Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [373]
These words fell upon the buzzing of the groups, and wrought the effect which the first drops of the tempest produce upon the swarm. All were dumb. There was a moment of inexpressible silence, when you might have heard the flight of death.
This moment was short.
A voice, from the most dark depths of the groups, cried to Enjolras:
“So be it. Let us make the barricade twenty feet high, and let us all stand by it. Citizens, let us offer the protest of corpses. Let us show that, if the people abandon the republicans, the republicans do not abandon the people.”
3 (4)
FIVE LESS, ONE MORE
AFTER THE MAN of the people, who decreed “the protest of corpses,” had spoken and given the formula of the common soul, from all lips arose a strangely satisfied and terrible cry, funereal in meaning and triumphant in tone:
“Long live death! Let us all stay!”
“Why all?” said Enjolras.
“All! all!”
Enjolras resumed:
“The position is good, the barricade is fine. Thirty men are enough. Why sacrifice forty?”
They replied:
“Because nobody wants to leave.”
“Citizens,” cried Enjolras, and there was in his voice almost an angry tremor, “the republic is not rich enough in men to incur useless expenditures. Vainglory is a squandering. If it is the duty of some to go away, that duty should be performed as well as any other.”
Enjolras, the man of principle, had over his co-religionists that sort of omnipotence which emanates from the absolute. Still, notwithstanding this omnipotence, there was a murmur.
Chief to his finger-ends, Enjolras, seeing that they murmured, insisted. He resumed haughtily:
“Let those who fear to be one of but thirty, say so.”
The murmurs redoubled.
“Besides,” observed a voice from one of the groups, “to go away is easily said. The barricade is hemmed in.”
“Not towards the markets,” said Enjolras. “The Rue Mondétour is open, and by the Rue des Prêcheurs one can reach the Marché des Innocents.”
“And there,” put in another voice from the group, “he will be taken. He will fall upon some grand guard of the line or the banlieue. They will see a man going by in cap and smock. ‘Where do you come from, fellow? you belong to the barricade, don’t you?’ And they look at your hands. You smell of powder. Shot.”
Enjolras, without answering, touched Combeferre’s shoulder, and they both went into the basement room.
They came back a moment afterwards. Enjolras held out in his hands the four uniforms which he had reserved. Combeferre followed him, bringing the cross belts and shakos.
“With this uniform,” said Enjolras, “you can mingle with the ranks and escape. Here are enough for four.”
And he threw the four uniforms upon the unpaved ground.
No wavering in the stoical auditory. Combeferre spoke:
“Come,” said he, “we must have a little pity. Do you know what the question is now? It is a question of women. Let us see. Are there any wives, yes or no? are there any children, yes or no? Are there, yes or no, any mothers, who rock the cradle with their foot and who have heaps of little ones about them? Let him among you who have never seen the breast of a nursing-woman hold up his hand. Ah! you wish to die, I wish it also, I, who am speaking to you, but I do not wish to feel the ghosts of women wringing their hands about me. Die, so be it, but do not make others die. Suicides like those which will be accomplished here are sublime; but suicide is strict, and can have no extension; and as soon as it touches those next you, the name of suicide is murder. Think of the little flaxen heads, and think of the white hairs. We know very well what you are; we know very well that you are all brave, good heavens! we know very well that your souls are filled with joy and glory at giving your life for the great cause; we know very well that you feel that you are elected to die usefully and magnificently, and that each of you clings to his share of the triumph. Well and good. But