laigle de meaux, as the reader knows, lived more with joly than elsewhere. he had a lodging, as a bird has one on a branch. the two friends lived together, ate together, slept together. they had everything in common, even musichetta, to some extent. they were, what the subordinate monks who accompany monks are called, bini. on the morning of the 5th of june, they went to corinthe to breakfast. joly, who was all stuffed up, had a catarrh which laigle was beginning to share. laigle's coat was threadbare, but joly was well dressed.
it was about nine o'clock in the morning, when they opened the door of corinthe.
they ascended to the first floor.
matelote and gibelotte received them.
"oysters, cheese, and ham," said laigle.
and they seated themselves at a table.
the wine-shop was empty; there was no one there but themselves.
gibelotte, knowing joly and laigle, set a bottle of wine on the table.
while they were busy with their first oysters, a head appeared at the hatchway of the staircase, and a voice said:--
"i am passing by. i smell from the street a delicious odor of brie cheese. i enter." it was grantaire.
grantaire took a stool and drew up to the table.
at the sight of grantaire, gibelotte placed two bottles of wine on the table.
that made three.
"are you going to drink those two bottles?" laigle inquired of grantaire.
grantaire replied:--
"all are ingenious, thou alone art ingenuous. two bottles never yet astonished a man."
the others had begun by eating, grantaire began by drinking. half a bottle was rapidly gulped down.
"so you have a hole in your stomach?" began laigle again.
"you have one in your elbow," said grantaire.
and after having emptied his glass, he added:--
"ah, by the way, laigle of the funeral oration, your coat is old."
"i should hope so," retorted laigle. "that's why we get on well together, my coat and i. it has acquired all my folds, it does not bind me anywhere, it is moulded on my deformities, it falls in with all my movements, i am only conscious of it because it keeps me warm. old coats are just like old friends."
"that's true," ejaculated joly, striking into the dialogue, "an old goat is an old abi" (ami, friend).
"especially in the mouth of a man whose head is stuffed up," said grantaire.
"grantaire," demanded laigle, "have you just come from the boulevard?"
"no."
"we have just seen the head of the procession pass, joly and i."
"it's a marvellous sight," said joly.
"how quiet this street is!" exclaimed laigle. "who would suspect that paris was turned upside down? how plainly it is to be seen that in former days there were nothing but convents here! in this neighborhood! du breul and sauval give a list of them, and so does the abbe lebeuf. they were all round here, they fairly swarmed, booted and barefooted, shaven, bearded, gray, black, white, franciscans, minims, capuchins, carmelites, little augustines, great augustines, old augustines--there was no end of them."
"don't let's talk of monks," interrupted grantaire, "it makes one want to scratch one's self."
then he exclaimed:--
"bouh! i've just swallowed a bad oyster. now hypochondria is taking possession of me again. the oysters are spoiled, the servants are ugly. i hate the human race. i just passed through the rue richelieu, in front of the big public library. that pile of oyster-shells which is called a library is disgusting even to think of. what paper! what ink! what scrawling! and all that has been written! what rascal was it who said that man was a featherless biped? [51] and then, i met a pretty girl of my acquaintance, who is as beautiful as the spring, worthy to be called floreal, and who is delighted, enraptured, as happy as the angels, because a wretch yesterday, a frightful banker all spotted with small-pox, deigned to take a fancy to her! alas! woman keeps on the watch for a protector as much as for a lover; cats chase mice as well as birds. two months ago that young woman was virtuous in an attic, she adjusted little brass rings in the eyelet-holes of corsets, what do you call it? she sewed, she had a camp bed, she dwelt beside a pot of flowers, she was contented. now here she is a bankeress. this transformation took place last night. i met the victim this morning in high spirits. the hideous point about it is, that the jade is as pretty to-day as she was yesterday. her financier did not show in her face. roses have this advantage or disadvantage over women, that the traces left upon them by caterpillars are visible. ah! there is no morality on earth. i call to witness the myrtle, the symbol of love, the laurel, the symbol of air, the olive, that ninny, the symbol of peace, the apple-tree which came nearest rangling adam with its pips, and the fig-tree, the grandfather of petticoats. as for right, do you know what right is? the gauls covet clusium, rome protects clusium, and demands what wrong clusium has done to them. brennus answers: the wrong that alba did to you, the wrong that fidenae did to you, the wrong that the eques, the volsci, and the sabines have done to you. they were your neighbors.the clusians are ours. we understand neighborliness just as you do. you have stolen alba, we shall take clusium.' rome said: you shall not take clusium.' brennus took rome. then he cried:vae victis!' that is what right is. ah! what beasts of prey there are in this world! what eagles! it makes my flesh creep."
