Thus poured forth Grantaire, more than drunk, as he seized theplate-washer as she passed his corner. Bossuet, stretching out hishand toward him, strove to make him be silent, but Grantaire broke outafresh:--
"Eagle of Meaux, down with your paws! You produce no effect uponme with your gesture of Hippocrates refusing the _bric-à-brac_of Artaxerxes. You need not attempt to calm me; and besides, Iam melancholy. What would you have me say? Man is bad, man is adeformity; the butterfly is a success, but man a mistake. God madea failure with that animal. A crowd is a choice of uglinesses: thefirst comer is a scoundrel. _Femme_ rhymes with _infâme._ Yes, I havethe spleen, complicated with melancholy, home-sickness, and a dashof hypochondria, and I fret, I rage, I yawn, I weary myself, I boremyself, and I find it horribly dull."
"Silence, Big R," Bossuet remarked again, who was discussing a legalpoint with some chums, and was sunk to his waist in a sentence ofjudicial slang, of which the following is the end:--
"For my part, although I am scarce an authority, and at the most anamateur lawyer, I assert this, that, according to the terms of thecustoms of Normandy, upon the Michaelmas day and in every year anequivalent must be paid to the lord of the manor, by all and singular,both by landowners and tenants, and that for every freehold, longlease, mortgage--"
"Echo, plaintive nymph!" Grantaire hummed, dose to Grantaire, at analmost silent table, a quire of paper, an inkstand, and a pen betweentwo small glasses announced that a farce was being sketched out. Thisgreat affair was discussed in a low voice, and the heads of the workersalmost touched.
"Let us begin with the names, for when you have the names you have theplot."
"That is true: dictate, and I will write."
"Monsieur Dorimon?"
"An annuitant?"
"Of course. His daughter Celestine."
"-tine. Who next?"
"Colonel Sainval."
"Sainval is worn out. Say Valsin."
By the side of these theatrical aspirants another group, which alsotook advantage of the noise to talk low, were discussing a duel.An old student of thirty was advising a young man of eighteen, andexplaining with what sort of adversary he had to deal.
"Hang it! you will have to be careful, for he is a splendid swordsman.He can attack, makes no useless feints, has a strong wrist, brilliancy,and mathematical parries. And then he is left-handed."
In the corner opposite to Grantaire, Joly and Bahorel were playing atdominos and talking of love affairs.
"You are happy," said Joly; "you have a mistress who is alwayslaughing."
"It is a fault she commits," Bahorel answered; "a man's mistress doeswrong to laugh, for it encourages him to deceive her, for seeing hergay saves you from remorse. If you see her sad you have scruples ofconscience."
"Ungrateful man! a woman who laughs is so nice, and you never quarrel."
"That results from the treaty we made; on forming our little holyalliance, we gave each other a frontier which we never step beyond.Hence comes peace."
"Peace is digesting happiness."
"And you, Jolllly, how does your quarrel stand with Mamselle--you knowwhom I mean?"
"Oh! she still sulks with a cruel patience."
"And yet you are a lover of most touching thinness."
"Alas!"
"In your place, I would leave her."
"It's easy to say that."
"And to do. Is not her name Musichetta?"
"Yes; ah, my dear Bahorel, she is a superb girl, very literary, withlittle hands and feet, dresses with taste, is white and plump, and haseyes like a gypsy fortune-teller. I am wild about her."
"My dear boy, you must please her; be fashionable, and make your kneeseffective. Buy fine trousers of Staub."
"At how much?" cried Grantaire.
In the third corner a poetical, discussion was going on, and PaganMythology was quarrelling with Christian Mythology. The point wasOlympus, whose defence Jean Prouvaire undertook through his romanticnature. Jean Prouvaire was only timid when in repose; once excited, hebroke out into a species of gayety, accentuated his enthusiasm, and hewas at once laughing and lyrical.
"Let us not insult the gods," he said, "for perhaps they have not alldeparted, and Jupiter does not produce the effect of a dead man uponme. The gods are dreams, you say; well, even in nature such as it is atthe present day, and after the flight of these dreams, we find againall the old Pagan myths. A mountain with the profile of a citadel, likethe Vignemale, for instance, is still for me the head-dress of Cybele.It has not yet been proved to me that Pan does not come at night towhistle in the hollow trunks of the willows, while stopping their holeswith his fingers in turn, and I have ever believed that he had someconnection with the cascade of Pissevache."
In the last corner politics were being discussed, and the concededcharter was abused. Combeferre supported it feebly, while Courfeyracattacked it energetically. There was on the table an unlucky copy ofthe Charte Touquet. Courfeyrac had seized it and was shaking it, mixingwith his argument the rustling of this sheet of paper.
