Apocrypha

Orestes Fasting · Apocrypha

I have this unholy fascination with things that didn't make it to the final cut, so to speak. Be it "I Saw Him Once" or "L'un vers l'autre" or some obscure lyric that wasn't on the OLC and is recorded only in ancient bootlegs and leaked rehearsal scores from 1985. And, as some of you may know, I now own an extensively annotated copy of the book whose footnotes include many, many snippets of Hugo's rough drafts. Some of them are from Les Mis�res, the completed draft version; some of them are just random fragments culled from his notes. Would any of you be interested in me translating them and posting them here?

Some samples:

From the chapter where Cosette realizes she's beautiful and starts buying pretty clothing. I've put some of the text of the actual book there in italics, for context.

[...he asked Cosette, "Aren't you going to put on your dress and your hat, you know the ones?"
This happened in Cosette's room. Cosette turned towards the wardrobe where her schoolgirl clothes were hanging.
"That disguise!" she said. "Father, what do you want me to do with that? Oh, the idea! No, I'll never put on those horrors again. With that machine on my head, I look like Madame Mad-Dog."]
"Well," said Jean Tr�jean, "give them to me."
"Oh, gladly, Father," cried Cosette, "but what will you do with them?"
"That's my business."
"I understand, Father. They're for the poor."
"Yes," he replied, "they're for the poor."
Jean Tr�jean retired early that night. He took "those horrors" into his room, and when he was alone, he took the poor merino dress and the poor plush hat, those horrors, spread them out on his pallet with a painful smile, and kissed them, then his white head fell on these cast-offs, and if there had been somebody in the room at that moment, he would have heard the good old man sobbing. His heart was bursting: he could not have said what it was... He felt as one would feel in front of the clothing of his dead child.
He locked this dress and hat in an armoire which he never opened, and when he had put away the key to this armoire, it seemed to him that it was a tomb he had just closed, and that he had put his happiness inside it.

---

Two excerpts of a much longer version of the chapter where Javert tries to get M. Madeleine to dismiss him.

"Monsieur Mayor," Javert resumed, "this Jean Tr�jean was freed from the prison at Toulon in October 1815. Four or five days afterward, at the house of the Bishop of Digne, he had a very shady adventure which I know very little about, but what I know looks awfully similar to a robbery. I must say, besides, that the bishop--who was a saint and who is dead--defended him, but it was probably out of charity: and do you know, Monsieur Mayor, you would have done just the same. This bishop was a man like you."

At this, M. Madeleine's gaze, which until then had been lowered, raised slowly and fixed itself on the ceiling with an indefinable expression. Javert was no longer paying attention to any of those movements, which he would otherwise have studied with such menacing unease. He didn't even stop speaking.

..."If I sought to excuse myself, Monsieur Mayor," continued Javert, "I would tell you what was happening in my head when I made the abominable supposition that brings me before you like a criminal. It would have been so monstrous if a being like Jean Tr�jean, degraded by the law, reproved by society, a convict, had dared to enter fraudulently into the State, to slide in among honest people, usurp their respect, profane the magistracy! steal honor after losing it! Outright attacks, highway robbery, murder, would all have been less odious. I know well, I who have the experience, that these beings never reform. Reject the good that they seem to do. Since it can never be anything but ferocity or hypocrisy, there is something worse than their violence, it is their gentleness. Now, Monsieur Mayor, you understand the thought that drove me. Unveil a Jean Tr�jean, find the convict beneath the magistrate, tear such a mask from such a face, throw back to prison what belongs in prison, make the shackle and whipping post reappear in the middle of his millions, his play-acting and deceit, what a purpose for me, Javert! What a service to render to society! With what joy of an honest man I would have seized his embroidered collar with my bare hand, and said to him, "Convict, take back your smock!" I had that ambition. It blinded me. Too much zeal is excessive; I didn't believe it, but I see now. I have made a mistake, a grave mistake. I must undergo the consequences, now that it has been proved to me that I was wrong and that despite my stupid and infamous conjectures, our venerable mayor M. Madeleine could not be, and is not, the convict Jean Valjean."

---

Hugo played around with the students' characterizations; Courfeyrac, for example, was originally both the leader and Marius' connection to the group, which didn't have nearly as many members.

