CHAPTER VIII.
WAS HIS NAME LE CABUC?
The tragical picture we have undertaken would not be complete, thereader would not see in their exact and real relief those greatmoments of social lying-in and revolutionary giving birth, in whichthere are throes blended with effort, if we were to omit in our sketchan incident full of an epic and stern horror, which occurred almostimmediately after Gavroche's departure.
Bands of rioters, it is well known, resemble a snowball, and, asthey roll along, agglomerate many tumultuous men, who do not ask oneanother whence they come. Among the passers-by who joined the bandled by Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, there was a man wearinga porter's jacket, much worn at the shoulders, who gesticulated andvociferated, and had the appearance of a drunken savage. This man,whose name or nickname was Le Cabuc, and who was entirely unknown tothose who pretended to know him, was seated, in a state of real orfeigned intoxication, with four others, round a table which they haddragged out of the wine-shop. This Cabuc, while making the othersdrink, seemed to be gazing thoughtfully at the large house behind thebarricade, whose five stories commanded the whole street and faced theRue St Denis. All at once he exclaimed,--
"Do you know what, comrades? We must fire from that house. When we areat the windows, hang me if any one can come up the street."
"Yes, but the house is closed," said one of the drinkers.
"We'll knock."
"They won't open."
"Then we'll break in the door."
Le Cabuc ran up to the door, which had a very massive knocker, andrapped; as the door was not opened he rapped again, and no oneanswering, he gave a third rap, but the silence continued.
"Is there any one in here?" Le Cabuc shouted. But nothing stirred, andso he seized a musket and began hammering the door with the butt end.It was an old, low, narrow, solid door, made of oak, lined with sheetiron inside and a heavy bar, and a thorough postern gate. The blowsmade the whole house tremble, but did not shake the door. The inmates,however, were probably alarmed, for a little square trap window wasat length lit up and opened on the third story, and a candle and thegray-haired head of a terrified old man, who was the porter, appearedin the orifice. The man who was knocking left off.
"What do you want, gentlemen?" the porter asked.
"Open the door!" said Le Cabuc.
"I cannot, gentlemen."
"Open, I tell you!"
"It is impossible, gentlemen."
Le Cabuc raised his musket and took aim at the porter, but as he wasbelow and it was very dark the porter did not notice the fact.
"Will you open? Yes or no."
"No, gentlemen."
"You really mean it?"
"I say no, my kind--"
The porter did not finish the sentence, for the musket was fired; thebullet entered under his chin and came out of his neck, after passingthrough the jugular vein. The old man fell in a heap, without heavinga sigh, the candle went out, and nothing was visible save a motionlesshead lying on the sill of the window, and a small wreath of smokeascending to the roof.
"There," said Le Cabuc, as he let the butt of the musket fall on thepavement again.
He had scarce uttered the word ere he felt a hand laid on his shoulderwith the tenacity of an eagle's talon, and he heard a voice saying tohim,--
"On your knees!"
The murderer turned, and saw before him Enjolras's white, cold face.Enjolras held a pistol in his hand, and had hurried up on hearing theshot fired, and clutched with his left hand Le Cabuc's blouse, shirt,and braces.
"On your knees!" he repeated.
And with a sovereign movement the frail young man of twenty bent like areed the muscular and thick-set porter, and forced him to kneel in themud. Le Cabuc tried to resist, but he seemed to have been seized by asuperhuman hand. Enjolras, pale, bare-neck, with his dishevelled hairand feminine face, had at this moment I know not what of the ancientThemis. His dilated nostrils, his downcast eyes, gave to his implacableGreek profile that expression of wrath and that expression of chastitywhich, in the opinion of the old world, are becoming to justice. Allthe insurgents had hurried up, and then ranged themselves in a circleat a distance, feeling that it was impossible for them to utter a wordin the presence of what they were going to see. Le Cabuc, conquered, nolonger attempted to struggle, and trembled all over: Enjolras loosedhis grasp, and took out his watch.
"Pray or think!" he said; "you have one minute to do so."
"Mercy!" the murderer stammered, then hung his head and muttered a fewinarticulate execrations.
Enjolras did not take his eyes off the watch; he let the minute pass,and then put the watch again in his fob. This done, he seized Le Cabucby the hair, who clung to his knees with a yell, and placed the muzzleof the pistol to his ear. Many of these intrepid men, who had sotranquilly entered upon the most frightful of adventures, turned awaytheir heads. The explosion was heard, the assassin fell on his head onthe pavement, and Enjolras drew himself up and looked round him with astern air of conviction. Then he kicked the corpse and said,--
"Throw this outside."
Three men raised the body of the wretch, which was still writhing inthe last mechanical convulsions of expiring life, and threw it overthe small barricade into the Mondétour lane. Enjolras stood pensive;some grand darkness was slowly spreading over his formidable serenity.Presently he raised his voice, and all were silent.
"Citizens," said Enjolras, "what that man did is frightful, and whatI have done is horrible; he killed, and that is why I killed, andI was obliged to do so, as insurrection must have its discipline.Assassination is even more of a crime here than elsewhere, for we standunder the eye of the Revolution, we are the priests of the Republic,we are the sacred victims to duty, and we must not do aught that wouldcalumniate our combat. I, therefore, tried and condemned this man todeath; for my part, constrained to do what I have done, but abhorringit, I have also tried myself, and you will shortly see what sentence Ihave passed."
All who listened trembled.
"We will share your fate," Combeferre exclaimed.
"Be it so!" Enjolras continued. "One word more. In executing that manI obeyed Necessity; but Necessity is a monster of the old world, andits true name is Fatality. Now, it is the law of progress that monstersshould disappear before angels, and Fatality vanish before Fraternity.It is a bad moment to utter the word love; but no matter, I utter it,and I glorify it. Love, thou hast a future; Death, I make use of thee,but I abhor thee. Citizens, in the future there will be no darkness,no thunderclaps; neither ferocious ignorance nor bloodthirstyretaliation; and as there will be no Satan left, there will be no SaintMichael. In the future no man will kill another man; the earth will beradiant, and the human race will love. The day will come, citizens,when all will be concord, harmony, light, joy, and life, and we aregoing to die in order that it may come."
Enjolras was silent, his virgin lips closed, and he stood for sometime at the spot where he had shed blood, in the motionlessness of amarble statue. His fixed eyes caused people to talk in whispers aroundhim. Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre shook their heads silently, andleaning against each other in an angle of the barricade, gazed, withan admiration in which there was compassion, at this grave young man,who was an executioner and priest, and had, at the same time, thelight and the hardness of crystal. Let us say at once, that after theaction, when the corpses were conveyed to the Morgue and searched, apolice-agent's card was found on Le Cabuc; the author of this work hadin his hands, in 1848, the special report on this subject made to thePrefect of Police in 1832. Let us add that, if we may believe a strangebut probably well-founded police tradition, Le Cabuc was Claquesous. Itis certainly true that after the death of Cabuc, Claquesous was neverheard of again, and left no trace of his disappearance. He seemed tohave become amalgamated with the invisible; his life had been gloom,and his end was night.
The whole insurgent band were still suffering from the emotion of thistragical trial, so quickly begun and so quickly ended,
when Courfeyracsaw again at the barricade the short young man who had come to hislodgings to ask for Marius; this lad, who had a hold and reckless look,had come at night to rejoin the insurgents.
BOOK XIII.
MARIUS ENTERS THE SHADOW.