The
Sound of Misères
Act One
Scene
One
Grantaire is running through the filthy, poverty-stricken
streets of Paris in a nun’s habit. Just picture that for a moment. Done it?
Okay, now carry on.
Grantaire [shouting ill-temperedly
rather than singing]: The streets are alive, with the sound of insurrection;
with songs they have sung for, ooooh, ages and ages…bloody hell.
The Convent of Petit-Picpus has gone downhill a bit since
Cosette’s departure from it. Fantine and Jean Valjean are in Javert’s
Mother-Abbess-esque office, swapping idle chatter and sharing a cigarette while
Javert searches the room for snuff.
Fantine: You know, that Sister
Grantaire doesn’t half drink a lot for a nun.
Jean Valjean: Yes. [Thoughtfully]
And looks a bit like a man, actually.
[Fantine eyes him suspiciously.]
Jean Valjean:
Oh, come on! Javvie believed I was actually a nun for at least five seconds
before he recognised me.
Javert [gives up looking for the
snuff]: Are you two having a domestic again?
Fantine: We were saying, Mother Abb-
Javert: Inspector Mother Abbess, thank
you.
Fantine – that [breaks into song] Grantaire isn’t an asset to the
ab-bey.
Javert: No, but then you’re a whore.
People in glass houses and all, as they say.
Fantine: What can I do? It pays a
debt! Ten francs may save my poor Cosette!
Jean Valjean: I thought Cosette grew
up and married that Pontmercy character after I dragged him through a sewer and
they both lived happily ever after –
Fantine: Really? Gosh, that’s a
weight off my mind.
Enter Grantaire, as the other nuns
burst into spontaneous song as only people in musicals can: with tremendous
affection:
Fantine, How do you solve a problem like the Grand R?
Jean Valjean, How do you stop her drinking all we’ve got?
& Javert: How do you find a word that means the Grand R?
Fantine: A drunken Pylades?
Jean Valjean: An Orestes fan?
Javert: A sot?
All three: You can’t help thinking she’s an alcoholic,
You
can’t help thinking she’s an idle lout,
Fantine: But how do you make her stay
Jean Valjean: Sober for an hour a day?
Javert: How do you stop the R from passing out?
All three: Oh how do you solve a problem like the Grand R?
Javert: Absinthe-soaked, good-for-nothing layabout!
(NB: This is only the chorus, but you
can click here
for a MIDI of the original… :o) )
Grantaire: What is it with you people
getting up so early? Haven’t you heard of hangovers?
They are all a little confused.
Fantine: Can you sell them?
Jean Valjean: Can you nick them off
bishops?
Javert: Well, don’t ask me. If it isn’t to do with snuff, I
don’t know.
Grantaire [rolls eyes]: Oh,
good grief.
Fantine: We don’t think you’re an
asset to the ab-bey, Sister Grantaire.
Grantaire: You’re a whore and he’s an
ex-convict and I’m not an asset to the ab-bey?
Jean Valjean: I stole a loaf of
bread!
Grantaire: And M. Gillenormand’s car.
And a TV off the Thénardiers.
Jean Valjean: Oh yes, that too.
Javert: And you know nothing of
Javert. [Looks somewhat guilty] Ahem. Anyway…can I have a word,
Sister Grantaire? Clear off, you two.
Exeunt Jean Valjean and Fantine. Grantaire sits down and Javert
paces about with his hands behind his back waving his truncheon at intervals.
Javert: Much as I am contractually
obliged to disagree with everything Sister No. 24601 says, and as true as it is
that Sister Fantine ought to be dead ten years before you come into the story,
they do have a point.
Grantaire has fallen asleep. Javert
gives him a hefty whack with his truncheon and he wakes up, predictably.
Javert: So anyway, you’re to go and be
a governess.
Grantaire is, rather understandably, somewhat disturbed by this
revelation.
Grantaire: Listen
you old bat,
Crazy
bloody witch -
Javert: I have heard such protestations
Every day for twenty years,
Let’s have no more expla –
Grantaire: Will you stop doing that!
