#the javert with boots is back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

milady-pink · 1 year ago

Text

A Love Undying

Summary: For many months Erik has been trying to find the courage to tell Christine exactly how he feels for her, choosing the night of her premier as the new starring soprano. But when everything goes wrong, death itself cannot keep them apart.

Word Count: 5,145 | Graphics: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: major character death, unrequited love, anger issues

Part 2 Part 3

Nothing could compare to the agony Erik was suffering from currently. Although his many years of wandering the earth with a face like his, lacking in a nose with yellow tinged skin like a sheet of crepe paper stretched over protruding cheekbones and sparse bits of hair on the crown of his head, nothing was as awful as the pain he felt now. Not when his mother renounced him as her son and therefore sold him to the cruel circus master Javert, nor when was made to perform massless for the masses as the singing corpse, due to his less than ideal appearance. No, even as his amber eyes watered from years of being submitted to whippings and being withheld food did he ever suffer as he did today.

It was just after Christine’s performance, her first October as the Opera Populaire’s leading lady. Her time had finally come, the stars themselves aligning just for her to pursue the dreams her father helped nourish with his sweet violin playing whilst she sang. What with Carlotta’s leaving, new managers who were eager for a large crowd, and new patrons giving the theater their money for new talent, costumes, and sets. For Christine the universe was finally rewarding her hard work. But, for Erik, the hard work was what gave her the right chance. Scaring Carlotta with her life so that she fled the opera once and for all, leaving for Spain to ruin some other theater with her off-pitch soprano, easy as pie. Convincing the new managers to not only pay him his due allowance but also hold them under his reign just enough to play them like the puppets they are, a bit of a challenge seeing as the tubbier one had a hard time believing in ghosts. Finding the right patrons who both cared for the arts and music but didn't care enough to investigate should they hear about the Opera Ghost and ask for a refund, hard but not impossible. But Erik did say he would move heaven and earth just to make Christine happy, and as far as he was concerned, stars were included.

So, what went wrong?

Alas it started by asking the fatal mistake of inviting the DeChagny family to a dress rehearsal of Faust, the company’s fall show. With a new Prima Donna found in the quiet ballet rat of Christine Daaé, seats for the show was sure to be filled, but the managers wanted (and where promptly told to via a poorly written letter) to raise the budget for sets and costumes to really dazzle the audience; insuring they tell their friends and keep them coming back for more. So when a certain phantom hand delivered an invite on behalf of the opera itself to come watch the actors and dancers before the big night, promising the Count that what he witnesses will be ten-times better on opening night.

All of this sounds like the genius makings of a very profitable season for the opera house, but one small change made the whole plan fly out the window. That stupid Count! He couldn’t have just sent a personal aide or a wealthy friend in his place, but no! Phillipe DeChagny had to send his younger brother; the Viscount DeChagny, the fop.

That afternoon was the first time Erik had ever felt such a rage that he nearly jumped from his designated box seat and ripped his dear Christine away from him. It was like watching an opera; the beautiful and loved leading actress being swooned by a goblin in disguise as a handsome young man, one with a large bank account to boot. He could still see the horrifying moment play out, and he suspects he will for all of eternity trapped in torment. Early on in the opera, as Faust was making a deal with the devil himself, when Erik noticed that the Count looked rather good despite being the oldest of three sisters and a brother. The brother! At the time Erik could not have guessed why the Count sent his younger sibling to an exclusive event he himself was supposed to attend, but it turns out the Count took less of an interest in the opera and music than he did to the head ballet dancer. Truthfully, when the Count saw he was asked to attend the dress rehearsal for Faust, he dreaded the thought of watching the show, considering the matter and all like it a bore. So, Phillipe asked his brother if he wanted to attend in his stead.

As the opera continued the younger and more bright-eyed DeChagny was quite enjoying the rehearsal, and should be considering how out of the two male heirs he loved the arts far more than his brother. The catalyst of horror occurred when Marguerite, played by his angelic Christine, walked on stage for her first aria of the opera; the iconic jewel song. The look of sheer joy and excitement that crossed the young Viscount’s face was thought to only be one of pure admiration, as was the one that settled across Erik’s face whenever he heard her performance of the song. But, when the short intermission came after the first act, Erik looked back across the empty theater seats and found the Viscount to be missing. Even worse, as Erik scanned the large room with his pooling amber eyes, he spotted the young chap talking with his beloved in the wings.

Furious, Erik kept from his seat and, using his secret passageways, made haste to move towards the couple chatting away happily. Finally when he got to his perch just above the backstage, Erik almost fell due to the intense nausea that came over him. Not only did Christine eagerly talk to the boy, she hugged him!

The whole of Erik’s world was crumbling beneath him, nothing to do but watch and grip the metal bar on the stage lighting’s walkway with white knuckles, imagining the fop with his boyish good looks and blonde mustache between his skeleton fingers.

As it later will be revealed to Erik once he and Christine have their daily music lesson, the Viscount, Raoul, are old friends who used to play together when she and her papa lived in Perros-Guirec, many years ago. The angel in his presence continued to talk about how the two of them got along so well despite their social standings, all of the memories they shared from the beach to the little fishing village they used to frequent. She even went into great detail of how the two of them met. And much like how the chances of her red scarf taking flight and gliding into the ocean led to the encounter of Raoul and Christine, Erik felt that the chances of one brother going to a dress rehearsal instead of the other have changed his life for the worse.

Erik would be the first one to admit that he pushed his pupil rather hard, pushing her voice to its limits in pitch and volume along with using a harsher voice, but he needed some sort of reminder that she was still under his guidance. For Christine, whatever the Angel of Music said was law, so it wouldn’t be such a stretch for him to tell her to remember her reputation as a young woman when conversing with the opposite sex.

In any other universe than this one, Erik would have to dig deep inside of himself and deal with the emotions that his anger was masquerading for. But for now, he could pretend and love Christine from afar with her none the wiser.

The true climax of this sorrowful tale did not come until the following weeks. It was opening week for Faust and the Populaire was buzzing with excitement. New managers, a new female lead, new patrons, everyone was on edge and ready for the first performance.

After a whole day of preparations like lighting and last minute set and costuming repairs, finally the time came for Christine’s debut. The audience loved her, from the second she made an appearance to the last floating notes of the aria, the people of Paris were entranced by Miss Daaé. Thanks to her background in dancing all of her movements matched her voice, delicate and light as air with an innocence that was hard to dislike; and that was just the first song! His angelic Christine maintained that air of delicacy and talent throughout the opera, even Mephistopheles was said to have shed a tear or two behind the scenes.

Christine herself could not believe the night she had. Many times she had to place a hand over her heart to make sure she was still alive and breathing from how glorious it felt to be on stage and sing with the voice her dear Maestro crafted her with. Erik himself was in awe; gone was the young waif he found one night crying from the death of her dear papa and fabricating the Angel of Music to comfort and dry her tears. Before him sang a woman with confidence radiating from her, creating a beautiful halo of joy shining from within her. What really brought a tear to his eye was knowing that her talented voice only elevated tonight because her heart was laced in every word she sang. As he watched her bow on the stage to then presumably leave for her dressing room, Erik knew he had to tell her.

Tonight.

Heaven was real, and it was the stage, Christine was sure of it. Nothing, absolutely nothing could compare to the emotions and joy she felt tonight under the stage lights with every audience member on the edge of their seats watching, listening to her.

Especially him.

Her dear Maestro, her Erik, no more of a ghost than she and yet continued to scare and tease the managers and her fellow cast mates. The mere thought caused her to laugh at his antics. How such a refined older man like himself could partake in the childish pranks that he did always brought a smile to appear on her lips.

“What is it that makes you smile like that, Christine? Good things I hope.”

Shaken from her thoughts of her teacher, Christine looks up as she nears her dressing room to find Raoul standing outside with a bouquet in hand.

“The best of things, Raoul. Who are those for? A very happy soprano perhaps?” She teased him.

He couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, the sound almost lost to the void from the commotion of all the workers and cast celebrating a successful opening night. Taking notice of their surroundings, the Viscount moved closer to his friend and spoke at a low volume for only her to hear.

“Mayhaps we should talk somewhere more private to better understand each other.”

At his suggestion Christine smiled and moved to open her dressing room door, only to be stopped with a gloved hand to her elbow. She looks back to Raoul who sports a questioning glance at her and the people around them.

“Is that most appropriate? I’d hate for anyone to view you as something you’re not, Christine.”

The soprano couldn’t help but smile at his sincere tone and merely replied, “It’s only you Raoul, and besides everyone knows the real dirty stuff happens in the orchestra pit,” giving him a sly smile, wiggling her eyebrows as insinuation. Her answer only made his face get redder from embarrassment, but he followed her into the room regardless.

Having sensed that her Maestro would be seeking her out soon after such a performance, she hoped that this meeting with Raoul would only last a few minutes. So when he made to take his outer coat off, Christine insisted that Madame Giry and the costumer would be seeing her soon to remove the opera’s garments, so he instead kept the heavy wool on.

