Chapter Twenty-Seven
In Which Erik is Alarmed By Éponine's Request
A/N: I'm just going to start with a little corset PSA/character analysis—basically just a rant. I love fashion history, so there is nothing that takes me out of a story quicker than a character putting on a corset and complaining that they can't breathe, or refusing to wear a corset because they're just such a strong female character™ like that. (Nothing takes me out of a story quicker…I say as I take you all out of this story for an authorial rant. Yikes! And yet I continue.) I have been guilty of wholeheartedly implementing that trope in the past, so no offence if you have as well.
It's not that it's impossible that your female character wouldn't wear a corset. But ask yourself, "is this a character who would choose to go braless in public on a regular basis in modern day?" If she is, great. Those women definitely exist. But if she would wear a bra in modern day, then I can promise you she would wear a corset historically. Just like there are plenty of very strong and independent women wearing bras in 2022, wearing a corset did not make a woman somehow frivolous or intellectually inferior, nor did it physically incapacitate her.
So let's talk about Éponine. How would she feel putting on a corset? Would she balk at it as a restrictive torture device? Would she declare that she's never going to wear such a thing? Well, obviously she's a fictional character and I'm not her original author, so this is just my own opinion. But here it is, along with my reasoning:
One of the most painful scenes for me is when Éponine comes into Marius's room, and all that she's wearing is a skirt that's got about as many holes as fabric (never mind ankles, you can see her KNEES!) and a chemise that's not only too large for her, it's also torn, so it keeps falling off of her shoulders and falling open, almost to her waist. According to Hugo, even though she seems completely not to care about all of this, when you watch her, it becomes obvious she's trying to hide how much she's deeply embarrassed and anxious and uncomfortable. He gives the great line: "Effrontery is shame."
And it just kills me to death—especially at 16 when everything is such a big deal anyway, and she likes this guy and is trying to impress him, and every move is either a near-miss or straight-up indecent exposure because her rags are barely covering her? Bad enough through a modern lens, now imagine if you were in the 19th century with a different cultural mindset around the importance of different layers of clothing and what was appropriate and inappropriate when it came to the body and what could be shown and what should be hidden. And it's traumatising to think about what all of this connotes for Éponine as she goes around Paris delivering her father's letters, some of which is hinted at in that scene, because Marius is aware of the implications. And no, Éponine as a character is very much not a woe-is-me victim. She's coping, she's acting like nothing bothers her and just moving about her life, singing to herself and doing whatever pops into her head—because she can, because she's not socially acceptable and doesn't have to behave in a manner that is. She rummages Marius's stuff right in front of him "with the assurance of a spectre" because like a ghost she isn't bound by social norms. But Hugo does an exceptional job of portraying this conflict between how she's acting and the humiliation and degradation of her situation and appearance.
She's not *unaware* of social norms (glumly tells Marius he shouldn't be seen with a "woman like me") nor would she necessarily willingly reject them. She's completely outside of society, to the point that she's repeatedly spoken of as an apparition or a goblin or some other inhuman entity. But it's not by choice. It's not because she's just so quirky like that.
Clothing is incredibly meaningful. It is a means of expression, and it protects and shields us in physical as well as psychological ways. To go from a single layer of loose-fitting rags which barely cover you, and then to put on a stiff but not uncomfortable cotton garment that is made to fit you (and NOT laced to extremes because you're not trying to make your waist smaller—that's not the point for most corset wearers at any point in the 19th century and especially not in the 1830s when they were already achieving that through silhouette—crazy wide sleeves and skirts!), which envelops and supports you and kind of forms a protective barrier around you—I just imagine that would bring feelings of safety, respectability, dignity...
Again, just my opinion, but when we remove all the silly myths and modern misunderstandings about corsets, and when we think about Éponine's character—at least what we know from never really seeing inside her head in Hugo's text—this is what I really think makes more sense and is more realistic than to have her refusing to wear a corset or complaining about how restrictive it is.
It's true that during her time there, Éponine had found that Erik was characteristically quite erratic. But his behaviour that day was just strange beyond even what she had come to expect.
It wasn't that she minded him asking her to go boil some water—she was happy to be of use, since she still felt a little uncomfortable staying in his home and eating his food and letting him pay for things, while contributing nothing in return. But then for him to immediately tell her 'never mind?' And then to stand there suddenly chatty, all the while his eyes were... She might have either blushed or else said something flip, except that the look in his eyes, while quite intense, did not feel particularly personal. He seemed completely absorbed in something to be sure, but it didn't appear to be her. Despite the more usual implications someone might assume from him casting his eyes all over her that way, there was zero indication that whatever was on his mind was amorous in nature. So instead, she'd made the spider comment, which seemed to cause him to remember himself, giving an awkward laugh and telling her she should go rest.
So, up to that point it had been a decidedly strange interaction, but easily written-off as just Erik being a decidedly strange person.
But then: he smiled.
