Oh, he knows there are likely horrors in France's future--in the world's future--that nothing valuable comes cheap or easy, and that every great triumph is bought with suffering.
But to know that the triumphs will come, that the suffering isn't in vain or unceasing, that a world of greater freedom and greater justice is not only achievable but achieved--that brings a lightness to him that was unimaginable since even before the first shot fired on the barricade, a lightness that perhaps he's never felt before.
Combeferre has always had faith, he has always had hope, he has always known that possibilities were wide open and trusted to humanity to realize them.
But he is a scientist. Faith, hope, possibility, trust--none of these things can measure up in his mind to knowledge. And now he knows. Or at least, Enjolras swears he can and will know, that the knowledge is at hand, and that's very nearly as good.
"My friend," he says, and then stops. There's no adequate response he can make to what Enjolras has told him. "I may actually sleep well now."
He takes the nightshirt, turns to shed his clothes and put it on, slips into the bed and, much-battered by horrors and wonders both, falls immediately asleep.
no subject
Oh, he knows there are likely horrors in France's future--in the world's future--that nothing valuable comes cheap or easy, and that every great triumph is bought with suffering.
But to know that the triumphs will come, that the suffering isn't in vain or unceasing, that a world of greater freedom and greater justice is not only achievable but achieved--that brings a lightness to him that was unimaginable since even before the first shot fired on the barricade, a lightness that perhaps he's never felt before.
Combeferre has always had faith, he has always had hope, he has always known that possibilities were wide open and trusted to humanity to realize them.
But he is a scientist. Faith, hope, possibility, trust--none of these things can measure up in his mind to knowledge. And now he knows. Or at least, Enjolras swears he can and will know, that the knowledge is at hand, and that's very nearly as good.
"My friend," he says, and then stops. There's no adequate response he can make to what Enjolras has told him. "I may actually sleep well now."
He takes the nightshirt, turns to shed his clothes and put it on, slips into the bed and, much-battered by horrors and wonders both, falls immediately asleep.