Jean Valjean would always remember the first night he brought little Cosette to the Gorbeau tenement. In that small little world of theirs, there were no cruel innkeepers, no hungry and cold nights, no loneliness and suffering.
As for him, for the present, at least, he was safe from Javert.
As he ever so gently tucked Cosette in, worried he might be performing that first fatherly obligation wrong, Jean Valjean felt something. It was a new feeling, something odd and warm and not altogether unpleasant. He watched the long and delicate lashes of Cosette flutter gently in her sleep, and something in him recognized it as love. It was different from that brief regard he'd had for his sister and her children. There, he would never win their love. But here was his second chance. Here was Cosette, perfect little Cosette, who he could truly call his own. And in that moment, Jean Valjean knew he would be willing to die for the happiness of his little girl.
On the second night, Cosette's frantic cries and pleas startled Valjean from his light sleep, and he sprang from his bed. He rushed in, ready to fight off whatever had scared her. When he saw her, that slight figure trembling and crying in her chemise, all tangled in her blankets,
Valjean froze. For burglars and murderers and monsters he could fight off. But the terrible nightmares of one who has been through such torment he could not.
But he could try.
Valjean lit a candle, and gingerly sat on the edge of Cosette's bed. He set the candle on the little nightstand, and gently pulled the sheets Cosette had wrapped around her face. Cosette whimpered in fear, crying out as he did so, "Please! I promise I'll be a good girl, and I won't make any more noise! I'll get the chores done, I will!"
She reached out, making sweeping motions with her hands. Valjean stroked Cosette's hair gently, the gesture unfamiliar despite his experienced years.
"Cosette," he whispered soothingly, "you need never worry about the chores again. You are safe with me now, forever and ever. Do you understand?"
Cosette slowly raised her frightened, wide blue eyes to him and nodded. She clung to him with her tiny hands, sharing with him that greatest thing he could ask for: her trust and love.
"Will you tuck me in again, Papa?" She asked. She hesitated. "And tell me a story?" She looked down, as though not daring to hope for affirmation from him. Valjean saw this and his scarred heart ached for her.
"Yes, Cosette," he murmured into her hair, softly setting her down in bed and tucking her blankets around her. A vague feeling of panic hit him forcefully as he realized he had no stories to tell her. What did little girls her age read? Fairy tales? Or was she too old, too young? There was so much he did not know.
"What kind of story would you like?" He asked carefully, regarding the little creature in all her innocent beauty.
Cosette thought for a moment, consulting her doll, Catherine, as she did. Finally, she said, "Your story, Papa. Yours is the best story."
Valjean was taken aback by her request; how could he tell her about the pain, inner turmoil, cruelty, and loss that all pervaded his story?
He remembered Fantine, in her tragic fall from grace. That too, was his fault. He should have brought Cosette sooner. Maybe then she might have a mother to soothe and love her as he did not yet know how.
But then Valjean remembered his promise. To the bishop, to Fantine. A good man. A good father. All he needed was a good place to start.
"Once upon a time," he began, a bit uncertainly. That was how they began, was it not? The stories he used to hear the children of Montreuil-sur-Mer repeat to each other.
"There was a man. He was a lonely peasant, and the rest of the world did not like him because of that. They did not understand him. They did not see that he could be a good man, if only he were shown love."
The next night, and for many nights after, Cosette awoke, afraid and crying. And for many nights Valjean continued his story.
"The first person to show him love was a kind old king. When the peasant appeared at his door, tired and hungry, and needing a place to stay, the king welcomed him. 'Why have you not gone to the inns?' The king asked. 'None would take me,' the peasant said. The king smiled and said, 'What is mine is yours. You are welcome here.' He let the peasant into his palace, and gave him his own fine wine and bread and cake—" Cosette's eyes turned as large as saucers at the last mention of food.
"Cake? Was it chocolate?"
Valjean smiled. "He gave him chocolate cake with strawberries and cream, and the peasant almost couldn't believe it. It must be a trick, he thought. He waited for the king to throw him out or toss him into the dungeon, but he did not. Instead, the king gave him his best room with its finest bed to sleep on for the night, which was right next to his own chamber. 'Why would you sleep so close?' The peasant asked. 'Nobody else trusts me. How am I worthy?' And the king only smiled and bid him good night."
A few days after their move into the convent, Valjean sat with Cosette in Fauchelevent's little house. They were safe forever now, safe from the terrors of outside. Cosette, still weak and a little bit cold, asked for the story once more.
"Tuck me in with the story, Papa," she said, imploring him with those irresistible eyes.
"Again?" Valjean asked.
"Yes, Papa."
"In the night, the peasant was afraid and did not know what to do. Why had the king been so kind to him? He, a mere peasant, who had done no good in his life? The peasant thought, 'this is a trick! I must leave before he throws me in his dungeon! But first, I will take the king's crown. It will make me rich, and I will not have to be a peasant anymore.'
"The peasant ran away with the king's crown, and was on his way far, far away. The next morning, the king's guards brought the peasant back to the king and said, 'here we have caught the thief who stole your crown. How will you punish him?' The king looked at the peasant and said, 'I gave my crown to this peasant. He will have no punishment, but will go in peace and become a good and successful man.'