“If you don’t wish to continue your career as a performer, I think the police force could use someone like you, what with your detective work of deducing that these are in fact your flowers.” Her old friend told her with an outstretched arm, offering her the mixed bouquet. Christine giggled happily and took the flowers to place in water.

“It wasn’t very hard, I was going to take them from your hands even if I had to rip them away from you.” She laughed while filling the vase with fresh water from her basin.

“Believe me Christine, you need never take anything from me with force. For you, simply ask and it is yours.” He disclosed to her truthfully.

Turning her attention away from the flowers soaking up the water, Christine sought out the playful look in Raoul’s eyes or the tilting edge in his life at those words. But none could be found.

“Christine,” he said taking long steps towards her, “woul—would you do me the honor o—of joining me tomorrow for an afternoon tea?”

She could tell from both his voice and traits, furrowed eyebrows and shakes hands, not to mention how he shifted his weight to and from when he would normally stand tall and confident that the Viscount DeChagny was anxiously awaiting her answer.

So, giving him her brightest smile to ease any nerves he has, Christine speaks with a soothing voice to further calm her friend that she indeed would like to join him for tea.

“Of course Raoul! I would love to, it would be the perfect time to catch up with my oldest friend.”

To Christine he could not have been more happy about her answer, but anyone else could plainly see that the Viscount was less than pleased with how she described him.

A friend

Although he was able to stand up tall again his brows remained furrowed at the choice of Christine’s wording. Regardless, he bid her adieu with the promise of sending a carriage to pick her up tomorrow at 11:45.

“I’ll make sure the driver knows what you look like to wait for you. Uh— until then, Christine. Remarkable performance again. Bonsoir.” With that Raoul left the leading lady’s dressing room with his head clouded by confusion, thinking his romantic advances had not caught on.

On the carriage ride back to the manor, he promised himself that midday tomorrow he will put every effort to make his affections known to his childhood sweetheart.

Without a care in the world and still on cloud nine after her performance, Christine undressed herself from the garment and re-racked it for the seamstress to retrieve later. After pulling on a dressing gown over her underthings, she sat down at her vanity to brush out her hair after being manipulated into a theatrical updo for the final act. As she hummed a simple tune whilst brushing out strand after strand, Christine Daaé had no clue that one of the wealthiest bachelors in Paris sought out her attention.

But where she was blind, Erik was not.

Having arrived early to give his star pupil an arrangement of flowers that barely compared to her own beauty, Erik immediately realized that she had not entered her dressing room alone. She had brought that boy with her, and worse, had happily accepted his bouquet with great enthusiasm. What was worse, the blunderbuss had asked to accompany him for tea tomorrow. And she accepted! Erik was glad his anger kept him immobile or else there would have been a great massacre in poor Christine’s dressing room from the sheer amount of rage boiling over in his rail thin body. Every bone was about to burst from the fire coiling its way through his veins, so angry was he that the hidden passage behind the mirror where he now stood grew too hot and bothersome to stand in. Blinded by his fury Erik did not notice that the object of his ire had slumped out of the room with disappointment , defeated by being shut out of Christine’s affections.

Now that she was alone, Erik intended to show Christine that she was more than just a student to him, how he was prepared to take her as his wife and give her a life full of joy and music, ready to bend at her every whim.

The opening of the mirror caught Christine's attention from the corner of her eye. Turning, she smiled as she watched her maestro step into the room wearing his usual black suit, minus the cape seeing as how he had been in the theater to watch her tonight. Even if his towering form should have been frightening, Christine found it comforting to always have someone easily envelope her. She recalls how fast she could hear his heart beat when she caught him by surprise and hugged him for the first time; her head barely grazing his chin but he rested hit on her crown for a few precious moments Christine swore she could live in his arms forever.

Although, she’ll have to do something about his weight. Standing at such a tall height the poor man would have to eat five times as much to even reach a healthy weight at the pace he is going now. And with his bad habit of frequently skipping meals to focus on his music, Christine is sure she could pull him away from his organ for a few minutes to eat a simple dish of her making.

Leaving her vanity to meet her maestro halfway, Christine noticed that in his hand, that remains by his side, held a bouquet of blood red roses. Abandoning any and all cheekiness that she would normally use with Raoul, she became more nervous than the young ballet rats.

“Erik, I hope you enjoyed the performance tonight. I know it's only the first of the season but I felt I did rather well.” She could not look him in the eye,so instead she focused on his recently polished shoes.

Simply like that, the meek words from the angel before him and all of the anger and fury that resided in Erik’s bones perished. How could it not? When his dear Christine looked how she did with her curls cascading down her swan-like neck, the colour of her dressing gown perfectly matching that of her eyes, not to mention how she worried her dolls hands about what he might say. And, dare he hope, the faintest warmth emitting from her cheeks? Yes, anyone with a soul as corrupted as his could rid of their anger the second they took in the scene before them.

Stirring him from his thoughts was the questioning tilt in her delicate voice. “Who are those for, might I ask?”

Realizing that she was pointing to the flowers by his side, the gears in Erik’s body and mind finally started to move again after being stopped momentarily by a foul angry rust. “My apologies my dear,” he said before stretching his hand out for the bouquet to reach inches from her, “these beauties are for only the most beautiful rose in the opera house, nay, the world.”

Taking the roses from his gloved hand, Christine brought them to her nose and inhaled the most potent and floral scent she has ever had the pleasure of smelling.

“They’re absolutely magical, Erik, thank you.” She told him with great sincerity.

Feeling a wave of confidence radiate from her words, he responded, “Only the best for the most talented young woman in France. You were radiant tonight, Christine, truly.”

Shifting her gaze from the flowers in her hand to her maestro’s eyes, Christine got lost for a few seconds in the pools of swirling amber that made her feel safe and warm.

“I suspect our lessons don’t have to be as grueling as they were before tonight. Maybe we could start again tomorrow? I hope that is not too soon.”

“I would love to, Erik. Although, it might have to wait until after I return. I’m to join Raoul tomorrow for tea at midday.”

Her simple words should have made a normal man respond in the positive, saying something along the lines of how they can schedule an early evening lesson where the hours get lost to them both, forcing Christine to stay for dinner that he could make for her before retiring to the living room and sharing more music before the warming fire.

But Erik was not a normal man.

He himself was a monster, but within him housed a greater evil that took the lives of many men, and women, before him and will continue to do so until the sun burns out.

Jealousy, that green scaled thing that sinks its teeth into the soul telling mankind everything that could be taken away from you in an instant.

Having been quiet a minute too long, Christine started to become concerned for her beloved teacher. Hoping to stir him from his unraveling thoughts, she placed a small hand on his forearm, bringing him back to the present moment.

“Erik, are you alright?”

No. No, for not even the sweet way she said his name and asked about his well being was enough to draw him back from the brink of pure rage that he currently stood on.

“The boy?” He asked in a deathly low voice, sending shivers down Christine’s back that she willed to stop.

“Raoul? Yes, we hope to rekindle our friendship after so long apart—“

“You would rather spend time with that fop than sing with me?!” He practically bellowed for it not for the partying cast members hanging around the dressing rooms causing a racket.

Amidst his anger the ferocity of his words hit Christine like a bolt of lightning, causing her to cower back from him in fear.

“What? No, Erik, you’re misunderstandi—“

“You tell me that I do not understand what that boy wants to do with you?! That he doesn’t want to take you in his arms, surrounded by his lavish manor, and claim you as his own! He will destroy you, Christine! Take you away from your music, our music!” He continued to scream like a mad man, only making things worse as he flailed his arms around to further accentuate his anger. Those emotions that he tried to keep bottled up earlier are now rearing their ugly head and making both of their lives a living hell.

“N—no he wouldn’t, he doesn’t even feel that way about me Erik.” She tried to reason with him even through her unshed tears, but there was no calming him down now that he had flung himself off the point of no return.

“Oh no? Tell me dumb girl, do you know what I see in his eyes? There’s a lust that resides there, Christine, a wanting that most any man would feel for a beauty such as yourself. He wants to lock you away, make you a wife, a mother, force child after child from you only to find his pleasure elsewhere in a young maid! Not I Christine, no not Erik! Where he would toss you the second you start to spoil, Erik would keep you happy with his music and love! Yes, love Christine, Erik loves you, the fowl creature that he is, he would love you for all of eternity! Ugly and alone, undeserving of any kindness at all, but you gave me a taste of that, Christine, and I have fallen for your charms and niceties. How poetic, the damned ugly monster in love with the angel that graced him!”

Somewhere along his rant and walking around the small quarters, Erik chanced a look at Christine, and what he saw tore him to pieces. A small, shivering figure,with a wetness covering her face, looking scared for her life that he might direct his anger towards her with his strength.

What scared him more was that he could not reassure her that she was safe from his harm.

