La Peu Jeune Fille de Cendres, or, Fantine's Locket
By Camberleigh Fauconbridge
Imagined Cast: Alfie Boe as Jean Valjean; Norm Lewis as Javert; Lea Salonga as Fantine; Matt Lucas as Thénardier; Jenny Galloway as Madame Thénardier; Nick Jonas as Marius Pontmercy; Samantha Barks as Éponine Thénardier; Katie Hall as Cosette Fauchelevant; Ramin Karimloo as Enjolras; Robert Madge as Gavroche; Mia Jenkins as Young Cosette.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters, setting and general plot are property of Victor Hugo, Cameron Mackintosh, all of the casts and all of the creative teams that have produced any production of Les Misérables.
Note: This is based off the musical stage adaption, not off any film adaption or the original novel. There are elements of the book (street names of the locations in numerous French towns and cities; family ties are also as they are in the novel), but almost all of the information comes from the musical stage adaption. The title is a French translation of "the little girl of ashes." This fanfic is based partly off the French folktale of Cinderella by Charles Perrault.
Act I, Scene 1
There's a Castle, Just Waiting for You
December 24, 1823, Montfermeil, France
The wind raged viciously outside the inn as Éponine sat by the main room's hearth, a fire blazing within. She held a cloth doll with locks of bright yarn and shining black button-eyes in her hand as her young sister Azelma looked on enviously.
Another girl watched the doll with a wistful aura. She sat, huddled underneath a table, hidden for a few minutes from the watchful eye of the madame of the inn.
In contrast to the girls by the hearth, with their dark hair gleaming in the firelight, hers was a fair, pretty blonde, framing her pale skin. Was her hair and her eyes, a crystal sapphire-like blue, inherited from her mother? No; from the little she remembered of her mother, her mother had dark, wavy hair that fell to her waist, rich brown eyes that always seemed to sparkle and skin tanned from the sun. Was it from the father? Perhaps, but she would never know for certain, for she had never seen him.
"Cosette!"
The blonde girl flinched as a harsh voice called her name— a horrible action for one so young. Trembling, she crawled from the shelter of the table.
"Oui, madame?" Her light voice was shaking. A large, formidable woman came from behind the inn's counter to face the young girl.
Life had not been kind to Maximilienne Oriane Thénardier, née Gagne, wife of Fabien Guillaume Thénardier. The customers at the inn— sometimes even her own husband— had cruelly nicknamed her "the Thénardiess"— a name more befitting to an ogre or a troll than a person. Her hazel eyes were bright and sharp, seeming to see everything at once. Her hair was constantly frizzed and unmanageable unless pulled back, and wisps of red strands always escaped the rag tied around her hair.
However her features looked, it was her expression of hatred, burning, deep-set hate, that drove others away. Perhaps she directed her hate at her husband, or was it towards life itself, for placing her in such a situation? Mme. Thénardier would rather be beaten within an inch of her life than reveal the true reason.
Mme. Thénardier grabbed a bucket from behind the counter and roughly shoved it at Cosette. "Th' 'orses are running low on water. Go t' th' well in th' woods an' bring it back full, or there'll be no money from th' customers if their horses are dehydrated."
Cosette's trembling grew violent. "Madame, please, the trees are so dark and tall outside! Don't make me go—"
Mme. Thénardier pushed Cosette towards the door. "Ev'ry drop is t' stay in th' bucket. Understood?" When Cosette did not move, Mme. Thénardier shoved the girl once more before going back to the counter. She did not look to see Cosette stumbling out the door.
Cosette shivered as the wind cut unmercifully through the rags she called clothing. In an instant, her entire body felt as if someone was pouring buckets of ice onto her, without ceasing. She almost turned back, but the thought of Mme. Thénardier's reaction stopped her. She gripped the handle of the bucket and started forward.
Cosette's fear of the dark was perfectly normal— every child has crawled to their parents, crying about monsters of the imagination. Every child has seen shadows in the roads, horrors in the woods. One can understand, once one looks at it from the view of a child, Cosette's fear. The road that led to the wellspring was long, and wove its way into the belly of the beast— the huge, dark woods that could devour a small girl. At least, that is what the girl told herself.
