Spring in Paris is often traversed by harsh and piercing breezes which do not precisely chill but freeze one; these north winds which sadden the most beautiful days produce exactly the effect of those puffs of cold air which enter a warm room through the cracks of a badly fitting door or window. It seems as though the gloomy door of winter had remained ajar, and as though the wind were pouring through it. In the spring of 1832, the epoch when the first great epidemic of this century broke out in Europe, these north gales were more harsh and piercing than ever. It was a door even more glacial than that of winter which was ajar. It was the door of the sepulchre. In these winds one felt the breath of the cholera.
From a meteorological point of view, these cold winds possessed this peculiarity, that they did not preclude a strong electric tension. Frequent storms, accompanied by thunder and lightning, burst forth at this epoch.
One evening, when these gales were blowing rudely, to such a degree that January seemed to have returned and that the bourgeois had resumed their cloaks, Little Gavroche, who was always shivering gayly under his rags, was standing as though in ecstasy before a wig-maker's shop in the vicinity of the Orme-Saint-Gervais. He was adorned with a woman's woollen shawl, picked up no one knows where, and which he had converted into a neck comforter. Little Gavroche appeared to be engaged in intent admiration of a wax bride, in a low-necked dress, and crowned with orange-flowers, who was revolving in the window, and displaying her smile to passers-by, between two argand lamps; but in reality, he was taking an observation of the shop, in order to discover whether he could not "prig" from the shop-front a cake of soap, which he would then proceed to sell for a sou to a "hair-dresser" in the suburbs. He had often managed to breakfast off of such a roll. He called his species of work, for which he possessed special aptitude, "shaving barbers."
While contemplating the bride, and eyeing the cake of soap, he muttered between his teeth: "Tuesday. It was not Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? Perhaps it was Tuesday. Yes, it was Tuesday."
No one has ever discovered to what this monologue referred.
Yes, perchance, this monologue had some connection with the last occasion on which he had dined, three days before, for it was now Friday.
The barber in his shop, which was warmed by a good stove, was shaving a customer and casting a glance from time to time at the enemy, that freezing and impudent street urchin both of whose hands were in his pockets, but whose mind was evidently unsheathed.
While Gavroche was scrutinizing the shop-window and the cakes of windsor soap, two children of unequal stature, very neatly dressed, and still smaller than himself, one apparently about seven years of age, the other five, timidly turned the handle and entered the shop, with a request for something or other, alms possibly, in a plaintive murmur which resembled a groan rather than a prayer. They both spoke at once, and their words were unintelligible because sobs broke the voice of the younger, and the teeth of the elder were chattering with cold. The barber wheeled round with a furious look, and without abandoning his razor, thrust back the elder with his left hand and the younger with his knee, and slammed his door, saying: "The idea of coming in and freezing everybody for nothing!"
The two children resumed their march in tears. In the meantime,a cloud had risen; it had begun to rain.
Little Gavroche ran after them and accosted them:--
"What's the matter with you, brats?"
"We don't know where we are to sleep," replied the elder.
"Is that all?" said Gavroche. "A great matter, truly. The idea of bawling about that. They must be greenies!"
And adopting, in addition to his superiority, which was rather bantering, an accent of tender authority and gentle patronage:--
"Come along with me, young 'uns!"
"Yes, sir," said the elder.
And the two children followed him as they would have followed an archbishop. They had stopped crying.
Gavroche led them up the Rue Saint-Antoine in the direction of the Bastille.
As Gavroche walked along, he cast an indignant backward glance at the barber's shop.
"That fellow has no heart, the whiting,"[35] he muttered. "He's an Englishman."
[35] Merlan: a sobriquet given to hairdressers because they are white with powder.
A woman who caught sight of these three marching in a file, with Gavroche at their head, burst into noisy laughter. This laugh was wanting in respect towards the group.
"Good day, Mamselle Omnibus," said Gavroche to her.
An instant later, the wig-maker occurred to his mind once more, and he added:--
"I am making a mistake in the beast; he's not a whiting, he's a serpent. Barber, I'll go and fetch a locksmith, and I'll have a bell hung to your tail."
This wig-maker had rendered him aggressive. As he strode over a gutter, he apostrophized a bearded portress who was worthy to meet Faust on the Brocken, and who had a broom in her hand.
"Madam," said he, "so you are going out with your horse?"
And thereupon, he spattered the polished boots of a pedestrian.
"You scamp!" shouted the furious pedestrian.
Gavroche elevated his nose above his shawl.
"Is Monsieur complaining?"
"Of you!" ejaculated the man.
"The office is closed," said Gavroche, "I do not receive any more complaints."
In the meanwhile, as he went on up the street, he perceived a beggar-girl, thirteen or fourteen years old, and clad in so short a gown that her knees were visible, lying thoroughly chilled under a porte-cochere. The little girl was getting to be too old for such a thing. Growth does play these tricks. The petticoat becomes short at the moment when nudity becomes indecent.
"Poor girl!" said Gavroche. "She hasn't even trousers. Hold on, take this."
And unwinding all the comfortable woollen which he had around his neck, he flung it on the thin and purple shoulders of the beggar-girl, where the scarf became a shawl once more.
The child stared at him in astonishment, and received the shawl in silence. When a certain stage of distress has been reached in his misery, the poor man no longer groans over evil, no longer returns thanks for good.
That done: "Brrr!" said Gavroche, who was shivering more than Saint Martin, for the latter retained one-half of his cloak.
At this brrr! The downpour of rain, redoubled in its spite, became furious. The wicked skies punish good deeds.
"Ah, come now!" exclaimed Gavroche, "what's the meaning of this? It's re-raining! Good Heavens, if it goes on like this, I shall stop my subscription."
And he set out on the march once more.
"It's all right," he resumed, casting a glance at the beggar-girl, as she coiled up under the shawl, "she's got a famous peel."
And looking up at the clouds he exclaimed:--
"Caught!"
The two children followed close on his heels.
As they were passing one of these heavy grated lattices, which indicate a baker's shop, for bread is put behind bars like gold, Gavroche turned round:--
"Ah, by the way, brats, have we dined?"
"Monsieur," replied the elder, "we have had nothing to eat since this morning."
"So you have neither father nor mother?" resumed Gavroche majestically.
"Excuse us, sir, we have a papa and a mamma, but we don't know where they are."
"Sometimes that's better than knowing where they are," said Gavroche, who was a thinker.
"We have been wandering about these two hours," continued the elder, "we have hunted for things at the corners of the streets, but we have found nothing."
"I know," ejaculated Gavroche, "it's the dogs who eat everything."
He went on, after a pause:--
"Ah! we have lost our authors. We don't know what we have done with them. This should not be, gamins. It's stupid to let old people stray off like that. Come now! we must have a snooze all the same."
However, he asked them no questions. What was more simple than that they should have no dwelling place!
The elder of the two children, who had almost entirely recovered the prompt heedlessness of childhood, uttered this exclamation:--
"It's queer, all the same. Mamma told us that she would take us to get a blessed spray on Palm Sunday."
