...]

[youwillalwaysfitinwithme-blog]

Les Pirates du Musain

The sea is the inexorable social night into which the penal laws fling their condemned. The sea is the immensity of wretchedness.

-Victor Hugo, Les Misèrables

It was unusual for crews to survive a fight against Patron-Minette, but somehow, these people had. She knew about them, Les Amis -or so Gavorche had talked about them in the streets of Paris long ago. The flag had given them away: a plain red cloth, the color of the revolution they sought. Éponine knew nothing about their motives, or their cause; she just knew that there was a bounty on their heads, and that was the reason they fled Paris and took their revolution to the sea. Whatever their cause had to do with Patron-Minette, she had no clue. But if they had been able to stand their ground and end up victorious in the fight, Éponine could only assume that they were just as dangerous.

Read it on AO3

18. The Night Before

Nothing remained in her, nor around her, of her life at Le Musain, neither of her death at L'ombre du Mer. Had she even died?

The quietness of the place upset her. Its fresh air and clean faces felt too unfamiliar to her liking.

Éponine had woken up to find herself lying on a bed, covered in warm blankets, her skin and hair free of any sign of her life at sea. Nothing remained in her, nor around her, of her life at Le Musain, neither of her death at L'ombre du Mer. Had she even died? Éponine felt like she had, so quiet it was in that place. But then someone would come into the room and check on her, and in those moments she knew that she had survived somehow.

She drifted in and out of conciousness for a while, until one day she was strong enough to keep her eyes open and word some questions. "Mme Fauchelevent will talk to you when she comes." That was all the nun had offered; a name she didn't recognise, and no explanation as to her being there, under their care. What had happened? How had she ended up in a convent? What of the rest of them? Éponine glanced around for the thousandth time, but the beds remained empty; there was no one there but her.

What did it mean, that they weren't there? What did it mean, that she was?

Éponine felt weak, and confused. The stone walls and warm bed felt like a brand new prison from which she couldn't leave. She had tried standing up, but it had proven useless, her head spinned everytime. Her only comfort in that prison was the food, it brought her back to life little by little. The sunlight also helped. There were windows covering the wall at her left, and through them, Éponine could see a corridor, and past the corridor there seemed to be a garden. She saw figures passing by sometimes, nuns mostly. And then, that day she had managed to stay awake, she saw a light blue gown, passing by too fast for her to make out anything else.

The door of the room where she stayed opened, and a woman walked in, her blonde hair falling over the shoulders of her dress, blue and not too fancy at all, but stunning enough in Éponine's eyes. Cosette. The girl was walking towards her with a bright smile -she seemed an angel-, and when she reached the bed, Cosette held her lying form gently. Éponine held her too, and she breathed deeply, relieved to know she wasn't the only survivor.

"Mme Fauchelevent?" she asked once Cosette had sat in a chair by her side. "I thought your name was Valjean."

"It's a long story" Cosette replied, "How are you feeling? You look much better than when we brought you."

"I feel weak, but I'm better I suppose." Éponine saw an approving nod coming from the other girl.

"The nuns here have been taking good care of you. I have spent the mornings here as well, helping them... waiting for you to wake up. And I'm so glad to finally see you awake."

"But how did I end up here?"

Cosette had said someone had brought her in, but who? Then, another question took away all of her attention. She uttered it, urgently.

"Cosette, please tell me, did anyone else make it?"

Cosette smiled sadly, and took Éponine's hand in hers. Éponine feared the gesture, it felt like she was preparing her for a blow. It meant bad news. She looked worriedly at the girl, who was biting her lip, probably searching for the best way to tell her that everyone she knew was dead. Éponine feared the worst, the expectation driving her mad as she waited for Cosette's answer.

"Cosette, you must tell me what happened." Cosette nodded, and then cleared her throat.

"We lost most of the men when Patron-Minette attacked us" she began, "barely a dozen of us survived. There was Marius, Prouvaire, Bossuet, Michel, Combeferre... Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Jacques, Bahorel, Enjolras and Feuilly and Bernard. And me. Then they brought in Joly too, and later Gavroche." Cosette paused, and Éponine was patient this time. She didn't remember much from the attack, but Cosette seemed to be seeing the images happening once again before her eyes. Besides, Éponine was too shaken about the list of survivors to demand anything else; she had heard more names than expected. After a moment, the girl took a deep breath and went on: "It was horrible, almost drowning when Le Musain began to sink... But it was worse to find ourselves their prisoners. They locked us in cells and tortured us... they killed Bernard and Michel..." Cosette shook her head, "they intended to kill us all, eventually, but first they wanted revenge. They did horrible things, Éponine... it was a nightmare. But one day, another ship attacked them, and they were defeated."

"Are they dead?" she asked, unsure of what emotion Cosette's answer would provide her.