As Cosette neared the barely visible wellspring, the darkness loomed, eerily, threateningly, above the wellspring and within. The masons of Montfermeil had built the wellspring flesh against a low wall made of dilapidated stones.
Cosette leaned over the circle of stones, trembling at the infinite darkness. As she gazed at the shimmering water, the night and her fears began to send apparitions before her eyes. An image of a beautiful woman— a woman with brown hair and tanned skin, dressed in a white gown— came from the depths of the water, gazing sadly at the girl before fading away. Cosette shuddered. It was almost as if she had seen the woman before, but she could not quite remember when.
Then the apparition of Mme. Thénardier came before her. With a start, Cosette returned to the present. She hastily lifted the empty bucket onto the rim of the wellspring, tied the rope around the bucket's handle as securely as she could, and tipped it into the water. The bucket made a dull sound as it hit the surface and gently floated.
Cosette waited for a few moments, and then dragged the bucket out of the water. To a small girl of eight, one who was delicate in nature, the bucket seemed filled with a leaden weight. Cosette bit her lip as her muscles strained to keep the liquid within the bucket. The bucket tipped slightly as it landed on the ground, almost seeming to mock her as a small amount of water splashed onto her feet.
Now the impossible journey loomed before Cosette. Grasping the handle determinedly in her small hand, she started walking.
Determination can only take one so far, and soon the weight of the bucket forced Cosette to stop frequently. A tear of exhaustion and fear emitted from her eye, but froze as soon as the wind met the liquid, and she restrained all further tears as best she could.
She was walking on the main road when she sensed someone beside her.
Instantly, her young mind jumped to a conclusion about the traveler's identity. There had been, for a time, talk of a mysterious stranger in the woods in Montfermeil. The gossiping women of the village had eluded the stranger to be the Devil, coming to bury his riches. Parents told the tale to young children to quiet them. Mme. Thénardier had repeatedly threatened Cosette with the story, and Cosette had lain awake many nights, terrified the Devil would come and bury her alive. Therefore, when she saw an unknown man in the woods, it ignited her fears as a spark starts a fire.
As she looked at the man closer, her fears gradually subsided. The man wore a worn coat of coarse yellow fabric and an old hat of dark blue coloring. From the stories Cosette had heard, the man did not fit the description whatsoever.
"Would you like some help with that bucket, child?" said the man.
Cosette nodded, her fear replaced completely by the trusting attitude children possess. For a moment, she was no longer an abused slave, but a child of eight years who had been shown a kindness.
"Thank you, monsieur," she replied. She handed him the bucket.
"What is your name?"
"Cosette."
"Cosette? Interesting," the man murmured. "Who do you live with, Cosette?"
"M. and Mme. Thénardier, in the inn."
"May I meet them, Cosette?" asked the man. Cosette nodded once more.
Gradually, the trees thinned until the road led to the brightly lit Ruelle Boulanger. One shop Cosette could not help but glance at; the toy-shop, where the doll that would be Catherine sat. Cosette tore her gaze away— the action noticed by the man— and they walked to Le Sergent au Waterloo.
The next day, Éponine sat next to the window that overlooked the Ruelle Boulanger, fingering the shining ten-sou coin she had found in her shoe that morning.
M. Thénardier flung open the door of the inn and stormed inside. He looked furious.
"That son o' a chiene stole Cosette!" M. Thénardier spat.
"'E paid for 'er, didn't 'e?" Mme. Thénardier asked.
M. Thénardier glared at her. "He paid me less than what I asked for."
"Papa," Éponine ventured, "he paid the fifteen hundred francs."
"I asked for more than fifteen 'undred. Surely, you ain't as stupid as you look, 'Ponine." A stung look crossed Éponine's face, and she retreated to the window. "Th' only thing that matters now," M. Thénardier continued, "is t' make 'im pay."
As M. Thénardier talked on, planning his revenge, Mme. Thénardier turned to Éponine. "Get th' bucket."
Éponine looked shocked. "But, maman—"
"I told you t' go, 'Ponine! Cosette may 'ave left, but we still 'ave an inn t' run. Go!" Éponine stood and left the inn with the bucket, wondering what else would change.