"Bosh," said Gavroche.
"Mamma," resumed the elder, "is a lady who lives with Mamselle Miss."
"Tanflute!" retorted Gavroche.
Meanwhile he had halted, and for the last two minutes he had been feeling and fumbling in all sorts of nooks which his rags contained.
At last he tossed his head with an air intended to be merely satisfied, but which was triumphant, in reality.
"Let us be calm, young 'uns. Here's supper for three."
And from one of his pockets he drew forth a sou.
Without allowing the two urchins time for amazement, he pushed both of them before him into the baker's shop, and flung his sou on the counter, crying:--
"Boy! Five centimes' worth of bread."
The baker, who was the proprietor in person, took up a loaf and a knife.
"In three pieces, my boy!" went on Gavroche.
And he added with dignity:--
"There are three of us."
And seeing that the baker, after scrutinizing the three customers, had taken down a black loaf, he thrust his finger far up his nose with an inhalation as imperious as though he had had a pinch of the great Frederick's snuff on the tip of his thumb, and hurled this indignant apostrophe full in the baker's face:--
"Keksekca?"
Those of our readers who might be tempted to espy in this interpellation of Gavroche's to the baker a Russian or a Polish word, or one of those savage cries which the Yoways and the Botocudos hurl at each other from bank to bank of a river, athwart the solitudes, are warned that it is a word which they [our readers] utter every day, and which takes the place of the phrase: "Qu'est-ce que c'est que cela?" The baker understood perfectly, and replied:--
"Well! It's bread, and very good bread of the second quality."
"You mean larton brutal [black bread]!" retorted Gavroche, calmly and coldly disdainful. "White bread, boy! White bread [larton savonne]! I'm standing treat."
The baker could not repress a smile, and as he cut the white bread he surveyed them in a compassionate way which shocked Gavroche.
"Come, now, baker's boy!" said he, "what are you taking our measure like that for?"
All three of them placed end to end would have hardly made a measure.
When the bread was cut, the baker threw the sou into his drawer, and Gavroche said to the two children:--
"Grub away."
The little boys stared at him in surprise.
Gavroche began to laugh.
"Ah! hullo, that's so! They don't understand yet, they're too small."
And he repeated:--
"Eat away."
At the same time, he held out a piece of bread to each of them.
And thinking that the elder, who seemed to him the more worthy of his conversation, deserved some special encouragement and ought to be relieved from all hesitation to satisfy his appetite, he added, as be handed him the largest share:--
"Ram that into your muzzle."
One piece was smaller than the others; he kept this for himself.
The poor children, including Gavroche, were famished. As they tore their bread apart in big mouthfuls, they blocked up the shop of the baker, who, now that they had paid their money, looked angrily at them.
"Let's go into the street again," said Gavroche.
They set off once more in the direction of the Bastille.
From time to time, as they passed the lighted shop-windows, the smallest halted to look at the time on a leaden watch which was suspended from his neck by a cord.
"Well, he is a very green 'un," said Gavroche.
Then, becoming thoughtful, he muttered between his teeth:--
"All the same, if I had charge of the babes I'd lock 'em up better than that."
Just as they were finishing their morsel of bread, and had reached the angle of that gloomy Rue des Ballets, at the other end of which the low and threatening wicket of La Force was visible:--
"Hullo, is that you, Gavroche?" said some one.
"Hullo, is that you, Montparnasse?" said Gavroche.
A man had just accosted the street urchin, and the man was no other than Montparnasse in disguise, with blue spectacles, but recognizable to Gavroche.
"The bow-wows!" went on Gavroche, "you've got a hide the color of a linseed plaster, and blue specs like a doctor. You're putting on style, 'pon my word!"
"Hush!" ejaculated Montparnasse, "not so loud."
And he drew Gavroche hastily out of range of the lighted shops.
The two little ones followed mechanically, holding each other by the hand.
When they were ensconced under the arch of a portecochere, sheltered from the rain and from all eyes:--
"Do you know where I'm going?" demanded Montparnasse.
"To the Abbey of Ascend-with-Regret,"[36] replied Gavroche.
[36] The scaffold.
"Joker!"
And Montparnasse went on:--
"I'm going to find Babet."
"Ah!" exclaimed Gavroche, "so her name is Babet."
Montparnasse lowered his voice:--
"Not she, he."
"Ah! Babet."
"Yes, Babet."
"I thought he was buckled."
"He has undone the buckle," replied Montparnasse.
And he rapidly related to the gamin how, on the morning of that very day, Babet, having been transferred to La Conciergerie, had made his escape, by turning to the left instead of to the right in "the police office."
Gavroche expressed his admiration for this skill.
"What a dentist!" he cried.
Montparnasse added a few details as to Babet's flight, and ended with:--
"Oh! That's not all."
Gavroche, as he listened, had seized a cane that Montparnasse held in his hand, and mechanically pulled at the upper part, and the blade of a dagger made its appearance.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, pushing the dagger back in haste, "you have brought along your gendarme disguised as a bourgeois."
Montparnasse winked.
"The deuce!" resumed Gavroche, "so you're going to have a bout with the bobbies?"
"You can't tell," replied Montparnasse with an indifferent air. "It's always a good thing to have a pin about one."
Gavroche persisted:--
"What are you up to to-night?"
Again Montparnasse took a grave tone, and said, mouthing every syllable: "Things."
And abruptly changing the conversation:--
"By the way!"
"What?"
"Something happened t'other day. Fancy. I meet a bourgeois. He makes me a present of a sermon and his purse. I put it in my pocket. A minute later, I feel in my pocket. There's nothing there."
"Except the sermon," said Gavroche.
"But you," went on Montparnasse, "where are you bound for now?"
Gavroche pointed to his two proteges, and said:--
"I'm going to put these infants to bed."
"Whereabouts is the bed?"
"At my house."
"Where's your house?"
"At my house."
"So you have a lodging?"
"Yes, I have."
"And where is your lodging?"
"In the elephant," said Gavroche.
Montparnasse, though not naturally inclined to astonishment, could not restrain an exclamation.
"In the elephant!"
"Well, yes, in the elephant!" retorted Gavroche. "Kekcaa?"
This is another word of the language which no one writes, and which every one speaks.
Kekcaa signifies: Quest que c'est que cela a? [What's the matter with that?]
The urchin's profound remark recalled Montparnasse to calmness and good sense. He appeared to return to better sentiments with regard to Gavroche's lodging.
"Of course," said he, "yes, the elephant. Is it comfortable there?"
"Very," said Gavroche. "It's really bully there. There ain't any draughts, as there are under the bridges."
"How do you get in?"
"Oh, I get in."
"So there is a hole?" demanded Montparnasse.
"Parbleu! I should say so. But you mustn't tell. It's between the fore legs. The bobbies haven't seen it."
"And you climb up? Yes, I understand."
"A turn of the hand, cric, crac, and it's all over, no one there."