Javert: Oh. Sorry. Where was I…oh
yes! A rather motley collection of half-hearted student revolutionaries led by
a disturbingly austere and even more disturbingly handsome blond character who
is perversely insistent on getting them all killed before they’ve got their
degrees.
Grantaire [this all sounds
strikingly familiar. Changing his mind rapidly, he stands up]: Oh, well,
I’d best be off, then, don’t want to keep them waiting, do I – why are you…
Javert [clinging to Grantaire’s legs and sobbing uncontrollably]: Don’t
leave us, Sister Grantaire! Don’t go away! How will we ever manage without you,
you bone idle inebriate?
Grantaire: I’m sure you’ll manage,
chérie. [Extracts Javert from his leg and slams the door as he leaves]
Javert [wringing tears from his
sideburns]: Inspector Chérie, thank you.
Scene
Two
Grantaire is back in the streets of Paris, now dressed normally
– only as a girl, which may well be normal for R as far as we know - and,
inexplicably, holding a guitar. Delighted at the prospect of seeing his former
Fearless Leader again he marches along swinging the unexplained guitar
exuberantly and singing really quite well for someone whose vocal cords should
by rights be pickled with alcohol.
(Click
here for the tune – should fit this as soon as it starts!)
Grantaire: Let’s all
plan an insurrection!
I’ll do better
than my best!
I have
confidence we’ll all wear bright red vests,
We’ll die at
twenty-three - I have confidence in E!
Somehow I will
impress them –
Or, at the
least, I’ll try -
All of those
students – heaven bless them!
They’ll join
in his crusade – and all die!
I have
confidence in absinthe,
I have
confidence in wine,
I have
confidence this guitar isn’t mine!
Besides which
you see, I have connn-fiii-dennnce in E!!!!
Eventually gets to the door of the Café Musain and walks in.
Enjolras is pacing about with a carbine looking suitably statuesque and
superhuman. On seeing him, Grantaire’s jaw drops all the way to his boots – it
has, after all, been a long time.
Grantaire [under his breath]: Ding-dong!
Enjolras [looks up at Grantaire
and, predictably, glares at him]: Are you Fraulein Grantaire?
Grantaire [pulls himself together.
He is a nun, after all]: Yes. I’m the, er, new governess.
Enjolras: Did I ask for a governess,
winecask?
Grantaire: [thought his disguise
was better than that]: How do you know I’m a –
Enjolras: I just do. [He raises an
eyebrow, gives Grantaire another glare, then whistles. Seven revolutionaries
march in from the back room of the café and stand in a line.] Now, tell
this shiftless inebriate your names…
1: I’m Combeferre. I know everything
and I’m an all-round general good guy. [Smiles and, as he does so, sprouts
wings and a halo]
2: I’m Courfeyrac and I’ve slept with
his sister. [Combeferre looks at him in horror. Courfeyrac goes into
hysterics.]
3: [thoroughly flustered] I’m,
errrrrrrrr, Jean Prouvaire and...er…quite like flowers….[hides behind
Combeferre]
6: [Fanning the furiously-blushing
Jehan] I’m Feuilly and, you know, up the Poles and all.
5: I’m Jolllly and [taking a step
backwards] you’re probably contagious so I’m not going to shake your hand.
No offence or anything.
6: I’m Bossuet and Joly and I are,
well…[looks at Joly amorously, they hold hands and grin]
7: I’m Bahorel, but don’t worry about that, they’ll probably
leave me out of the musical anyway.
Grantaire: Well, that’s great. I can
see you’re all as psychotic as you were last century so now I’m just going to
have a bit of a drink…[is about to sit down but Enjolras glares at him]
Enjolras: Silence, winecask! Do your
job.
Grantaire: Which is…?
Enjolras: Didn’t they tell you at the
Abbey?
Grantaire: [Realisation] Are
you going to make me teach them how to sing? Because that’s not really my
thing, you know, I’m a cynical drunkard, not Britney bleedin’ Spears.
Enjolras: [glaring at him] I’m
trying to overthrow the government and they just sit around singing about
raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.