Around Courfeyrac, who had all the qualities of a center, roundness and radiance, were found several young men who, as we will see later, had furthermore another bond: Combeferre, characterized as the furious one; Joly, pronounced 'Jolly'; Grang� who signed his name with the rebus G.; Enjolras, cold, fanatical, and sad, with the complexion of a woman, the smile of a virgin, and the sweetest blue eyes that could have existed in the world; finally L�gle, who was from Meaux, and whom they called Bossuet. Except for Bossuet, they were all from the south.

lesmisloony

My love for these is immeasurable.

Grange!!!

And that description of Enj actually made me squee a little bit.

curlyhairedsoprano91

I love these.

Forgive my stupidity, please; why is he Jean Trejean?

Fantine

An early draft perhaps?

Quique

Thanks for those. I'd love to read more.

kitty17794

Those are actually very interesting! Thank you so much for sharing them.

lesmisloony

bigR

Thank you so much Orestes, it was really interesting. Could you tell me what edition it is that you have? (i take it is a french one since you are talking about translating, isn't it?). I own an old Folio pocket edition with no notes at all, but i would like to get a better one, and I trust your judgement Smile

I don't know what i find more interesting, reading bits of a novel that had to be taken out for the sake of lenght and rythm but could perfectly fit in the final novel (the cosette and valjean bit), or fragments of previous drafts that show how the characters evolved inside the author's mind.
I find the bit about Combeferre specially interesting. because years ago i read a paper about the names of Hugo's characters and how they all meant something, and how the names kind of explained the characters.
I remember the explanation the author gave about Combeferre =Combe fer =Bend Iron, and how Hugo had probably given him that name because he was the one who softened and could actually bend iron= enjolras, and I have always thought about it that way since then.
Now, after proof that the 1st Combeferre in Hugo's mind was a sort of Bahorel, that explanation does not stand that much.
Unless you asume that the first meaning of Combeferre was "someone so strong and furious that he could bend iron" but afterwards Hugo thought that the name could have a double meaning and so he kept it for the new softer combeferre? I know this kind of questions are terribly nerdy but I find them insanely interesting...
(and kind of creepy draftenjolras, very much like a saint-just. altough he sounds a bit like montparnasse too, so I get your "squee" LML Wink

)

herkind

I would at least like to read the parts with Courfeyrac as the the leader. That sounds really interesting.

Orestes Fasting

Unfortunately there aren't many parts with Courfeyrac as the leader, just the lead-in where Marius gets kicked out of Grandpapa's house and winds up rooming with 'Rac. Though there's also an alternate version of the way Marius finds the Caf� Musain, with Courfeyrac instead of Bossuet stopping him in the cabriolet.

My notes come from the Biblioth�que de la Pl�iade edition annotated by Maurice Allem. Unfortunately, it's out of print and tends to run rather expensive.

Orestes Fasting

A scene cobbled together from Hugo's notes, where the students are meeting secretly in an abandoned quarry on the day before the revolt, not knowing that Patron-Minette are already hiding there.

Corresponding to the upper opening, through which, according to the time and the season, sun and rain passed, was a large and wet circle on the floor, a pool in winter, mud in summer. A cryptlike day fell in this crevasse in the quarry. After some moments the eye grew accustomed to it, and one ended up distinguishing the lineaments of subterranean roads, the debris of the breach inserted here and there with horizontal bands of limestone, and the leperous puckerings of the stone on the ceiling of the passages; in this twilight these rough vaults resembled the stomachs of elephants, whose legs made the pillars. Seeing all these monstrous feet, motionless in the shadow, one could have believed oneself beneath an enormous herd of petrified mastodons.

As Enjolras finished speaking, vague faces appeared at the edges of the faint light. There was a noise as of naked feet in the mud. The young men turned around. A new audience was making its entrance, an unexpected audience. In the darkest part of the quarry, eyes shone, some round and phosphorescent; strange heads moved in the earthen pallor of the underground; several yawned as if they had just left sleep. A semicircle of wild masks formed confusedly in the haze. These faces watched and approached. They were probably men.

"Who are you?" asked Enjolras.

A voice, in which a police agent could have recognized the proper tone of Babet, answered, "We are protestors like you."

"Different from us," said Combeferre.

"We are your friends and your brothers."

"Our brothers, yes; our friends, no," said Enjolras.

There was a silence.

