clayforthedevil | A Question of Families

Bahorel's been outside as much as ever since Enjolras returned from Paris, turning over the old and new of that trip. He'd assumed Monsieur Fauchelevent had left Milliways once he'd returned to his own body; he hasn't seen the old fellow since, and everyone else Bahorel knows jumped back to their usual lives with relief.

But there Fauchelevent is, outside near the lake.

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"It is not enough." He's rarely shocked, but this comes close to it; the act Fauchelevent is choosing to commit is a horror and an absurdity, and he can't keep the emotion out of his voice; isn't trying, in truth. Still, he has enough sense of himself to turn himself a little, enough that his gestures won't be directed at Fauchelevent. The man's beyond meek, and Bahorel's not trying to threaten.

"It is not enough, you are her father- don't argue about papers and legalities! To hell with the law! You are her father, you have raised her, you have loved her, you have taught her to trust the world because it has you behind it. No law can change that now. And you'll see her a little, and say for her that it's enough! Have you no idea what you're taking from her--"

He breaks off and looks at Valjean again, realizing. "--You don't at all, do you."

Edited Date: 2015-11-15 01:45 am (UTC)

Valjean looks at him now, his eyes steady and sad, his hands loose and open at his sides. He is an old man now, and starting to look it, and there is no fight left in him for this.

'I am a convict in breach of my ban,' he says, softly.

'It is all that matters. If I am caught, no one will care about love. She will be ruined.'

And if he is not destroyed now, that will be the end of him. Which does not matter, but it will be the end of her too.

'You are young, Bahorel. You may think that a declaration of love is all that matters, but in the eyes of society it means nothing. I will not end her life with my mistakes. That is all.'

He will say no more about it.

That does get a laugh, short and disbelieving. "You'd say this is all a matter of practicalities? Fine; let us speak of the practicalities. You must know I'm a criminal many times over, by the laws of the King. And yet I stayed ahead of the chain. It was not by carelessness! I could give you names, passwords, people who would help hide the identity of a man who stood at the barricade-would you take the aid, and stay with your daughter?" It's a sincere offer; Bahorel's dearest friends may be at Milliways, but many more still live on Valjean's side of the door.

"Let us pretend it is only a matter of practicality; then you are still making a mistake. You are no more a convict than you were before her marriage; nothing there has changed. Yet you did not leave her, to wander off, to hide yourself; you would say, she needed you then, she does not now. You think her marriage will shield her? And you tell me I am being foolish, and that love counts for nothing to the law, as if I were the one forgetting!" He shakes his head, sharp.

"Monsieur, Marius Pontmercy is a criminal; he fought at the barricade with all of us. The King who grants amnesty today may change his mind tomorrow. We have both seen the Emperor and the kings change; we have known the law to change. A man may be a hero or a criminal, day to day. The day may yet come when he is the one under suspicion, and she will look for help, and find--what? It is because the law is dangerous that you must stay close; because you are a convict that you must trust her, as she must trust you, and hold close! If your fear is for what the law may cost her, you must see-- to draw away is the worst thing you could do."

He pauses, watching Valjean for any response.

Edited Date: 2015-11-15 02:59 am (UTC)

There is precious little of it, just an air of gradual deflation as he is harangued with what, in some eyes, may seem to be the truth. To his, it is a pretty way of hiding reality.

'Would I take the aid? No, monsieur - as I have told the Baron, I am believed dead. It is as good a cover as any, and I do not think Javert will go against his word and arrest me.'

Which he knows could raise further questions from Bahorel, just as it did with Combeferre, but he has had this conversation with himself a thousand times and knows what his answers are.

'You say Cosette would look to me for help? And what could I offer her? I could not speak for her husband, not offer a defence, nor show my face in a court. And then, she would have to know, I would have to tell her that all these years she has been under the protection of a criminal! You have not seen her face when she has seen the chain go by, you have not heard her wonder if such people can even be men, you have not seen the Baron recoil at the sight of me - as he should, as they both should, as anyone who is innocent in these matters has the right to. No monsieur, I will not destroy her notions and bring that darkness with me, I will not sit in her house and know that everything I eat and breathe is a lie, and would bring her unhappiness. No, monsieur.'

He will not.

A man could go mad, listening to Valjean's reasoning. "You say she saw the chain gang, and wondered at such cruelty! Any child would wonder! And she questioned if they were men-- did you think to ask if she questioned the convicts, or the men driving them?--And if she did ask about the convicts, you are all the answer she would need, you are still a man, her own father--you would be all the proof of their humanity to her, as you've been the image of humanity to her all her life! As you will remain, Monsieur, whether you stay beside her or not."

Bahorel's language is still respectful, formal as it almost never is, and his voice is quiet, but nothing like calm. "In her heart you are her father. You think this is nothing, an ephemera; I tell you again, there is nothing more real. I've seen men, friends who stood with me and faced guns for what they believed, lose their courage and turn home because their families stopped sending letters, or grew cold in conversation-- nothing had to be said, they knew it was a judgement-- and I didn't blame them! And they were grown men, even if they were younger than me. But a parent is the image of the whole world, the place everyone first looks for judgement. To look and see that person look away-- Monsieur, it is a hard thing. Few can bear it. Should your daughter have to?"

