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THE BARREL OF POWDER
Marius, still concealed in the turn of the Rue Mondetour,
had witnessed, shuddering and irresolute, the first phase of the
combat.
But he had not long been able to resist that mysterious and
sovereign vertigo which may be designated as the call of the abyss.
In the presence of the imminence of the peril, in the presence
of the death of M. Mabeuf, that melancholy enigma, in the presence
of Bahorel killed, and Courfeyrac shouting:
"Follow me!" of that child threatened, of his friends
to succor or to avenge, all hesitation had vanished, and he had
flung himself into the conflict, his two pistols in hand. With
his first shot he had saved Gavroche, and with the second delivered
Courfeyrac.
Amid the sound of the shots, amid the cries of the assaulted
guards, the assailants had climbed the entrenchment, on whose
summit Municipal Guards, soldiers of the line and National Guards
from the suburbs could now be seen, gun in hand, rearing themselves
to more than half the height of their bodies.
They already covered more than two-thirds of the barrier,
but they did not leap into the enclosure, as though wavering in
the fear of some trap.
They gazed into the dark barricade as one would gaze into
a lion's den.
The light of the torch illuminated only their bayonets, their
bear-skin caps, and the upper part of their uneasy and angry faces.
Marius had no longer any weapons; he had flung away his discharged
pistols after firing them; but he had caught sight of the barrel
of powder in the tap-room, near the door.
As he turned half round, gazing in that direction, a soldier
took aim at him.
At the moment when the soldier was sighting Marius, a hand
was laid on the muzzle of the gun and obstructed it. This was
done by some one who had darted forward,--the young workman in
velvet trousers.
The shot sped, traversed the hand and possibly, also, the
workman, since he fell, but the ball did not strike Marius. All
this, which was rather to be apprehended than seen through the
smoke, Marius, who was entering the tap-room, hardly noticed.
Still, he had, in a confused way, perceived that gun-barrel aimed
at him, and the hand which had blocked it, and he had heard the
discharge. But in moments like this, the things which one sees
vacillate and are precipitated, and one pauses for nothing.
One feels obscurely impelled towards more darkness still,
and all is cloud.
The insurgents, surprised but not terrified, had rallied.
Enjolras had shouted:
"Wait!
Don't fire at random!" In the first confusion, they might,
in fact, wound each other. The majority of them had ascended to
the window on the first story and to the attic windows, whence
they commanded the assailants.
The most determined, with Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire,
and Combeferre, had proudly placed themselves with their backs
against the houses at the rear, unsheltered and facing the ranks
of soldiers and guards who crowned the barricade.
All this was accomplished without haste, with that strange
and threatening gravity which precedes engagements.
They took aim, point blank, on both sides:
they were so close that they could talk together without raising
their voices.
When they had reached this point where the spark is on the
brink of darting forth, an officer in a gorget extended his sword
and said:--
"Lay down your arms!"
"Fire!" replied Enjolras.
The two discharges took place at the same moment, and all
disappeared in smoke.
An acrid and stifling smoke in which dying and wounded lay
with weak, dull groans.
When the smoke cleared away, the combatants on both sides
could be seen to be thinned out, but still in the same positions,
reloading in silence.
All at once, a thundering voice was heard, shouting:--
"Be off with you, or I'll blow up the barricade!"
All turned in the direction whence the voice proceeded.
Marius had entered the tap-room, and had seized the barrel
of powder, then he had taken advantage of the smoke, and the sort
of obscure mist which filled the entrenched enclosure, to glide
along the barricade as far as that cage of paving-stones where
the torch was fixed. To tear it from the torch, to replace it
by the barrel of powder, to thrust the pile of stones under the
barrel, which was instantly staved in, with a sort of horrible
obedience,--all this had cost Marius but the time necessary to
stoop and rise again; and now all, National Guards, Municipal
Guards, officers, soldiers, huddled at the other extremity of
the barricade, gazed stupidly at him, as he stood with his foot
on the stones, his torch in his hand, his haughty face illuminated
by a fatal resolution, drooping the flame of the torch towards
that redoubtable pile where they could make out the broken barrel
of powder, and giving vent to that startling cry:--
"Be off with you, or I'll blow up the barricade!"
Marius on that barricade after the octogenarian was the vision
of the young revolution after the apparition of the old.
"Blow up the barricade!" said a sergeant, "and
yourself with it!"
Marius retorted:
"And myself also."
And he dropped the torch towards the barrel of powder.
But there was no longer any one on the barrier.
The assailants, abandoning their dead and wounded, flowed
back pell-mell and in disorder towards the extremity of the street,
and there were again lost in the night.
It was a headlong flight.
The barricade was free.
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