Virago Art Challenge 2018: Day 19
Combeferre sighed, rubbed his eyes, and said, “I don’t know why I’m being such a bore, forgive me. These kinds of parties make me feel very low. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, and I know you’ll never understand because you don’t give a damn about things like class and wealth, but truly, I feel like a peasant in these places. And that’s when I start thinking, Well, at least in Gap I fit in with all the other peasants.’ He regarded me with a grave look and added, “You know that I would do anything for you, but if it weren’t you asking, I would never come to a place like this.”
I wasn’t sure what I ought to say to him. It wasn’t a subject that had ever come up between us. In my experience among the students of Paris, I had never met any young man who made class or wealth a prerequisite for friendship. All were free and welcoming with their affection, and our friends were among the most so. I had always known, somewhere in the back of my mind, that Combeferre and I weren’t equals in the eyes of society at large, but I had never seen the difference between us. Even if I did consider our respective social positions, I could not fathom where the difference was between a man born of small-town bourgeois and a woman born of rural nobility.
But it pained me that a man so noble in spirit could be brought low by these shallow creatures who happened to have been born noble in blood. It pained me even more to be the one who had exposed him to that humiliation, and I resolved that if it were a choice between Agnès and Combeferre on this issue, surely my duty was to him first.
“All right,” I said at last. “I’m done playing by Agnès’ rules. She wanted me to avoid causing a scandal, by which I suppose she meant I should treat you carefully and avoid giving any grounds for gossip. But you know, I think I just realized how we might make this awful party a little more interesting.”
“Oh là,” said Combeferre with a sigh. “This is going to get us into trouble, isn’t it.”
“I’m sure Agnès will be furious with me,” I said, “but I can live with that. I want you to know with absolute certainty that I think you’re a far better man than these fools are.”
“Saying that is enough, you don’t have to—”
“No, I want them to know it too.”
He caught my little smile, and said apprehensively, “What kind of scandal did you have in mind?”
“Not a big one,” I said. “I’m not that ambitious tonight. Just a little scandal will do.” And I took him by the hand. “Dance with me.”
He drew back from me a bit, shocked. “I can’t do that.”
“Of course I can dance,” he said indignantly. “It’s just…I’m not—and you—and Agnès!—And I thought you hated dancing anyway. ‘Meaty hands,’ and all that.”
I laughed. “Come on, let’s go in.”
“This is foolishness,” Combeferre murmured, but he didn’t resist as I pulled him into the room and towards the dance floor. “And you’re going to try to lead, aren’t you.”
“I’ll let you lead,” I offered generously.
“Uh-oh, there’s Agnès,” I said, steering him a bit off course. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“You know, you really don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” Combeferre said timidly, a final, desperate effort as we reached the floor.
“Be a man, citizen,” I commanded him, and I placed his hand firmly on my waist. “You have your orders, now complete the mission.”
Combeferre stood undecided for a moment, gazing reluctantly at the other dancing couples. At last making up his mind, he gave a short nod, suddenly every inch my level-headed lieutenant, took my hand, and pulled me out onto the floor. His hand, resting at the small of my back, steered me gently through the steps with steady self-assurance.
“Hold me closer,” I instructed him. “Make it a little more indecent, if you please.”
In those days the waltz was danced either at arms’ length—the polite style, for society balls—or else pressed closely together—the vulgar style, good only for the lowest of dancehalls and guinguettes. Naturally we had both been trained in the polite style, but a nice taste of scandal could be sparked just by drawing the partner a bit closer than was considered acceptable. I did not go so far as to press my body to his, but as we moved across the floor together, we were close enough to feel the whisper of contact as the silk of my bodice brushed against the wool of his coat lapels. Combeferre was struggling not to blush at that sensation, but to his credit, he did his job admirably and with the greatest professionalism.
Among the many reasons Enjolras can’t be brought into polite society...