After a pause, Gavroche added:--
"I shall have a ladder for these children."
Montparnasse burst out laughing:--
"Where the devil did you pick up those young 'uns?"
Gavroche replied with great simplicity:--
"They are some brats that a wig-maker made me a present of."
Meanwhile, Montparnasse had fallen to thinking:--
"You recognized me very readily," he muttered.
He took from his pocket two small objects which were nothing more than two quills wrapped in cotton, and thrust one up each of his nostrils. This gave him a different nose.
"That changes you," remarked Gavroche, "you are less homely so, you ought to keep them on all the time."
Montparnasse was a handsome fellow, but Gavroche was a tease.
"Seriously," demanded Montparnasse, "how do you like me so?"
The sound of his voice was different also. In a twinkling, Montparnasse had become unrecognizable.
"Oh! Do play Porrichinelle for us!" exclaimed Gavroche.
The two children, who had not been listening up to this point, being occupied themselves in thrusting their fingers up their noses, drew near at this name, and stared at Montparnasse with dawning joy and admiration.
Unfortunately, Montparnasse was troubled.
He laid his hand on Gavroche's shoulder, and said to him, emphasizing his words: "Listen to what I tell you, boy! If I were on the square with my dog, my knife, and my wife, and if you were to squander ten sous on me, I wouldn't refuse to work, but this isn't Shrove Tuesday."
This odd phrase produced a singular effect on the gamin. He wheeled round hastily, darted his little sparkling eyes about him with profound attention, and perceived a police sergeant standing with his back to them a few paces off. Gavroche allowed an: "Ah! Good!" to escape him, but immediately suppressed it, and shaking Montparnasse's hand:--
"Well, good evening," said he, "I'm going off to my elephant with my brats. Supposing that you should need me some night, you can come and hunt me up there. I lodge on the entresol. There is no porter. You will inquire for Monsieur Gavroche."
"Very good," said Montparnasse.
And they parted, Montparnasse betaking himself in the direction of the Greve, and Gavroche towards the Bastille. The little one of five, dragged along by his brother who was dragged by Gavroche, turned his head back several times to watch "Porrichinelle" as he went.
The ambiguous phrase by means of which Montparnasse had warned Gavroche of the presence of the policeman, contained no other talisman than the assonance dig repeated five or six times in different forms. This syllable, dig, uttered alone or artistically mingled with the words of a phrase, means: "Take care, we can no longer talk freely." There was besides, in Montparnasse's sentence, a literary beauty which was lost upon Gavroche, that is mon dogue, ma dague et ma digue, a slang expression of the Temple, which signifies my dog, my knife,
and my wife, greatly in vogue among clowns and the red-tails in the great century when Moliere wrote and Callot drew.
Twenty years ago, there was still to be seen in the southwest corner of the Place de la Bastille, near the basin of the canal, excavated in the ancient ditch of the fortress-prison, a singular monument, which has already been effaced from the memories of Parisians, and which deserved to leave some trace, for it was the idea of a "member of the Institute, the General-in-chief of the army of Egypt."
We say monument, although it was only a rough model. But this model itself, a marvellous sketch, the grandiose skeleton of an idea of Napoleon's, which successive gusts of wind have carried away and thrown, on each occasion, still further from us, had become historical and had acquired a certain definiteness which contrasted with its provisional aspect.It was an elephant forty feet high, constructed of timber and masonry, bearing on its back a tower which resembled a house, formerly painted green by some dauber, and now painted black by heaven, the wind, and time. In this deserted and unprotected corner of the place, the broad brow of the colossus, his trunk, his tusks, his tower, his enormous crupper, his four feet, like columns produced, at night, under the starry heavens, a surprising and terrible form. It was a sort of symbol of popular force. It was sombre, mysterious, and immense. It was some mighty, visible phantom, one knew not what, standing erect beside the invisible spectre of the Bastille.
Few strangers visited this edifice, no passer-by looked at it. It was falling into ruins; every season the plaster which detached itself from its sides formed hideous wounds upon it. "The aediles," as the expression ran in elegant dialect, had forgotten it ever since 1814. There it stood in its corner, melancholy, sick, crumbling, surrounded by a rotten palisade, soiled continually by drunken coachmen; cracks meandered athwart its belly, a lath projected from its tail, tall grass flourished between its legs; and, as the level of the place had been rising all around it for a space of thirty years, by that slow and continuous movement which insensibly elevates the soil of large towns, it stood in a hollow, and it looked as though the ground were giving way beneath it. It was unclean, despised, repulsive, and superb, ugly in the eyes of the bourgeois, melancholy in the eyes of the thinker. There was something about it of the dirt which is on the point of being swept out, and something of the majesty which is on the point of being decapitated. As we have said, at night, its aspect changed. Night is the real element of everything that is dark. As soon as twilight descended, the old elephant became transfigured; he assumed a tranquil and redoubtable appearance in the formidable serenity of the shadows. Being of the past, he belonged to night; and obscurity was in keeping with his grandeur.
This rough, squat, heavy, hard, austere, almost misshapen, but assuredly majestic monument, stamped with a sort of magnificent and savage gravity, has disappeared, and left to reign in peace, a sort of gigantic stove, ornamented with its pipe, which has replaced the sombre fortress with its nine towers, very much as the bourgeoisie replaces the feudal classes. It is quite natural that a stove should be the symbol of an epoch in which a pot contains power. This epoch will pass away, people have already begun to understand that, if there can be force in a boiler, there can be no force except in the brain; in other words, that which leads and drags on the world, is not locomotives, but ideas. Harness locomotives to ideas,-- that is well done; but do not mistake the horse for the rider.
At all events, to return to the Place de la Bastille, the architect of this elephant succeeded in making a grand thing out of plaster; the architect of the stove has succeeded in making a pretty thing out of bronze.
This stove-pipe, which has been baptized by a sonorous name, and called the column of July, this monument of a revolution that miscarried, was still enveloped in 1832, in an immense shirt of woodwork, which we regret, for our part, and by a vast plank enclosure, which completed the task of isolating the elephant.
It was towards this corner of the place, dimly lighted by the reflection of a distant street lamp, that the gamin guided his two "brats."
The reader must permit us to interrupt ourselves here and to remind him that we are dealing with simple reality, and that twenty years ago, the tribunals were called upon to judge, under the charge of vagabondage, and mutilation of a public monument, a child who had been caught asleep in this very elephant of the Bastille. This fact noted, we proceed.
On arriving in the vicinity of the colossus, Gavroche comprehended the effect which the infinitely great might produce on the infinitely small, and said:--
"Don't be scared, infants."
Then he entered through a gap in the fence into the elephant's enclosure and helped the young ones to clamber through the breach. The two children, somewhat frightened, followed Gavroche without uttering a word, and confided themselves to this little Providence in rags which had given them bread and had promised them a shelter.
