Editing Volume 5/Book 1/Chapter 23

Les Mis&eacute;rables, Volume 5: Jean Valjean, Book First: The War Between Four Walls, Chapter 23: Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk<br />
(Tome 5: Jean Valjean, Livre premiere: La guerre entre quatre murs, Chapitre 23: Oreste à jeun et Pylade ivre)

==General notes on this chapter==

==French text==

Enfin, se faisant la courte échelle, s'aidant du squelette de l'escalier, grimpant aux murs, s'accrochant au plafond, écharpant, au bord de la trappe même, les derniers qui résistaient, une vingtaine d'assiégeants, soldats, gardes nationaux, gardes municipaux, pêle-mêle, la plupart défigurés par des blessures au visage dans cette ascension redoutable, aveuglés par le sang, furieux, devenus sauvages, firent irruption dans la salle du premier étage. Il n'y avait plus là qu'un seul qui fût debout, Enjolras. Sans cartouches, sans épée, il n'avait plus à la main que le canon de sa carabine dont il avait brisé la crosse sur la tête de ceux qui entraient. Il avait mis le billard entre les assaillants et lui; il avait reculé à l'angle de la salle, et là, l'œil fier, la tête haute, ce tronçon d'arme au poing, il était encore assez inquiétant pour que le vide se fût fait autour de lui. Un cri s'éleva:

—C'est le chef. C'est lui qui a tué l'artilleur. Puisqu'il s'est mis là, il y est bien. Qu'il y reste. Fusillons-le sur place.

—Fusillez-moi, dit Enjolras.

Et, jetant le tronçon de sa carabine, et croisant les bras, il présenta sa poitrine.

L'audace de bien mourir émeut toujours les hommes. Dès qu'Enjolras eut croisé les bras, acceptant la fin, l'assourdissement de la lutte cessa dans la salle, et ce chaos s'apaisa subitement dans une sorte de solennité sépulcrale. Il semblait que la majesté menaçante d'Enjolras désarmé et immobile pesât sur ce tumulte, et que, rien que par l'autorité de son regard tranquille, ce jeune homme, qui seul n'avait pas une blessure, superbe, sanglant, charmant, indifférent comme un invulnérable, contraignît cette cohue sinistre à le tuer avec respect. Sa beauté, en ce moment-là augmentée de sa fierté, était un resplendissement, et, comme s'il ne pouvait pas plus être fatigué que blessé, après les effrayantes vingt-quatre heures qui venaient de s'écouler, il était vermeil et rose. C'était de lui peut-être que parlait le témoin qui disait plus tard devant le conseil de guerre: «Il y avait un insurgé que j'ai entendu nommer Apollon.» Un garde national qui visait Enjolras abaissa son arme en disant: «Il me semble que je vais fusiller une fleur.»

Douze hommes se formèrent en peloton à l'angle opposé à Enjolras, et apprêtèrent leurs fusils en silence.

Puis un sergent cria:—Joue.

Un officier intervint.

—Attendez.

Et s'adressant à Enjolras:

—Voulez-vous qu'on vous bande les yeux?

—Non.

—Est-ce bien vous qui avez tué le sergent d'artillerie?

—Oui.

Depuis quelques instants Grantaire s'était réveillé.

Grantaire, on s'en souvient, dormait depuis la veille dans la salle haute du cabaret, assis sur une chaise, affaissé sur une table.

Il réalisait, dans toute son énergie, la vieille métaphore: ivre mort. Le hideux philtre absinthe-stout-alcool l'avait jeté en léthargie. Sa table étant petite et ne pouvant servir à la barricade, on la lui avait laissée. Il était toujours dans la même posture, la poitrine pliée sur la table, la tête appuyée à plat sur les bras, entouré de verres, de chopes et de bouteilles. Il dormait de cet écrasant sommeil de l'ours engourdi et de la sangsue repue. Rien n'y avait fait, ni la fusillade, ni les boulets, ni la mitraille qui pénétrait par la croisée dans la salle où il était, ni le prodigieux vacarme de l'assaut. Seulement, il répondait quelquefois au canon par un ronflement. Il semblait attendre là qu'une balle vînt lui épargner la peine de se réveiller. Plusieurs cadavres gisaient autour de lui; et, au premier coup d'œil, rien ne le distinguait de ces dormeurs profonds de la mort.

Le bruit n'éveille pas un ivrogne, le silence le réveille. Cette singularité a été plus d'une fois observée. La chute de tout, autour de lui, augmentait l'anéantissement de Grantaire; l'écroulement le berçait.—L'espèce de halte que fit le tumulte devant Enjolras fut une secousse pour ce pesant sommeil. C'est l'effet d'une voiture au galop qui s'arrête court. Les assoupis s'y réveillent. Grantaire se dressa en sursaut, étendit les bras, se frotta les yeux, regarda, bâilla, et comprit.