[51] bipede sans plume: biped without feathers--pen.
he held out his glass to joly, who filled it, then he drank and went on, having hardly been interrupted by this glass of wine, of which no one, not even himself, had taken any notice:--
"brennus, who takes rome, is an eagle; the banker who takes the grisette is an eagle. there is no more modesty in the one case than in the other. so we believe in nothing. there is but one reality: drink. whatever your opinion may be in favor of the lean cock, like the canton of uri, or in favor of the fat cock, like the canton of glaris, it matters little, drink. you talk to me of the boulevard, of that procession, et caetera, et caetera. come now, is there going to be another revolution? this poverty of means on the part of the good god astounds me. he has to keep greasing the groove of events every moment. there is a hitch, it won't work. quick, a revolution! the good god has his hands perpetually black with that cart-grease. if i were in his place, i'd be perfectly simple about it, i would not wind up my mechanism every minute, i'd lead the human race in a straightforward way, i'd weave matters mesh by mesh, without breaking the thread, i would have no provisional arrangements, i would have no extraordinary repertory. what the rest of you call progress advances by means of two motors, men and events. but, sad to say, from time to time, the exceptional becomes necessary. the ordinary troupe suffices neither for event nor for men: among men geniuses are required, among events revolutions. great accidents are the law; the orderof things cannot do without them; and, judging from the apparition of comets, one would be tempted to think that heaven itself finds actors needed for its performance. at the moment when one expects it the least, god placards a meteor on the wall of the firmament. some queer star turns up, underlined by an enormous tail. and that causes the death of caesar. brutus deals him a blow with a knife, and god a blow with a comet. crac, and behold an aurora borealis, behold a revolution, behold a great man; '93 in big letters, napoleon on guard, the comet of 1811 at the head of the poster. ah! what a beautiful blue theatre all studded with unexpected flashes! boum! boum! extraordinary show! raise your eyes, boobies. everything is in disorder, the star as well as the drama. good god, it is too much and not enough. these resources, gathered from exception,seem magnificence and poverty.my friends, providence has come down to expedients. what does a revolution prove? that god is in a quandry. he effects a coup d'etat because he, god, has not been able to make both ends meet. in fact, this confirms me in my conjectures as to jehovah's fortune; and when i see so much distress in heaven and on earth, from the bird who has not a grain of millet to myself without a hundred thousand livres of income, when i see human destiny, which is very badly worn, and even royal destiny, which is threadbare, witness the prince de conde hung, when i see winter, which is nothing but a rent in the zenith through which the wind blows, when i see so many rags even in the perfectly new purple of the morning on the crests of hills, when i see the drops of dew, those mock pearls, when i see the frost, that paste, when i see humanity ripped apart and events patched up, and so many spots on the sun and so many holes in the moon, when i see so much misery everywhere, i suspect that god is not rich. the appearance exists, it is true, but i feel that he is hard up. he gives a revolution as a tradesman whose money-box is emptygives a ball. god must not be judged from appearances. beneath the gilding of heaven i perceive a poverty-stricken universe. creation is bankrupt. that is why i am discontented. here it is the 4th of june, it is almost night; ever since this morning i have been waiting for daylight to come; it has not come, and i bet that it won't come all day. this is the inexactness of an ill-paid clerk. yes, everything is badly arranged, nothing fits anything else, this old world is all warped, i take my stand on the opposition, everything goes awry; the universe is a tease. it's like children, those who want them have none, and those who don't want them have them. total: i'm vexed. besides, laigle de meaux, that bald-head, offends my sight. it humiliates me to think that i am of the same age as that baldy. however, i criticise, but i do not insult. the universe is what it is. i speak here without evil intent and to ease my conscience. receive, eternal father, the assurance of my distinguished consideration. ah! by all the saints of olympus and by all the gods of paradise, i was not intended to be a parisian, that is to say, to rebound forever, like a shuttlecock between two battledores, from the group of the loungers to the group of the roysterers. i was made to be a turk, watching oriental houris all day long, executing those exquisite egyptian dances, as sensuous as the dream of a chaste man, or a beauceron peasant, or a venetian gentleman surrounded by gentlewoman, or a petty german prince, furnishing the half of a foot-soldier to the germanic confederation, and occupying his leisure with drying his breeches on his hedge, that is to say, his frontier. those are the positions for which i was born! yes, i have said a turk, and i will not retract. i do not understand how people can habitually take turks in bad part; mohammed had his good points; respect for the inventor of seraglios with houris and paradises with odalisques! let us not insult mohammedanism, the only religion which is ornamented with a hen-roost! now, i insist on a drink. the earth is a great piece of stupidity. and it appears that they are going to fight, all those imbeciles, and to break each other's profiles and to massacre each other in the heart of summer, in the month of june, when they might go off with a creature on their arm, to breathe the immense heaps of new-mown hay in the meadows! really, people do commit altogether too many follies. an old broken lantern which i have just seen at a bric-a-brac merchant's suggests a reflection to my mind; it is time to enlighten the human race. yes, behold me sad again. that's what comes of swallowing an oyster and a revolution the wrong way! i am growing melancholy once more. oh! frightful old world. people strive, turn each other out, prostitute themselves, kill each other, and get used to it!"
and grantaire, after this fit of eloquence, had a fit of coughing, which was well earned.