There, extended along the fence,lay a ladder which by day served the laborers in the neighboring timber-yard. Gavroche raised it with remarkable vigor, and placed it against one of the elephant's forelegs. Near the point where the ladder ended, a sort of black hole in the belly of the colossus could be distinguished.
Gavroche pointed out the ladder and the hole to his guests, and said to them:--
"Climb up and go in."
The two little boys exchanged terrified glances.
"You're afraid, brats!" exclaimed Gavroche.
And he added:--
"You shall see!"
He clasped the rough leg of the elephant, and in a twinkling, without deigning to make use of the ladder, he had reached the aperture. He entered it as an adder slips through a crevice, and disappeared within, and an instant later, the two children saw his head, which looked pale, appear vaguely, on the edge of the shadowy hole, like a wan and whitish spectre.
"Well!" he exclaimed, "climb up, young 'uns! You'll see how snug it is here! Come up, you!" he said to the elder, "I'll lend you a hand."
The little fellows nudged each other, the gamin frightened and inspired them with confidence at one and the same time, and then, it was raining very hard. The elder one undertook the risk. The younger, on seeing his brother climbing up, and himself left alone between the paws of this huge beast, felt greatly inclined to cry, but he did not dare.
The elder lad climbed, with uncertain steps, up the rungs of the ladder; Gavroche, in the meanwhile, encouraging him with exclamations like a fencing-master to his pupils, or a muleteer to his mules.
"Don't be afraid!--That's it!--Come on!--Put your feet there!-- Give us your hand here!--Boldly!"
And when the child was within reach, he seized him suddenly and vigorously by the arm, and pulled him towards him.
"Nabbed!" said he.
The brat had passed through the crack.
"Now," said Gavroche, "wait for me. Be so good as to take a seat, Monsieur."
And making his way out of the hole as he had entered it, he slipped down the elephant's leg with the agility of a monkey, landed on his feet in the grass, grasped the child of five round the body, and planted him fairly in the middle of the ladder, then he began to climb up behind him, shouting to the elder:--
"I'm going to boost him, do you tug."
And in another instant, the small lad was pushed, dragged, pulled, thrust, stuffed into the hole, before he had time to recover himself, and Gavroche, entering behind him, and repulsing the ladder with a kick which sent it flat on the grass, began to clap his hands and to cry:--
"Here we are! Long live General Lafayette!"
This explosion over, he added:--
"Now, young 'uns, you are in my house."
Gavroche was at home, in fact.
Oh, unforeseen utility of the useless! Charity of great things! Goodness of giants! This huge monument, which had embodied an idea of the Emperor's, had become the box of a street urchin. The brat had been accepted and sheltered by the colossus. The bourgeois decked out in their Sunday finery who passed the elephant of the Bastille, were fond of saying as they scanned it disdainfully with their prominent eyes: "What's the good of that?" It served to save from the cold, the frost, the hail, and rain, to shelter from the winds of winter, to preserve from slumber in the mud which produces fever, and from slumber in the snow which produces death, a little being who had no father, no mother, no bread, no clothes, no refuge. It served to receive the innocent whom society repulsed. It served to diminish public crime. It was a lair open to one against whom all doors were shut. It seemed as though the miserable old mastodon, invaded by vermin and oblivion, covered with warts, with mould, and ulcers, tottering, worm-eaten, abandoned, condemned, a sort of mendicant colossus, asking alms in vain with a benevolent look in the midst of the cross-roads, had taken pity on that other mendicant, the poor pygmy, who roamed without shoes to his feet, without a roof over his head,blowing on his fingers, clad in rags, fed on rejected scraps. That was what the elephant of the Bastille was good for. This idea of Napoleon, disdained by men, had been taken back by God. That which had been merely illustrious, had become august. In order to realize his thought, the Emperor should have had porphyry, brass, iron, gold, marble; the old collection of planks, beams and plaster sufficed for God. The Emperor had had the dream of a genius; in that Titanic elephant, armed, prodigious, with trunk uplifted, bearing its tower and scattering on all sides its merry and vivifying waters, he wished to incarnate the people. God had done a grander thing with it, he had lodged a child there.
The hole through which Gavroche had entered was a breach which was hardly visible from the outside, being concealed, as we have stated, beneath the elephant's belly, and so narrow that it was only cats and homeless children who could pass through it.
"Let's begin," said Gavroche, "by telling the porter that we are not at home."
And plunging into the darkness with the assurance of a person who is well acquainted with his apartments, he took a plank and stopped up the aperture.
Again Gavroche plunged into the obscurity. The children heard the crackling of the match thrust into the phosphoric bottle. The chemical match was not yet in existence; at that epoch the Fumade steel represented progress.
A sudden light made them blink; Gavroche had just managed to ignite one of those bits of cord dipped in resin which are called cellar rats. The cellar rat, which emitted more smoke than light, rendered the interior of the elephant confusedly visible.
Gavroche's two guests glanced about them, and the sensation which they experienced was something like that which one would feel if shut up in the great tun of Heidelberg, or, better still, like what Jonah must have felt in the biblical belly of the whale. An entire and gigantic skeleton appeared enveloping them. Above, a long brown beam, whence started at regular distances, massive, arching ribs, represented the vertebral column with its sides, stalactites of plaster depended from them like entrails, and vast spiders' webs stretching from side to side, formed dirty diaphragms. Here and there, in the corners, were visible large blackish spots which had the appearance of being alive, and which changed places rapidly with an abrupt and frightened movement.
Fragments which had fallen from the elephant's back into his belly had filled up the cavity, so that it was possible to walk upon it as on a floor.
The smaller child nestled up against his brother, and whispered to him:--
"It's black."
This remark drew an exclamation from Gavroche. The petrified air of the two brats rendered some shock necessary.
"What's that you are gabbling about there?" he exclaimed. "Are you scoffing at me? Are you turning up your noses? Do you want the tuileries? Are you brutes? Come, say! I warn you that I don't belong to the regiment of simpletons. Ah, come now, are you brats from the Pope's establishment?"
A little roughness is good in cases of fear. It is reassuring. The two children drew close to Gavroche.
Gavroche, paternally touched by this confidence, passed from grave to gentle, and addressing the smaller:--
"Stupid," said he, accenting the insulting word, with a caressing intonation, "it's outside that it is black. Outside it's raining, here it does not rain; outside it's cold, here there's not an atom of wind; outside there are heaps of people, here there's no one; outside there ain't even the moon, here there's my candle, confound it!"
The two children began to look upon the apartment with less terror; but Gavroche allowed them no more time for contemplation.
"Quick," said he.
And he pushed them towards what we are very glad to be able to call the end of the room.
There stood his bed.
Gavroche's bed was complete; that is to say, it had a mattress, a blanket, and an alcove with curtains.
