"Will you marry me, Marguerite?" Feuilly held the soft, delicate hands of the young lady in his own paint stained ones. He looked into the girl's eyes and gave her a hopeful smile. In those deep brown eyes, he saw a bright future, a future where he and his beloved Marguerite could live happily, (perhaps somewhere in Poland), with no worries or tribulations. Just them.
Feuilly knew deep in his love struck heart that the money he was earning currently as a fan maker couldn't possibly support such an extravagant lifestyle the beautiful Marguerite was so accustomed to. He could barley support himself. But, although he was far from rich, he was wealthy with knowledge and was well educated in the subjects of politics, literature, art, freedom, and, with the help of Marguerite, Feuilly was now educated in the splendors of love. Why should a mere difference in social class keep them from marriage?
The truth about both of their backgrounds had never frightened them off before. In fact, it made their passionate romance even more exciting. Feuilly, the poor, orphaned fan maker, struggling to earn two francs a day, and Marguerite, the pretty, elegant bourgeois, longing for a world outside of her own. It was terribly romantic.
The silence of Marguerite's smile made him anxious. It had taken all of his courage to say those five words and she simply sat there, gazing past him as if she was put under a trance. He looked behind him to see what could possibly be more important than a proposal of marriage. Seeing nothing, he turned back to Marguerite, who was now staring down at both their hands with an obvious expression of contemplation.
They both lingered in the quiet for a few more moments until the nervousness became too much for him. His hands became clammy and he gulped as if he just swallowed a rock. "W-well," he managed to stammer.
"Will you?"
Laughter escaped from Marguerite's wide grin and she beamed up at her suitor. Feuilly chuckled along nervously, not knowing how to properly respond to her strange answer. He assumed that such jubilant laughter translated into a definite "yes" and he attempted to pull Marguerite into a tight embrace, only to be rudely shoved away.
Shocked by such abnormal behavior coming from his lover, he looked to her with pleading eyes. Her radiant face melted into an expression of despair and her once cheerful giggling was replaced by melancholy whimpers.
"You are a fool, Feuilly. A-a hopeless fool," she said. Small droplets trickled down her pale cheeks like snow falling into a bleak winter.
"I don't understand." He truly didn't. Feuilly never thought that proposing could be foolish. He asked her a simple yes or no question. They loved each other, there for he expected a "yes". But the answer wouldn't just be "yes". "Yes" meant that the harsh reality of his life could change into the bright future he always wanted. Not because he would be any richer, but because Marguerite would be in his life. She would be his life.
"No. You never did," Marguerite began. She wiped away a few small tears before she continued. "I can't-we can't get-"
"You can come live with me," he quickly interrupted. "No one has to know, I promise. You love me, don't you?"
"I do. Well, I-I did."
"Pardon?"
"I did love you. But this-" Marguerite paused, gazing up at the starry sky as if the words she was searching for were somewhere up in the heavens. "What ever this is, it can't go on."
Feuilly's face flushed with anger. Not only had she rejected his proposal, she wanted to end their romantic relationship all together. "And why the hell not?"
"Calm down, Feuilly."
"No." He raised his voice and grimaced down at his paint stained hands. "Am I not good enough for you?" he raised his hands for her to see. "Are my dirty hands not fit for a lady such as you?" He scoffed at her whimpers. "You don't love me? You must be one hell of an actress to make me believe in such an ardent love. Or, was it merely a passing affair for you? An amusing anecdote to tell your friends? I suppose it doesn't matter." He gave her a mocking, theatrical bow and tipped his cap. "I am happy that I was able to give a spoiled little bourgeois the thrill of her meaningless life." He immediately regretted those words.
Feuilly's usual kind disposition wouldn't allow him to say such cruel things, but a broken heart can damage even the most generous of people.
"It's not like that."
"Then why?"
"Because," Marguerite sniffed before continuing, "rich girls don't marry poor boys, Feuilly."
The bluntness of this statement took Feuilly aback. His anger gradually melted away into pity when he saw the fear in Marguerite's eyes. Those tear stained eyes were no longer a gateway into an ethereal fantasy, but a sad reminder of the disturbing truth.
"Haven't you heard?" Marguerite tried to mask her anguish by letting out a few nervous laughs. She repeated, "Rich girls don't marry poor boys."
A horrible sinking feeling manifested in Feuilly's chest as he searched for a small sign of hope in the once happy eyes. The pounding in his chest grew when all he found was fear and weakness.
"I see," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"I-I'm sorry."
"So am I." With that, he lowered his filthy cap and began to walk away from the crying woman.
"Feuilly," Marguerite called out to him, trembling. "P-please, don't go! I'm sorry!"
He didn't give her a second glance and continued walking. He couldn't bear to look into those wretched eyes.
The only thing Feuilly regretted from that night, besides saying such harsh words to a lady, was not getting a chance to thank Marguerite. All of his life, Feuilly taught everything he wanted to know to himself. His only purpose in life was to be educated and to educate others, and he never properly thanked Marguerite for the valuable lesson he received that night. Rich girls don't marry poor boys. Those words haunted his broken heart, but they also gave him motivation.
No, rich girls couldn't marry poor boys. But he would change that. He would show Marguerite and the rest of the world that love should never be feared. It was a right given to everyone the moment this universe was created. Love is the sister of Hope and the mother of Freedom and if one was not properly educated, these ideals would distort themselves into ignorance and doubt. That is what he saw in Marguerite's eyes, ignorance and doubt.
Although the words she had spoken were true, Feuilly made a silent promise to himself that one day he would prove her wrong. He would educate Marguerite by turning this cruel world into something better. Not just for her, but for everyone who possessed fear in their eyes. He promised that he would shape the world into how it was meant to be. A place where all men received the freedom they deserved. A place where there would be no need for hope, because there would be no better life to hope for. A place where everyone was educated and all traces of doubt, fear, and ignorance would be swept off the Earth. And, above all, Feuilly promised to create a world where the richest of girls would feel free to love and marry even the poorest of boys.
Source and Credits: Fan fiction