Editing Volume 4/Book 11/Chapter 4

Les Mis&eacute;rables, Volume 4: The Idyll of the Rue Plumet & The Epic of the Rue Saint-Denis, Book Eleventh: The Atom Fraternizes with the Hurricane, Chapter 4: The Child is amazed at the Old Man<br />
(Tome 4: L'idylle rue Plumet et l'&eacute;pop&eacute;e rue Saint-Denis, Livre onzi&egrave;me: L'atome fraternise avec l'ouragan, Chapitre 4: L'enfant s'&eacute;tonne du vieillard)

==General notes on this chapter==

==French text==

 
Cependant Gavroche, au march&eacute; Saint-Jean, dont le poste &eacute;tait d&eacute;j&agrave;
d&eacute;sarm&eacute;, venait&mdash;d'op&eacute;rer sa jonction&mdash;avec une bande conduite par
Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre et Feuilly. Ils &eacute;taient &agrave; peu pr&egrave;s
arm&eacute;s. Bahorel et Jean Prouvaire les avaient retrouv&eacute;s et grossissaient
le groupe. Enjolras avait un fusil de chasse &agrave; deux coups, Combeferre un
fusil de garde national portant un num&eacute;ro de l&eacute;gion, et dans sa ceinture
deux pistolets que sa redingote d&eacute;boutonn&eacute;e laissait voir, Jean
Prouvaire un vieux mousqueton de cavalerie, Bahorel une carabine;
Courfeyrac agitait une canne &agrave; &eacute;p&eacute;e d&eacute;gain&eacute;e. Feuilly, un sabre nu au
poing, marchait en avant en criant: &laquo;Vive la Pologne!&raquo;

 
Ils arrivaient du quai Morland, sans cravates, sans chapeaux,
essouffl&eacute;s, mouill&eacute;s par la pluie, l'&eacute;clair dans les yeux. Gavroche les
aborda avec calme.

 
&mdash;O&ugrave; allons-nous?

 
&mdash;Viens, dit Courfeyrac.

 
Derri&egrave;re Feuilly marchait, ou plut&ocirc;t bondissait Bahorel, poisson dans
l'eau de l'&eacute;meute. Il avait un gilet cramoisi et de ces mots qui cassent
tout. Son gilet bouleversa un passant qui cria tout &eacute;perdu:

 
&mdash;Voil&agrave; les rouges!

 
&mdash;Le rouge, les rouges! r&eacute;pliqua Bahorel. Dr&ocirc;le de peur, bourgeois.
Quant &agrave; moi, je ne tremble point devant un coquelicot, le petit chaperon
rouge ne m'inspire aucune &eacute;pouvante. Bourgeois, croyez-moi, laissons la
peur du rouge aux b&ecirc;tes &agrave; cornes.

 
Il avisa un coin de mur o&ugrave; &eacute;tait placard&eacute;e la plus pacifique feuille de
papier du monde, une permission de manger des &oelig;ufs, un mandement de
car&ecirc;me adress&eacute; par l'archev&ecirc;que de Paris &agrave; ses &laquo;ouailles&raquo;.

 
Bahorel s'&eacute;cria:

 
&mdash;Ouailles; mani&egrave;re polie de dire oies.

 
Et il arracha du mur le mandement. Ceci conquit Gavroche. &Agrave; partir de
cet instant, Gavroche se mit &agrave; &eacute;tudier Bahorel.

 
&mdash;Bahorel, observa Enjolras, tu as tort. Tu aurais d&ucirc; laisser ce
mandement tranquille, ce n'est pas &agrave; lui que nous avons affaire, tu
d&eacute;penses inutilement de la col&egrave;re. Garde ta provision. On ne fait pas
feu hors des rangs, pas plus avec l'&acirc;me qu'avec le fusil.

 
&mdash;Chacun son genre, Enjolras, riposta Bahorel. Cette prose d'&eacute;v&ecirc;que me
choque, je veux manger des &oelig;ufs sans qu'on me le permette. Toi tu as le
genre froid br&ucirc;lant; moi je m'amuse. D'ailleurs, je ne me d&eacute;pense pas,
je prends de l'&eacute;lan; et si j'ai d&eacute;chir&eacute; ce mandement, Hercle! c'est pour
me mettre en app&eacute;tit.

 
Ce mot, ''Hercle'', frappa Gavroche. Il cherchait toutes les occasions de
s'instruire, et ce d&eacute;chireur d'affiches-l&agrave; avait son estime. Il lui
demanda:

 
&mdash;Qu'est-ce que cela veut dire, ''Hercle''?

 
Bahorel r&eacute;pondit:

 
&mdash;Cela veut dire sacr&eacute; nom d'un chien en latin.