The mattress was a straw mat, the blanket a rather large strip of gray woollen stuff, very warm and almost new. This is what the alcove consisted of:--
Three rather long poles, thrust into and consolidated, with the rubbish which formed the floor, that is to say, the belly of the elephant, two in front and one behind, and united by a rope at their summits, so as to form a pyramidal bundle. This cluster supported a trellis-work of brass wire which was simply placed upon it, but artistically applied, and held by fastenings of iron wire, so that it enveloped all three holes. A row of very heavy stones kept this network down to the floor so that nothing could pass under it. This grating was nothing else than a piece of the brass screens with which aviaries are covered in menageries. Gavroche's bed stood as in a cage, behind this net. The whole resembled an Esquimaux tent.
This trellis-work took the place of curtains.
Gavroche moved aside the stones which fastened the net down in front, and the two folds of the net which lapped over each other fell apart.
"Down on all fours, brats!" said Gavroche.
He made his guests enter the cage with great precaution, then he crawled in after them, pulled the stones together, and closed the opening hermetically again.
All three had stretched out on the mat. Gavroche still had the cellar rat in his hand.
"Now," said he, "go to sleep! I'm going to suppress the candelabra."
"Monsieur," the elder of the brothers asked Gavroche, pointing to the netting, "what's that for?"
"That," answered Gavroche gravely, "is for the rats. Go to sleep!"
Nevertheless, he felt obliged to add a few words of instruction for the benefit of these young creatures, and he continued:--
"It's a thing from the Jardin des Plantes. It's used for fierce animals. There's a whole shopful of them there. All you've got to do is to climb over a wall, crawl through a window, and pass through a door. You can get as much as you want."
As he spoke, he wrapped the younger one up bodily in a fold
of the blanket, and the little one murmured:--
"Oh! how good that is! It's warm!"
Gavroche cast a pleased eye on the blanket.
"That's from the Jardin des Plantes, too," said he. "I took that from the monkeys."
And, pointing out to the eldest the mat on which he was lying, a very thick and admirably made mat, he added:--
"That belonged to the giraffe."
After a pause he went on:--
"The beasts had all these things. I took them away from them. It didn't trouble them. I told them: It's for the elephant.'"
He paused, and then resumed:--
"You crawl over the walls and you don't care a straw for the government. So there now!"
The two children gazed with timid and stupefied respect on this intrepid and ingenious being, a vagabond like themselves,isolated like themselves, frail like themselves, who had something admirable and all-powerful about him, who seemed supernatural to them, and whose physiognomy was composed of all the grimaces of an old mountebank, mingled with the most ingenuous and charming smiles.
"Monsieur," ventured the elder timidly, "you are not afraid of the police, then?"
Gavroche contented himself with replying:--
"Brat! Nobody says `police,' they say `bobbies.'"
The smaller had his eyes wide open, but he said nothing. As he was on the edge of the mat, the elder being in the middle, Gavroche tucked the blanket round him as a mother might have done, and heightened the mat under his head with old rags, in such a way as to form a pillow for the child. Then he turned to the elder:--
"Hey! We're jolly comfortable here, ain't we?"
"Ah, yes!" replied the elder, gazing at Gavroche with the expression of a saved angel.
The two poor little children who had been soaked through, began to grow warm once more.
"Ah, by the way," continued Gavroche, "what were you bawling about?"
And pointing out the little one to his brother:--"A mite like that, I've nothing to say about, but the idea of a big fellow like you crying! It's idiotic; you looked like a calf."
"Gracious, replied the child, "we have no lodging."
"Bother!" retorted Gavroche, "you don't say lodgings,' you say crib.'"
"And then, we were afraid of being alone like that at night."
"You don't say night,' you say `darkmans.'"
"Thank you, sir," said the child.
"Listen," went on Gavroche, "you must never bawl again over anything. I'll take care of you. You shall see what fun we'll have. In summer, we'll go to the Glaciere with Navet, one of my pals, we'll bathe in the Gare, we'll run stark naked in front of the rafts on the bridge at Austerlitz,--that makes the laundresses raging. They scream, they get mad, and if you only knew how ridiculous they are! We'll go and see the man-skeleton. And then I'll take you to the play. I'll take you to see Frederick Lemaitre. I have tickets, I know some of the actors, I even played in a piece once. There were a lot of us fellers, and we ran under a cloth, and that made the sea. I'll get you an engagement at my theatre. We'll go to see the savages. They ain't real, those savages ain't. They wear pink tights that go all in wrinkles, and you can see where their elbows have been darned with white. Then, we'll go to the Opera. We'll get in with the hired applauders. The Opera claque is well managed. I wouldn't associate with the claque on the boulevard. At the Opera, just fancy! some of them pay twenty sous, but they're ninnies. They're called dishclouts. And then we'll go to see the guillotine work. I'll show you the executioner. He lives in the Rue des Marais. Monsieur Sanson. He has a letter-box at his door. Ah! we'll have famous fun!"
At that moment a drop of wax fell on Gavroche's finger, and recalled him to the realities of life.
"The deuce!" said he, "there's the wick giving out. Attention! I can't spend more than a sou a month on my lighting. When a body goes to bed, he must sleep. We haven't the time to read M. Paul de Kock's romances. And besides, the light might pass through the cracks of the porte-cochere, and all the bobbies need to do is to see it."
"And then," remarked the elder timidly,--he alone dared talk to Gavroche, and reply to him, "a spark might fall in the straw, and we must look out and not burn the house down."
"People don't say `burn the house down,'" remarked Gavroche, "they say `blaze the crib.'"
The storm increased in violence, and the heavy downpour beat upon the back of the colossus amid claps of thunder. "You're taken in, rain!" said Gavroche. "It amuses me to hear the decanter run down the legs of the house. Winter is a stupid;it wastes its merchandise, it loses its labor, it can't wet us, and that makes it kick up a row, old water-carrier that it is."
This allusion to the thunder, all the consequences of which Gavroche,in his character of a philosopher of the nineteenth century, accepted, was followed by a broad flash of lightning, so dazzling that a hint of it entered the belly of the elephant through the crack. Almost at the same instant, the thunder rumbled with great fury. The two little creatures uttered a shriek, and started up so eagerly that the network came near being displaced, but Gavroche turned his bold face to them, and took advantage of the clap of thunder to burst into a laugh.
"Calm down, children. Don't topple over the edifice. That's fine, first-class thunder; all right. That's no slouch of a streak of lightning. Bravo for the good God! Deuce take it! It's almost as good as it is at the Ambigu."
That said, he restored order in the netting, pushed the two children gently down on the bed, pressed their knees, in order to stretch them out at full length, and exclaimed:--
"Since the good God is lighting his candle, I can blow out mine. Now, babes, now, my young humans, you must shut your peepers. It's very bad not to sleep. It'll make you swallow the strainer, or, as they say, in fashionable society, stink in the gullet. Wrap yourself up well in the hide! I'm going to put out the light. Are you ready?"
"Yes," murmured the elder, "I'm all right. I seem to have feathers under my head."
"People don't say `head,'" cried Gavroche, "they say `nut'."
The two children nestled close to each other, Gavroche finished arranging them on the mat, drew the blanket up to their very ears, then repeated, for the third time, his injunction in the hieratical tongue:--
"Shut your peepers!"
