CHAPTER II.
PRELIMINARY GAYETIES.
Laigle of Meaux, as we know, liked better to live with Joly than anyone else, and he had a lodging much as the bird has a branch. Thetwo friends lived together, ate together, slept together, and hadeverything in common, even a little Musichetta. They were what theycall _bini_ in the house of the Assistant Brothers. On the morning ofJune 5 they went to breakfast at Corinth. Joly had a cold in his head,and Laigles coat was threadbare, while Joly was well dressed. It wasabout nine in the morning when they pushed open the door of Corinth,and went up to the first-floor room, where they were received byMatelote and Gibelotte.
"Oysters, cheese, and ham," said Laigle.
They sat down at a table; the room was empty; there was no one in itbut themselves. Gibelotte, recognizing Joly and Laigle, placed a bottleof wine on the table, and they attacked the first dozen of oysters. Ahead appeared in the hatchway and a voice said,--
"As I was passing I smelt a delicious perfume of Brie cheese, so Istepped in."
It was Grantaire; he took a stool and sat down at the table.Gibelotte, on seeing Grantaire, placed two bottles of wine on thetable, which made three.
"Are you going to drink these two bottles?" Laigle asked Grantaire, whoreplied,--
"All men are ingenious, but you alone are ingenuous. Two bottles neveryet astonished a man."
The others began with eating, but Grantaire began with drinking; a pintwas soon swallowed.
"Why, you must have a hole in your stomach," said Laigle.
"Well, you have one in your elbow," Grantaire retorted, and afteremptying his glass, he added,--
"Oh yes, Laigle of the funeral orations, your coat is old."
"I should hope so," Laigle replied, "for my coat and I live comfortablytogether. It has assumed all my wrinkles, does not hurt me anywhere,has moulded itself on my deformities, and is complacent to all mymovements, and I only feel its presence because it keeps me warm. Oldcoats and old friends are the same thing."
"Grantaire," Joly asked, "have you come from the boulevard?"
"No."
"Laigle and I have just seen the head of the procession pass. It is amarvellous sight."
"How quiet this street is!" Laigle exclaimed. "Who could suspect thatParis is turned topsy-turvy? How easy it is to see that formerly therewere monasteries all round here! Du Breuil and Sauval give a list ofthem, and so does the Abbé Lebeuf. There was all around where weare now sitting a busy swarm of monks, shod and barefooted, tonsuredand bearded, gray, black, white, Franciscans, Minims, Capuchins,Carmelites, little Augustines, great Augustines, old Augustines--"
"Don't talk about monks," Grantaire interrupted, "for it makes me wantto scratch myself." Then he exclaimed,--
"Bouh! I have just swallowed a bad oyster, and that has brought backmy hypochondria. Oysters are spoiled, servant-girls are ugly, andI hate the human race. I passed just now before the great publiclibrary in the Rue Richelieu, and that pile of oyster-shells, whichis called a library, disgusts me with thinking. What paper! What ink!What pot-hooks and hangers! All that has been written! What ass wasthat said man was a featherless biped? And then, too, I met a prettygirl I know, lovely as spring, and worthy to be called Floréal, whowas ravished, transported, happy in Paradise, the wretch, becauseyesterday a hideous banker spotted with small-pox deigned to throwhis handkerchief to her! Alas! woman looks out for a keeper quiteas much as a lover; cats catch mice as well as birds. This girl nottwo months ago was living respectably in a garret, and fitted littlecopper circles into the eyelet-holes of stays,--what do you call it?She sewed, she had a flockbed, she lived by the side of a pot offlowers, and was happy. Now she is a bankeress, and the transformationtook place last night. I met the victim this morning perfectly happy,and the hideous thing was that the wretched creature was quite aspretty this morning as she was yesterday, and there was no sign of thefinancier on her face. Roses have this more or less than women, thatthe traces which the caterpillars leave on them are visible. Ah! thereis no morality left in the world, and I call as witnesses the myrtle,symbol of love, the laurel, symbol of war, the olive, that absurdsymbol of peace, the apple-tree, which nearly choked Adam with itspips, and the fig-tree, the grandfather of petticoats. As for justice,do you know what justice is? The Gauls covet Clusium, Rome protectsClusium and asks what wrong Clusium has done them. Brennus answers,'The wrong which Alba did to you, the wrong that Fidène did to you, thewrong that the Equi, Volscians, and Sabines did to you. They were yourneighbors, and the Clusians are ours. We understand neighborhood in thesame way as you do. You stole Alba, and we take Clusium.' Rome says,'You shall not take Clusium,' and Brennus took Rome, and then cried 'Vævictis!' That is what justice is! Oh, what beasts of prey there are inthe world! What eagles, what eagles! the thought makes my flesh creep."