"a propos of revolution," said joly, "it is decidedly abberent that barius is in lub."
"does any one know with whom?" demanded laigle.
"do."
"no?"
"do! i tell you."
"marius' love affairs!" exclaimed grantaire. "i can imagine it. marius is a fog, and he must have found a vapor. marius is of the race of poets. he who says poet, says fool, madman, tymbraeus apollo. marius and his marie, or his marion, or his maria, or his mariette. they must make a queer pair of lovers. i know just what it is like. ecstasies in which they forget to kiss. pure on earth, but joined in heaven. they are souls possessed of senses. they lie among the stars."
grantaire was attacking his second bottle and, possibly, his second harangue, when a new personage emerged from the square aperture of the stairs. it was a boy less than ten years of age, ragged, very small, yellow, with an odd phiz, a vivacious eye, an enormous amount of hair drenched with rain, and wearing a contented air.
the child unhesitatingly making his choice among the three, addressed himself to laigle de meaux.
"are you monsieur bossuet?"
"that is my nickname," replied laigle. "what do you want with me?"
"this. a tall blonde fellow on the boulevard said to me: do you know mother hucheloup?' i said:`yes, rue chanvrerie, the old man's widow;' he said to me:`go there. there you will find m. bossuet. tell him from me: "a b c".' it's a joke that they're playing on you, isn't it. he gave me ten sous."
"joly, lend me ten sous," said laigle; and, turning to grantaire: "grantaire, lend me ten sous."
this made twenty sous, which laigle handed to the lad.
"thank you, sir," said the urchin.
"what is your name?" inquired laigle.
"navet, gavroche's friend."
"stay with us," said laigle.
"breakfast with us," said grantaire,
the child replied:--
"i can't, i belong in the procession, i'm the one to shout `down with polignac!'"
and executing a prolonged scrape of his foot behind him, which is the most respectful of all possible salutes, he took his departure.
the child gone, grantaire took the word:--
"that is the pure-bred gamin. there are a great many varieties of the gamin species. the notary's gamin is called skip-the-gutter, the cook's gamin is called a scullion, the baker's gamin is called a mitron, the lackey's gamin is called a groom, the marine gamin is called the cabin-boy, the soldier's gamin is called the drummer-boy, the painter's gamin is called paint-grinder, the tradesman's gamin is called an errand-boy, the courtesan gamin is called the minion, the kingly gamin is called the dauphin, the god gamin is called the bambino."
in the meantime, laigle was engaged in reflection; he said half aloud:--
"a b c,that is to say: the burial of lamarque."
"the tall blonde," remarked grantaire, "is enjolras, who is sending you a warning."
"shall we go?" ejaculated bossuet.
"it's raiding," said joly. "i have sworn to go through fire, but not through water. i don't wand to ged a gold." "i shall stay here," said grantaire. "i prefer a breakfast to a hearse."
"conclusion: we remain," said laigle. "well, then, let us drink. besides, we might miss the funeral without missing the riot."
"ah! the riot, i am with you!" cried joly.
laigle rubbed his hands.
"now we're going to touch up the revolution of 1830. as a matter of fact, it does hurt the people along the seams."
"i don't think much of your revolution," said grantaire. "i don't execrate this government. it is the crown tempered by the cotton night-cap. it is a sceptre ending in an umbrella. in fact, i think that to-day, with the present weather, louis philippe might utilize his royalty in two directions, he might extend the tip of the sceptre end against the people, and open the umbrella end against heaven."
the room was dark, large clouds had just finished the extinction of daylight. there was no one in the wine-shop, or in the street, every one having gone off "to watch events."
"is it mid-day or midnight?" cried bossuet. "you can't see your hand before your face. gibelotte, fetch a light."
grantaire was drinking in a melancholy way.