Needing to leave before things got worse, as if they could, Erik quickly got back into the mirror and began to shut the door, refusing to look back at her fear shaken eyes so he was not tempted to try comforting her, lest he further scare the poor girl.

Before shutting the two-way mirror for what he hoped would be the last time, he looked down at the pile of roses that he bought for her and told her, “You need not hurry back tomorrow, I should think our teachings are done. But know this, Christine; I will love you for all of eternity,” his hoarse voice carried over through the chillingly silent room.

All the way down his catacombs and passageways Erik fought with himself that she did not need him to come back and make things right, that both of them needed space to clear his head and not harm her more than he already has.

Thankfully he reached the lake, longer than usual, but rowed across the waters and to his house. After opening the door he was welcomed with the usual silence that permeated the air, dank from how deep his house was and its proximity to the lake.

Stripping himself of his coat, Erik meangerd over to his organ and plopped down onto the velvet bench. Everything had gone so terribly, horribly wrong. All of the plans he had made to show Christine how much he cares and appreciates her, out the window. Well, at least he had told her he loved her. Yes, but only after comparing himself to that idiot boy who thinks his romantic affections went unnoticed, saying how he would take all music away from the poor girl's life. And while he didn’t believe that the fool would be stupid enough to cheat on Christine with some poorly house maid, he did believe that her life would have been obsolete of any public singing besides the odd house party. What really frightened the ghost was the very real possibility that the Viscount would take exponential care of his childhood sweetheart, catering for her every need, giving up things he loved just to make her happy in her gilded cage. If she married him and was the happiest she could ever be, what hope was there for Erik to steal her back to the opera house where she belongs.

That scaled green monster was once again nudging Erik to push his emotions to their limits, coming with vile scenes of the young couple and their happy marriage. For not the first time this evening, Erik saw red. Only this time, in his own devilish domain, he could create or destroy whatever he saw fit when the matter arose. Unfortunately for the world, there will be no telling of the scores and music that the Opera Ghost would have been composer of, for every image that his mind imagined of his angel giving her soul away to that damned boy he ruined his life’s most worked on projects.

As Christine walked down the aisle in her pristine, white gown to meet her beloved at the altar; Erik spilled ink and tore up his compositions, effectively rendering them useless. When they shared a happy first kiss after the minister pronounced them husband and wife; Erik smashed his organ with the velvet-tufted bench, bits and pieces flying everywhere. The party they threw to welcome the happy couple’s first child; Erik ripped and burned the various paintings and sculptures he made for his opera and Christine herself. But, as he watched a painting of his dearest, that he found too shoddy to gift her with, something changed in Erik.

He was yet again reminded of how he had scared and threatened her so, terrifying her to the point of tears running down her face, tears which he doubted she knew were freely falling.

It was with that horrifying image that Erik once again went from a raging, destroying mad man ruining everything he touched, into a sobbing mess. He cried out for Christine, begging for her forgiveness, hoping beyond all doubt that she would hear him and bring her light with her. He stumbled from his massacre of destruction, evidently throwing his mask behind, as he made his way to his room.

The room, which shouldn’t even be allowed to have such a name, consisted of only dark stone, a few candelabras, an old worn out Persian rug, and atop it, his coffin. The very same coffin that Christine demanded he get rid of once he disclosed to her that he sleeps there, feeling he deserves the feeling of the cold wood and no comfort, nothing else suited the world’s living corpse. Now, after all that he has done, all the harm he has caused and irrevocable damage done to his relationship, the purest to ever exist, he truly does deserve to succumb to the ghastly bed.

Taking the heavy lid, Erik slid it over just enough to crawl inside, and shut out all light from his eyes; undeserving of the heat and warmth they provide. Where he would usually count the lines in the wood grain, tonight he merely wallowed in pity for what could have been between his decrepit form, and the angel that he dared to love.

Unfortunately for Erik, tonight of all nights would have been the one for him to stay up all night, sitting at his organ and playing his music to ease the pain of a broken heart. But because he chose the comfort of a coffin, fit for the only purpose of serving as someone’s final resting place, his macabre lifestyle has finally caught up to him.

As many scientists would speak of years later, this night had reached record low for the city of Paris. Evidently if the Opera Ghost had stayed up late into the night he would have noticed the deathly chill had caused a light sheet of ice to form over his beloved lake. The temperature even caused candles that resided five cellars beneath the Opera Populaire, to harden so much that lighting them seemed futile. His warm fire that blazed while he was raging, simmered out whilst the poor ghoul slept, until that too ceased.

His grizzly end was described by some to be justified, a corpse deserves to live and die in a coffin found deep underground. Others, far more sympathetic, would continue to believe and tell their children of the Opera Ghost and his story of how he considered himself a monster due to his looks, how he fell in love with the only angel to grace the stage, and met his untimely end when she rejected him.

Regardless if you believe he died of a broken heart or hypothermia one thing remains true and will stand the test of time; the man died alone.

#phantom of the opera #christine daae #raoul de chagny #erik destler #musical fanfic #halloween #erik x christine #inktober #fanfic #fictober23 #andrew lloyd webber #death mention tw

5 notes · View notes

javertautismtruther · 1 year ago

Note

JAVERT'S SOLILOQUY/SUICIDE

Pain. But alright /j

For those who don't want an extensive rating, this is my ranking, which I made into a ranked Spotify Playlist as well. Feel free to reblog with your own rankings! I'm curious what you all think!

2011 Madrid

2020 Live

French Concept

10th Anniversary

2008 Dutch

1989 Vienna

1991 Paris

Symphonic Recording

French Concert

2012 Movie

1985 London

2010 Live

Now for the ratings, in no particular order. I live-reviewed them as I listened :)

2011 Madrid: This man is DEFINITELY having a breakdown. I understand nothing but I feel his pain. Amazing performance. I LOVE his voice and THE ENDING ???????? WHAT THE FUCK /pos 10/10

1991 Paris: Not a fan of the part before the song, sorry (I know a lot of version add this part, I JUST WANT THE SONG). I can't really feel the mental breakdown with this one and also don't really like this voice. Though I love the instrumentals building up near the end. Don't like this "there's no way to go on" either. Mid version, sorry. 5/10

French Concept: This one definitely has a better breakdown than the '91 French one, though it doesn't beat the Spanish one. I think this voice fits Javert well, though not perfect. While I think the "updated" ending is better, this one isn't bad. 7/10

2020 Live: Again with the pre-song, but okay. It took me a while to get used to Michael Ball as Javert, but I've grown to love him. I think his voice fits the character very well. I can definitely feel the breakdown in this one. 8.5/10

2008 Dutch: My theatre bestie (number 1 Wim fan) will murder me for this but I don't really know how to feel about this Javert's voice fitting. It's not a bad fit, but not perfect either. Acting is a bit mid, though not terrible. Not my favourite version, but definitely okay to listen to. 6.5/10

2010 Live: Pre-song again. I do not like this. I don't like this voice, I don't like this acting. I know this is a fave of some of my friends but I genuinely don't understand how. Maybe he's better in other performances/boots, I don't know. 2/10

Symphonic Recording: Usually the pre-song is at least decent but what is this??? Philip will forever be one of my favourite Javerts though. The acting isn't really "this man is having a genuine breakdown as we speak" but I can definitely feel the emotion. Don't like how it's relatively slow though. 5/10

10th anniversary: Yes we have another Philip xxx This pre-song is definitely better than the Symphonic, so I'll forgive them. It's also faster, which I think fits better with the vibe, and the acting is a tad better. The superior Philip version tbh. The way he screams JAVERT and the scream at the end always get to me. 7/10

2012 movie: I am SO conflicted over this version because the backing instrumentals are SO good but... Russell Crowe. Idk man. Javertcore. 3/10

1985 London: Proof OG isn't always the best, what the fuck is this Javert. I'm sorry but I really don't like his voice and the acting is mid. Bonus points for "Lawrr" though, I like that. 3/10

1989 Vienna: I'll be honest if we'd had a better actor for this song this would have SLAPPED, German somehow really fits this song. It's definitely not terrible though and the acting is very decent. 6.5/10

French Concert: This man is HOLDING BACK TEARS fr, but I kinda dislike how he holds the notes, it takes away from the vibe a little? Still, it's an okay version if you skip the ending 5/10

#les mis #les miserables #les mis musical #Javert #Les Mis Rankings

2 notes · View notes

lesmislettersdaily · 2 years ago

Text

The Solution Of Some Questions Connected With The Municipal Police

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 5: The Descent; Chapter 13: The Solution Of Some Questions With The Municipal Police

Javert thrust aside the spectators, broke the circle, and set out with long strides towards the police station, which is situated at the extremity of the square, dragging the wretched woman after him. She yielded mechanically. Neither he nor she uttered a word. The cloud of spectators followed, jesting, in a paroxysm of delight. Supreme misery an occasion for obscenity.