 
Ici Bahorel reconnut &agrave; une fen&ecirc;tre un jeune homme p&acirc;le &agrave; barbe noire qui
les regardait passer, probablement un ami de l'A B C. Il lui cria:

 
&mdash;Vite, des cartouches! ''para bellum''.

 
&mdash;Bel homme! c'est vrai, dit Gavroche qui maintenant comprenait le
latin.

 
Un cort&egrave;ge tumultueux les accompagnait, &eacute;tudiants, artistes, jeunes gens
affili&eacute;s &agrave; la Cougourde d'Aix, ouvriers, gens du port, arm&eacute;s de b&acirc;tons
et de bayonnettes, quelques-uns, comme Combeferre, avec des pistolets
entr&eacute;s dans leurs pantalons. Un vieillard, qui paraissait tr&egrave;s vieux,
marchait dans cette bande. Il n'avait point d'arme, et se h&acirc;tait pour ne
point rester en arri&egrave;re, quoiqu'il e&ucirc;t l'air pensif. Gavroche l'aper&ccedil;ut:

 
&mdash;Keksek&ccedil;a? dit-il &agrave; Courfeyrac.

 
&mdash;C'est un vieux.

 
C'&eacute;tait M. Mabeuf.

 
==English text==

 
In the meantime, in the Marche Saint-Jean, where the post had already been
disarmed, Gavroche had just "effected a junction" with a band led by
Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly. They were armed after a
fashion. Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire had found them and swelled the group.
Enjolras had a double-barrelled hunting-gun, Combeferre the gun of a
National Guard bearing the number of his legion, and in his belt, two
pistols which his unbuttoned coat allowed to be seen, Jean Prouvaire an
old cavalry musket, Bahorel a rifle; Courfeyrac was brandishing an
unsheathed sword-cane. Feuilly, with a naked sword in his hand, marched at
their head shouting: "Long live Poland!"

 
They reached the Quai Morland. Cravatless, hatless, breathless, soaked by
the rain, with lightning in their eyes. Gavroche accosted them calmly:&mdash;

 
"Where are we going?"

 
"Come along," said Courfeyrac.

 
Behind Feuilly marched, or rather bounded, Bahorel, who was like a fish in
water in a riot. He wore a scarlet waistcoat, and indulged in the sort of
words which break everything. His waistcoat astounded a passer-by, who
cried in bewilderment:&mdash;

 
"Here are the reds!"

 
"The reds, the reds!" retorted Bahorel. "A queer kind of fear, bourgeois.
For my part I don't tremble before a poppy, the little red hat inspires me
with no alarm. Take my advice, bourgeois, let's leave fear of the red to
horned cattle."

 
He caught sight of a corner of the wall on which was placarded the most
peaceable sheet of paper in the world, a permission to eat eggs, a Lenten
admonition addressed by the Archbishop of Paris to his "flock."

 
Bahorel exclaimed:&mdash;

 
"'Flock'; a polite way of saying geese."

 
And he tore the charge from the nail. This conquered Gavroche. From that
instant Gavroche set himself to study Bahorel.

 
"Bahorel," observed Enjolras, "you are wrong. You should have let that
charge alone, he is not the person with whom we have to deal, you are
wasting your wrath to no purpose. Take care of your supply. One does not
fire out of the ranks with the soul any more than with a gun."

 
"Each one in his own fashion, Enjolras," retorted Bahorel. "This bishop's
prose shocks me; I want to eat eggs without being permitted. Your style is
the hot and cold; I am amusing myself. Besides, I'm not wasting myself,
I'm getting a start; and if I tore down that charge, Hercle! 'twas only to
whet my appetite."

 
This word, Hercle, struck Gavroche. He sought all occasions for learning,
and that tearer-down of posters possessed his esteem. He inquired of him:&mdash;

 
"What does Hercle mean?"

 
Bahorel answered:&mdash;

 
"It means cursed name of a dog, in Latin."

 
Here Bahorel recognized at a window a pale young man with a black beard
who was watching them as they passed, probably a Friend of the A B C. He
shouted to him:&mdash;

 
"Quick, cartridges, para bellum."

 
"A fine man! that's true," said Gavroche, who now understood Latin.

 
A tumultuous retinue accompanied them,&mdash;students, artists, young men
affiliated to the Cougourde of Aix, artisans, longshoremen, armed with
clubs and bayonets; some, like Combeferre, with pistols thrust into their
trousers.

 
An old man, who appeared to be extremely aged, was walking in the band.

 
He had no arms, and he made great haste, so that he might not be left
behind, although he had a thoughtful air.

 
Gavroche caught sight of him:&mdash;

 
"Keksekca?" said he to Courfeyrac.

 
"He's an old duffer."

 
It was M. Mabeuf.


==Translation notes==

==Textual notes==

==Citations==
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