The old man isn't likely to listen; Bahorel can see that, suspected it from the start. But Fauchelevent hasn't seen what he's doing from the other side, hasn't seen friends turn wild and dangerous to themselves, or turn quiet and vanish from the world while still walking, or written letters full of lies to someone else's parents to cover the stories of friends who laughed about it too hard and too sharply--

Bahorel shakes his head. "I believe your reasons--" ...are what? The old man makes no sense at all. "--they seem good to you. You think you can hurt no one but yourself with this. Well, a man may destroy himself if he likes, of course! But you are wrong, you can hurt her. If you insist on drawing away--and you do, and you know it, do not try to pass it by in speaking of visits-- she will not know why, and she will never think it is for love. She will come to see it as a judgement. At best, she will not understand, at worst-- she will wonder why she was judged, and agree with the sentence, and believe herself at fault. Would you have her condemn herself so? Now, just as she must learn to face the judgement of the world beyond you? You will hurt her as no one else in the world can. "

If it's cruel to say, it's still true-- and it would be crueler to let the man go on not knowing it, when he could so easily change his course.

But how can he change his course? He could explain to Bahorel that Marius would not permit it, except he will not because he will not dishonour the young man. He suspects that if Marius knew the truth about who brought him from the barricade, then he would not be so cold; he might insist Valjean bow to Cosette's wish, and have him come to live with them - and then, there he would be, a criminal eating from the same table as innocents, warming himself at their fire and bringing the shadow of the law to their door. A convict who steals food is not the same as a young man fighting for political beliefs; there is a distinction between these things, one is selfish and the other idealistic, one is dangerous to those who hold different views, the other is dangerous to everyone. A common thief is not the same as an educated young bourgeois. That Bahorel does not see this, or claims not to, speaks well of his ideas about equality - but society at large does not think the same way Bahorel does. If it did, there would have been no uprising, and Marius would not be a criminal at all.

None of this shows on Valjean's face. He is only silent for a time, and then takes a deep breath.

'Monsieur, Cosette is aware that I am not her father. You say I have raised her as a daughter; yes, it is true, I will not deny it. But this means she is quite aware of my peculiarities and singular ways, and when she encounters a new one she simply says, 'you are very strange, monsieur,' and thinks no more of it. It is our way, and this is no different. I speak with her, and see her, and while she thought it odd that I would not live with her at first, she is reconciled with it now. She knows my actions are no judgement on her.'

He is confident on this account. Cosette has never seemed to believe his odd behaviour is her fault.

'She is quite engaged with her new life, I can assure you.'

Bahorel listens, but shakes his head at the end. "I was engaged with my life in Paris, Monsieur-- no man more so. And still I was my father's son." He laughs a little, soundless, at a thought. "And still I am my father's son, whatever sort of life I may have now-- always that. The farmer's child, the smuggler's son."

He looks at Valjean, smiling, almost calm. "There, now you know something about me, too. I'm not ashamed of it, Monsieur; I don't speak of it here because to those who don't know, it would mostly mean nothing. What does anyone here care about the king's salt-taxes or the tariffs?-- but, there. You see." He shrugs. "At least you might see that I cannot understand why you think this must be a thing that comes between family. -- No, I don't understand at all! You're right if you think so! --Your reasons may seem sound to you, but they seem rotten to me, Monsieur, and I wonder you don't see the light coming through them. Look! You can't think your daughter has a harder heart than a scoundrel like me. If I can tell you, as I can, that I'd be happier to have my parents, with any title and curse on them, than the good graces of society--how can you think she'd care less?"

He sighs; Valjean is so determined, and for what? "I don't understand your reasons. I cannot force you to understand mine. But from only what my friends have said--only that! -- I already know your company is worth more than the high opinions of all the best Society in Paris. Nothing you've said has changed my mind; it's made me more certain. I would argue with you for your own happiness if I thought it meant anything; you've made it clear enough that's not your concern. So I tell you again, your daughter will need you, in the time ahead, in a way she has not before; If you knew what it is , to enter the lists in Society--and alone, without a family!" What does the old man think proper Society is, to people without family trees with roots stretching back past the Revolution into lords and nobles and finery? Does he have any idea?

...No, he probably doesn't , and wouldn't likely believe Bahorel for the telling. Bahorel bows, properly; he could carry on the argument, but Valjean seems well beyond listening. Still-- "She does need you. I hope you know it before too long, for her sake--and for your own, though I know that means nothing to you. Little as you may believe me, I wish you all happiness, Monsieur."

Edited Date: 2015-12-05 05:28 pm (UTC)

Valjean likes Bahorel, and esteems him for this devotion to his parents. It would be the easiest thing in the world to point out, again, that he is not Cosette's father - no, he could not love her more if she were of his blood, and yes, he is the only father she has known. But there is no blood tie that society might think 'well, she is unfortunate to be saddled with such a relative, but it is not her fault,' if they would even be that charitable. He is a passer-by that wronged her mother, and vowed to do right. He had not expected to love her; had had no notion of what love was, but there it was. And now, it is only right that he should step away, and not endanger a love that is far more pure, entirely legitimate and from the heart, not borne from depedance and need.

Yes, he likes Bahorel, but he is very glad to see him bow too. It would take energy to articulate all this, and the young man is so sure of himself and his life. He must have done his parents proud, Valjean thinks. It would be a fine thing to have such a son.

He bows in return.

'I will think on what you have said, citizen.'

He will too. Mostly to refute it to himself, mostly to measure his own unhappiness against the impossibility of these suggestions, to ensure that thread in his heart will not break against them. It is a terrible thing, conscience. But he will not become a wretch again, not as he was before. Honesty compels him, and he will not fall foul of the Bishop's standards now.

'I wish you well also; you and all your friends.'

He has the idea he might not see them again, and would like at least one of them to know that he hopes they thrive after death.

And with that, he takes his leave.