"In the first place, I do not want kings; even from the economic pointof view alone I do not want them, for a king is a parasite, and thereare no gratis monarchs. Listen to this,--kings are an expensiveluxury. On the death of Francis I. the public debt of France was thirtythousand livres; on the death of Louis XIV. it was two milliards sixhundred millions, at twenty-eight livres the marc, which in 1740 wasequivalent, according to Desmarets, to four milliards five hundredmillions, and at the present day would be equal to twelve milliards.In the second place,--no offence to Combeferre,--a conceded charteris a bad expedient of civilization, for saving the transaction,softening the passage, deadening the shock, making the nation passinsensibly from monarchy to democracy by the practice of constitutionalfictions,--all these are detestable fictions. No, no; let us nevergive the people a false light, and principles pine and grow palein your constitutional cellar. No bastardizing, no compromise, noconcession, from a king to people! In all these concessions there isan Article XIV., and by the side of the hand that gives is the clawthat takes back again. I distinctly refuse your charter; for a charteris a mask, and there is falsehood behind it. A people that accepts acharter abdicates, and right is only right when entire. No charter,then, I say."
It was winter time, and two logs were crackling on the hearth; this wastempting, and Courfeyrac did not resist. He crumpled up the poor CharteTouquet and threw it in the fire; the paper blazed, and Combeferrephilosophically watched the masterpiece of Louis XVIII. burning,contenting himself with saying,--
"The charter metamorphosed into flame."
And sarcasms, sallies, jests, that French thing which is called_entrain_, that English thing which is called humor, good taste andbad, sound and unsound reasoning, all the rockets of dialogue ascendingtogether and crossing each other in all parts of the room, producedabove their heads a species of merry explosion.
CHAPTER V.
ENLARGEMENT OF THE HORIZON.
The collision of young minds has this admirable thing about it, thatthe spark can never be foreseen or the lightning divined. What willshoot forth presently, no one knows. The burst of laughter is heard,and at the next moment seriousness makes its entrance. The impetus isgiven by the first word that comes, and everybody's fancy reigns. Ajoke suffices to open an unforeseen subject. The conversation takes asudden turn, and the perspective changes all at once. Chance is thescene-shifter of conversations. A stern thought, which strangely issuedfrom a clash of words, suddenly flashed through the medley in whichGrantaire, Bahorel, Prouvaire, Bossuet, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac wereblindly slashing and pointing. How is it that a phrase suddenly springsup in conversation, and underlines itself at once in the attention ofthose who trace it? As we have just said, no one knows. In the midstof the general confusion Bossuet concluded some remark he made toCombeferre with the date, "June 18, 1815, Waterloo."
At this name of Waterloo, Marius, who had been leaning over a glassof water, removed his hand from under hi
s chin, and began lookingintently at the company.
"Pardieu!" Courfeyrac exclaimed (_Parbleu_ at this period was beginningto grow out of fashion). "That number eighteen is strange, and strikesme, for it is Bonaparte's fatal number. Place Louis before and Brumairebehind, and you have the man's whole destiny, with this expressivepeculiarity, that the beginning is closely pursued by the end."
Enjolras, who had hitherto been dumb, now broke the silence, and said,--
"Courfeyrac, you mean the crime by the expiation."
This word _crime_ exceeded the measure which Marius, who was alreadygreatly affected by this sudden reference to Waterloo, could accept. Herose, walked slowly to the map of France hanging on the wall, on thebottom of which could be seen an island in a separate compartment; heplaced his finger on this and said,--
"Corsica, a small island which made France very great."
This was the breath of frozen air; all broke off, for they felt thatsomething was about to begin. Bahorel, who was assuming a victoriousattitude in answering Bossuet, gave it up in order to listen; andEnjolras, whose blue eye was fixed on no one and seemed to be examiningspace, answered without looking at Marius,--
"France requires no Corsica to be great. France is great because she isFrance, _quia nominor leo._"
Marius felt no desire to give way; he turned to Enjolras, and hisvoice had a strange vibration, produced by his internal emotion.