He held out his glass to Joly, who filled it, then drank, and continuedalmost without having been interrupted by the glass of wine, which noone noticed, not even himself:--
"Brennus who takes Rome is an eagle; the banker who takes the grisetteis an eagle; and there is no more shame in one than the other. So letus believe nothing; there is only one reality, drinking. Of whateveropinion you may be, whether you back the lean cock, like the cantonof Uri, or the fat cock, like the canton of Glaris, it is of noconsequence; drink. You talk to me about the boulevard, the procession,etc.; what, are we going to have another revolution? This poverty ofresources astonishes me on the part of le bon Dieu; and He must atevery moment set to work greasing the groove of events. Things stickand won't move,--look sharp then with a revolution; le bon Dieu hasalways got his hands black with that filthy cart-wheel grease. In hisplace I should act more simply, I should not wind up my machinery atevery moment, but lead the human race evenly; I should knit factsmesh by mesh without breaking the thread; I should have no temporarysubstitutes, and no extraordinary repertory. What you fellows callprogress has two motive-powers, men and events, but it is a sad thingthat something exceptional is required every now and then. For eventsas for men the ordinary stock company is not sufficient; among menthere must be geniuses, and among events revolutions. Great accidentsare the law, and the order of things cannot do without them; and,judging from the apparition of comets, we might be tempted to believethat Heaven itself feels a want of leading actors. At the moment whenit is least expected, God bills the wall of the firmament with ameteor, and some strange star follows, underlined by an enormous tail;and that causes the death of Cæsar. Brutus gives him a dagger-thrust,and God deals him a blow with a comet. Crac! here is an auroraborealis, here is a revolution, here is a great man: '93 in bigletters, napoleon in a line by itself, and the comet of 1811 at thehead of the bill. Ah! what a fine blue poster, spangled all over withunexpected flashes! Boum! boum! an extraordinary sight. Raise youreyes, idlers. Everything is in disorder, the star as well as the drama.Oh Lord! It is too much and not enough; and these resources, drawn fromexceptional circumstances, seem magnificence and are only poverty. Myfriends, Providence has fallen into the stage of expedients. What doesa revolution prove? That God is running short: He produces a _coupd'état_, because there is a solution of continuity between the presentand the future, and He is unable to join the ends. In fact, thisconfirms me in my conjectures as to the state of Jehovah's fortune;and on seeing so much discomfort above and below, so much paltrinessand pinching and saving and distress both in heaven and on earth, fromthe bird which has not a seed of grain, to myself who have not onehundred thousand francs a year,--on seeing human destiny which is verymuch worn, and even royal destiny which is threadbare, as witness thePrince de Condé hanged,--on seeing winter, which is only a rent in thezenith through which the wind blows,--on seeing so many rags, even inthe bran-new morning purple on the tops of the hills,--on seeing dropsof dew, those false pearls, and hoar-frost, that paste jewelry,--onseeing humanity unripped and events patched, and so many spots on thesun, so many holes in the moon, and so much wretchedness everywhere,--Isuspect that God is not rich. There is an app
earance, it is true,but I see the pressure, and He gives a revolution just as a merchantwhose cash-box is empty gives a ball. We must not judge the gods byappearances, and under the gilding of heaven I catch a glimpse of apoor universe. There is a bankruptcy in creation, and that is why I amdissatisfied. Just see, this is June 5, and it is almost night; I havebeen waiting since morning for day to come, and it has not come, and Iwill wager that it does not come at all. It is the irregularity of abadly-paid clerk. Yes, everything is badly arranged, nothing fits intoanything, this old world is thrown out of gear, and I place myself inthe ranks of the opposition. Everything goes crooked, and the universeis close-fisted; it is like the children,--those who ask get nothing,and those who don't ask get something. And then, again, it afflicts meto look at that bald-headed Laigle of Meaux, and I am humiliated by thethought that I am of the same age as that knee. However, I criticisebut do not insult; the universe is what it is, and I speak withoutany evil meaning, and solely to do my duty by my conscience. Ah! byall the saints of Olympus, and by all the gods of Paradise, I was notmade to be a Parisian, that is to say, to be constantly thrown likea shuttle-cock between two battledores, from a group of idlers to agroup of noisy fellows. No! I was meant to be a Turk, looking all dayat Egyptian damsels performing those exquisite dances, wanton like thedreams of a chaste man, or a Beauceron peasant, or a Venetian gentlemansurrounded by fair ladies, or a little German prince, supplying onehalf a soldier to the Germanic Confederation, and employing hisleisure hours in drying his stockings on his hedge, that is to say, hisfrontier! Such were the destinies for which I was born. Yes, I saidTurk, and I will not recall it. I do not understand why the Turks areusually looked upon askance, for Mahom has some good points. Let usrespect the inventor of harems of houris, and Paradises of Odalisques,and we ought not to insult Mahometism, the only religion adorned witha hen-coop! After this, I insist on drinking, for the earth is a greatpiece of stupidity. And it appears that all those asses are going tofight, to break each other's heads and massacre one another in theheart of summer, in the month of June, when they might go off witha creature on their arm to inhale in the fields the perfume of thatimmense cup of tea of cut hay. Really, too many follies are committed.An old broken lantern, which I saw just now at a bric-à-brac dealer's,suggests a reflection to me, 'it is high time to enlighten the humanrace.' Yes, I am sad again, and it has come from swallowing an oysterand a revolution the wrong way. I am growing lugubrious again. Oh,frightful old world! On your surface people strive, are destitute,prostitute themselves, kill themselves, and grow accustomed to it!"
