enjolras and grantaire walking home together in mid-october and enjolras is complaining about his hands being cold and grantaire keeps telling him that they’re obviously not that cold and enjolras sticks out a hand for him to feel how cold they are, he takes it, mutters something about them not being cold enough for him to complain about it, but doesn’t let go and they both have to duck down behind their scarves because they’re b l u s h i ng
OH HKFGHFGF
I WISH I WAS BETTER AT DRAWING SO I COULD DO THIS JUSTICE.
i feel like maybe the fact that the actors who played grantaire and enjolras on broadway literally got married yesterday and had cute little enjolras and grantaire cake toppings shoULD BE A BIGGER DEAL IN THE FANDOM?? JUST A THOUGHT.
As it turns out, grammar does matter, and Hugo knew it damn well. Something has always bothered me about this sentence, and now I know why. The difference doesn’t exist in English translations, because both “à” and “en” translates to “in”, hence Grantaire’s “I believe in you”. But it isn’t the case in French :
“Je crois à toi” isn’t grammatically correct. In French, you don’t believe “à” someone, you believe “en” someone. “Je crois à” is restricted to things and fictional beings, as in :
Je crois à la Petite Souris (I believe in the Tooth Fairy)
Je ne crois pas à la Révolution (I don’t believe in the Revolution)
There are a few exceptions (because otherwise grammar wouldn’t be grammar) but one thing is certain : “à”can not be used to introduce a noun or pronoun referring to a real person :
Je crois en lui (I believe in him)
“Je crois à lui” sounds wrong, as wrong as “I believe to him” sounds
Then, why does Hugo use both? Because Grantaire knows the difference as well. Grantaire is good with words and proves it more than once. Remember this quote : “Who has been unhooking the stars without my permission, and putting them on the table in the guise of candles?” ? Grantaire says it drunk. DRUNK. If this man can be that lyrical while smashed to high hell, why would he forget fundamental grammatical principles, all of a sudden? Answer : he wouldn’t. He does it on purpose.
He’s mirroring Enjolras’s speech :
“Tu ne crois à rien.” “Je crois à toi.”
This may sound insignificant and, yes, considering the length of the brick, it may be but bear with me. Grantaire is having a laugh, in this passage. Yes, he is serious, he does want to prove his value to Enjolras, but at the same time, he’s Grantaire. He can’t help himself but to play with words. And my best guess is that he’s teasing Enjolras, hence the “Be serious” “I am wild” that comes soon after.
Then what about “Je crois en toi”? Well, it’s a question of context. Look at the description preceeding Grantaire’s declaration :
“Grantaire,” [Enjolras] called, “go and sleep your wine off somewhere else.
This is a place for intoxication but not for drunkenness. Don’t dishonor
the barricade.”
The sharp rebuke had a remarkable effect on Grantaire, as though he
had received a splash of cold water. Suddenly he was sober. He sat down
with his elbows on a table by the window, and looking with great
sweetness at Enjolras called back:
“Tu sais que je crois en toi”
“Go away.”
Grantaire is serious this time. This isn’t a joke anymore. This is a real declaration he’s making here. Enjolras is yelling at him, and yet, Grantaire’s attitude is all but belligerent. I would even argue that “great sweetness” is far from the reverent and loving “inexprimable douceur” from the French text.
Unfortunately, Enjolras is so used to his lack of faith and seriousness that he dismisses it. Grantaire has disappointed him more than once by that point in the brick, so his attitude is understandable. But if Grantaire lacks faith in the cause, he doesn’t lack any in Enjolras. The tragic thing is that Enjolras doesn’t realise it and Grantaire’s serious profession of faith is dismissed. One last nail in your coffin? Look at what comes after :
“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing or thinking or willing or living or dying.” “You’ll see,” said Grantaire gravely. “You’ll see.”
Someone is knocking on Enjolras’ door. No, not knocking,
pounding on it with growing ferocity. Enjolras braces himself and pulled
himself out of the chair where he had collapsed the night before. If it is the
police, better to be taken standing like a man than cowering like a dog. But
when he opens the door he finds only Grantaire, fist raised to bang on the
door again.
Grantaire looks at Enjolras with wild, desperate eyes. “You’re
alive.” He takes in a shuddering breath and sinks down to his knees. “You’re
alive. I thought – I feared – I saw a body in the street and was too much a
coward to look closer. It is all have seen in my mind since. My memory gave it
your build, added every detail of dress and color to make it you. If it had
been – but no. It was some other fellow who has lost his Enjolras, some other
mother who has lost her son and child who has lost his brother. They must
grieve so I do not.”
Enjolras tentatively puts out his hand, not knowing what to
do. Grantaire grasps at it like a drowning man reaching for a tether.
“I am alive,” Enjolras repeats back to him. As rough and
hard as Grantaire seems, his heart is as gentle as Combeferre’s – and without the
steel of Combeferre’s convictions. He is suddenly glad Grantaire was not with
them for the last night’s action. He has no place in the business of killing
and dying for tomorrow; he lacks the faith that would turn the terrible into
the sublime. What Enjolras can endure would break Grantaire.
Grantaire brings Enjolras hand to his mouth and tenderly
kisses it, like a pilgrim kneeling before a saint. “I will never leave you to
fight without me again. I cannot bear it. Whatever happens I will be by your
side. I swear it.”
“No,” says Enjolras. It comes out sharper than he intends; a
rejection of Grantaire himself rather than an act of compassion.
Grantaire keeps hold of Enjolras hand and looks into his
eyes, steady and calm at last. “You will see.”