"enjolras disdains me," he muttered. "enjolras said:`joly is ill, grantaire is drunk.' it was to bossuet that he sent navet. if he had come for me, i would have followed him. so much the worse for enjolras! i won't go to his funeral."
this resolution once arrived at, bossuet, joly, and grantaire did not stir from the wine-shop. by two o'clock in the afternoon, the table at which they sat was covered with empty bottles. two candles were burning on it, one in a flat copper candlestick which was perfectly green, the other in the neck of a cracked carafe. grantaire had seduced joly and bossuet to wine; bossuet and joly had conducted grantaire back towards cheerfulness.
as for grantaire, he had got beyond wine, that merely moderate inspirer of dreams, ever since mid-day. wine enjoys only a conventional popularity with serious drinkers. there is, in fact, in the matter of inebriety, white magic and black magic; wine is only white magic. grantaire was a daring drinker of dreams. the blackness of a terrible fit of drunkenness yawning before him, far from arresting him, attracted him. he had abandoned the bottle and taken to the beerglass. the beer-glass is the abyss. having neither opium nor hashish on hand, and being desirous of filling his brain with twilight, he had had recourse to that fearful mixture of brandy, stout, absinthe, which produces the most terrible of lethargies. it is of these three vapors, beer, brandy, and absinthe, that the lead of the soul is composed. they are three grooms; the celestial butterfly is drowned in them; and there are formed there in a membranous smoke, vaguely condensed into the wing of the bat, three mute furies, nightmare, night, and death, which hover about the slumbering psyche.
grantaire had not yet reached that lamentable phase; far from it. he was tremendously gay, and bossuet and joly retorted. they clinked glasses. grantaire added to the eccentric accentuation of words and ideas, a peculiarity of gesture; he rested his left fist on his knee with dignity, his arm forming a right angle, and, with cravat untied, seated astride a stool, his full glass in his right hand, he hurled solemn words at the big maid-servant matelote:--