And after this burst of eloquence Grantaire had a burst of coughing,which was well deserved.
"Talking of a revolution," said Joly, "it seebs that Barius iscertaidly in love."
"Do you know with whom?" Laigle asked.
"Do."
"No?"
"Do, I tell you."
"The loves of Marius!" Grantaire exclaimed, "I can see them from here.Marius is a fog and will have found a vapor. Marius is of the poeticrace. Who says poet says madman. _Tymbræus Apollo_. Marius and hisMarie, or his Maria, or his Mariette, or his Marion, must be a funnybrace of lovers. I can fancy what it is: ecstasies in which kissing isforgotten. Chaste on earth but connected in the infinitude. They aresouls that have feelings, and they sleep together in the stars."
Grantaire was attacking his second bottle, and perhaps his secondharangue, when a new head emerged from the staircase hatchway. Itwas a boy under ten years of age, ragged, very short and yellow,with a bull-dog face, a quick eye, and an enormous head of hair; hewas dripping with wet, but seemed happy. The lad choosing withouthesitating among the three, though he knew none of them, addressedLaigle of Meaux.
"Are you Monsieur Bossuet?" he asked.
"I am called so," Laigle replied; "what do you want?"
"A big blonde on the boulevard said to me, 'Do you know MotherHucheloup's?' I said,' Yes, Rue Chanvrerie, the widow of the oldbuffer,' He says to me, 'Go there; you will find Monsieur Bossuetthere, and say to him from me, A--B--C.' I suppose it's a trick playedyou, eh? He gave me ten sous."
"Joly, lend me ten sous," said Laigle; and turning to Grantaire,"Grantaire, lend me ten sous."
This made twenty sous, which Laigle gave the lad. "Thank you, sir," hesaid.
"What is your name?" Laigle asked.
"Navet, Gavroche's friend."
"Stay with us," Laigle said.
"Breakfast with us," Grantaire added.
The lad replied, "I can't, for I belong to the procession, and have tocry, 'Down with Polignac!'"
And, drawing his foot slowly after him, which is the most respectful ofbows possible, he went away. When he was gone, Grantaire remarked,--
"That is the pure gamin, and there are many varieties in the gamingenus. The notary-gamin is called 'skip-the-gutter;' the cook-gaminis called 'scullion;' the baker-gamin is called 'paper-cap;'the footman-gamin is called 'tiger;' the sailor-gamin is called'cabin-boy;' the soldier-gamin is called 'drummer-boy;' thepainter-gamin is called 'dauber;' the tradesman-gamin is called'errand-boy;' the courtier-gamin is called 'favorite;' the royal-gaminis called 'dauphin;' and the divine-gamin is called 'Bambino.'"
In the mean while Laigle meditated, and said in a low voice,--
"A--B--C, that is to say, funeral of General Lamarque."
"The tall, fair man," Grantaire observed, "is Enjolras, who has sent towarn you."
"Shall we go?" asked Bossuet.
"It's raiding," said Joly; "I have sworn to go through fire but dotthrough water, and I do dot wish to bake by cold worse."
"I shall stay here," Grantaire remarked; "I prefer a breakfast to ahearse."
"Conclusion, we remain," Laigle continued; "in that case let us drink.Besides, we may miss the funeral without missing the row."