Cosette always came back to Valjean on the weekends to hear the beloved story her papa told her. They would sit by the fire, and Valjean, having perfected and memorized his story by now, would watch Cosette's eyes glow with happiness as they sat together.
Let it be like this forever, he thought.
"The peasant took the crown to the town and sold it. With his wealth he helped the poor people on the streets, and started safe places where everyone could work for the money the earned, and would be treated with fairness and kindness. The town loved him because he made them rich, and he helped them with their problems.
" However, there was one man who did not like the peasant, and this was the king's guard. The guard told the town how the peasant had stolen the crown, and they wanted to toss him into the dungeon. They forgot all the good things he had done for the town, and now only saw the bad things. The peasant escaped and made a new name for himself, far away where no one would find him. But there was always something missing in his heart. The peasant had been shown love by the king, but he himself had never loved in return."
Cosette had fallen asleep, the warm, flickering flames causing graceful shadows to dance across her face. Valjean watched her with content. With Cosette, he needed nothing more. With Cosette, he was complete.
It was summer, and the Luxembourg was at its height of beauty. The trees and flowers were bursting with bright and inviting colors, and the gentle breeze stirred the willow fronds in a friendly, easy wave. The world had come alive again after a long, dreary winter, but now at last youth and beauty had returned. It returned in its finest of forms, as a little girl blossoming into a beautiful young woman.
Cosette and Valjean sat together on a bench near the water, watching the birds. Valjean couldn't help but notice that her gaze would too often drift from the doves and stray to the gloomy looking young man, dressed rather show-offy, reading a book.
Hoping to recall her to him, Valjean asked, "Would you like to hear the story, Cosette?"
Cosette blushed and shook her head. "I am too old for stories, Papa. I am a grown woman now."
She returned to the secret language of looks and small smiles she shared with the young man. Valjean watched as if from up above, with an utter helplessness and feeling of defeat.
One day, the peasant came across a tower, where a beautiful little princess was locked up. He saw how sad the little princess was, and took her home to be his daughter. The girl showed him how to love and be loved, and the good in him grew every day. All he wanted now was to be forever with his daughter, and they would love and care for each other. They would always be together, and they had many great adventures together. But the peasant could not stop his little princess from growing up.
Valjean sat with the boy, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. This was the boy whose life he saved. The boy who would take Cosette away from him forever.
Cosette left the great supply of lints to have nearby Marius, in case he was in need of more, and made Valjean promise to watch over him for a little while so he wouldn't be alone.
"Please, Papa? Just imagine all he's been through—if you wish, you can tell him your story."
So he did. Whether or not Marius heard him was of no matter to Valjean. He enjoyed the privilege of being able to say whatever he wanted without any consequences from the unconscious boy. Many, many attempts to tell him the truth escaped his lips, things so terrible Valjean would look around, relieved there was no one about.
"The princess grew up to be the most beautiful girl in all the lands, and all of the princes wanted to marry her and take her to their castles. But no, she said, she wanted to stay with her Papa. She couldn't imagine she could love another man as she did her Papa.
"Until one day, the princess heard a crash from outside. Curiously, she went to see what it was. It was a prince who had fallen off his horse. She told her Papa, and they took the prince to care for him. The princess watched over the prince, and soon fell in love. And the peasant was sad, because he knew the prince would take her away."
A tear rolled down Valjean's cheek as he watched Marius. It was over now, he knew. It was all over.
"But because he loved the princess, he wanted her to be happy. Even if it meant never seeing her again, because now she would be a queen, and he would still be a lowly peasant."
It was bright and warm the day after Valjean died. The air was warm and comforting, and the tree limbs seemed to reach out to Cosette in an embrace. She believed her Papa was watching over her that day, that lonely and sad day. Only he would know how to leave behind his wonderful stories so she would always be comforted. But today it was not enough.
Cosette looked down at the still, white, and too quiet face in the coffin, the force of his death only now truly reaching her. She would never take walks with him again, never argue pleasantly over little trifles, never sit with him by the fire. She would never hear his story again.
Memories of the little things they had always shared flooded through her mind, and she now only thought of all that she had lost. Being tucked into bed, even long after she had secretly deemed it childish, talking excitedly as he listened at the breakfast table. Indeed, he was a quiet man, and seemed to take pleasure in listening to her. He never asked for anything from her. He was the only person who knew her, fully and completely, and now he was gone.
Cosette cried like she had never cried before, the face of her Papa looking so tired, so tired from the weary load he'd carried for so many years. Now at last he was peaceful, but her heart longed to hear his story one last time. Through her tears, she gently kissed his forehead as he'd done whenever he'd tucked her in. She stroked his white hairs and told him their story.
"Once upon a time, a kind old peasant rescued a scared little princess from her tower. They loved each other as father and daughter, and spent many years together as happy as they could be. But the peasant saw his daughter was growing up, and wanted her to choose a life for herself. When she met a handsome prince, the peasant saw that her love was divided in two now. The princess could not stay with him forever, and should have her own children one day. So he gave her his blessing, though it broke his heart, and watched her go. Did he know the princess would always love him most, long after he was gone? After all those years, now he could rest and watch his little princess from above, forever and ever."