L'ivresse qui finit ressemble à un rideau qui se déchire. On voit, en bloc et d'un seul coup d'œil, tout ce qu'elle cachait. Tout s'offre subitement à la mémoire; et l'ivrogne qui ne sait rien de ce qui s'est passé depuis vingt-quatre heures, n'a pas achevé d'ouvrir les paupières, qu'il est au fait. Les idées lui reviennent avec une lucidité brusque; l'effacement de l'ivresse, sorte de buée qui aveuglait le cerveau, se dissipe, et fait place à la claire et nette obsession des réalités.

Relégué qu'il était dans son coin et comme abrité derrière le billard, les soldats, l'œil fixé sur Enjolras, n'avaient pas même aperçu Grantaire, et le sergent se préparait à répéter l'ordre: En joue! quand tout à coup ils entendirent une voix forte crier à côté d'eux:

—Vive la République! J'en suis.

Grantaire s'était levé.

L'immense lueur de tout le combat qu'il avait manqué, et dont il n'avait pas été, apparut dans le regard éclatant de l'ivrogne transfiguré.

Il répéta: Vive la République! traversa la salle d'un pas ferme, et alla se placer devant les fusils debout près d'Enjolras.

—Faites-en deux d'un coup, dit-il.

Et, se tournant vers Enjolras avec douceur, il lui dit:

—Permets-tu?

Enjolras lui serra la main en souriant.

Ce sourire n'était pas achevé que la détonation éclata.

Enjolras, traversé de huit coups de feu, resta adossé au mur comme si les balles l'y eussent cloué. Seulement il pencha la tête.

Grantaire, foudroyé, s'abattit à ses pieds.

Quelques instants après, les soldats délogeaient les derniers insurgés réfugiés au haut de la maison. Ils tiraillaient à travers un treillis de bois dans le grenier. On se battait dans les combles. On jetait des corps par les fenêtres, quelques-uns vivants. Deux voltigeurs, qui essayaient de relever l'omnibus fracassé, étaient tués de deux coups de carabine tirés des mansardes. Un homme en blouse en était précipité, un coup de bayonnette dans le ventre, et râlait à terre. Un soldat et un insurgé glissaient ensemble sur le talus de tuiles du toit, et ne voulaient pas se lâcher, et tombaient, se tenant embrassés d'un embrassement féroce. Lutte pareille dans la cave. Cris, coups de feu, piétinement farouche. Puis le silence. La barricade était prise.

Les soldats commencèrent la fouille des maisons d'alentour et la poursuite des fuyards.

==English text==

At length, by dint of mounting on each other's backs, aiding themselves with the skeleton of the staircase, climbing up the walls, clinging to the ceiling, slashing away at the very brink of the trap-door, the last one who offered resistance, a score of assailants, soldiers, National Guardsmen, municipal guardsmen, in utter confusion, the majority disfigured by wounds in the face during that redoubtable ascent, blinded by blood, furious, rendered savage, made an irruption into the apartment on the first floor. There they found only one man still on his feet, Enjolras. Without cartridges, without sword, he had nothing in his hand now but the barrel of his gun whose stock he had broken over the head of those who were entering. He had placed the billiard table between his assailants and himself; he had retreated into the corner of the room, and there, with haughty eye, and head borne high, with this stump of a weapon in his hand, he was still so alarming as to speedily create an empty space around him. A cry arose:

"He is the leader! It was he who slew the artillery-man. It is well that he has placed himself there. Let him remain there. Let us shoot him down on the spot."

"Shoot me," said Enjolras.

And flinging away his bit of gun-barrel, and folding his arms, he offered his breast.

The audacity of a fine death always affects men. As soon as Enjolras folded his arms and accepted his end, the din of strife ceased in the room, and this chaos suddenly stilled into a sort of sepulchral solemnity. The menacing majesty of Enjolras disarmed and motionless, appeared to oppress this tumult, and this young man, haughty, bloody, and charming, who alone had not a wound, who was as indifferent as an invulnerable being, seemed, by the authority of his tranquil glance, to constrain this sinister rabble to kill him respectfully. His beauty, at that moment augmented by his pride, was resplendent, and he was fresh and rosy after the fearful four and twenty hours which had just elapsed, as though he could no more be fatigued than wounded. It was of him, possibly, that a witness spoke afterwards, before the council of war: "There was an insurgent whom I heard called Apollo." A National Guardsman who had taken aim at Enjolras, lowered his gun, saying: "It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower."