Erik did not give a proper, full-mouthed smile very often. Not like that. There was something disarming about it, something that seemed to try to be charming. And although she felt a little silly for the effect it had on her, the effect was undeniable. And it threw all of his behaviour into a still more confounding light...but one that seemed potentially more understandable and human.
As she went into the bedroom, she closed the door behind her and just stood for a moment, trying to stop the silly grin that was struggling its way onto her face. He was such a very odd man, who, from what he had said, had lived apart from other people and been very unloved and ill-treated. He probably did not have much experience as far as this sort of thing was concerned. Which might explain why the interaction had felt so very strange and detached. Perhaps he was just as confused. And perhaps—just perhaps—he was starting to feel some measure of what she was feeling, and if that was the case, then there was a chance...
She cut herself off before going down that path. She'd told him a tiny piece of what she was feeling, and in response he had decided she was insane and temporarily abandoned her with the Daroga. They still had not truly addressed that; their conversation on the bank of the Seine had not been enough to delve into all of the layers of that situation. Clearly, this was not a path they were ready to go down yet. And darting down that path one-sidedly was ill-advised at best—something that the persistent ache in her chest or the sight of her ruined hand should serve as a constant reminder of.
—●—●—●—●—
"It's time to wake up," Erik's voice called softly. His hand gently rubbing her arm.
After he had returned from going out again, he seemed slightly more present and less in his own head. They had eaten lunch together in the drawing room, and at her request he played the piano for her a little. Then he had encouraged her to go and lie down again, as he said they would be going out in the evening, and she needed her strength. Clearly, the rest had been needed, because she was having some trouble waking up now.
"Time to wake up." She sat up and stretched carefully. She still had to mind her rib. "And what time would that be?"
"Half past five."
She had been sleeping a few hours then.
"I have something to show you."
"Oh?"
He held out his hand, and helped her out of bed (she would insist he take the bed at night, but for taking naps during the day she couldn't resist how comfortable it was), leading her over to the little couch where he had laid out a magnificent gown of emerald silk.
"Try it on." Erik urged her. "It should fit you perfectly, I think. And those boxes there—I returned to that shop this morning, and the dresses were not yet ready, but the—ah—that is, the—the other garments were."
Éponine couldn't even tease him, because she was too in shock. This beautiful dress was for her? She was afraid even to touch it. She managed to get out some words of thanks to him, as he was on his way out of the room, leaving her to change.
She stepped hesitantly toward the dress and stared at the beautiful silk, a little nervous and overwhelmed.
Opening the boxes from the dress shop, she pulled out multiple fine linen chemises, cotton petticoats, stockings, and a beautiful corset. She ran her fingers over the outline of trailing vines which was raised from the cream-coloured cotton. It was so lovely.
After discarding the ill-fitting clothes she had been wearing and putting on one of her new chemises and a pair of stockings, she pulled the corset around her backwards, getting it loosely laced from top to bottom. She then turned it around, adjusting it into place. She had never before worn a garment which conformed around her so well, being actually made for her, unlike the one which had evidently been made for Christine. Because that one didn't fit her properly anyway, she could manage to put it on by lacing it up completely in front of her and then spinning it around. She wouldn't be able to do that with this one.
Reaching behind herself, she started the process of tugging at the lacing bit by bit. But between the clumsy fingers of her left hand and the limited motion she still had due to her broken rib, she found herself unable to manage it. It also might have been easier if she had a mirror, to see what she was doing, but she did not.
She stood there a moment, contemplating her options. She wouldn't mind if Erik helped her—compared to the rags she used to wear, she was pretty well covered up right now. Her chemise would be somewhat transparent on its own, but with the corset over top that wasn't an issue. It fell to just above her knees, and her stockings covered the remainder of her legs. Really, only her arms and her shoulders were exposed, but they would be in the dress as well. Still, if the man couldn't even talk about the garments, she was concerned that he might faint if she asked for his help. True, he had bandaged and dressed her when he first found her, but that was before they knew each other at all, which made it very different.
She struggled for a few more moments, frustrated because if she had two good hands and her rib weren't broken, she would definitely be able to do this herself. Then, giving up, she called, "Erik?"
A moment later, she heard his voice through the door, asking if she needed anything.
"Can you help me? You can open the door."
He opened it, and for a minute she thought he really was going to faint. He couldn't seem to speak, which was good, because she really didn't need him to right now.
Holding the corset against herself in the front, she turned her back toward him. "I can't reach like that with my broken rib, and anyway, with this hand of mine it would take all day."
Complete silence. She looked over her shoulder, and he was still just standing there in the doorway, completely frozen. Rolling her eyes, she crossed the room so that she was right in front of him, and once again turned her back, presenting him with the lacing.
"It's all right," she reassured him.
She heard him inhale and exhale sharply, and then, finally, she felt him tugging at the lacing.
"You have to hold the bottom one," she instructed. She'd figured it out herself through trial and error on the other corset. Prior to her arrival at the house on the lake, she'd actually never owned one. "Hold it taut, and then at the same time, start at the top and work down. Just pull out all the slack."