On arriving at the police station, which was a low room, warmed by a stove, with a glazed and grated door opening on the street, and guarded by a detachment, Javert opened the door, entered with Fantine, and shut the door behind him, to the great disappointment of the curious, who raised themselves on tiptoe, and craned their necks in front of the thick glass of the station-house, in their effort to see. Curiosity is a sort of gluttony. To see is to devour.

On entering, Fantine fell down in a corner, motionless and mute, crouching down like a terrified dog.

The sergeant of the guard brought a lighted candle to the table. Javert seated himself, drew a sheet of stamped paper from his pocket, and began to write.

This class of women is consigned by our laws entirely to the discretion of the police. The latter do what they please, punish them, as seems good to them, and confiscate at their will those two sorry things which they entitle their industry and their liberty. Javert was impassive; his grave face betrayed no emotion whatever. Nevertheless, he was seriously and deeply preoccupied. It was one of those moments when he was exercising without control, but subject to all the scruples of a severe conscience, his redoubtable discretionary power. At that moment he was conscious that his police agent’s stool was a tribunal. He was entering judgment. He judged and condemned. He summoned all the ideas which could possibly exist in his mind, around the great thing which he was doing. The more he examined the deed of this woman, the more shocked he felt. It was evident that he had just witnessed the commission of a crime. He had just beheld, yonder, in the street, society, in the person of a freeholder and an elector, insulted and attacked by a creature who was outside all pales. A prostitute had made an attempt on the life of a citizen. He had seen that, he, Javert. He wrote in silence.

When he had finished he signed the paper, folded it, and said to the sergeant of the guard, as he handed it to him, “Take three men and conduct this creature to jail.”

Then, turning to Fantine, “You are to have six months of it.” The unhappy woman shuddered.

“Six months! six months of prison!” she exclaimed. “Six months in which to earn seven sous a day! But what will become of Cosette? My daughter! my daughter! But I still owe the Thénardiers over a hundred francs; do you know that, Monsieur Inspector?”

She dragged herself across the damp floor, among the muddy boots of all those men, without rising, with clasped hands, and taking great strides on her knees.

“Monsieur Javert,” said she, “I beseech your mercy. I assure you that I was not in the wrong. If you had seen the beginning, you would have seen. I swear to you by the good God that I was not to blame! That gentleman, the bourgeois, whom I do not know, put snow in my back. Has any one the right to put snow down our backs when we are walking along peaceably, and doing no harm to any one? I am rather ill, as you see. And then, he had been saying impertinent things to me for a long time: ‘You are ugly! you have no teeth!’ I know well that I have no longer those teeth. I did nothing; I said to myself, ‘The gentleman is amusing himself.’ I was honest with him; I did not speak to him. It was at that moment that he put the snow down my back. Monsieur Javert, good Monsieur Inspector! is there not some person here who saw it and can tell you that this is quite true? Perhaps I did wrong to get angry. You know that one is not master of one’s self at the first moment. One gives way to vivacity; and then, when some one puts something cold down your back just when you are not expecting it! I did wrong to spoil that gentleman’s hat. Why did he go away? I would ask his pardon. Oh, my God! It makes no difference to me whether I ask his pardon. Do me the favor to-day, for this once, Monsieur Javert. Hold! you do not know that in prison one can earn only seven sous a day; it is not the government’s fault, but seven sous is one’s earnings; and just fancy, I must pay one hundred francs, or my little girl will be sent to me. Oh, my God! I cannot have her with me. What I do is so vile! Oh, my Cosette! Oh, my little angel of the Holy Virgin! what will become of her, poor creature? I will tell you: it is the Thénardiers, inn-keepers, peasants; and such people are unreasonable. They want money. Don’t put me in prison! You see, there is a little girl who will be turned out into the street to get along as best she may, in the very heart of the winter; and you must have pity on such a being, my good Monsieur Javert. If she were older, she might earn her living; but it cannot be done at that age. I am not a bad woman at bottom. It is not cowardliness and gluttony that have made me what I am. If I have drunk brandy, it was out of misery. I do not love it; but it benumbs the senses. When I was happy, it was only necessary to glance into my closets, and it would have been evident that I was not a coquettish and untidy woman. I had linen, a great deal of linen. Have pity on me, Monsieur Javert!”

She spoke thus, rent in twain, shaken with sobs, blinded with tears, her neck bare, wringing her hands, and coughing with a dry, short cough, stammering softly with a voice of agony. Great sorrow is a divine and terrible ray, which transfigures the unhappy. At that moment Fantine had become beautiful once more. From time to time she paused, and tenderly kissed the police agent’s coat. She would have softened a heart of granite; but a heart of wood cannot be softened.

“Come!” said Javert, “I have heard you out. Have you entirely finished? You will get six months. Now march! The Eternal Father in person could do nothing more.”

At these solemn words, “the Eternal Father in person could do nothing more,” she understood that her fate was sealed. She sank down, murmuring, “Mercy!”

Javert turned his back.

The soldiers seized her by the arms.

A few moments earlier a man had entered, but no one had paid any heed to him. He shut the door, leaned his back against it, and listened to Fantine’s despairing supplications.

At the instant when the soldiers laid their hands upon the unfortunate woman, who would not rise, he emerged from the shadow, and said:—

“One moment, if you please.”

Javert raised his eyes and recognized M. Madeleine. He removed his hat, and, saluting him with a sort of aggrieved awkwardness:—

“Excuse me, Mr. Mayor—”

The words “Mr. Mayor” produced a curious effect upon Fantine. She rose to her feet with one bound, like a spectre springing from the earth, thrust aside the soldiers with both arms, walked straight up to M. Madeleine before any one could prevent her, and gazing intently at him, with a bewildered air, she cried:—

“Ah! so it is you who are M. le Maire!”

Then she burst into a laugh, and spit in his face.

M. Madeleine wiped his face, and said:—

“Inspector Javert, set this woman at liberty.”

Javert felt that he was on the verge of going mad. He experienced at that moment, blow upon blow and almost simultaneously, the most violent emotions which he had ever undergone in all his life. To see a woman of the town spit in the mayor’s face was a thing so monstrous that, in his most daring flights of fancy, he would have regarded it as a sacrilege to believe it possible. On the other hand, at the very bottom of his thought, he made a hideous comparison as to what this woman was, and as to what this mayor might be; and then he, with horror, caught a glimpse of I know not what simple explanation of this prodigious attack. But when he beheld that mayor, that magistrate, calmly wipe his face and say, “Set this woman at liberty,” he underwent a sort of intoxication of amazement; thought and word failed him equally; the sum total of possible astonishment had been exceeded in his case. He remained mute.

The words had produced no less strange an effect on Fantine. She raised her bare arm, and clung to the damper of the stove, like a person who is reeling. Nevertheless, she glanced about her, and began to speak in a low voice, as though talking to herself:—

“At liberty! I am to be allowed to go! I am not to go to prison for six months! Who said that? It is not possible that any one could have said that. I did not hear aright. It cannot have been that monster of a mayor! Was it you, my good Monsieur Javert, who said that I was to be set free? Oh, see here! I will tell you about it, and you will let me go. That monster of a mayor, that old blackguard of a mayor, is the cause of all. Just imagine, Monsieur Javert, he turned me out! all because of a pack of rascally women, who gossip in the workroom. If that is not a horror, what is? To dismiss a poor girl who is doing her work honestly! Then I could no longer earn enough, and all this misery followed. In the first place, there is one improvement which these gentlemen of the police ought to make, and that is, to prevent prison contractors from wronging poor people. I will explain it to you, you see: you are earning twelve sous at shirt-making, the price falls to nine sous; and it is not enough to live on. Then one has to become whatever one can. As for me, I had my little Cosette, and I was actually forced to become a bad woman. Now you understand how it is that that blackguard of a mayor caused all the mischief. After that I stamped on that gentleman’s hat in front of the officers’ café; but he had spoiled my whole dress with snow. We women have but one silk dress for evening wear. You see that I did not do wrong deliberately—truly, Monsieur Javert; and everywhere I behold women who are far more wicked than I, and who are much happier. O Monsieur Javert! it was you who gave orders that I am to be set free, was it not? Make inquiries, speak to my landlord; I am paying my rent now; they will tell you that I am perfectly honest. Ah! my God! I beg your pardon; I have unintentionally touched the damper of the stove, and it has made it smoke.”

M. Madeleine listened to her with profound attention. While she was speaking, he fumbled in his waistcoat, drew out his purse and opened it. It was empty. He put it back in his pocket. He said to Fantine, “How much did you say that you owed?”

Fantine, who was looking at Javert only, turned towards him:—

“Was I speaking to you?”

Then, addressing the soldiers:—

“Say, you fellows, did you see how I spit in his face? Ah! you old wretch of a mayor, you came here to frighten me, but I’m not afraid of you. I am afraid of Monsieur Javert. I am afraid of my good Monsieur Javert!”