"Ah, the row!" cried Joly, "I'b id that."
Laigle rubbed his hands.
"So the revolution of 1830 is going to begin over again. Indeed, itdisturbs people by brushing against them."
"I do not care a rap for your revolution," Grantaire remarked, "and Ido not execrate the present Government, for it is the crown temperedby the cotton nightcap, a sceptre terminating in an umbrella. Insuch weather as this Louis Philippe might use his royalty for twoobjects,--stretch out the sceptre-end against the people, and open theumbrella-end against the sky."
The room was dark, and heavy clouds completely veiled the daylight.There was no one in the wine-shop or in the streets, for everybody hadgone "to see the events."
"Is it midday or midnight?" Bossuet asked; "I can see nothing; bring acandle, Gibelotte."
Grantaire was drinking sorrowfully.
"Enjolras disdains me," he muttered. "Enjolras said to himself, 'Jolyis ill and Grantaire is drunk,' and so he sent Navet to Bossuet. Andyet, if he had fetched me, I would have followed him. All the worse forEnjolras! I will not go to his funeral."
This resolution formed, Bousset, Grantaire, and Joly did not stirfrom the wine-shop, and at about 2 P.M. the table at which they satwas covered with empty bottles. Two candles burned on it, one in aperfectly green copper candlestick, the other in the neck of a crackedwater-bottle. Grantaire had led Joly and Bossuet to wine, and Bossuetand Joly had brought Grantaire back to joy. As for Grantaire, hegave up wine at midday, as a poor inspirer of illusions. Wine is notparticularly valued by serious sots, for in ebriety there is blackmagic and white magic, and wine is only the white magic. Grantairewas an adventurous drinker of dreams. The blackness of a formidableintoxication yawning before him, far from arresting, attracted him,and he had given up bottles and taken to the dram-glass, which is anabyss. Not having at hand either opium or hashish, and wishing to fillhis brain with darkness, he turned to that frightful mixture of brandy,stout, and absinthe, which produces such terrible lethargies. Of thesethree vapors, beer, brandy, and absinthe, the lead of the soul is made:they are three darknesses in which the celestial butterfly is drowned;and there are formed in a membraneous smoke, vaguely condensed i
nto abat's wing, three dumb furies, Nightmare, Night, and Death, which hoverover the sleeping Psyche. Grantaire had not yet reached that phase;far from it: he was prodigiously gay, and Bossuet and Joly kept evenwith him. Grantaire added to the eccentric accentuation of words andideas the vagary of gestures; he laid his left hand on his knee with adignified air, and with his neckcloth unloosed, straddling his stool,and with his full glass in his right hand, he threw these solemn wordsat the stout servant-girl Matelote:--
"Open the gates of the Palace! Let every man belong to the AcadémieFrançaise, and have the right of embracing Madame Hucheloup! Let usdrink."
And turning to the landlady, he added,--
"Antique female, consecrated by custom, approach, that I maycontemplate thee."
And Joly exclaimed,--
"Batelote and Gibelotte, don't give Grantaire adybore drink. He isspending a frightful sum, and odly since this borning has devoured inshabeful prodigality two francs, dwenty-five centibes."
And Grantaire went on,--
"Who has unhooked the stars without my leave, in order to place them onthe table in lieu of candles?"
Bossuet, who was very drunk, had retained his calmness, and was sittingon the sill of the open window, letting the rain drench his back, whilehe gazed at his two friends. All at once he heard behind him a tumult,hurried footsteps, and shouts of "To arms!" He turned, and noticedin the Rue St. Denis, at the end of the Rue Chanvrerie, Enjolraspassing, carbine in hand, Gavroche with his pistol, Feuilly with hissabre, Courfeyrac with his sword, Jean Prouvaire with his musquetoon,Combeferre with his gun, Bahorel with his, and the whole armed andstormy band that followed them. The Rue de la Chanvrerie was not apistol-shot in length, so Bossuet improvised a speaking-trumpet withhis two hands round his mouth, and shouted,--
"Courfeyrac! Courfeyrac! hilloh!"
Courfeyrac heard the summons, perceived Bossuet, and walked a few stepsdown the Rue de la Chanvrerie, exclaiming, "What do you want?" whichwas crossed by a "Where are you going?"
"To make a barricade," Courfeyrac answered.
"Well, why not make it here? the spot is good."
"That is true, Eagle," Courfeyrac remarked.
And at a sign from Courfeyrac the mob rushed into the Rue de laChanvrerie.