He either couldn't understand her instructions or wasn't listening. So he stood there muttering to himself for a moment and tracing the laces with his finger to determine how the thing worked. His nervousness seemed to have vanished completely, and he was apparently approaching this as a puzzle to be solved or a feat of engineering to work out. Finally, he said, "Ah! That's how..." and began tightening. He made short work of it, and soon it was snug but comfortable, and Éponine marvelled at how well it supported and enveloped her. She turned around to thank Erik, and it was only for a split-second that she glimpsed his expression of being smug and pleased-with-himself for figuring the thing out, before it was replaced with a very different look. The black part of his eyes seemed to burst like a splotch of ink, swallowing so much of the usual mingling of green and gold...
And then, his eyes snapped upward to meet hers, and he cleared his throat, and without another word he scrambled out the door, closing it a bit too loudly.
Letting out a shaky breath, Éponine went and put on her petticoats over the corset. Then she put on her dressing gown, because she wanted to do her hair before putting on the dress. She found hairpins in the dressing table drawer, but she was definitely not going to be able to do this without a mirror.
"Erik? I'm sorry to bother you again—"
He was hesitant to open the door, even when she told him it was all right, and when he finally did, he seemed incredibly relieved to see she was now in her dressing gown.
"I don't think I can do my hair without a mirror," she explained.
"Oh. Wait, I have one somewhere."
He disappeared, and after a while he returned. It was just a hand mirror, and not terribly large, which would make things a little bit difficult, but she would make it work. She thanked him.
"You don't have to leave," she said. "Unless you have other things to do."
"No. I don't." He hovered.
She tried to conjure up in her mind some of the hairstyles she had glimpsed on fashionable ladies. They were so elaborate, and there were a lot of curls involved which she did not know how to achieve, and elaborate twists and fantastical shapes. She was quite at a loss.
While she brushed her hair and deliberated what to do with it, she said, "You don't have any mirrors because you don't like to see your face?"
"Would you? If you looked like me?" There was so much resigned pain and self-loathing in his voice.
"I've told you, I—" But she stopped, because it wasn't about the fact that she didn't mind his face. And it likely wasn't that he was frightened of his own face. "It must make you think about how cruel people have been to you, and how you've been forced to live underground. About how alone you've been."
He made a quiet sound of agreement.
After some consideration, she decided the best she could probably manage would be to braid her hair and wind it into a crown on top of her head, which was a simpler style that she had seen. So, she set about braiding it, starting the braid high on the back of her head. As she was thinking about this, she was also trying to decide what to say, and coming up short.
He was the one who spoke next: "I hope, one day, I'll invent a mask that lets me look like anyone else. I attempt it, from time to time, but I can never seem to get it quite right."
"I like it best when you aren't wearing a mask."
"I don't believe you."
"I mean it. When you wear a mask, it feels like it's not really you I'm talking to. And if you had a mask that made your face look like someone else's face, I wouldn't feel like I knew you at all."
She hoped that his lack of response was an indication that he at least believed her, even if he didn't agree. She glanced over at him, and saw that there was the faint trace of a smile around his mouth.
Reaching the end of her braid, she went over the whole thing and fluffed it slightly, wound it around, and secured it on the crown of her head. She was humming softly to herself all the while. She pulled out little tendrils of hair just beside her face to soften it a little.
She asked Erik to go and wait in the drawing room, and then she put on the dress. It really did fit perfectly—she had absolutely no idea how he'd done it, and that was a little disconcerting. But she didn't worry about that too much, because she was too pleased.
The neckline of the dress just covered the place where she had been shot. It curved gently off of her shoulders, the bodice crossing over itself and forming a heart-shape in the neckline, although not a deep one. There was a wide belt with a gold-coloured oval buckle, and very wide and full sleeves, over which were still-wider sheer sleeves that extended down to the wrists, terminating in cuffs of the emerald silk again. The skirt fell to just around her ankles, and was undecorated—nothing interrupting that glorious rippling green. She never liked too much flounces or frills on a dress, so she was very pleased by the simplicity and yet incredible elegance of this dress. She felt like such a lady.
"I'm finished!" she stepped out into the drawing room and spun around for him to see.
"You are beautiful," he said softly.
But when she looked at him, the expression in his eyes was incredibly sad, and then he turned away abruptly and said they should eat something before they left.
A/N: RIP to Erik. He thought it would be incredibly awkward to look at Éponine from now on knowing what her corset looks like? Oh yeah? Well, now he has an image of exactly what she looks like in her corset. The invention of front-opening busks might have saved him, but alas…
Man, the 1830s would be a particularly difficult era to achieve a fashionable hairstyle yourself without any experience.
In terms of the general shape of the bodice and the sleeves, this is close to what I was picturing for the dress she's wearing. . And the funny thing is that this portrait also happens to feature a hairstyle that's pretty similar to what Éponine did, except this one is a lot more intricate.