So saying, she turned to the inspector again:—

“And yet, you see, Mr. Inspector, it is necessary to be just. I understand that you are just, Mr. Inspector; in fact, it is perfectly simple: a man amuses himself by putting snow down a woman’s back, and that makes the officers laugh; one must divert themselves in some way; and we—well, we are here for them to amuse themselves with, of course! And then, you, you come; you are certainly obliged to preserve order, you lead off the woman who is in the wrong; but on reflection, since you are a good man, you say that I am to be set at liberty; it is for the sake of the little one, for six months in prison would prevent my supporting my child. ‘Only, don’t do it again, you hussy!’ Oh! I won’t do it again, Monsieur Javert! They may do whatever they please to me now; I will not stir. But to-day, you see, I cried because it hurt me. I was not expecting that snow from the gentleman at all; and then as I told you, I am not well; I have a cough; I seem to have a burning ball in my stomach, and the doctor tells me, ‘Take care of yourself.’ Here, feel, give me your hand; don’t be afraid—it is here.”

She no longer wept, her voice was caressing; she placed Javert’s coarse hand on her delicate, white throat and looked smilingly at him.

All at once she rapidly adjusted her disordered garments, dropped the folds of her skirt, which had been pushed up as she dragged herself along, almost to the height of her knee, and stepped towards the door, saying to the soldiers in a low voice, and with a friendly nod:—

“Children, Monsieur l’Inspecteur has said that I am to be released, and I am going.”

She laid her hand on the latch of the door. One step more and she would be in the street.

Javert up to that moment had remained erect, motionless, with his eyes fixed on the ground, cast athwart this scene like some displaced statue, which is waiting to be put away somewhere.

The sound of the latch roused him. He raised his head with an expression of sovereign authority, an expression all the more alarming in proportion as the authority rests on a low level, ferocious in the wild beast, atrocious in the man of no estate.

“Sergeant!” he cried, “don’t you see that that jade is walking off! Who bade you let her go?”

“I,” said Madeleine.

Fantine trembled at the sound of Javert’s voice, and let go of the latch as a thief relinquishes the article which he has stolen. At the sound of Madeleine’s voice she turned around, and from that moment forth she uttered no word, nor dared so much as to breathe freely, but her glance strayed from Madeleine to Javert, and from Javert to Madeleine in turn, according to which was speaking.

It was evident that Javert must have been exasperated beyond measure before he would permit himself to apostrophize the sergeant as he had done, after the mayor’s suggestion that Fantine should be set at liberty. Had he reached the point of forgetting the mayor’s presence? Had he finally declared to himself that it was impossible that any “authority” should have given such an order, and that the mayor must certainly have said one thing by mistake for another, without intending it? Or, in view of the enormities of which he had been a witness for the past two hours, did he say to himself, that it was necessary to recur to supreme resolutions, that it was indispensable that the small should be made great, that the police spy should transform himself into a magistrate, that the policeman should become a dispenser of justice, and that, in this prodigious extremity, order, law, morality, government, society in its entirety, was personified in him, Javert?

However that may be, when M. Madeleine uttered that word, I, as we have just heard, Police Inspector Javert was seen to turn toward the mayor, pale, cold, with blue lips, and a look of despair, his whole body agitated by an imperceptible quiver and an unprecedented occurrence, and say to him, with downcast eyes but a firm voice:—

“Mr. Mayor, that cannot be.”

“Why not?” said M. Madeleine.

“This miserable woman has insulted a citizen.”

“Inspector Javert,” replied the mayor, in a calm and conciliating tone, “listen. You are an honest man, and I feel no hesitation in explaining matters to you. Here is the true state of the case: I was passing through the square just as you were leading this woman away; there were still groups of people standing about, and I made inquiries and learned everything; it was the townsman who was in the wrong and who should have been arrested by properly conducted police.”

Javert retorted:—

“This wretch has just insulted Monsieur le Maire.”

“That concerns me,” said M. Madeleine. “My own insult belongs to me, I think. I can do what I please about it.”

“I beg Monsieur le Maire’s pardon. The insult is not to him but to the law.”

“Inspector Javert,” replied M. Madeleine, “the highest law is conscience. I have heard this woman; I know what I am doing.”

“And I, Mr. Mayor, do not know what I see.”

“Then content yourself with obeying.”

“I am obeying my duty. My duty demands that this woman shall serve six months in prison.”

M. Madeleine replied gently:—

“Heed this well; she will not serve a single day.”

At this decisive word, Javert ventured to fix a searching look on the mayor and to say, but in a tone of voice that was still profoundly respectful:—

“I am sorry to oppose Monsieur le Maire; it is for the first time in my life, but he will permit me to remark that I am within the bounds of my authority. I confine myself, since Monsieur le Maire desires it, to the question of the gentleman. I was present. This woman flung herself on Monsieur Bamatabois, who is an elector and the proprietor of that handsome house with a balcony, which forms the corner of the esplanade, three stories high and entirely of cut stone. Such things as there are in the world! In any case, Monsieur le Maire, this is a question of police regulations in the streets, and concerns me, and I shall detain this woman Fantine.”

Then M. Madeleine folded his arms, and said in a severe voice which no one in the town had heard hitherto:—

“The matter to which you refer is one connected with the municipal police. According to the terms of articles nine, eleven, fifteen, and sixty-six of the code of criminal examination, I am the judge. I order that this woman shall be set at liberty.”

Javert ventured to make a final effort.

“But, Mr. Mayor—”

“I refer you to article eighty-one of the law of the 13th of December, 1799, in regard to arbitrary detention.”

“Monsieur le Maire, permit me—”

“Not another word.”

“But—”

“Leave the room,” said M. Madeleine.

Javert received the blow erect, full in the face, in his breast, like a Russian soldier. He bowed to the very earth before the mayor and left the room.

Fantine stood aside from the door and stared at him in amazement as he passed.

Nevertheless, she also was the prey to a strange confusion. She had just seen herself a subject of dispute between two opposing powers. She had seen two men who held in their hands her liberty, her life, her soul, her child, in combat before her very eyes; one of these men was drawing her towards darkness, the other was leading her back towards the light. In this conflict, viewed through the exaggerations of terror, these two men had appeared to her like two giants; the one spoke like her demon, the other like her good angel. The angel had conquered the demon, and, strange to say, that which made her shudder from head to foot was the fact that this angel, this liberator, was the very man whom she abhorred, that mayor whom she had so long regarded as the author of all her woes, that Madeleine! And at the very moment when she had insulted him in so hideous a fashion, he had saved her! Had she, then, been mistaken? Must she change her whole soul? She did not know; she trembled. She listened in bewilderment, she looked on in affright, and at every word uttered by M. Madeleine she felt the frightful shades of hatred crumble and melt within her, and something warm and ineffable, indescribable, which was both joy, confidence and love, dawn in her heart.

When Javert had taken his departure, M. Madeleine turned to her and said to her in a deliberate voice, like a serious man who does not wish to weep and who finds some difficulty in speaking:—

“I have heard you. I knew nothing about what you have mentioned. I believe that it is true, and I feel that it is true. I was even ignorant of the fact that you had left my shop. Why did you not apply to me? But here; I will pay your debts, I will send for your child, or you shall go to her. You shall live here, in Paris, or where you please. I undertake the care of your child and yourself. You shall not work any longer if you do not like. I will give all the money you require. You shall be honest and happy once more. And listen! I declare to you that if all is as you say,—and I do not doubt it,—you have never ceased to be virtuous and holy in the sight of God. Oh! poor woman.”

This was more than Fantine could bear. To have Cosette! To leave this life of infamy. To live free, rich, happy, respectable with Cosette; to see all these realities of paradise blossom of a sudden in the midst of her misery. She stared stupidly at this man who was talking to her, and could only give vent to two or three sobs, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

Her limbs gave way beneath her, she knelt in front of M. Madeleine, and before he could prevent her he felt her grasp his hand and press her lips to it.

Then she fainted.

