Work Text:
One of the things that's made Grantaire such a cynic is society's treatment of him. People don't explicitly make him feel unwanted, but everywhere he goes, he can hear the whispers of subtle scorn behind his back. When he tells a Catholic acquaintance that he's Jewish, he can see the slight unease in their eyes that tells him no, I don't like you just because of who you are, sucks to be you.
His religion, coupled with his melancholy and homosexuality, have practically assured he'll be an outcast for life, tolerated only because a) he's good company who knows where the best drinks can be bought, and b) he probably has the best art skills in Paris. Grantaire's future, unlike his full glass, is uncertain.
He's chosen to study art because screw all your stereotypes, Jewish people can be pretty damn creative, and because he disdains mathematics-not necessarily because he's bad at it, but it reminds him of the moneylending trade that was the only available avenue for his parents, because all the other career options, while not closed off to them per se, favored the Catholic majority to which they did not belong.
This only gets worse once the Dreyfus Affair rolls around, because everyone's giving him dirty looks in the street and saying "Look, it's another one of that traitor's kind, we ought to have them thrown out of France for good." or "They should have been massacred along with the Huguenots."
Grantaire doesn't even care anymore at this point, he's used to comments like that. Most fellow students at university hold similar views, anyway. Behavior like that doesn't surprise him anymore.
However, what happens to him during lunch hour is surprising indeed.
He has no afternoon lectures that day, and Grantaire takes the opportunity to get a table in the corner of the Musain where he can drink and doodle, maybe read the newspaper, the whole day until midnight curfew, or until his liver can't take it any more.
The Opinion section is a mixed bag of Dreyfusards and anti-Dreyfusards, some claiming the captain is innocent, some writing otherwise. The longest article is an open letter, J'accuse...! by none other than Zola himself, making several arguments (Grantaire with his cynicism has to agree that they're well-founded) that, while intelligent, probably won't get anybody to listen. In fact, it reminds him of the ridiculously idealistic speeches one of the law students who sits beside him in Literature is fond of making.
"I admire Zola as a writer, no doubt about that," Grantaire says to himself, already beginning to get intoxicated, "but his sending in this letter is just as ridiculous as people's reasons for oppressing me. What did he hope to do? Knock some sense into the close-minded public? The brains of Frenchmen are not sponges that absorb and consider everything they read, dear Zola-they are more akin to hard-hearted stones."
"I agree that people's reasons for oppressing you are ridiculous, but sending a letter in can go a long way, Grantaire."
"Now, Jehan, I don't think we should be interrupting his monologue."
Grantaire turns around in his seat to find Jehan and Courfeyrac, two people he recognized from Natural Science, standing behind him and eyeing the paper with interest.
"You seem to have some interest in the Dreyfus Affair. You should come join the meeting in the back room," says Courfeyrac. "We're talking about the Dreyfus Affair today."
"Is this a harebrained trick to get me to join an orgy?"
Courfeyrac laughs for a moment at Grantaire's tasteless joke, while Jehan, who looks interested, explains, "It could be described as an orgy of ideas. We're in a group called Les Amis de l'ABC, and we discuss all sorts of important things."
"Politics!"
"Poetry!"
"Awful wordplay!"
"The awful wordplay is quite...obvious," Grantaire answers as he takes another sip of wine. What sort of revolutionary student group put a pun in their name? Not one that wanted to be taken seriously.
"But all right, I'll join your meeting," he continues.
Half an hour later, the rest of the members of Les Amis have arrived. They are a lively, diverse company. Most of the students there, like Courfeyrac and Jehan, are taking Law, although there are two young men, Combeferre and Joly, from the medical college. There are three women in the group, as well: Musichetta, mistress of Joly (that he shares with his friend, the unlucky Bossuet), Eponine, a girl of the streets who originally joined in just because she needed food and a warm place to spend the day, and Cosette, who Courfeyrac later explains is a student at the nearby women's university that his friend Marius is courting.
There are other interesting figures too, like the half-Polish Feuilly, a fanmaker making his way in the world on a salary of three francs a day, and Bahorel, an adventurous son of peasants who despises Law, but studies it so he can hopefully lift his family out of poverty one day.
However, the person who catches Grantaire's interest the most is Enjolras, the leader of the group born to a French father and Haitian mother, blond hair contrasting with dark skin. The Chief is passionate about many things: the rights of women, respect for other religions, the removal of racist politicians from government, arguing that Alfred Dreyfus is innocent. In another time, Grantaire might have found this man inspiring, but now, he wants to lament the energy Enjolras is wasting on building a future that's impossible for France to ever achieve.
Enjolras still charms him, though, leaving Grantaire a little frustrated. How much charisma can one person have?
Later, when the meeting is over and the group decides to have afternoon snacks together, there's a great deal of laughter, embarrassing stories about university, and extremely frank conversation about love affairs. They're still students, after all, and, when the issues have been argued about and the debates have finished, always find time to laugh at love and life. Even Enjolras, the cold, marble lover of liberty, clearly finds comfort and joy in his friends. Small smiles form on his calm, impassive face when someone tells a joke, slight frowns appear on his brow when Courfeyrac asks him if he has a lover, and he laughs softly when listening to a particularly funny story.
Though Grantaire is a newcomer, they treat him as if he's already one of their own, and in their hearts, he is. Though he's clearly not as engaged in the Cause as the rest of them, he brings some humor into the discussion, and is an intelligent fan of the classics who loves people though he couldn't care less for ideals.
Even when he says that yes, he's Jewish, yes, he loves men, yes, those little pills are supposed to help his melancholy, they don't recoil. They don't whisper among themselves, they don't look at him any differently.
Though he isn't half as idealistic as these bright-eyed students, Grantaire thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's finally found people he can call friends.