And he snuffed out his tiny light.
Hardly had the light been extinguished, when a peculiar trembling began to affect the netting under which the three children lay.
It consisted of a multitude of dull scratches which produced a metallic sound, as if claws and teeth were gnawing at the copper wire. This was accompanied by all sorts of little piercing cries.
The little five-year-old boy, on hearing this hubbub overhead, and chilled with terror, jogged his brother's elbow; but the elder brother had already shut his peepers, as Gavroche had ordered. Then the little one, who could no longer control his terror, questioned Gavroche, but in a very low tone, and with bated breath:--
"Sir?"
"Hey?" said Gavroche, who had just closed his eyes.
"What is that?"
"It's the rats," replied Gavroche.
And he laid his head down on the mat again.
The rats, in fact, who swarmed by thousands in the carcass of the elephant, and who were the living black spots which we have already mentioned, had been held in awe by the flame of the candle, so long as it had been lighted; but as soon as the cavern, which was the same as their city, had returned to darkness, scenting what the good story-teller Perrault calls "fresh meat," they had hurled themselves in throngs on Gavroche's tent, had climbed to the top of it, and had begun to bite the meshes as though seeking to pierce this new-fangled trap.
Still the little one could not sleep.
"Sir?" he began again.
"Hey?" said Gavroche.
"What are rats?"
"They are mice."
This explanation reassured the child a little. He had seen white mice in the course of his life, and he was not afraid of them. Nevertheless, he lifted up his voice once more.
"Sir?"
"Hey?" said Gavroche again.
"Why don't you have a cat?"
"I did have one," replied Gavroche, "I brought one here, but they ate her."
This second explanation undid the work of the first, and the little fellow began to tremble again.
The dialogue between him and Gavroche began again for the fourth time:--
"Monsieur?"
"Hey?"
"Who was it that was eaten?"
"The cat."
"And who ate the cat?"
"The rats."
"The mice?"
"Yes, the rats."
The child, in consternation, dismayed at the thought of mice which ate cats, pursued:--
"Sir, would those mice eat us?"
"Wouldn't they just!" ejaculated Gavroche.
The child's terror had reached its climax. But Gavroche added:--
"Don't be afraid. They can't get in. And besides, I'm here! Here, catch hold of my hand. Hold your tongue and shut your peepers!"
At the same time Gavroche grasped the little fellow's hand across his brother. The child pressed the hand close to him, and felt reassured. Courage and strength have these mysterious ways of communicating themselves. Silence reigned round them once more, the sound of their voices had frightened off the rats; at the expiration of a few minutes, they came raging back, but in vain, the three little fellows were fast asleep and heard nothing more.
The hours of the night fled away. Darkness covered the vast Place de la Bastille. A wintry gale, which mingled with the rain, blew in gusts, the patrol searched all the doorways, alleys, enclosures, and obscure nooks, and in their search for nocturnal vagabonds they passed in silence before the elephant; the monster, erect, motionless, staring open-eyed into the shadows, had the appearance of dreaming happily over his good deed; and sheltered from heaven and from men the three poor sleeping children.
In order to understand what is about to follow, the reader must remember, that, at that epoch, the Bastille guard-house was situated at the other end of the square, and that what took place in the vicinity of the elephant could neither be seen nor heard by the sentinel.
Towards the end of that hour which immediately precedes the dawn, a man turned from the Rue Saint-Antoine at a run, made the circuit of the enclosure of the column of July, and glided between the palings until he was underneath the belly of the elephant. If any light had illuminated that man, it might have been divined from the thorough manner in which he was soaked that he had passed the night in the rain. Arrived beneath the elephant, he uttered a peculiar cry, which did not belong to any human tongue, and which a paroquet alone could have imitated. Twice he repeated this cry, of whose orthography the following barely conveys an idea:--
"Kirikikiou!"
At the second cry, a clear, young, merry voice responded from the belly of the elephant:--
"Yes!"
Almost immediately, the plank which closed the hole was drawn aside, and gave passage to a child who descended the elephant's leg, and fell briskly near the man. It was Gavroche. The man was Montparnasse.
As for his cry of Kirikikiou,--that was, doubtless, what the child had meant, when he said:--
"You will ask for Monsieur Gavroche."
On hearing it, he had waked with a start, had crawled out of his "alcove," pushing apart the netting a little, and carefully drawing it together again, then he had opened the trap, and descended.
The man and the child recognized each other silently amid the gloom: Montparnasse confined himself to the remark:--
"We need you. Come, lend us a hand."
The lad asked for no further enlightenment.
"I'm with you," said he.
And both took their way towards the Rue Saint-Antoine, whence Montparnasse had emerged, winding rapidly through the long file of market-gardeners' carts which descend towards the markets at that hour.
The market-gardeners, crouching, half-asleep, in their wagons, amid the salads and vegetables, enveloped to their very eyes in their mufflers on account of the beating rain, did not even glance at these strange pedestrians.