#les mis #Les Mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 5: the descent #chapter 13

2 notes · View notes

valjeans · 2 years ago

Note

Best combined cast tour v west end? P.s all hail Chris Jacobsen

ooooh ok i think i maybe did this a while ago but will go again, and maybe mention covers to a bit:

valjean - look. im finally gonna just say it. at the moment i think jon is better than dean. dean’s voice just hasn’t been the same since lockdown and even though his acting is still great, jon has really grown into the role and his portrayal is great!

and on valjean understudies chris jacobsen is absolutely wasted as SECOND cover and should have got principle a few years after his enjolras run instead of this.

javert - bradley is genuinely now one of the all times faves. nic continues to massively disappoint, he’s had essentially just as long as bradley in the role and he still manages to give the most wooden and boring performance ever.

honestly atm i have no real strong feelings on the understudy javerts. richard has really gone down hill recently and i’ve only see a boot of jordan.

fantine - going to cheat and say katie hall here lol cause i dislike both rachelle and chanice’s performances.

as for understudies i absolutely adore kathy and jess in the west end cast!

marius - HARRY APPS MY BELOVED MARIUS. his acting is just perfect, i am obsessed with his heart full of love cause his marius is such an awkward freak. his empty chairs is also fucking heartbreaking. will is fine but he’s nowhere near harry’s level.

enjolras - hate to say it but sam wyn morris is absolutely fantastic as enjolras. jordan is very talented but badly miscast in the role.

for understudies i have to say im more a fan of harry from the tour than leo who looks like character from a tim burton movie.

cosette - honestly no real feelings. neither of them are proper sopranos who can hit the highest notes. paige is better acting wise though. at least there’s that.

eponine - ok but i love natty and sha SO MUCH. and i refuse to choose between them…maybe sha just cause i’ve seen her more and really look forward to it!

shout out to jessie in the west end who is also fantastic in the role!

thenardier - ian. always. gerard has regained a bit of his former energy recently but he still doesn’t match up. ian’s thenardier has a sinister side too and he doesn’t do the fucking quiche line which is a bonus!

also honourable mention to mark pearce. i saw the first preview of the restaged version and nobody really remembered but he had to go on as thenardier with four hours notice having never played or rehearsed the part. and another honourable mention to dean read the tour cover cause i think he’s fit x

madame thenardier - lol i seriously dislike josefina’s madame t so absolutely always helen.

no real feelings on the covers. do quite like kelly though and always love catching her instead of josefina.

grantaire - it is my belief that grantaire should be a weird little gremlin man and not a pretentious little indie boy and so connor jones is my preference here. he’s hilarious and always does something unexpected in the abc cafe. but his barricade acting his heartbreaking.

the bishop - feel like pure shit just want earl carpenter back xxx

9 notes · View notes

ueinra · 3 years ago

Text

[ She dragged herself across the damp floor, among the muddy boots of all those men, without rising, with clasped hands, and taking great strides on her knees.

‘Monsieur Javert,’ said she, ‘I beseech your mercy. I as sure you that I was not in the wrong. If you had seen the beginning, you would have seen. I swear to you by the good God that I was not to blame! That gentleman, the bourgeois, whom I do not know, put snow in my back. Has any one the right to put snow down our backs when we are walking along peaceably, and doing no harm to any one? I am rather ill, as you see. And then, he had been saying impertinent things to me for a long time: ‘You are ugly! you have no teeth!’ I know well that I have no longer those teeth. I did nothing; I said to myself, ‘The gentleman is amusing himself.’ I was honest with him; I did not speak to him. It was at that moment that he put the snow down my back. Monsieur Javert, good Monsieur Inspector! is there not some person here who saw it and can tell you that this is quite true? ]

Vol.I - Book.V - Ch.XIII

#les miserables #les mis #fantine #javert #Fantine's Arrest #Alphonse De Neuville Illustrations #illustration

30 notes · View notes

secretmellowblog · 11 months ago

Text

One of my favorite Deeply Pathetic Javert Things is how often he puts on a big show of loyal bootlicking self-martyrdom only for no one to even notice. I love it when a long-winded description of Javert haughtily martyring himself for the unjust government he worships is followed up with a short comedic note about how literally no one even sees him or cares. Things like:

Javert, who, bound to his post, had not so much as moved his head during the whole of the attack on the barricade, and who had gazed on the revolt seething around him with the resignation of a martyr and the majesty of a judge.

Marius had not even seen him.

And

Javert bestowed a respectful salute on the mayor, whose back was turned to him.

The mayor did not look at him, but went on annotating this docket.

And

On entering he bowed to M. Madeleine with a look in which there was neither rancor, anger, nor distrust; he halted a few paces in the rear of the mayor’s armchair, and there he stood, perfectly erect, in an attitude almost of discipline, with the cold, ingenuous roughness of a man who has never been gentle and who has always been patient; he waited without uttering a word, without making a movement, in genuine humility and tranquil resignation, calm, serious, hat in hand, with eyes cast down, and an expression which was half-way between that of a soldier in the presence of his officer and a criminal in the presence of his judge, until it should please the mayor to turn round. All the sentiments as well as all the memories which one might have attributed to him had disappeared. That face, as impenetrable and simple as granite, no longer bore any trace of anything but a melancholy depression. His whole person breathed lowliness and firmness and an indescribable courageous despondency.

At last the mayor laid down his pen and turned half round.

“Well! What is it? What is the matter, Javert?”

And then my favorite one:

“This man was at the barricade,” said he in a low voice and as though speaking to himself. “He is the one they called Marius.”

A spy of the first quality, who had observed everything, listened to everything, and taken in everything, even when he thought that he was to die; who had played the spy even in his agony, and who, with his elbows leaning on the first step of the sepulchre, had taken notes.

Javert spends the hours before his death pointlessly “taking notes” he expected no one to ever receive, solely because it’s what the government ordered him to do and he has no purpose outside of licking boots and following orders.

And there is something really compelling about that, in contrast to characters like Thenardier and even Jean Valjean?

Thenardier and Jean Valjean act overly conciliatory and submissive to their “social superiors” while in public, and then secretly express resentment for them in private. Jean Valjean will speak politely to a cop like Javert in public but calls him “that Javert who has been annoying me so long, that frightful hunting dog” in private. Thenardier will praise the wealthy bourgeois “Leblanc” when he has no other choice but threaten and torment him the moment he has the power to do that instead.

But Javert is an authoritarian who is completely earnest in his bootlicking. He doesn’t just worship his superiors to their faces; he continues worshipping them when he’s alone. He salutes them respectfully even when their backs are turned.

Javert bestowed a respectful salute on the mayor, whose back was turned to him.

In the one moment where Javert believes he’s acted out of resentment—daring to outwardly express and act on his personal negative feelings for a superior, by accusing Mayor Madeleine of being Jean Valjean — he confesses his crime immediately and tries to force “Mayor Madeleine” to fire him for what he sees as a horrific unforgivable offense.

When there’s no one else around to police Javert’s behavior, he polices himself. He forces himself into this state of constant, unending, horrible, pathetic, bootlicking deference to a government that does not value his life and never will.

#les mis #inspector javert #pregaming derailed

116 notes · View notes

leninouche · 5 years ago

Text

Some Les Mis observations I made today as I watched the show at the Sondheim Theatre in London. Hope you enjoy!

- jean valjean is SOFT his voice is soft and silky and i love him

- THEY INCLUDED PETIT GERVAIS IM DLWNLDSLL

- At the „you know what that means“ „yes it means i‘m free“ „NO“ they made it as if Javert said no to keep a guard from hitting Jean and I‘ve never seen that before??

- The confrontation was LIT i mean it was ON they FOUGHT and it was amazing I loved it a lot

- Javert‘s overpronounciating everything and it‘s perfectly in character (but his french is terrible)

- His OUTFIT (tight black pants and boots, blue coat and ponytail, he hot)

- Very high Tension ™️ between Javert and Valjean, they „held hands“ for approximately a minute straight

- After Javert told Valjean about „this con man he once knew“ he went off-stage. Valjean kept tense for a long moment. Then face-palmed while he sung: „he thought that man was me without a second glance“ as if to say: ughgh javert is SO embarassing!

- The thenardiers are excellent and very much in character, amazing

- Okokok paris scene was good but THEN ENJOLRAS APPEARED AND I WAS NOT READY FOR THIS MAN NOT READY

- he had beautiful blond curls and was wearing a violet coat with a red waistcoat

- Marius is a Dork ™️ he‘s living the dumb dumb life

- My god, Enjolras talked to the poor people around and to his friends and he was genuinely concerned and attentive

- When the Thenardiers attacked Jean, Cosette fell to the side a bit and nearly got robbed by Montparnasse, but Marius sprung in between them. Monty continued to threateningly wield is small little pocket knife at a very distressed and scared Marius

- Montparnasse is excellent btw, long black hair and tailored clothes, he cute tho

- Ponine and Cosette are both awesome and I enjoy them so much. Cosette hit the high notes flawlessly and Ponine‘s end of On my Own was luminous

- Jean let his tissue drop when he ran away with cosette and Javert picked it up. Is that a UF tissue reference??? He even smelled it

- THE AMIS SCENE I AM

- grantaire gave his all, he even danced a little

- When Marius started singing about Cosette all the amis shouted at him to shut up in a joking manner

- Enjolras is the BEST omg he is genuinely excited and soft and laughs at Marius and enjoys his friends a lot, I love him so much. And his voice is SOFT and beautiful, he is beautiful and one of my favorite Enjolraii ever

- They had Vicky Hug‘s aquarelle paintings as background

- Gavroche is GREAT, he really lives his role and does little dances and gestures

- Stars was just utterly beautiful. Javert was super excited about the stars in the first part, it was very adorable, and the second part was just his voice filling the damn hall, straight into my heart god he was so good

- Omg omg a heart full of love was great. Ponine and Marius heard some of the conversation between jean and cosette, then when they were gone Marius climbed into the garden. That idiot threw a stone at Cosette‘s window what the heck, cosette came out, then suddenly ran away excitedly when she saw who it was- Marius didn‘t understand what was happening and that‘s when he sang: I‘m doing everything all wrong. It was great.