Grantaire: [shrugs] What’s the
matter with that?
Enjolras [glaring even harder -
loftily]: I have no use for flowers except to conceal a sword.
Grantaire: Oh. What about kittens?
They’re quite nice.
Enjolras: Oh, that was Courfeyrac’s
idea. What we might call the diabolic beauty of mind. So, look, are you going
to help me with this revolution thing?
Grantaire: [laughing heartily]
No, I think it’s a terrible idea.
Enjolras is, imaginably,
horror-struck, and glares like he’s never glared before.
Grantaire: Oh come on. You know what
happened in the novel.
Enjolras: I never read the novel,
actually –
Combeferre [also horror-struck,
but too polite to look it]: Wha-at?
Enjolras: – but I’m told I was pretty
damned heroic in it. [Grins smugly then hastily resumes statue-stature]
A-hem, anyway…
Combeferre: Well, the musical then.
Enjolras: Oh, you mean everyone ended up meeting a grim and
untimely end for ostensibly no purpose?
Les Amis: Yes.
Enjolras: [despairing]
Honestly, you lot, where’s your sense of –
Combeferre: Martyrdom?
Courfeyrac: Suicide?
Jehan: Poetic justice?
Feuilly: Eh?
Jehan: I don’t know, it sounds good.
Joly: Really, Enjolras, that
barricade thing wasn’t one of your best ideas.
Bossuet: Well, none of them have been
really spectacular, have they?
Enjolras: I’ll have you know I got an A for my last essay.
Courfeyrac: Only because Combeferre
wrote it for you.
Enjolras: Oh, I give up! [storms
out]
Grantaire: Well then, that’s sorted
that out.
R sits down at a table and is about
to commence drinking himself into a stupor. Les Amis stand around looking
expectant: Courfeyrac looks at him curiously as though he can’t quite work
something out, Jehan blushes quite a lot and stares at his feet, Feuilly coughs
conspicuously, Joly consequently moves away from him for fear of catching
something. Grantaire looks at them.
Grantaire: You can go now, you know.
Bahorel: Well, not exactly. Isn’t
Combeferre Liesl?
Bossuet: [pulling a copy of the
script from his back pocket and checking it] Yes, that’s right. Gosh, that
makes me Marta! [An aside to Joly] Who’d have thought it?
Bahorel: Well then, he has to have a
clandestine fling with the boy who brings telegrams.
Combeferre [very mildly
horrified]: The boy?
[Courfeyrac splutters.]
Bossuet: Oh, it’s not so bad, Combey
–
Combeferre [raising an eyebrow at
Bossuet and Joly]: Well, quite.
There is a knock at the window. All turn to see Éponine waving
enthusiastically and mouthing “Can I come in?”. They nod and motion to her to
enter.
Éponine: Thought I’d just pop in to
have a romantic tryst with Combeferre, if that’s okay –
Combeferre [mildly]: Sorry?
Éponine: Well, you know, telegrams
and all that, “I have a letter m’sieur” – sort of works, doesn’t it? [The
others nod in agreement.]
Combeferre [a paragon of
diplomacy]: Oh, really, Éponine, you’re a lovely gamine and everything –
albeit a thief and perhaps a whore but, well, we all have our faults – but, you
know, I’m too academic for that sort of thing.
Éponine: Well, someone’s got to do
it.
Bossuet and Joly: Well, don’t look at
us, we’re –
Éponine: Yes, thank you. Jehan?
Jehan [really blushing quite a lot
now]: Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
Éponine: Oh, never mind. Really,
Combeferre, you’re such a nerd.
Courfeyrac [turning on the charm –
not really a challenge, for him]: Le mot juste, chérie; literacy’s so
over-rated, isn’t it? [She smiles at him.] Did we ever meet in the
novel?
Éponine: [really quite impressed]
Yes, but I was dressed as a…boy.
Courfeyrac: [momentary surprise] Oh
well, whatever floats your boat. P’raps I could wear a dress every so often – [chuckles
flirtatiously and arches an eyebrow]
Éponine [now rather starry-eyed]:
And to think I spent all that time chasing that drippy Marius!