巴黎的春天常会刮起阵阵峭劲的寒风，它给人们的感受不完全是冷，而是冻，这种风象从关得不严密的门窗缝里吹进暖室的冷空气那样，即使在晴天也能使人愁苦。仿佛冬季的那扇阴惨的门还半开着，风是从那门口吹来的。本世纪欧洲的第一次大流行病便是在一八三二年春天突发的，从没有象那次霜风那样冷冽刺骨。比起平时冬季的那扇半开的门，那一年的门来得还更冻人些。那简直是一扇墓门。人们感到在那种寒风里有鬼气。
从气象学的角度看，那种冷风的特点是它一点不排除强电压。那一时期经常有雷电交加的大风暴。
有一个晚上，那种冷风正吹得起劲，隆冬仿佛又回了头，资产阶级都重新披上了大氅，小伽弗洛什始终穿着他的那身烂布筋，立在圣热尔韦榆树附近的一家理发店的前面出神，冷得发抖但高高兴兴。他围着一条不知是从什么地方拾来的女用羊毛披肩，用来当作围巾。看神气，小伽弗洛什是在一心欣羡一个蜡制的新娘，那蜡人儿敞着胸脯，头上装饰着橙花，在橱窗后面两盏煤油灯间转个不停，对过路的人盈盈微笑；其实，伽弗洛什老望着那家铺子的目的，是想看看有没有办法从柜台上“摸”一块香皂，拿到郊区的一个“理发师”那里去卖一个苏。他是时常依靠这种香皂来吃一顿饭的。对这种工作，他颇有些才干，他说这是“刮那刮胡子人的胡子”。
他一面瞻仰新娘，并一眼又一眼瞟着那块香皂，同时他牙齿缝里还在唠唠叨叨地说：“星期二……不是星期二……是星期二吧？……也许是星期二……对了，是星期二。”
从来不曾有人知道过他这样自问自答究竟是在谈什么。
要是这段独白涉及到他上一次吃饭的日子，他便是三天没有吃饭了，因为那天是星期五。
理发师正在那生着一炉好火的店里为一个主顾刮胡子，他不时扭过头去瞧一下他的敌人，这个冷到哆嗦，两手插在口袋里，脑子里显然是在打坏主意的厚脸皮野孩子。
正当伽弗洛什研究那新娘、那橱窗和那块温莎香皂时，忽然走来另外两个孩子，一高一矮，穿得相当整洁，比他个子还小，看来一个七岁，一个五岁，羞怯怯地转动门把手，走进那铺子，不知道是在请求什么，也许是在请求布施，低声下气，可怜巴巴的，好象是在哀告而不是请求。他们两个同时说话，话是听不清楚的，因为小的那个的话被抽泣的声音打断了，大的那个又冻到牙床发抖。理发师怒容满面地转过身来，手里捏着剃刀，左手推着大的，一个膝头推着小的，把他们俩一齐推到街上，关上大门，一面说道：
“无缘无故走来害人家受冻！”
那两个孩子，一面往前走，一面哭。同时，天上飘来一片乌云，开始下雨了。
小伽弗洛什从他们后面赶上去，对他们说：
“你们怎么了，小鬼？”
“我们不知道到哪里去睡觉。”大的那个回答说。‘就为了这？”伽弗洛什说。“可了不得。这也值得哭吗？真是两个傻瓜蛋！”
接着，他又以略带讥笑意味的老大哥派头，怜惜的命令语气和温和的爱护声音说道：
“伢子们，跟我来。”
“是，先生。”大的那个说。
两个孩子便跟着他走，象跟了个大主教似的。他们已经不哭了。
伽弗洛什领着他们朝巴士底广场的方向走上了圣安东尼街。
伽弗洛什一面走，一面向后转过头去对着理发师的铺子狠狠地望了一眼。
“这家伙太没有心肠，老白鱼，”他嘟囔着，“这是个英国佬。”
一个姑娘看见他们三个一串儿地往前走，伽弗洛什领头，她放声大笑起来。这种笑声对那一伙失了敬意。
“您好，公共车①小姐。”伽弗洛什对她说。
过了一阵，他又想起那理发师，他说：
“我把那畜生叫错了，他不是白鱼②，是条蛇。理发师傅，我要去找一个铜匠师傅，装个响铃在你的尾巴上。”
①公共车，有属于众人的意思。
②古代欧洲的男人留长头发，有钱人还在头发里撒上白粉，认为美观。理发师都这样修饰自己的头发，因此人们戏称理发师为白鱼。
那理发师使他冒火。他在跨过水沟时遇见一个看门婆，她嘴上有胡须，手里拿着扫帚，那模样，够得上到勃罗肯山①去找浮士德。
①勃罗肯山（Brocken），在德国，相传是巫女和魔鬼幽会的地方。歌德的《浮士德》中对此有描写。
“大婶，”他对她说，“您骑着马儿上街来了？”
正说到这里，他又一脚把污水溅在一个过路人的漆皮靴子上。
“小坏蛋！”那过路人怒气冲冲地嚷了起来。
“先生要告状吗？”
“告你！”那过路人说。
“办公时间过了，”伽弗洛什说，“我不受理起诉状了。”
可是，在顺着那条街继续往上去的时候，他看见一个十三、四岁的女叫化子，待在一扇大门下冷得发抖，她身上的衣服已短到连膝头也露在外面。那女孩已经太大，不能这样了。年龄的增长常和我们开这种玩笑。恰恰是在赤脚露腿有碍观瞻的时候裙子变短了。
“可怜的姑娘！”伽弗洛什说，“连裤衩也没有一条。接住，把这拿去吧。”
他一面说，一面把那条暖暖的围在他颈子上的羊毛围巾解下来，披在那女叫化子的冻紫了的瘦肩头上，这样，围巾又成了披肩。
女孩呆瞪瞪地望着他，一声不响，接受了那条披肩。人穷到了某种程度时往往心志沉迷，受苦而不再呻吟，受惠也不再道谢。
这之后：
“噗……！”伽弗洛什说，他抖得比圣马丁①更凶，圣马丁至少还留下了他那大氅的一半。
①相传圣马丁曾以身上的半件衣服让给一个穷人。
他这一噗……那阵大雨，再接再厉，狂倾猛泄下来了。真是恶天不佑善行。
“岂有此理，”伽弗洛什喊着说，“这是什么意思？它又下起来了！慈悲的天主，要是你再下，我便只好退票了。”
他再往前走。
“没有关系，”他一面说，一面对那蜷缩在披肩下的女叫化子望了一眼，“她这一身羽毛还不坏。”
他望了望头上的乌云，喊道：
“着了！”
那两个孩子照着他的脚步紧跟在后面。
他们走过一处有那种厚铁丝网遮护着的橱窗，一望便知道是一家面包铺，因为面包和金子一样，是放在铁栅栏后面的，伽弗洛什转过身来问道：
“我说，伢子们，我们吃了晚饭没有呀？”
“先生，”大的那个回答说，“我们从今天早上起还没有吃过东西。”
“难道你们没有父亲，也没有母亲吗？”伽弗洛什一本正经地问。
“请不要乱说，先生，我们有爸爸妈妈，但是我们不知道他们在什么地方。”
“有时，知道还不如不知道的好。”伽弗洛什意味深长地说。
“我们已经走了两个钟头，”大的那个继续说，“我们在好些墙角旮旯里找过，想找点东西，可什么也没有。”
“我知道，”伽弗洛什说，“狗把所有的东西全吃了。”
沉默了一阵，他接着又说：
“啊！我们丢了我们的作者。我们不知道是怎么搞的。不应当这样，孩子们。把老一辈弄丢了，真是傻。可了不得！我们总得找点吃的。”
此外他并不向他们问底细。没有住处，还有什么比这更简单的呢？
两个孩子里大的那个，几乎一下子便完全回到童年时代那种无忧无虑的状态里，他大声说道：
“想想真是滑稽。妈妈还说过，到了树枝礼拜日那天，还要带我们去找些祝福过的黄杨枝呢。”
“唔。”伽弗洛什回答说。