Enjolras continued, "I can see who you are."

"We are thieves," cried another voice, that of Gueulemer.

"You are the social disease," replied Enjolras. "We want to cure you. We have seen you. Very well. Now leave."

The voice that had spoken first interrupted Enjolras. "Citizen, we were there, we heard you. What you have said is good. We are, like you, enemies of the existing world. If there is something, if they're tearing up the paving stones, count on us."

Enjolras responded, "You are victims. You are the painful products of misery. No misery, no theft; no mindlessness, no crime. We want a new society where there will be no men like you anymore. We want men like you to be healed as wounded men, not killed as enemies. We want a country so happy that you will become honest again. We want to save you. We feel moved to the depths of our insides by your unhappiness. We sympathize with you, we weep over you, we work for you."

"Bravo!" cried the darkened group.

"Thank you," said the one who seemed to be the leader.

"Now," Enjolras continued, "I have something to say to you. If any one of you comes into my barricade, I will have him shot."

They separated. The young men climbed back into the daylight, and the others re-entered the night.

bigR

at 3 a.m. I should probably go to sleep instead of spend the night bumping up threads but I am reading the bishop's part of the brick and it has made me think about something.

I absolutely love this patron-minette and amis bit since I read your signature and it made me laugh because it was so extremely enjolraic that I though it had to be some kind of parody... but now I am having serious thoughs about it.
Like, how different is enjolras attitude from the bishop's.
Because as far as the bishop knew, Valjean was not different from the patron-minette. Yet while the bishop does what he can do to raise his own thief from the darkness he lives in, enjolras is too "pure" to let them near him or help them climb into daylight, and rejecting them he leaves them in the night.
I guess valjean was just lucky not to have stolen enjolras silver...

And I know we can just especulate, but I would really like to know whether hugo decided to cut that chapter because the brick was already too long (I highly doubt it- lenght did not seem to be a problem there!), because he thought it was redundant, or if it was cut in the process of humanizing enjolras a little bit...

Orestes Fasting

I don't think Hugo left the scene out in order to humanize Enjolras--for one thing, he isn't very humanized in the final draft, and for another, I don't think that scene was ever part of Les Mis�res. The note I found it in says that it was actually reconstructed from several fragments found in Hugo's notes--it was never a complete scene (which would explain its choppiness), more like a discarded plan for how some bit of the plot would fit together. One can only speculate where it would have fit in--perhaps it was related to "Enjolras and his Lieutenants."

I was reading something rather interesting the other night, about Hugo, LM, the working class, and the shifting view of crime in the 19th century. Basically that before then, crime had been viewed as something exceptional and monstrous, committed by perverse individuals "outside" of society. Right around the time Hugo set LM in, crime shifted to become pervasive, quotidian, mixed in with the everyday life of the working poor--Hugo's definiton of les mis�rables as a word to describe the joining of the unfortunate and the infamous. The author suggested that the characterizations of Patron-Minette are somewhat flat and unconvincing, specifically because they are pre-19th-century bandits outside the pale of society tossed into a book about exactly the opposite. He also noted that this shift became more and more sharply defined as the century wore on, and that there's a certain evolution in Hugo's drafts of LM.

Perhaps that has something to do with why the scene was left out--or perhaps Hugo just decided on a different way to make the plot work. I don't know, I'm rambling aimlessly at this point. Just thought I'd throw that out there, since it was fresh on my mind.

Orestes Fasting

This is one of my favorite deleted scenes, but I'm really unhappy with how the translation turned out. I apologize in advance for how awkward it is.

M. Brouable was a man who had the pretension of knowing all about it.

"I know all about it," he said on every occasion.

He had made his fortune in cotton. He had a wife and a daughter.

He lived in the rue Saint-Jacques, in Paris.

His wisdom was put to the test.

This brings us back to Tholomy�s.

Tholomy�s had made a false exit. He had, so to speak, left by one gate and returned by the other. Several months after what one might call his escape, he was seen again in Paris.

"He was seen again" isn't the precise phrase, for Tholomy�s had made his arrangements in such a way that none of his old friends encountered him. He had returned to Paris a bit like a thief. What did he come to do there, in fact? he came to steal a marriage.

Tholomy�s, in leaving Fantine, had thrown away what was used up, which sufficed for a man of good sense; but he had, furthermore, a serious purpose.