- Also great romeo and juliet reference with the balcony

- My god, the robbery. Montparnasse was just squatting on the fence the whole time, like a bird. What the fuck. He got to wield that little knife of his again as well

- I don‘t know if it‘s real or if i‘m imagining things but during one day more Enjolras looked up and in my direction and smiled and i smiled back and i hope he was looking at me and that i didn‘t just imagine it

- i forgot what awkward props muskets are

- At the barricade Enjolras jumped down the different levels with such speed and grace i am honestly Amazed

- Grantaire kept to the side the whole time, cowering on the floor or sheltering Gavroche

- Just- Javert‘s face when Gavroche called him out was heavenly. And when he was done, Gavroche literally flipped Javert off. Legend.

- Javert‘s undercover outfit was very cute and his hair was open

- They had literal torches on stage

- Ok at the beginning of drink with me they played a flute- feuilly reference??

- After Grantaire‘s solo Enjolras came up to console him but Grantaire pushed him away and retreated to the background again, with his face to the wall. Gavroche approached him and then pulled him into a hug, they went to sleep side by side

- Towards the end of Rain will make the Flowers grow, Gavroche noticed Ponine dying and froze which in turn made Grantaire notice what‘s going on. He signalled to the other barricade people to shut up and pay some respect and they watched on silently as the song finished

- The guy who i think was feuilly had a girlfriend which i assume was musichetta? They were adorable

- When Gavroche had climbed over the barricade, Grantaire froze with his face to the audience and waited with bated breath for the sound of a shot. When it came, he nearly collapsed until he heard Gavroche singing again. He ran towards the barricade and shouted something like: GO ON KID, HURRY UP. When Gravroche appeared at the top of the barricade he was shot. He fell into Enjolras‘ arms who in turn handed him to Grantaire. As the fighting ensued, Grantaire slowly carried Gavroche over to the side of the stage, seemingly unaware of shots being fired

- Next encounter between Valjean and Javert was intense again, and then Valjean uttered the softest „go“ ever as he stared into Javert‘s eyes

- Usually i don‘t quite enjoy Bring me Home but this Valjean did an awesome job, his singing was so mellow and emotional

- At the barricade, Enjolras was the first to die and he fell over the barricade into the void, and Grantaire was the last to die. He got shot in the head.

- When the barricade got cleared away and Javert inspected the grounds a cart was wield up on which Enjolras was half lying half hanging off it. They put Gavroche‘s body on top of him and pulled them off-stage

- Javert‘s suicide was fucking weird. The song was great, but when he jumped off the bridge they added a bit of animation in the background and lifted him up slightly with the help of ropes so that you saw him fall from different angles but... it just didn‘t work, it was more funny than dramatic

- During turning the women placed candles on stage. One woman began to cry and a small girl (who earlier had played cosette) gave her her handkerchief. It was really sweet. During Empty Chairs the boys came onstage and each took one candle, together with Marius

- During the wedding-feast the actor that had played Enjolras was one of the waiters and he was hilarious, even though the role was so small

- After bowing, as they ran off-stage, Enjolras made a heart sign with his hands

- And bonus: as the applause thundered through the theatre, Jean Valjean and Cosette were the last on stage. Jean carried Cosette in his arms and just stood there for a while, grinning. Then the curtain fell.

#les mis #les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #jean valjean #javert #musical #les miz

226 notes · View notes

wilwywaylan · 3 years ago

Text

He deserves to be pretty once in a while.

That skirt is a pain to draw.

(skirt is the wonderful Lighting-up Star Skirt from the defunct Thinkgeek. You can see it in motion here.)

[image ID : Javert, a tall man with long, brown hair, tanned skin and black eyes, is standing, feet joined, arms behind his back. He's drawn in a stylistic style, with a triangular torso, thin waist and really thin arms and legs. He's wearing a bicorn hat with a red ornament, a black jacket with brass buttons and a high collar, shining black boots, a red medal on his chest, and an ombre skirt in shades of blue. There are stars painted on the skirt, and light blue lights are shining through the fabric. end ID]

#les miserables #javert #he deserves it #this looks like Perkinsvert #anthony perkins #I don't know why #my Drawings

45 notes · View notes

chaostheoryy · 4 years ago

Text

Fallen Star [A Valvert Drabble]

Summary: After Valjean spares his life and he finds himself unable to kill the convict at the sewers, Javert makes the decision to throw himself into the Seine. Before he can end his life, however, Valjean intervenes. Is this a torture brought on by the fallen in Hell? Or does God have something planned for the faithful lawman?

Word Count: 1,252

Rating: Teen

Warning(s): Suicide attempt, mentions of blood

A/N: This is my first time writing for Les Mis and Valvert and it’s certainly been a long time coming. I’m actually considering expanding on this piece and turning it into a longer fix-it fic so I’m very eager to hear what you think about it. If you enjoy it and want to read more, please consider commenting or sending me a message with your feedback! Thank you.

I am reaching, but I fall

And the stars are black and cold

As I stare into the void

Of a world that cannot hold

I'll escape now from that world

From the world of Jean Valjean

There is nowhere I can turn

There is no way to go on

Javert closed his eyes and exhaled. The sweat on his brow mixed with the blood still caked against his temple, oozing down the side of his face like some cursed stroke of watercolor paint. Crisp evening air tickled the hairs on the back of his neck and gently coaxed him forward. One step was all it would take. One step and his nightmare would end.

With a clenched jaw, he took the step. The entirety of his body weight fell forward, his feet instantly clearing the safety of solid ground. Rushing water and sparkling mist called his name down below and Death himself finally opened his arms to welcome the inspector with a warm embrace.

But the embrace never came.

Javert had fallen only a foot or so when something drew his descent to a halt. His collar grew tight around his neck as he dangled there over the Seine’s violent waters. Had it not been for the deep grunt of a man overhead, he might have actually believed God was holding him up amongst the stars.

Startled, the inspector opened his eyes just as he felt himself being hoisted upward. An arm hooked underneath his own and a large calloused hand latched onto the breast of his waistcoat. Even without seeing the bearer of that hand, he knew perfectly well who it belonged to. And even surer he became when he heard his savior cry out from the exertion of lifting him skyward.

The second Javert’s legs cleared the railing, the hands at his waistcoat fell away. He collapsed onto his backside, the impact of his shoulder blades against the hard ground forcing a sharp breath from his chest. For a moment, he lay there, eyes locked on the Heavens above. The stars stared right back, just as they always had. But whether they looked upon him now with pride or shame, he simply could not comprehend.

From underneath the roar of the waters, heavy panting seeped into Javert’s ears. He knew that breath, knew those exhales of relief. He’d heard them so many times before: in the factory office after long days of bookkeeping and busy work, in the shipyards of years past when chains fell slack around wrists and the merciless labor of the shift was through. Yes, Javert knew that breath well. Just as well as he knew the voice that went along with it.

“Is this really what you want, inspector? To throw your life away in the name of justice?”

Javert finally looked over at the figure who intercepted his fall to find Valjean propped up against the railing. He looked confused, his face twisted into a scowl. His chest rose and fell beneath the stained uniform as he fought to catch his breath.

“I have spent nearly a quarter of my life chasing you,” Javert said, “Wanting nothing more than to see you rot behind bars. You have fled to the ends of the Earth, changed your name, taken up the care of a child. The Heavens see you wage this war and grant you the chance to end my life but you don’t take it.” He shook his head, still in complete disbelief over the encounter at the cafe. “A convict with the opportunity to end his pursuit by killing the man he hates chooses mercy. How can a lawman such as me continue to uphold justice when justice itself is but a shadow?”

The last thing he expected in that moment of vulnerability was laughter. Valjean was not a man of disrespect, Javert knew that much. Even in the face of isolation and punishment, the man always remained sympathetic and sure. And yet, there he was scoffing.

Javert’s brow furrowed.

Valjean waited for his chuckle to fade before speaking. “Javert, I could not hate you no matter how hard I tried. And, believe me, try I did. The first few months on my own, all I did was seethe. I lied and I stole and I set myself ablaze with hatred. But it was a flame that could only burn for so long. By the time I had stumbled upon Montreuil-sur-Mer, the wick of my anger had burned away. All I wanted —all I have ever wanted— was to help those less fortunate than myself, to help to their feet those that feel they have no strength to carry on.”

Javert wanted nothing more than to mock the old man. After all, he was a fool wasn’t he? A man aiming to help the poor and the helpless when he was just as unfortunate as them? Even the literary greats could not have written something so tragic.