“妈妈，”大的那个又说，“是个和密斯姑娘同住的夫人。”
“了不起。”伽弗洛什说。
他没有再说下去，他在他那身破烂衣服的各式各样的角落里摸摸找找已经有好一阵了。
最后他终于仰起了头，他那神气，原只想表示满意，而他实际表现的却是极大的兴奋。
“不用愁了，伢子们。瞧这已经够我们三个人吃一顿晚饭的了。”
同时他从身上的一个衣袋里摸出了一个苏来。
那两个孩子还没有来得及表示高兴，他便已推着他们，自己走在他们的背后，把他们一齐推进了面包铺，把手里的那个苏放在柜台上，喊道：
“伙计！五生丁的面包。”
那卖面包的便是店主人，他拿起了一个面包和一把刀。
“切作三块，伙计！”伽弗洛什又说。
他还煞有介事地补上一句：
“我们一共是三个人。”
他看见面包师傅在研究了这三位晚餐客人以后，拿起一个黑面包，他便立即把一个指头深深地塞在自己的鼻孔里，猛吸一口气，仿佛他那大拇指头上捏了一撮弗雷德里克大帝的鼻烟，正对着那面包师傅的脸，粗声大气地冲他说了这么一句：
“Keksekca？”
在我们的读者中，如果有人以为伽弗洛什对面包师傅说的这句话是俄语或波兰语，或是约维斯人和波托古多斯人对着寥寂的江面隔岸相呼的蛮语，我们便应当指出，这不过是他们（我们的读者）每天都在说的一句话，它是quAestBcequecAestquecela？①的一种说法而已。那面包师傅完全听懂了，他回答说：
“怎么！这是面包，极好的二级面包呀。”
“您是说黑炭团吧，”伽弗洛什冷静而傲慢地反驳说，“要白面包，伙计！肥皂洗过的面包！我要请客。”
①法语，“这是什么？”
面包师傅不禁莞尔微笑，他一面拿起一块白面包来切，一面带着怜悯的神情望着他们，这又触犯了伽弗洛什。他说：
“怎么了，面包师傅！您干吗要这样丈量我们啊？”
其实他们三个连接起来也还不够一脱阿斯。
当面包已经切好，面包师也收下了那个苏，伽弗洛什便对那两个孩子说：
“捅吧。”
那两个小男孩直望着他发楞。
伽弗洛什笑了出来：
“啊！对，不错，小毛头还听不懂，还太小！”
他便改口说：
“吃吧。”
同时他递给他们每人一块面包。
他又想到大的那个似乎更有资格作为他交谈的对象，也应当受到一点特殊的鼓励，使他解除一切顾虑来满足他的食欲，他便拣了最大的一块，递给他，并说道：
“把这拿去塞在你的炮筒里。”
他把三块中最小的一块留给了自己。
这几个可怜的孩子，包括伽弗洛什在内，确是饿惨了。他们大口咬着面包往下咽，现在钱已收过了，面包师傅见他们仍挤在他的铺子里，便显得有些不耐烦。
“我们回到街上去吧。”伽弗洛什说。
他们再朝着巴士底广场那个方向走去。
他们每次打有灯光的店铺门前走过，小的那个总要停下来，把他那用一根绳子拴在颈子上的铅表拿起来看看钟点。
“真是个憨宝。”伽弗洛什说。
说了过后，他又有所感叹似的，从牙缝里说：
“没有关系，要是我有孩子，我一定会拉扯得比这好一些。”
他们已经吃完面包，走到了阴暗的芭蕾舞街的转角处，一望便可以看见位于街底的拉弗尔斯监狱的那个矮而森严的问讯窗口。
“嗨，是你吗，伽弗洛什？”一个人说。
“哟，是你，巴纳斯山？”伽弗洛什说。
这是刚碰到那野孩的人，不是别人而是已化了装的巴纳斯山，他戴着一副夹鼻蓝眼镜。伽弗洛什却仍能认出他来。
“坏种！”伽弗洛什接着说，“你披一身麻子膏药颜色的皮，又象医生一样戴副蓝眼镜。你真神气，老实说！”
“嘘，”巴纳斯山说，“声音轻点。”
他急忙把伽弗洛什拖出店铺灯光所能照到的地方。
那两个小孩手牵着手，机械地跟了过去。
他们到了一道大车门的黑圆顶下面，一个人眼望不见，雨也打不着的地方。
“你知道我要去什么地方吗？”巴纳斯山问。
“去悔不该来修道院。”①伽弗洛什说。
“烂你的舌头！”
①“悔不该来修道院”指断头台。
巴纳斯山接着又说：
“我要去找巴伯。”
“啊！”伽弗洛什说，“她叫巴伯。”
巴纳斯山放低了声音。
“不是她，是他。”
“啊，巴伯！”
“对，巴伯。”
“他不是被扣起来了吗？”
“他把扣子解了。”巴纳斯山回答说。
他又急急忙忙告诉那野孩子说，当天早晨，巴伯被押解到刑部监狱去时，走到“候审过道”里，他原应往右转，可是他来了个往左转，便溜走了。
伽弗洛什对这种机灵劲儿大为欣赏。
“这老油子！”他说。
巴纳斯山把巴伯越狱的细情又补充说明了几句，最后，他说：
“呵！事情还没有完呢。”
伽弗洛什一面听他谈，一面把巴纳斯山手里的一根手杖取了来，他机械地把那手杖的上半段拔出来，一把尖刀的刀身便露出来了。他赶忙又推进去，说道：
“啊！你还带了一名便衣队。”
巴纳斯山眨了眨眼睛。
“冒失鬼！”伽弗洛什又说，“你还准备和活阎王拚命吗？”
“不知道，”巴纳斯山若无其事地回答说，“身上带根别针总是好的。”
伽弗洛什追问一句：
“你今晚到底要干什么？”
巴纳斯山又放低了声音，随意回答说：
“有事。”
他陡然又改变话题，说：
“我想到一件事！”
“什么事？”
“前几天发生的一桩事。你想想。我遇见一个阔佬。他给了我一顿教训和一个钱包。我把它拿来放在口袋里。一分钟过后，我摸摸口袋，却什么也没有了。”
“只剩下那教训。”伽弗洛什说。
“你呢？”巴纳斯山又说，“你现在去什么地方？”
伽弗洛什指着那两个受他保护的孩子说：
“我带这两个孩子去睡觉。”
“睡觉，去什么地方睡觉？”
“我家里。”
“什么地方，你家里？”
“我家里。”
“你有住处吗？”
“对，我有住处。”
“你的住处在哪儿？”
“象肚子里。”
巴纳斯山生来就不大惊小怪，这会却不免诧异起来：
“象肚子里？”
“一点没错，象肚子里！”伽弗洛什接着说。“Kekcaa？”
这又是一句谁也不写但人人都说的话。它的意思是：quAestBcquecelaa？（这有什么？）
野孩这一深邃的启发恢复了巴纳斯山的平静心情和健全的理智。他对伽弗洛什的住处似乎有了较好的感情。
“可不是！”他说，“是啊，象肚子……住得还好吗？”
“很好，”伽弗洛什说，“那儿，老实说，舒服透了。那里面，不象桥底下，没有穿堂风。”
“你怎样进去呢？”
“就这么进去。”
“有一个洞吗？”巴纳斯山问。
“当然！但是，千万不能说出去。是在前面两条腿的中间。
croqueurs①都没有看出来。”
①密探，警察。棗原注
“你得爬上去？当然，我懂得。”
“简单得很，嚓嚓两下便成了，影子也没有一个。”
停了一会，伽弗洛什接着又说：
“为了这两个娃子，我得找条梯子才行。”
巴纳斯山笑了起来。
“这两个小鬼，你是从什么鬼地方找来的？”
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