The cotton industry began to dawn at this period in the quartier Saint-Jacques and in the faubourg Saint-Marceau. It had created there two or three wonderful fortunes. One of these fortunes had seemed considerable to Tholomy�s. The capital was attractive. He could weld himself to this capital by means of an only daughter in the wealthy family.

This only daughter was Mademoiselle Brouable, daughter of the father we have mentioned.

Tholomy�s had only four thousand livres of income. To be reduced to that for all his life was a grave peril. He threw away his cigar, snuffed out his wordplay, left Fantine and buttoned up his coat. In the presence of danger, Tholomy�s closed up his disheveledness like the oyster closes up its shell. And so, having nothing more of that which made him gleam, silent and awkward for fear of making faux pas and sliding into bad taste, he became almost stupid, and had all that he needed to be pleasing.

He succeeded in making connections with the "great fortune."

He was presented to the capital, to the father and to the daughter. He seized an opportunity and entered into the familiarity of the Brouable family. He had suppressed the exaggeration of his trousers and his waistcoats, Fantine had fallen behind him into a hidden trap, he had broken with "follies," his past life was unknown to him, he no longer set foot in a caf�, he spoke of morality, he was found at mass, he was bald, he made a good impression.

"He's a moral young man," said the father cotton-maker. "I know all about it."

The heiress, rather ugly, was looking for a pretext for a romance-novel passion. She was passionate about this idea: to bring happiness to this young man, so steady, so well-ordered, so tactful, so quiet, truly religious, almost austere, who cried out of one eye and who was poor.

The Brouable father was all-around a good bourgeois, proud because of his prosperity, deeply won over, though Tholomy�s was common and ugly, to the throne and to the altar, impeccable and inflexible, attaching to the phrase "moral young man" an imperturbably rigid meaning, confined to virginity, virtuous with some stupefaction. This species of superficial creatures is easily fooled by appearances; the surface dupes the surface. Moreover, with the phrase: I know all about it, and the faith in himself that resulted, he let himself be led a long way. Tholomy�s had been tender for the Brouable father, and for the mother; for, we have said, there was a mother.

The father approved his daughter's choice; the mother followed; it is very rare that a woman does not do the will of a husband who has succeeded in his enterprises.

Tholomy�s was from a good family; it suited him to be called M. de Tholomy�s. This raised certain difficulties. He went to his province and to his family for the necessary agreements and papers. The marriage was decided a little after his return to Paris.

At about this time, Fantine left Paris, taking Cosette.

There is an interval between a marriage decided upon and a marriage celebrated. Tholomy�s used this interval for religious exercises. He made his courtship, gravely and chastely.

"I tell you that that one will not make a joke of it," said the father to his daughter.

As chance would have it, there was an ingenious woman in that neighborhood. She was a creature of many compartments. She lived a bit here and a bit there. She was more-or-less named Magnon. In the neighborhood of les Halles, she rented garrets which she subleased. In the tenth arrondissement, rue Servadoni, was her principal lodging; she was a servant at the house of a rich gentleman named Gillenormand, and she was called Nicolette. In the twelfth, she was the widow of a quarry worker killed by falling rock, and had a child. Elsewhere she was a thief. She practiced particularly in Paris that which one might call the industry of children. Thus, the child she was alleged to have, she didn't have, but because of it she was given aid. In her life there had been no marriage, no widowing, no quarry worker, and no falling rock. Some papers stolen from the house of a dead neighbor had served to establish her has a widow in the rue de l'Arbal�te. She knew the Th�nardiers.

To those who would find such existences unbelievable, it suffices to respond that they are real, and to cite this very recent dialogue from the Paris correctional tribune:

Presiding officer: Let's see, you have taken so many names that it's not unhelpful to have you say what you are called.
The accused: Th�r�se-Marie-Alexandrine-Victoire, wife of Bouvet.
Presiding officer: Your husband's first name?
The accused: Claude-Julien.
Presiding officer: He is named Bouvet?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: You have been under the name of Lamadou?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: Then under the name of Beauval?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: Then of Desroches?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: Of Aubert?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: Of Decanches?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: Of Perrin?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: Of Dubreuil?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: Of Raymond?
The accused: Yes, sir.
Presiding officer: And why have you taken all these names successively?
The accused: To hide who I was.