But Javert couldn’t laugh, couldn’t taunt the man that sat across from him. Valjean’s desire was that of the angels: selfless and warm. Misplaced as it may be, it was a gesture God would have praised. And who was the inspector to question the work of the almighty?

“And so I become the less fortunate,” Javert mused, turning his attention back to the twinkling stars above. After years of devotion, I too have fallen.

Valjean groaned and the scuffling of heavy boots against stone alerted Javert that his counterpart had risen to his feet. Two bold strides and he was standing over the inspector. For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes scanned the horizon, took in the beauty of the cathedral just beyond the Seine. Then, with a sigh, he held his hand out toward Javert.

“Come.”

Javert was unsure whether the man standing above him was from Heaven or Hell. Every defensive instinct that had been engrained in him over the years told him it was the latter. And yet, when he looked up at those gentle eyes framed by graying curls, all his brain could picture was feathered wings and a halo of pure light.

Without uttering a single word, Javert seized Valjean’s waiting hand and allowed the sturdier man to hoist him off the ground. Once the inspector was on his feet, Valjean clasped his shoulder in solace.

“Wash up at my home. Cosette and I shall make you a warm meal and strike a fire. Should you choose to stay the night, there is an extra bed down the hall and plenty of blankets to spare.”

“Why are you doing this? Why would you help the person who has done nothing but cause you pain?”

“Because I believe in second chances, inspector. Every man deserves them,” Valjean explained, “Especially those who feel they do not.” Valjean’s hand slipped off of Javert’s shoulder, but the warmth it had brought with it remained. “Now, come before the rains wash us out.”

Valjean started off toward Rue de l’Homme Arme and Javert followed suit. The figure that guided him down the dark Parisian streets that night did not bear a crown of light or boast a wingspan of golden feathers. Nonetheless, Javert was convinced that Jean Valjean was not of Earth. For what purpose he was saved, the inspector did not know but there was no doubt in his mind that the Heavens had sent an angel to ease his pain.

Perhaps, Javert thought, a fallen star can rise to the Heavens once more.

#This could be the beginning of something beautiful 👀#I am so tempted to keep writing but I'll wait for some feedback #Valvert #Valvert Fanfiction #Valjean/Javert #Jean Valjean/Javert #Les Mis #Les Miserables #Les Miserables Fanfiction #My fic #Drabble #Jean Valjean #Inspector Javert

21 notes · View notes

watchmylegs · 4 years ago

Text

February 6, 1847

Our story starts on a cold winter day in Bordeaux France. It had been 15 years since the failure of the barricade, that revolution was dead. A new revolution brewed, but seemed in the very distant future. It was no longer based solely in Paris and thus organization seemed lacking, to those who weren’t paying close attention.

A lot had changed throughout this 15 year period. many ideologies had arose, Gabriel found himself on the outskirts of all political agencies. He wanted no part of it. Politics had killed his father and brother, after all. He split another log as he reminisced the days he spent in Paris. His boots shined in the light as the melted snow left them wet, his trousers dirty from his work, his shirt clean, however, because it was covered by a green coat. Antoinette got him that coat, it was his favorite coat. He didn’t know if she had made it herself or not, but he didn’t care, he knew that this coat contained her love for him, as it kept him warm no matter how frigid the outside temperatures. On the coat was something that was made by Antoinette however. He reached to the left breast of the coat and touched his patch. The blue white and red flower patch of Les Amis. This is as close as Gabe would get to politics. After a minute of running his finger along the ruffles of the flower, and thinking about the lessons that he learned from both his father, and brother. Lessons from Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and all the people of Paris. An image of Valjean popped into his head and he instantly snapped out of his trance. His brow furrowed and he shook the thought out of his head. He split another log, then looked down at his hefty pile. “This should about do it.” He lifted the pile, and made his way back toward the house. As he approached the back yard, he heard Joshua and Annabelle playing. As he walked through the yard he saw them, he approached the house and could smelled the duck that Antoinette and Adelaide were preparing, his mouth watered as he opened the door. He stepped in.

Gabe: “I’M HOME!”

Adelaide: “Bonjour papa!”

she replied, not even looking up from the food that she was preparing.

Antoinette poked her head out of the kitchen and gave Gabe a smile.

Antoinette: Hello Love!

She stepped out of the kitchen and gave him a kiss and handed him a pail.

Antoinette: Can you fetch some water from the well, for dinner?

Gabe nodded.

Gabe: of course Ma amour!

Gabe took the pale and walked back out towards the well, as he lowered the bucket he thought of the well in Paris, the one he used to go to with Eponine, the one where he met Mirabelle and Gavroche. As he walked back towards the house, he called out to Joshua and Annabell.

Gabe: Ana, Josh, it’s almost time for supper, come inside and wash up.

The children joyfully run inside giggling and playful as children often are. Annabelle and Joshua were twins, they will be turning 7 this year. The oldest child, Adelaide, will be turning 15 born in 1832. Nette and Gabe had her almost as soon as they met. When they had met, hey fell in love, and that love manifested itself into a life, a child, they would call her Adelaide. She would be the reason that Antoinette missed the fall of the barricade, and the reason they left Paris, to Bordeaux.

Adelaide “Lay” Javert has lighter hair then Nette and Gabriel but its the color of Nette’s hair, when she was younger. She has brown eyes like Nette, but has Gabriel’s facial structure. She’s very brave and daring. She’s always kind, especially to the orphan kids. She often does, but doesn’t like to dress up fancy, she gets that from Nette. When Adelaide ever had to get dressed up really fancy with really nice clothes, the minute she’d get home she’d change back into more comfortable dress and run around the streets. She can sing, and can put on quite the performance. Especially when shes tricking the vendors and police, helping one of the orphans to get some food. Besides Antoinette, she is the Love of Gabriel’s Life, he would gladly lay down his life for hers.

The others were twins. Antoinette had them unexpectedly, but Gabe made it all work. He catered to her hand and foot, the entire time she was pregnant, and when they were born, Gabe did all the feu to work, waking up early to feed and change them, putting them back to sleep, taking them to the doctor. They would be the reason that Gabe and Nette would postpone marriage.

Joshua “Josh” Javert, he looks a lot like Gabriel but has Antoinette’s eyes. He’s a trouble maker, he’s always around Montparnasse so he gets into a lot of trouble, but he is also very kind. He can sing, but he only ever does when Antoinette is the only one who can hear him. Josh is an adventurous little boy. He likes to run around taking things of carts in the market, like his mom used to do. But he almost always gets caught by his older sister, Adelaide.

Annabelle “Anna” Javert has long black hair, and brown eyes. She’s polite and the most proper out of all of the children in the family, but she’s still is one heck of a trouble maker. When part taking in mischief, she distracts the police long enough for josh to grab something off the cart. She is a good dancer, and when Anna is mad at Josh, she will be the one to rat him out to their older sister.

Gabe stepped into the house, the house he had grew up in. A house with so many memories, good times and bad times. Gabriel and Antoinette would take it and add to those memories. There were still spots on the wall where Gabriel would be measured to track how much he had grown, and beside his marks, his children would do the same, measuring their progress. The same bedrooms that he grew up with, they slept in. This house, was their home, and they lived in it as such.

Antoinette has taken a strong interest in politics, ever since her brother Marius turned her towards it, back in the days they were in Paris. She taught the children about many ideologies, and philosophical analogies. Gabriel was a Christian and he tried to raise his children, that way. He taught them stories of the Bible, and the gospel of Jesus Christ. He even made up stories of Christian fiction and told it to them, teaching them the lesson of how to be a Christian and what it means. Ultimately he based his teachings around being kind to one another, but standing up against those who seek to tear you down. Antoinette taught the children politics. She read them stories of history, some tragic, some exciting, some satisfying, and others unending. She taught them the meaning of freedom and class systems. She taught them what it meant to rebel. They were patient and kind with their children, she always made sure the children understood what they were being taught, before they moved on to new subjects or stories.

When it came time and age for the children to ask questions, they did ask, and Gabriel and Antoinette answered them the best they could.

The children had happy childhoods, wanting for little, as Gabriel took a job in a mill and used the money that he made to spoil the children. His riches, the money he inherited, he gave to Antoinette, they were her riches now, and she used them to pay for the food, and unbeknownst to Gabriel, she used the change that she saved from her purchases and set it aside to invest in the operation. Nette was sneaky, and she used her cunning to all of their advantage. She wasn’t big on luxury things as Gabriel was, but she obliged him to the best of her ability.

They had 3 horses on a small ranch that stretched about 10 acres. They owned the horses, but It was a mutual relationship, as Gabe didn’t need to plow or cut the field, as the horses kept it tame. The entire property stretched to about 40 acres, the ranch separated by a fence that kept the horses in. Their backyard was open for the children to roam freely, and a natural fence in the very far back started a Forrest of about 60 acres. That’s where Gabriel got the wood for their fires and often hunted.

#To be continued

1 note · View note