"let the doors of the palace be thrown open! let every one be a member of the french academy and have the right to embrace madame hucheloup. let us drink."
and turning to madame hucheloup, he added:--
"woman ancient and consecrated by use, draw near that i may contemplate thee!"
and joly exclaimed:--
"matelote and gibelotte, dod't gib grantaire anything more to drink. he has already devoured, since this bording, in wild prodigality, two francs and ninety-five centibes."
and grantaire began again:--
"who has been unhooking the stars without my permission, and putting them on the table in the guise of candles?"
bossuet, though very drunk, preserved his equanimity.
he was seated on the sill of the open window, wetting his back in the falling rain, and gazing at his two friends.
all at once, he heard a tumult behind him, hurried footsteps, cries of "to arms!" he turned round and saw in the rue saint-denis, at the end of the rue de la chanvrerie, enjolras passing, gun in hand, and gavroche with his pistol, feuilly with his sword, courfeyrac with his sword, and jean prouvaire with his blunderbuss, combeferre with his gun, bahorel with his gun, and the whole armed and stormy rabble which was following them.
the rue de la chanvrerie was not more than a gunshot long. bossuet improvised a speaking-trumpet from his two hands placed around his mouth, and shouted:--
"courfeyrac! courfeyrac! hohee!"
courfeyrac heard the shout, caught sight of bossuet, and advanced a few paces into the rue de la chanvrerie, shouting: "what do you want?" which crossed a "where are you going?"
"to make a barricade," replied courfeyrac.
"well, here! this is a good place! make it here!"
"that's true, aigle," said courfeyrac.
and at a signal from courfeyrac, the mob flung themselves into the rue de la chanvrerie.
我们知道，赖格尔·德·莫经常住在若李的宿舍里。他有一个住处，正如鸟儿有根树枝。两个朋友同吃，同住，同生活。对他们来说，一切都是共同的，无一例外。他们真是形影不离。六月五日的上午，他们到科林斯去吃午饭。若李正害着重伤风，鼻子不通，赖格尔也开始受到感染。赖格尔的衣服已很破旧，但是若李穿得好。
他们走到科林斯推门进去时，大致是早上九点钟。
他们上了楼。
马特洛特和吉布洛特接待他们。
“牡蛎、干酪和火腿。”赖格尔说。
他们选了一张桌子坐下。
那酒店还是空的，只有他们两个。
吉布洛特认识若李和赖格尔，往桌上放了一瓶葡萄酒。
他们正吃着开头几个牡蛎时，有个人头从那楼梯的升降口里伸出来，说道：