Let us return to Magnon.

From time to time, Magnon made the short trip to Montfermeil. These were opportunities to contact the Th�nardier couple, to assure herself that they were still there, to dine, to chat, to listen. Whoever lives on expedients joins themself with as many scoundrels as possible. Suspect existences are happy to neighbor one another.

One day Magnon brought a dish of veal to the Th�nardiess and told her: "It's from Mme Lesage, in the rue de la Harpe. By the way, I'm registered with the municipal welfare office as a widow with a child. I'm not a widow and I don't have a child. I'm afraid someone might denounce me, and then goodbye to aid. There's nothing like showing them a kid. So lend me one of your little ones?"

The Th�nardiess lent her Cosette.

"That will be three francs," said Th�nardier.

Cosette's current rags went with Magnon's situation of poverty in the twelfth arrondissement. She didn't have to add or remove anything. The poor child was fully costumed for the comedy of misery.

She let herself be handled and taken and led away by Magnon with that stupor which is the resignation of children. Nothing is as upsetting for the observer as this dazed and quiet despondency.

Magnon took her place with Cosette in a coach from Chelles to Paris.

"I'll bring her back to you in eight days," she cried.

The next day or the day after, she presented herself, augmented by Cosette, to the town hall of the twelfth arrondissement. This hall is situated in the section of the rue Saint-Jacques between the rue des Ursulines and the cul-de-sac des Feuillantines. There, the street is fairly narrow. Magnon noted a traffic jam there: two or three bourgeois carriages at the door of the hall, to which was added a line of fiacres, a begging force, its most senior ladies

"What a wedding!" she thought.

She entered the lower room where the bureau of charity was, was complimented on Cosette by the employee, and received a voucher for bread and firewood for the trimester in the form that the city distrubuted them in that era.

As she was leaving, she saw a large number of people on the staircase. Rather habitually in the municipal offices charity was received on the ground floor and marriages were performed on the first. "Ah, that!" said Magnon to herself, "perhaps I should go up to watch the marriage."

And she added:

"Sometimes those people give charity. They fancy that they'll be happy that way. They're so stupid!"

She took Cosette in her arms because of the crowd, and went up. Cosette, indifferent, was silent.

Magnon, hardy, young, and elbowing her way through the old ladies, entered into the room of the town hall.

There was a marriage taking place.

The room presented a majestic appearance; a podium, a table, the mayor all in black with a white cravat; in front of the mayor, papers, pens, the inkwell of the law, a thick volume, the code with a rainbow on its part, an assistant, two porters; in the back, the large bust of the reigning king.

An office boy was containing the crowd.

In front of the table, the wedding party, dressed up as was suitable for that grand Sunday, facing the mayor and and turning their shoulders towards the balconies, were seated in two rows of armchairs. "Rich people," thought Magnon. "If they were poor, those would be chairs."

The mother and father, grave, opulent, were radiant; the bride was in a white hat, the crown of orange blossoms being reserved for church; the groom, irreproachable in his black suit, was young, serious, and bald.

Magnon, like everyone, saw only their backs.

The ceremony was about to commence. The couple were standing.

The mayor, by the terms of the law, read aloud the fourth chapter of the title of marriage. He emphasized, as was his duty, with a truly municipal accent, the essential verse: "The husband owes protection to the wife, the wife owes obedience to the husband." Then, making that movement of the torso belonging to official personages and directing his chest towards the groom, he addressed him.

The groom, smiling, half-turned towards his fianc�e, and the crowd could see him. He was a rather good-looking man, a bit tired.

The audience was silent.

"F�lix de Tholomy�s," said the mayor, "do you take this woman--"

At that moment, in the middle of all this mute attention, this word could be heard, said out loud by a sweet little voice:

"Papa."

The mayor broke off, all the heads turned around, and one could see in the middle of the crowd, in the arms of a woman, a little girl in rags who looked fixedly at the groom with large, calm eyes.

The child, unaware of the sudden emotion that she was the center of, repeated with gravity, "Papa."

It was Cosette.

Every gaze went from Cosette to Tholomy�s. He was very pale. He half-turned towards Cosette

"That?" he said. "I don't know what it is."

The child opened her big blue eyes even bigger still, stretched her little arms towards him, and for the third time repeated, "Papa."

The groom found himself ill. M. Brouable furrowed a decisive brow.

