This chapter will take on a more serious tone, I'm afraid, as Courfeyrac explores the idea of love. I'm sorry if it's disappointing. Please bear with me. (This isn't the last chapter yet.) But thank you so much for the reviews! I dearly love to laugh, but I love making people laugh even more! :D
Part Three – The Climax
Scene One: In Which Courfeyrac's Game Is Ruined
We come close to the ending of this story, good reader. Oh, but not to worry. There is a particular part in this play that I dearly wish to tell you, one that has greatly touched my heart. It is, in fact, one of true love.
I have always believed in true love. Rather odd, isn't it? A grown-up man like me! But after living in Paris for years, my faith in fairy tales began to wane. While I kept true to the idea, I began to forget what love really was! Well, this piece of history gave me all the information I needed to know about it, and all the inspiration too! Therefore sit back and relax, my friend, for it's a rather long story!
We were still sitting, melancholy, in the Café Musain. I must admit, I was beginning to tire of my little game.
"Oh," sighed Enjolras, "Every second away from my Cosette marks off a year of my poor life. To have only an hour to learn her name, and the rest to ponder over her. 'Tis so unfair, life."
"So says the tragedian," muttered Marius. "But tell me, poet! Why would a man love someone he does not even know?"
"She is beautiful! She is a goddess! Fair, divine!" cried Enjolras in what sounded like a desperate cry.
"All shall fade away," was the response.
I sat back in my chair with a determination to enjoy myself.
"All shall fade away, say you? Then the poor man will fade away. The rich man will fade away," retorted Enjolras, "If everyone dies, what's the purpose of the so-said rights for the people? The King will die with the peasant—there's your justice."
"Death is justice, yes. And yet so is equality. I seek justice. Therefore I acknowledge death, but I also seek a life of liberty. I do not despise relationships. But is it even a relationship to love a woman you do not know? In the same why, I must learn about my country before I can love it and fight for it."
"Hmph!" huffed Enjolras. "Well, she is my light in a world of darkness. I only wish to further the relationship. I only wish to know her. And that is why you're ruining me! Because my chance of knowing her decreases as seconds pass and I still sit inside this horrid body! Look at these useless arms! Never will they carry a little babe!"
"I will not have you insulting my body!" said Marius sharply.
"Look at this!" continued Enjolras mockingly, "These eyes have never seen the beauty of a woman! These hands have never written a ballad! And worst of all, this heart has never learned to love."
Marius' face was an island in the middle of a storm, clouds hovering over the trees. He was about to retort something insulting when the door burst open and a girl, the girl whose name was Eponine, entered the room.
We gazed at her, astonished.
"Monsieur," she said curtly, addressing Marius and not minding Enjolras and me. "I have a letter. From your grandfather."
Marius stared at her, uncomprehending. "Mademoiselle, I don't…" He looked at me, and seeing my threatening gaze, seemed to realize that Pontmercy was good friends with this little gamine. He turned back to her and replied, "Ah, yes. Won't you sit down?"
He offered her a seat, which she took with a bewildered gaze. "Monsieur?" said she uncertainly. She seemed unaccustomed to such polite gestures.
As I gazed upon Marius, I saw something change in him. A light seemed to dawn over his features, and understanding flickered in his eye. I knew what he saw. He saw his Patria in this one, bewildered girl who had never known such kindness in her miserable life. And such kindness! Only a little, polite gesture and she was hesitant, embarrassed, bewildered!
When Marius spoke again, his voice was kind, "Mademoiselle—"
"Why do you call me that, Monsieur?" she interrupted, grinning. "Suddenly a gentleman?" She was teasing now, but I thought I saw a change in her too. At first she had been bewildered at this new kindness. But now there seemed to be a wistful yearning in her expression, as if she wished to hear just one more little word of thoughtful kindness.
He smiled slightly, "But you must call me En—ahem, Marius."
"Marius," she repeated slowly. How strange it was that the name seemed unfamiliar on her tongue! Hadn't the two been friends for months, perhaps years? And yet now that she had this permission to address him by his baptized name, a joyful light seemed to dawn upon her face.
I saw Marius looking at her sympathetically.
What happened after I do not know, for I grabbed Enjolras by the hand and stepped out of the café with an idea in mind. When we came back, we saw Marius still talking to the girl.
They seemed engrossed in their conversation. I heard the words "justice" and "the people", so it was no surprise for me to see "Marius" so absorbed in the conversation. But the girl! Perhaps she too had a love for our Patria. Perhaps she too longed for justice, and more than that, compassion. And I knew Enjolras—even in the body of another man—still had a heart of compassion. For he had not started these rallies out of admiration of Napoleon or the French Revolution. No. I knew that when he said in eloquent words that he fought for the people, those eloquent words were made beautiful for the truth shining upon them.
The girl, Eponine, glanced up as the door opened, and Marius, following her gaze, saw us standing by the door and said something to the girl.
Then he read the letter quickly and wrote a reply on its back. (Don't ask me, dear reader, what in the world Marius would say to a grandfather he hardly knew.) "Will you give this to him please?" I heard him say. And then, "Here, take this too." Something clinked in his hand.
"Monsieur I cannot! I am not a beggar!" said she arrogantly.
He looked just as stubborn as he thrust the coins into her hand, saying, "And I am not a gentleman."
I thought I saw a small smile on her face as she left.