“我正走过这儿。我在街上闻到一阵布里干酪的香味，太美了。我便进来了。”
说这话的是格朗泰尔。
格朗泰尔选了一张圆凳，坐在桌子前面。
吉布洛特看见格朗泰尔来了，便往桌上放了两瓶葡萄酒。
这样就有了三个人。
“难道你打算喝掉这两瓶酒吗？”赖格尔问格朗泰尔。
格朗泰尔回答说：
“人人都是聪明的，唯有你是高明的。两瓶葡萄酒决吓不倒一个男子汉。”
那两个已经开始吃，格朗泰尔便也开始喝。一口气便喝了半瓶。
“你那胃上怕有个洞吧？”赖格尔说。
“你那衣袖上确也有一个。”格朗泰尔说。
接着，他又干了一杯，说道：
“说真的，祭文大师赖格尔，你那衣服也未免太旧了一点吧。”
“旧点好，”赖格尔回答说，“正因为旧，我的衣服和我才相安无事。它随着我伸屈，从不别扭，我是个什么怪样子，它就变个什么怪样子，我要做个什么动作，它也跟着我做个什么动作。我只是在热的时候，才感到有它。旧衣服真和老朋友一样能体贴人。”
“这话对，”开始加入谈话的若李大声说，“一件旧衣服就是一个老盆（朋）友。”
“特别是从一个鼻子堵塞的人的嘴里说出来。”格朗泰尔说。
“格朗泰尔，你刚才是从大路来的吗？”赖格尔问。
“不是。”
“刚才若李和我看见那送葬行列的头走过。”
“那是一种使人禁（惊）奇的场面。”若李说。
“这条街可真是清静！”赖格尔大声说，“谁会想到巴黎已是天翻地覆？足见这一带从前全是修道院！杜布厄尔和索瓦尔开列过清单，还有勒伯夫神甫1。这附近一带，从前满街都是教士，象一群群蚂蚁，有穿鞋的，有赤脚的，有剃光头的，有留胡子的，花白的，黑的，白的，方济各会的，小兄弟会2的，嘉布遣会的，加尔默罗会的，小奥古斯丁的，大奥古斯丁的，老奥古斯丁的……充满了街头。”
“不用和我们谈教士吧，”格朗泰尔插嘴说，“谈起教士就叫我一身搔痒。”
他接着又叫了起来：
“哇！我把一个坏了的牡蛎吞下去了。我的忧郁病又要发作了。这些牡蛎是臭了的，女招待又生得丑。我恨人类。我刚才在黎塞留街，在那大公共图书馆门前走过。那些图书，只不过是一大堆牡蛎壳，叫我想起就要吐。多少纸张！多少墨汁！多少乱七八糟的手稿！而那全是一笔一笔写出来的！是哪个坏蛋说过人是没有羽毛的两脚动物3呀？
1索瓦尔（sauval，1623?676）和勒伯夫（lebeuf，1687?760），都是法国历史学家，曾编写过巴黎的历史。
2小兄弟会（minimes），方济各会的一支，在方济各会各支中人数最少，故称“最小的”（minimes）。
3古代欧洲人写字的笔是用鹅毛管做的，因而笔和羽毛在法语中是同一个词（plume）。柏拉图说过人是没有羽毛的两脚动物。
另外，我还遇见一个我认识的漂亮姑娘，生得象春天一样美，够得上被称为花神，欢欣鼓舞，快乐得象个天使，这倒霉的姑娘，因为昨天有个满脸麻皮、丑得可怕的银行老板看中了她。天哪！女人欣赏老财，决不亚于欣赏铃兰，猫儿追耗子，也追小鸟，这个轻佻的姑娘，不到两个月前她还乖乖地住在她那小阁楼里，把穿带子的小铜圈一个个缝上紧身衣，你们管那叫什么？做针线活。她有一张帆布榻，她待在一盆花前，她算是快乐的。一下子她变成银行老板娘了。这一转变是在昨晚完成的。我今早又遇见了这个欢天喜地的受害人。可怕的是，这个小娼妇今天还和昨天一样漂亮。从她脸上一点也看不出她那财神爷的丑行。蔷薇花和女人比起来就多这么一点长处，也可以说是少这么一点长处，这就是说，毛虫在蔷薇花上留下的痕迹是看得见的。啊！这世上无所谓道德。我用这些东西来证实：香桃木作为爱情的象征，桂树作为战争的象征，这愚蠢的橄榄树作为和平的象征，苹果树用它的核几乎梗死亚当，无花果树，裙子的老祖宗。至于法权，你们要知道法权是什么吗？高卢人想占领克鲁斯1，罗马保护克鲁斯，并质问他们克鲁斯对他们来说有什么错误？布雷努斯2回答说：‘犯了阿尔巴3的错误，犯了菲代纳4对你们所犯的错误，犯了埃克人、伏尔斯克人、沙宾人5对你们所犯的错误。他们和你们比邻而居。克鲁斯人和我们比邻而居，和你们一样我们和邻居和睦共处。你们抢了阿尔巴，我们要拿下克鲁斯。’罗马说：‘你们拿不了克鲁斯。’布雷努斯便攻占了罗马。他随后还喊道：‘vavictis！’6这样便是法权。啊！在这世界上，有多少猛禽！多少雄鹰！我想到这些便起一身鸡皮疙瘩！”
1克鲁斯（cluse），在法国上萨瓦省境内，靠近日内瓦，古代为罗马与法国争夺之地。
2布雷努斯（brennus），古高卢首领，三九○年入侵意大利，攻占罗马。
3阿尔巴（albe），意大利古代城市之一。
4菲代纳（fidène），意大利古国沙宾一城市。
5埃克人、伏尔斯克人、沙宾人，古意大利各地区人民。
6拉丁文，把不幸给战败者。
他把玻璃杯递给若李，若李给他斟满，他随即喝一大口，接着又说，几乎没有让这杯酒隔断他的话，旁人没有察觉到，连他自己也没有察觉到：