Twelve men formed into a squad in the corner opposite Enjolras, and silently made ready their guns.

Then a sergeant shouted:

"Take aim!"

An officer intervened.

"Wait."

And addressing Enjolras:

"Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?"

"No."

"Was it you who killed the artillery sergeant?"

"Yes."

Grantaire had waked up a few moments before.

Grantaire, it will be remembered, had been asleep ever since the preceding evening in the upper room of the wine-shop, seated on a chair and leaning on the table.

He realized in its fullest sense the old metaphor of "dead drunk." The hideous potion of absinthe-porter and alcohol had thrown him into a lethargy. His table being small, and not suitable for the barricade, he had been left in possession of it. He was still in the same posture, with his breast bent over the table, his head lying flat on his arms, surrounded by glasses, beer-jugs and bottles. His was the overwhelming slumber of the torpid bear and the satiated leech. Nothing had had any effect upon it, neither the fusillade, nor the cannon-balls, nor the grape-shot which had made its way through the window into the room where he was. Nor the tremendous uproar of the assault. He merely replied to the cannonade, now and then, by a snore. He seemed to be waiting there for a bullet which should spare him the trouble of waking. Many corpses were strewn around him; and, at the first glance, there was nothing to distinguish him from those profound sleepers of death.

Noise does not rouse a drunken man; silence awakens him. The fall of everything around him only augmented Grantaire's prostration; the crumbling of all things was his lullaby. The sort of halt which the tumult underwent in the presence of Enjolras was a shock to this heavy slumber. It had the effect of a carriage going at full speed, which suddenly comes to a dead stop. The persons dozing within it wake up. Grantaire rose to his feet with a start, stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyes, stared, yawned, and understood.

A fit of drunkenness reaching its end resembles a curtain which is torn away. One beholds, at a single glance and as a whole, all that it has concealed. All suddenly presents itself to the memory; and the drunkard who has known nothing of what has been taking place during the last twenty-four hours, has no sooner opened his eyes than he is perfectly informed. Ideas recur to him with abrupt lucidity; the obliteration of intoxication, a sort of steam which has obscured the brain, is dissipated, and makes way for the clear and sharply outlined importunity of realities.

Relegated, as he was, to one corner, and sheltered behind the billiard-table, the soldiers whose eyes were fixed on Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat his order: "Take aim!" when all at once, they heard a strong voice shout beside them:

"Long live the Republic! I'm one of them."

Grantaire had risen. The immense gleam of the whole combat which he had missed, and in which he had had no part, appeared in the brilliant glance of the transfigured drunken man.

He repeated: "Long live the Republic!" crossed the room with a firm stride and placed himself in front of the guns beside Enjolras.

"Finish both of us at one blow," said he.

And turning gently to Enjolras, he said to him:

"Do you permit it?"

Enjolras pressed his hand with a smile.

This smile was not ended when the report resounded.

Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained leaning against the wall, as though the balls had nailed him there. Only, his head was bowed.

Grantaire fell at his feet, as though struck by a thunderbolt.

A few moments later, the soldiers dislodged the last remaining insurgents, who had taken refuge at the top of the house. They fired into the attic through a wooden lattice. They fought under the very roof. They flung bodies, some of them still alive, out through the windows. Two light-infantrymen, who tried to lift the shattered omnibus, were slain by two shots fired from the attic. A man in a blouse was flung down from it, with a bayonet wound in the abdomen, and breathed his last on the ground. A soldier and an insurgent slipped together on the sloping slates of the roof, and, as they would not release each other, they fell, clasped in a ferocious embrace. A similar conflict went on in the cellar. Shouts, shots, a fierce trampling. Then silence. The barricade was captured.

The soldiers began to search the houses round about, and to pursue the fugitives. 

==Translation notes==

==Textual notes==

In the Aeneid (book 9), Euryalus, friend and lover of Nisus, is compared to a flower by the author before he is killed.  (Nisus was mentioned briefly in Grantaire's character introduction).

===Orestes and Pylades===

Orestes ("he who can move mountains" in Greek) is a member of the House of Atreus, and he is caught in a position where he must kill his mother for the murder of his father.  Apollo assists him throughout.  Pylades is his loyal and devoted companion who acts as a symbol of fate in the Libation Bearers.

==Citations==
<references />
@@ Line 143: / Line 143: @@
 ==Textual notes==
-===Apollo===
-Apollo was a god who was popularly prayed to to ward off evil and to protect and heal.
-===Flowers===
 In the Aeneid (book 9), Euryalus, friend and lover of Nisus, is compared to a flower by the author before he is killed.  (Nisus was mentioned briefly in Grantaire's character introduction).