They hold hands and gaze at each other. Bossuet and Joly
exchange knowing looks and smile smugly.
Feuilly: Courfeyrac, are you really
going to go out with a destitute criminal with no shoes and transvestite
tendencies?
Courfeyrac: What? She’s got a pulse,
hasn’t she?
Jehan [looking as though he’s
about to cry]: Oh, it’s all so sweet!
Combeferre gives him a hug and a
hanky and leads him out, trailed by the other Amis apart from Courfeyrac and
Éponine, who sit down because yes, it’s time for another song… (Click
here for the tune, which again should after the intro…)
Courfeyrac: You are sixteen, going on seventeen,
I’d wager that’s your lot:
Join our crusade at the barricade:
I guarantee, you’ll get shot.
Éponine: I am sixteen, going on seventeen
(Though I look forty-two);
I must admit, Pontmercy’s a twit -
I think that I’ll stick with you.
Courfeyrac: Absolutely resigned are you, to meet a grisly end,
Both: You
don’t exactly mind, do you, if we both end up dead…
Courfeyrac: You need a republican rebel
Telling you what to do:
I am a rev-ol-u-tion-ary –
I-I’ll be de-ead by –
Éponine: – I-I’ll be de-ead –
Both: We’ll bo-oth be de-ead by June!
Éponine: Ohhh, that was lovely. Now
if you’ll excuse me, I have philanthropists to rob. [Blows Courfeyrac a kiss
as she leaves] Byeeeee, Courfey!
Enter the rest of Les Amis, looking a
bit crestfallen.
Courfeyrac: Oh, for goodness’s sake
cheer up, you lot! What’s the matter now?
Feuilly: Enjolras had a go at us for
not wanting to die horribly at the barricade.
Grantaire: I have to say, I’m coming
round to the idea myself.
Bahorel: You?!
Feuilly: Just because you want to get
into his pants.
Grantaire: Oh shush. You’re not
supposed to work that out.
Bossuet: Well duh, Grantaire, that’s
like saying no-one ever thought Joly and I were – [Combeferre coughs]
Jehan: Well, I think it’s sweet…
Grantaire: [changing subject
conspicuously] Look, this revolution. I think you should go for it.
Consumed by thoughts of Enjolras and now resorting to desperate
measures, he makes them all sit round him in a circle and starts to sing. He’s
evidently learned something at the convent, despite being unconscious for most
of his time there.
(Just in case you don’t know this one…)
Grantaire: Barricades in the Rue de la Chanvrerie,
Gunfire deaf’ning the bells of Saint-Merry,
Shooting bourgeois who yell, “Long live the King!”:
These are a few of my favourite things!
Our Fearless Leader, a splendid blond statue,
Wetting yourself when a musket’s aimed at you,
Shouting “Do you hear the pe-eople sing?!”:
These are a few of my favourite things!
Waving red flags, wearing tricolour sashes,
Dodging the grapeshot and cannon-fire flashes,
Valjean refusing (the wimp!) to join in:
These are a few of my favourite things!
When the Guard fires, the tocsin rings,
When I’m reeeeeeally scared,
I simply remember my favourite things,
And suddenly I don’t care!
The others join in enthusiastically –
rather like “Red and Black” really, only fluffier (pink and silver, perhaps).
All: Cynical
winecasks Enjolras despises,
Heartbroken waifs meeting bloody demises,
Combeferre indoors busily bandaging:
These are a few of my favourite things!
Tying Javert to a post for his spying,
All of us damned well heroically dying,
Oh, insurrection! The joy that it brings!
These are a few of my favourite things!
Enter Enjolras looking immensely huffy and altogether failing to
realise that Grantaire’s actually doing quite a good job of talking them round.
Enjolras: They’re singing again!
Really, Fraulein Grantaire, I think you’re just encouraging them. It’s
disgraceful.
Grantaire: They’re quite good,
actually. No wonder they got to be in a musical.
[Bahorel mutters something that
probably contains obscenities.]
Enjolras: [glaring] Hmph!
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