THE GAMIN THE ENEMY OF LAMPS.
How long did he remain there? What was the ebb and flow of this tragical meditation? Did he draw himself up? Did he remain bowed down? Had he been bent till he was broken? Could he recover himself and stand again upon something solid in his conscience? Probably he could not have said himself. The street was deserted, and a few anxious citizens who hurriedly returned home scarce noticed him, for each for himself is the ride in times of peril. The lamplighter came as usual to light the lamp which was exactly opposite the door of No. 7, and went away. Jean Valjean would not have appeared to be a living man to any one who might have examined him in this gloom, and he sat on his bench motionless, like a statue of ice. His despair had got beyond congelation. The tocsin and vague stormy rumors could be heard, and in the midst of all these convulsions of the bell blended with the riot, the clock of St. Paul struck the eleventh hour, solemnly and without hurrying; for the tocsin is man, the hour is God. The passing of the hour produced no effect on Jean Valjean, and he did not stir. Almost immediately after, however, a sudden detonation broke out in the direction of the markets, followed by a second even more violent; it was probably that attack on the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie which we have just seen repulsed by Marius. At this double discharge, whose fury seemed increased by the stupor of the night, Jean Valjean started; he turned in the direction whence the sound came, but then fell back on his bench, crossed his arms, and his head slowly bent down again on his chest. He resumed his dark dialogue with himself.
All at once he raised his eyes, for there was some one in the street; he heard footsteps close to him, and by the light of the lamp he perceived a livid, young, and radiant face, in the direction of the street which runs past the Archives. It was Gavroche, who had just arrived from the Rue de la Chanvrerie; Gavroche was looking up in the air, and appeared to be seeking. He saw Jean Valjean distinctly, but paid no attention to him. Gavroche, after looking up in the air, looked down on the ground; he stood on tiptoe, and felt the doors and ground-floor windows; they were all shut, bolted, and barred. After examining the fronts of several houses barricaded in this way, the gamin shrugged his shoulders, and then resumed his self-colloquy with himself, thus, "By Jove!" Then he looked up in the air again. Jean Valjean, who a moment previously in his present state of mind would neither have spoken to nor answered any one, felt an irresistible impulse to address this lad.
"My little boy," he said, "what is the matter with you?"
"Why, I'm hungry," Gavroche answered bluntly. And he added, "Little yourself!"
Jean Valjean felt in his pocket and pulled out a five-franc piece. But Gavroche, who was a species of wagtail, and rapidly passed from one gesture to another, had just picked up a stone. He had noticed the lamp.
"Hilloh!" he said, "you have still got lights here. You are not acting rightly, my friends; that is disorderly conduct. Break it for me."
And he threw the stone at the lamp, whose glass fell with such a noise that the citizens concealed behind their curtains in the opposite house cried, "There is '93!" The lamp oscillated violently and went out; the street suddenly became dark.
"That's it, old street," said Gavroche, "put on your nightcap." Then, turning to Jean Valjean, he said,—
"What do you call that gigantic monument which you have there at the end of the street? It's the Archives, isn't it? Let's pull down some of those great brutes of columns and make a tidy barricade."
Jean Valjean walked up to Gavroche.
"Poor creature!" he said in a low voice, and as if speaking to himself, "he is hungry."
And he placed the five-franc piece in his hand. Gavroche raised his nose, amazed at the size of this double sou; he looked at it in the darkness, and the whiteness of the double sou dazzled him. He was acquainted with five-franc pieces by hearsay, and their reputation was agreeable to him; he was delighted to see one so closely, and said, "Let us contemplate the tiger." He looked at it for some moments in ecstasy; then, turning to Jean Valjean, he held out the coin to him, and said majestically,—
"Citizen, I prefer breaking the lamps. Take back your ferocious animal, for I am not to be corrupted. It has five claws, but can't scratch me."
"Have you a mother?" Jean Valjean asked.
Gavroche replied,—
"Perhaps more than you."
"Well," Jean Valjean continued, "keep that money for your mother."
Gavroche was affected. Moreover, he had noticed that the man who was addressing him had no hat on, and this inspired him with confidence.
"Really, then," he said, "it is not to prevent me breaking the lamps?"
"Break as many as you like."
"You are a worthy man," said Gavroche.
And he put the five-franc piece in one of his pockets. Then, with increasing confidence, he added;—
"Do you belong to this street?"
"Yes; why?"
"Can you point me out No. 7?"
"What do you want at No. 7?"
Here the lad stopped, for he feared lest he had said too much. He energetically plunged his nails into his hair, and confined himself to answering,—
"Ah, there it is."
An idea flashed across Jean Valjean's mind, for agony has lucidities of that nature. He said to the boy,—
"Have you brought me the letter which I am expecting?"
"You," said Gavroche, "you ain't a woman."
"The letter is for Mademoiselle Cosette, is it not?"
"Cosette?" Gavroche grumbled; "yes, I think it is that absurd name."
"Well," Jean Valjean continued, "you have to deliver the letter to me; so give it here."
"In that case, you must be aware that I am sent from the barricade?"
"Of course," said Jean Valjean.
Gavroche thrust his hand into another of his pockets, and produced a square folded letter; then he gave the military salute.
"Respect for the despatch," he said; "it comes from the Provisional Government."
"Give it to me," said Jean Valjean.
Gavroche held the paper above his head.
"You must not imagine that it is a love-letter, though it is for a woman; it is for the people; we are fighting, and we respect the sex; we are not like people in the world of fashion, where there are lions that send poulets to camels."
"Give it to me."
"After all," Gavroche continued, "you look like an honest man."
"Make haste."
"Here it is."
And he handed the paper to Jean Valjean.
"And make haste, Monsieur Chose, since Mamselle Chosette is waiting."
Gavroche felt pleased at having made this pun. Jean Valjean added,—
"Must the answer be taken to St. Merry?"
"You would make in that way," Gavroche exclaimed, "one of those pastries vulgarly called brioches [blunders]. That letter comes from the barricade in the Rue de la Chanvrerie, and I am going back to it. Good-night, citizen."
This said, Gavroche went away, or, to speak more correctly, resumed his birdlike flight to the spot whence he had escaped. He plunged again into the darkness, as if there were a hole there, with the rigid rapidity of a projectile: the lane of l'Homme Armé became once again silent and solitary. In a twinkling, this strange lad, who had shadows and dreams within him, buried himself in the gloom of these rows of black houses, and was lost in it like smoke in darkness, and it might have been fancied that he was dispersed, had vanished, had not, a few minutes after his disappearance, a noisy breakage of glass, and the splendid echo of a lamp falling on the pavement, suddenly reawakened the indignant citizens. It was Gavroche passing along the Rue de Chaume.