"Not then, but yes. Javert condemned them to the gallows for piracy and murder. They were hung a few days ago."

Éponine couldn't help the wave of relief that washed over her. She knew there was more to the members of Patron-Minette than the horrible things they had done, but she couldn't find it in herself to feel pity for their fate; not after what they had put her through; not when they were the cause of so much death. She wondered what Montparnasse had thought, when he finally figured he was wrong about their fates. But then, it occurred to her: "Javert?"

"It was the royal navy who rescued us" Cosette explained, her eyes turning into worry, "or rather, me. Javert let me go, as a debt settled to my father... But the rest of them were imprisoned. Éponine, they are awaiting their sentence in La Force. All of them."

Éponine felt her breath catch. They would be hanged. All of them. She didn't need a sentence to know that. Their revolution was over, they were already dead.

Cosette squeezed her hand and Éponine looked her in the eyes. There was no comfort for the hollow sensation that had settled in her chest, and Cosette seemed to notice the change in her. But Éponine didn't give her time to ask, or to utter reassuring -empty- words; instead, she kept asking questions.

"And why am I here?"

"They found you after they took Les Amis away. When I saw them carrying you, I couldn't believe my eyes. Éponine, we thought you had died; Patron-Minette never told us otherwise. I told the soldiers that you weren't part of our group, that I didn't know you, so they wouldn't take you to prison too. They left you here and then they took me to my father. And you know the rest."

Éponine nodded as she let the girl's words fill the blank spaces of her own recount of the events. They had all survived, there was no ignoring the feeling of joy at that piece of information. But there was no ignoring the anguish either. Yes, they had all survived, but what for? They were in jail, they would be judged, and sentended, and killed. The monster they had been fighting had won, and Éponine found it all utterly unfair.

She felt selfish about it, but what she found most unfair was that she wouldn't get to see them one more time. She couldn't remember the last conversation she'd had with them. Did they? Did they think she was dead? Had they mourned her, like she would mourn them? Cosette saw the conflict inside the girl and placed a reassuring hand over her shoulder.

"Don't you dare settle on the worst yet, Éponine. As long as they are alive, I will have hope. And you must, too. I refuse to give up on Marius; on any of them."

Éponine saw determination in her eyes, mixing with the worry she had let slip earlier. Cosette might not be able to handle a sword, but she was strong anyway. It took a great deal of strength to be treated so harshly, to see the worst of the world, and still fight against the inevitable. Her determination was so evident... it felt contagious. It lit a tiny flame in the other girl's chest. Éponine felt like she couldn't give up either. She wouldn't disappoint her friends. She wouldn't let down Cosette, who was expectantly waiting for a change in her attitude; for a sign that she wasn't alone in her hope.

"What can we do?" Éponine asked.

Cosette smiled relieved and proceeded to explain hersef to the girl.

When Cosette returned a few days later she informed Éponine that the sentence had been passed. Their friends would be hanged in seven days. They needed to get to work.

As soon as Éponine was strong enough, she was walking the streets of Paris with Cosette by her side. She had been provided with a simple green dress and a shawl -which had belonged to the other woman-, since the nuns had got rid of her manly attire. It felt strange, to not hide from the world anymore; but there was no time to worry about such things, there was a riot to stir.

During those days, previous to Les Amis' date at the gallows, Éponine and Cosette had been stirring the poor, searching for allies who would help them protest against the destiny of those who had fought for the people. They had gone beyond Paris, visiting the nearest towns, sending word to fellow republicans in the coast, reminding them of their friends' passion to their cause. And they found the people more than willing to stand up for the imprisoned. They weren't willing to let those who had fed and helped them for so long die. After years of suffering under a monarch, after years of injustice and misery, the people of France was ready to fight. And even those who weren't so willing, seemed to be convinced after Cosette's speeches. There was a flame in her eyes whenever she spoke which Éponine had never seen before, save in the eyes of Enjolras himself. It spoke of rage and resolution. There was no yielding her efforts to see the men finally free.

The night before, Éponine was unable to sleep.

The events of the following day were chasing away her rest. As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw them lined up at the scaffold, their hands tied up, their necks surrounded by a noose. She imagined the fear in their eyes and their hearts thrumming in their chests, awaiting the moment in which they would stop beating at all.

Then, a comforting memory crept in. She remembered the thrum of Enjolras' heart against her palm, and how soundly she had slept in his embrace. She remembered their rare moments of confidences, and their never ending arguments. She found herself missing his warmth and his weight beside her in bed. Was he missing it too? Was he missing her? Éponine remembered the quietness of their relationship once the night fell, and although she had no way of knowing whether they would live or not, she found herself terrified at the idea of never having Enjolras again, of him not existing anymore. And that's when she knew.

The night before, Éponine realised she loved him.