"What did you talk about?" I asked, stepping forward when she was gone.
"Life," was the short reply.
"Well?" I urged.
But he had turned to Enjolras, a threatening look in his eye. "You treat her like a dog, don't you!" said he.
"What?" answered Enjolras, bewildered.
"She starts whenever I say something thoughtful! She calls me 'Monsieur' out of habit and whenever I say something kind, she looks as if I had turned into a madman!"
"I never noticed—" began Enjolras defensively.
"That's it!" raged Marius. "That's it! You never notice her! The poor girl! And even when she's head over heels for you! If I were you, I would return her love! In the few minutes that I spoke with her,"—I must interrupt here and say that it was actually an hour and a half that Enjolras and I had been gone—"… in the few minutes that I spoke with her, I learned that she is a bold young girl who faces her horrible circumstances with the courage of a lion! She's twice the girl Cosette is and I'd love her—"
"Love who?!"
It was not Enjolras who had said that, nor Marius, nor even I. In fact, it was Cosette herself. You see, my plan was to bring the mademoiselle here. I can imagine the expression on my dear reader's face. Don't look at me like that, friend. I was experimenting. That is all.
"Cosette!" cried Enjolras. "My belove—"
He let out a tiny wheeze and was silent. I need not explain that Enjolras' brainless impulses were beginning to irritate me immensely.
She turned to look at him for a moment, but her gaze returned quickly to Marius, a gaze made of two, large, blue eyes filled with all the pain in the world. If you have ever experienced looking into the eyes of a crying lamb (which is very rare, I must say), or perhaps even that of a weeping cat (which is also very rare), you will know what Cosette looked like at that moment. Even I was filled with heartache and was beginning to doubt my experiments.
"I trusted you," she choked. Then her hand grasped the shoulder of a chair, as if to steady herself.
Marius looked bewildered, "Madame, I…"
"Why do you call me that?" she cried out, "Why do you say, 'Madame'? Am I a stranger that you address me thus?"
He interrupted her bluntly, "But strictly speaking you are a stranger to me." I groaned; she was staring at him with horror-stricken eyes.
I admit that at the moment I was quite impressed with the girl. The gamine, Eponine, I admired for her strength, her courage, even her blunt manners. But Cosette was now holding herself up with pride; if I were her—and thank heavens I am not!—I would be sobbing and wiping my little tears with a handkerchief. Her face was pale, and she looked as if she was about to fall—yet still she stood firm. "I don't know who you are!" she said in a low, intense voice.
"That day I saw you in the market, I saw a young man who was at that moment pouring his heart out for the people. I saw a man who was courageous, but that did not hide his tender heart! I saw a man who sang of battle and death, but that did not hide his compassion! I loved him for all of these! And when he looked at me, I thought he loved me too."
The next words were full of bitterness, "But my papa was right. It is easy to mistake a person for someone he is not, judging only by his appearance, and not by his heart."
Marius seemed awed by this sudden outburst. I knew that this sudden admiration would not last, for Marius—or shall I say, Enjolras—did not have a place for a rich woman in his heart, no matter how noble she was. His was a heart for the poor, for the neglected, for the miserable.
But Enjolras' face was one of complete agony. In a split-second he had taken possession of her hand and was saying gently,
"Please don't cry! Did you really think that of me? I do love you! Ever since my eyes met yours I did!"
She blinked at him, perplexed. Perhaps she was thinking, "Oh dear, here's a madman!" That was the effect Enjolras had on me at that moment, but Cosette didn't seem to mind. Perhaps she saw the tenderness in Enjolras that she had first seen in Marius. Isn't that why she loved him in the first place? I am not omniscient, dear reader.
She answered him just as softly, "I thought that of him, yes. I thought he loved me."
"Dearest heart, I do!" cried the other. He hesitated, then spoke shyly—and at that moment you could tell that this certainly was the old Marius, even in Enjolras' body:
"Did you really think that of me? Really? I… I never thought that of myself. My father—he was a soldier at Waterloo. And I hoped I could be like him, strong and brave and dashing. But I have no way with words. With a sword I am useless. With words the crowd jeers at me or falls, snoring, at my feet.
But I do love you. With all my heart I do. And I want to know what your favorite color is. I want to know what makes you happy and what makes you sad! I want to know where your heart is."
Cosette was smiling. "It seems you have found your passion, Monsieur. Speak to the crowd as you speak to me now, and you will find them worshipping you."
He blushed: "Do you think so?"
Dear reader, I could not bear to hear anymore. Enjolras was speaking to Cosette; Marius was speaking to a returned Eponine. My little game was entirely ruined! What would happen now? Now that two women were completely in love with two men who were not as they seemed!
I must admit that this was not the only reason for my growing pain. Not only was my game ruined! My heart was tearing apart! I don't exaggerate! Would you feel any different, if you saw your two good friends with the women they love? And you are all alone.
I have never felt true love. Courfeyrac—the flirt, the optimistic, the clever—had never known what it felt like to truly love and be loved.
As I realized this, my heart finally split asunder.
This is not the end, good reader. This is only the beginning of the end. It is the beginning of my little Part Three.
Erm, I'm sorry. I wanted to make another humorous chapter and ended up with a totally dramatic and 'lovey-dovey' one. Oh well. I can only hope you enjoyed it! By the way, it turns out this story will be a bit longer than I thought! :D