The little one began again and cast into the disconcerted ceremony, one more time, these two syllables: "Papa."

It was like a lighting bolt that came from a flower.

There was a hubbub.

Magnon escaped. It was no longer her affair, but that of Tholomy�s. In the courtyard, she swore to the surrounding gossips that she had never had a child by this man, which was true. She took away Cosette, who cried out in the street, "Papa! Papa!"

Magnon had done well to disapper, the father had furrowed his brow.

"There's a child," he said. "I know all about it."

�

The marriage was cancelled.

Tholomy�s returned to his province. There, he quickly forgot this disagreeable story. For four or five months, it happened nevertheless that he sometimes thought of the child. He thought of her with indignation. It is indeed quite troublesome for an honest man to be pursued to this point by a youthful escapade. It takes determination.

And then, a philosopher after all, he didn't think about it any more.

We will not be informing the reader of much to tell him that Tholomy�s, out of his element in Paris, found another excellent marriage, this time in his province, that he did his business well, that he became something of a rich attorney, and that today he is a wise voter and a very strict juror.

Behind closed doors, he remained a man of pleasure. This eulogy made once and for all, we shall not speak further of M. de Tholomy�s.

As for Magnon, the very next day she brought back Cosette to the Th�nardiers, paid the three francs, and, fearing some harmful complication with her vouchers for bread and firewood and with the various disguises that she wanted to keep, she didn't breathe a word of the scandal caused by "the little joke."

As a result Th�nardier knew nothing of the incident.

That was truly unwelcome, for this capable man would surely have made good use of this handhold of a bourgeois carrying a scandalous affair. To be able to attach the name of a rich man to an obscure paternity, that was worth a small landholding. In fact, Th�nardier excelled at coming into contact with delicate reputations disagreeably, and quarrelling like a coal-worker with people dressed all in white. But he was ignorant of the events of the office in the rue Saint-Jacques and the little Cosette-Tholomy�s-Brouable scandal. This was a misfortune.

He had to limit his horizon, and confine himself to Cosette.

lesmisloony

Reading that entry on your site was what made me know I loved you, Orestes.

Box A was the thing that secured it.

*heart*

(Seriously, though, I adore that sequence.)

eponine5

That last scene is AMAZING!
It's the kind of character combination you would only dream about in fanfic.

lesmisloony

Yeah! But it's technically canon. *huggles Victor Hugo*

Fantine

*heartbreak*

bigR

yeah, this deleted scenes are simply wonderful. it's like Hugo writing his own fanfic.
Knowing him and how he loved to disgress, it's a wonder he did not actually wrote a whole novel about every single one of his characters "after Les Mis".
Who knows. Maybe he killed nearly everybody on the Brick just to spare himself the temptation Very Happy

Now, seriously. I'm starting to think that you are going to make me finally like novelist Hugo (l fangirl his poetry but I've always had problems with his prose work). They are whole paragraphs of that deleted scene I simply fell in love with when I read it on your site. I'm not quoting, because it would be too long

bigR

I have been wanting to post this for several days but I always forget.
I was reading about Cosette and the Th�nardiers when I found this (sorry it's in french but the sentence is too long and translating it into proper english would had been too hard):
I's book 4, chapter III, "The Lark". Cosette has been for a couple of years at the Th�nardiers when:
"Cependant le Th�nardier ayant appris par on ne sait quelles voies obscures que l'enfant �tait probablement b�tard et que la m�re ne pouvait l'avouer, exigea quinze francs par mois..."
Isn't that old Hugo refering to his own deleted scene? I know, I know that he ended the scene saying that Th�nardier never knew about what happened at Thomoly�s' wedding. But since that scene was a draft and not a definitive version maybe he changed his mind about that. In any case I can't help but think that what Hugo had in mind when writing about those "uncertain dark ways" is his deleted Tholomy�s'scene.

lesmisloony

Hmm. That's an eenteresting observation...

But I dunno, he could have figured it out due to Fantine showing up alone and dropping the kid off? Or, like, just some sort of nasty rumour that was floating around town?

bigR

lesmisloony

Sounds good to me.

I take that scene as canon now anyway, just because it's so awesome.

	Musicals.Net Forums -> Les Miserables
Page 1 of 1

The Resource For Musicals

Apocrypha