"Heaven forbid that I should diminish France; but it is not diminishingher to amalgamate Napoleon with her. Come, let us talk; I am anew-comer among you, but I confess that you astonish me. Where are we?who are we? who are you? who am I? Let us come to an understandingabout the Emperor. I hear you call him Buonaparte, laying a stress onthe _u_, like the Royalists, but I must tell you that toy grandfatherdoes better still, for he says, 'Buonaparté'. I fancied you young men,but where do you keep your enthusiasm, and what do you do with it? Whomdo you admire, if it is not the Emperor, and what more do you want?If you will not have that great man, what great man would you have?He had everything; he was complete, and in his brain was the cube ofhuman faculties. He made codes like Justinian, and dictated like Cæsar;his conversation blended the lightning of Pascal with the thunder ofTacitus; he made history and wrote it, and his bulletins are Iliads; hecombined the figures of Newton with the metaphor of Mahomet. He leftbehind him in the East words great as the Pyramids; at Tilsit he taughtmajesty to Emperors; at the Academy of Sciences he answered Laplace;at the Council of State he held his own against Merlin; he gave asoul to the geometry of one and to the sophistry of others; he waslegist with the lawyers, sidereal with the astronomers. Like Cromwell,blowing out one of two candles, he went to the Temple to bargain fora curtain tassel; he saw everything, knew everything, but that didnot prevent him from laughing heartily by the cradle of his new-bornson. And all at once startled Europe listened, armies set out, parksof artillery rolled along, bridges of boats were thrown over rivers,clouds of cavalry galloped in the hurricane, and shouts, bugles, andthe crashing of thrones could be heard all around! The frontiers ofkingdoms oscillated on the map, the sound of a super-human sword beingdrawn from its scabbard could be heard, and he was seen, standing erecton the horizon, with a gleam in his hand, and a splendor in his eyes,opening in the thunder his two wings, the grand army and the old Guard.He was the archangel of war!"
All were silent, and Enjolras hung his head. Silence always producesto some extent the effect of acquiescence, or a species of setting theback against the wall. Marius, almost without drawing breath, continuedwith increased enthusiasm,--
"Let us be just, my friends! What a splendid destiny it is for apeople to be the empire of such an Emperor, when that people is Franceand adds its genius to the genius of that man! To appear and reign;to march and triumph; to have as bivouacs every capital; to selectgrenadiers and make kings of them; to decree the downfall of dynasties;to transfigure Europe at double-quick step; to feel when you threatenthat you lay your hand on the sword-hilt of God; to follow in oneman Hannibal, Cæsar, and Charlemagne; to be the people of a rulerwho accompanies your every daybreak with the brilliant announcementof a battle gained; to be aroused in the morning by the guns of theInvalides; to cast into the abysses of light prodigious words which areeternally luminous,--Marengo, Areola, Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram! toproduce at each moment on the zenith of centuries constellations ofvictories: to make the French Empire a counterpart of the Roman Empire;to be the great nation, and give birth to the great army; to sendlegions all over the world, as the mountain sends its eagles in alldirections to conquer, rule, and crush; to be in Europe a people gildedby glory; to sound a Titanic flourish of trumpets through history; toconquer the world twice, by conquest and by amazement,--all this issublime, and what is there greater?"
"To be free!" said Combeferre.
Marius in his turn hung his head. This simple and cold remark hadtraversed his epical effusion like a steel blade, and he felt itfainting away within him. When he raised his eyes, Combeferre was nolonger present; probably satisfied with his reply to the apotheosis,he had left the room, and all excepting Enjolras had followed him.Enjolras, alone with Marius, was looking at him gravely. Marius,however, having slightly collected his ideas, did not confess himselfdefeated, and he was in all probability about to begin afresh uponEnjolras, when he suddenly heard some one singing on the staircase. Itwas Combeferre, and this is what he sung:--
"Si César m'avait donné La gloire et la guerre, Et qu'il me fallut quitter L'amour de ma mère, Je dirais an grand César: Reprends ton sceptre et ton char, J'aime mieux ma mère, ô gué! J'aime mieux ma mère!"
The tender and solemn accent with which Combeferre sang this verseimparted to it a species of strange grandeur. Marius, with his eyepensively fixed on the ceiling, repeated almost mechanically, "Mymother!"
At this moment he felt Enjolras' hand on his shoulder.
"Citizen," he said to him, "my mother is the Republic."
CHAPTER VI.
RES ANGUSTA.
This evening left a sad obscurity and a profound shock in the mind ofMarius, and he felt what the earth probably feels when it is opened bythe plough-share that the grain may be deposited; it only feels thewound, and the joy of giving birth does not arrive till later.
Marius was gloomy; he had only just made himself a faith, and must hereject it again? He declared to himself that he would not: he resolvednot to doubt, and began doubting involuntarily. To stand between tworeligions, one of which you have not yet lost, and the other whichyou have not yet entered, is unendurable, and twilight only pleasesbat-like souls. Marius had an open eyeball and wanted true light; andthe semi-lustre of doubt hurt him. Whatever might be his desire toremain where he was and cling to it, he was invincibly constrained tocontinue, to advance, to think, to go farther. Whither would this leadhim? He feared lest, after taking so many steps which had drawn himnear his father, he was now going to take steps which would carry himaway from him. His discomfort increased with all the reflections thatoccurred to him, and an escarpment became formed around him. He agreedneither with his grandfather nor his friends; he was rash for the oneand backward for the others; and he found himself doubly isolated,--onthe side of old age and on the side of youth. He left off going to theCafé Musain.