“攻占罗马的布雷努斯是雄鹰，占有那花姑娘的银行老板也是雄鹰。这里无所谓羞耻，那里也无所谓羞耻。因此，什么也不要相信。只有一件事是可靠的：喝酒。不论你的见解如何，你们总应当象乌里地区那样对待瘦公鸡，或者象格拉里地区那样对待肥公鸡，关系不大，喝酒要紧。你们和我谈到林荫大道，谈到送殡行列等等。天知道，是不是又要来一次革命？慈悲上帝的这种穷办法确是叫我惊讶。他随时都要在事物的槽子里涂上滑润油。这里卡壳了，那里行不通了。快点，来一次革命。慈悲上帝的一双手老是让这种脏油膏弄黑了的。如果我处在他的地位，我就会简单些，我不会每时每刻都上紧发条，我会敏捷利索地引导人类，我会象编花边那样把人间事物一一安排妥帖，而不把纱线弄断，我不需要什么临时应急措施，我不会演什么特别节目。你们这些人所说的进步，它的运行依靠两个发动机：人和事变。但是，恼火的是，有时也得有些例外。对事变和人来说，平常的队伍不够，人中必得有天才，事变中必得有革命。重大的意外事件是规律，事物的顺序不可能省略，你们只须看看那些彗星的出现，就会相信天本身也需要有演员上台表演。正是在人最不注意时天主忽然在苍穹的壁上来颗巨星。好不奇怪的星，拖着一条其大无比的尾巴。恺撒正是因此而死的。布鲁图斯戳了他一刀子，上帝撂给他一颗彗星。突然出现了一片北极光，一场革命，一个大人物，用大字写出的九三年，不可一世的拿破仑，广告牌顶上的一八一一年的彗星。啊！多么美妙的天蓝色广告牌，布满了料想不到的火焰般的光芒！砰！砰！景象空前。抬起眼睛看吧，闲游浪荡的人们。天上的星，人间的戏剧，全是杂乱无章的。好上帝，这太过分了，但也还不够。这些采取的手段，看上去好象是富丽堂皇的，其实寒碜得很。我的朋友们，老天爷已经穷于应付了。一场革命，这究竟证明什么？证明上帝已经走投无路了。他便来他一次政变，因为在现在和将来之间需要连接，因为他，上帝，没有办法把两头连起来。事实证明我对耶和华的财富的估计是正确的，只要看看上界和下界有这么多的不自在，天上和地下有这么多的穷酸相，鄙吝的作风，贫陋的气派，窘困的境遇，只要从一只吃不到一粒粟米的小鸟看到我这个没有十万利弗年金的人，只要看看这疲敝不堪的人类的命运，甚至也看看拿着绳索的王亲贵族的命运棗孔代亲王便是吊死的，只要看看冬天，它不是什么旁的东西，它只是天顶上让冷风吹进来的一条裂缝，只要看看早上照着山冈的鲜艳无比的金光紫气中也有那么多的破衣烂衫，看看那些冒充珍珠的露水，仿效玉屑的霜雪，看看这四分五裂的人类和七拼八凑的情节，并且太阳有那么多的黑点，月球有那么多的窟窿，处处都是饥寒灾难，我怀疑，上帝不是富有的。他的外表不坏，这是真话，但是我觉得他不能应付自如。他便发起一次革命，正如一个钱柜空了的生意人举行一个跳舞会。不要从外表上去鉴别天神。在这金光灿烂的天空下我看见的只是一个贫穷的宇宙。在世界的创造中也有失败的地方。这就是为什么我心里感到不高兴。你们瞧，今天是六月五号，天也几乎黑了，从今早起，我便一直在等天亮。可直到现在天还不亮，我敢打赌，今天一整天也不会亮的了。一个低薪办事员把钟点弄错了。是呀，一切都是颠三倒四的，相互间什么也对不上，这个老世界已经完全残废了，我站在反对派这边。一切都是乱七八糟的。宇宙爱戏弄人，就象孩子们一样，他们要，但什么都得不到，他们不要，却样样都有。总之，我冒火了。另外，赖格尔·德·莫，这个光秃子，叫我见了就伤心。想到我和这孱头同年纪，我便感到难为情。但是，我只批评，我不侮辱。宇宙仍然是宇宙。我在这儿讲话，没有恶意，问心无愧。永生之父，请接受我崇高的敬意，此致敬礼。啊！我向奥林匹斯的每个圣者和天堂里的每位天神宣告，我原就不该做巴黎人的，就是说，永远象个羽毛球似的，在两个网拍间来去，一下落在吊儿郎当的人堆里，一下又落在调皮捣蛋的人堆里！我原应当做个土耳其人，象在道学先生的梦里那样，整天欣赏东方的娇娘玉女们表演埃及的那些绝妙的色情舞，或是做个博斯的农民，或是在贵妇人的簇拥中做个威尼斯的贵族，或是做个日耳曼的小亲王，把一半步兵供给日耳曼联邦，自己却优游自在地把袜子晾在篱笆上，就是说，晾在国境线上！这样才是我原来应有的命运！是呀！我说过，要做土耳其人，并且一点也不改口。我不懂为什么人们一提到土耳其人心里总不怀好意，穆罕默德有他好的一面，我们应当尊敬神仙洞府和美女乐园的创始人！不要侮辱伊斯兰教，这是唯一配备了天堂的宗教！说到这里，我坚决主张干杯。这个世界是件大蠢事。据说，所有这些蠢材又要打起来了，在这百花盛开的夏季，他们原可以挽着个美人儿到田野中刚割下的麦秸堆里去呼吸广阔天地中的茶香味，却偏要去互相厮杀，打到鼻青脸肿！真的，傻事儿干得太多了。我刚才在一个旧货店里看见一个破灯笼，它使我想起：该是照亮人类的时候了。是呀，我又悲伤起来了！囫囵吞下一个牡蛎和一场革命真不是味儿！我又要垂头丧气了，呵！这可怕的古老世界！人们在这世界上老是互相勾搭，互相倾轧，互相糟蹋，互相屠杀，真没办法！”
格朗泰尔咿里哇啦说了这一大阵子，接着就是一阵咳嗽，活该。
“说到革命，”若李说，“好象毫无疑问，巴（马）吕斯正在闹恋爱。”
“爱谁，你们知道吗？”赖格尔问。
“不知道。”
“不知道？”
“确实不知道。”
“马吕斯的爱情！”格朗泰尔大声说，“不难想象。马吕斯是一种雾气，他也许找到了一种水蒸气。马吕斯是个诗人类型的人。所谓诗人，就是疯子。天神阿波罗。马吕斯和他的玛丽，或是他的玛丽亚，或是他的玛丽叶特，或是他的玛丽容，那应当是一对怪有趣的情人。我能想象那是怎么回事。一往情深竟然忘了亲吻。在地球上玉洁冰清，在无极中成双成对。他们是两个能感觉的灵魂。他们双双在星星里就寝。”
格朗泰尔正准备喝他那第二瓶酒，也许还准备再唠叨几句，这时，从那楼梯口的方洞里，冒出一个陌生人。这是个不到十岁的男孩，一身破烂，个子很小，黄脸皮，突嘴巴，眼睛灵活，头发异常浓厚，浑身雨水淋漓，神情愉快。
这孩子显然是不认识那三个人的，但是他毫不迟疑，一上来便对着赖格尔·德·莫问道：
“您就是博须埃先生吧？”
“那是我的别名，”赖格尔回答说，“你找我干什么？”
“是这样，林荫大道上的一个黄毛高个子对我说：‘你认得于什鲁大妈吗？’我说：‘认得，麻厂街那个老头儿的寡妇。’他又对我说：‘你到那里去一趟，你到那里去找博须埃先生，对他说，我要你告诉他：abc。’他这是存心和你开玩笑，不是吗？
他给了我十个苏。”
“若李，借给我十个苏，”赖格尔说，转过头来他又对格朗泰尔说：“格朗泰尔，借给我十个苏。”
赖格尔把借来的二十个苏给了那男孩。
“谢谢，先生。”那小孩说。
“你叫什么名字？”赖格尔说问。
“我叫小萝卜，我是伽弗洛什的朋友。”
“你就待在我们这儿吧。”赖格尔说。
“和我们一道吃午饭。”格朗泰尔说。
那孩子回答说：
“不成，我是游行队伍里的，归我喊打倒波林尼雅克。”
他把一只脚向后退一大步，这是行最高敬礼的姿势，转身走了。
孩子走了以后，格朗泰尔又开动话匣子：
“这是一个纯粹的野伢子。野伢子种类繁多。公证人的野伢子叫跳沟娃，厨师的野伢子叫沙锅，面包房的野伢子叫炉罩，侍从的野伢子叫小厮，海员的野伢子叫水鬼，士兵的野伢子叫小蹄子，油画家的野伢子叫小邋遢，商人的野伢子叫跑腿，侍臣的野伢子叫听差，国王的野伢子叫太子，神仙鬼怪的野伢子叫小精灵。”
这时，赖格尔若有所思，他低声说着：“abc，那就是说，拉马克的安葬。”
“那个所谓黄毛高个子，一定是安灼拉，他派人来通知你了。”格朗泰尔说。
“我们去不去呢？”博须埃问。
“正在下雨，”若李说，“我发了誓的，跳大坑，有我，淋雨却不干。我不愿意伤风感报（冒）。”
“我就待在这儿，”格朗泰尔说，“我觉得吃午饭比送棺材来得有味些。”
“这么说，我们都留下，”赖格尔接着说，“好吧，我们继续喝酒。再说我们可以错过送葬，但不会错过暴动。”
“啊！暴动，有我一份。”若李喊着说。
赖格尔连连搓着两只手。
“我们一定要替一八三○年的革命补一堂课。那次革命确实叫人民不舒服。”
“你们的革命，在我看来，几乎是可有可无的，”格朗泰尔说，“我不厌恶现在这个政府。那是一顶用棉布小帽做衬里的王冠。这国王的权杖有一头是装了一把雨伞的。今天这样的天气使我想起，路易－菲力浦的权杖能起两种作用，他可以伸出代表王权的一头来反对老百姓，又可以把另一头的雨伞打开来反对天老爷。”
厅堂里黑咕隆咚，一阵乌云把光线全遮没了。酒店里，街上，都没有人，大家全“看热闹”去了。
“现在究竟是中午还是半夜？”博须埃喊着说，“啥也瞧不见。吉布洛特，拿灯来。”
格朗泰尔愁眉苦眼，只顾喝酒。
“安灼拉瞧不起我，”他嘴里念着说，“安灼拉捉摸过，若李病了，格朗泰尔醉了。他派小萝卜是来找博须埃的。要是他肯来找我，我是会跟他走的。安灼拉想错了，算他倒霉！我不会去送他的殡。”
这样决定以后，博须埃、若李和格朗泰尔便不再打算离开那酒店。将近下午两点时，他们伏着的那张桌子上放满了空酒瓶，还燃着两支蜡烛，一支插在一个完全绿了的铜烛台里，一支插在一个开裂的玻璃水瓶的瓶口里。格朗泰尔把若李和博须埃引向了杯中物，博须埃和若李把格朗泰尔引回到欢乐中。
中午以后格朗泰尔已经超出了葡萄酒的范围，葡萄酒固然能助人白日做梦，但是滋味平常。对那些严肃的酒客们来说，葡萄酒只会有益不会有害。使人酩酊酣睡的魔力有善恶之分，葡萄酒只有善的魔力。格朗泰尔是个不顾一切、贪恋醉乡的酒徒。当那凶猛迷魂的黑暗出现在他眼前时，他不但不能适可而止，反而一味屈从。他放下葡萄酒瓶，接着又拿起啤酒杯。啤酒杯是个无底洞。他手边没有鸦片烟，也没有大麻，而又要让自己的头脑进入那种昏沉入睡的状态，他便乞灵于那种由烧酒、烈性啤酒和苦艾酒混合起来的猛不可当的饮料，以致醉到神魂颠倒，人事不知。所谓灵魂的铅块便是由啤酒、烧酒、苦艾酒这三种酒的烈性构成的。这是三个不见天日的深潭，天庭的蝴蝶也曾淹死在那里，并在一层仿佛类似蝙蝠翅膀的薄膜状雾气中化为三个默不作声的疯妖：梦魇、夜魅、死神，盘旋在睡眠中的司魂天女的头上。
格朗泰尔还没有醉到如此程度，还差得远呢。他当时高兴得无以复加，博须埃和若李也从旁助兴。他们频频碰杯。格朗泰尔指手画脚，清晰有力地发挥他的奇想和怪论，他左手捏起拳头，神气十足地抵在膝头上，胳膊肘作曲尺形，解开了领结，两腿叉开骑在一个圆凳上，右手举着个酌满酒的玻璃杯，对着那粗壮的侍女马特洛特，发出这样庄严的指示：
“快把宫门通通打开！让每个人都进入法兰西学院，并享有拥抱于什鲁大妈的权利！干杯。”
转身对着于什鲁大妈，他又喊道：
“历代奉为神圣的古代妇人，请走过来，让我好好瞻仰你一番！”
若李也喊道：
“巴（马）特洛特，吉布洛特，不要再拿酒给格朗泰尔喝了。他吃下去的钱太多了。从今早起，他已经报报（冒冒）失失吞掉了两个法郎九十五生丁。”
格朗泰尔接着说：
“是谁，没有得到我的许可，便把天上的星星摘了下来，放在桌上冒充蜡烛？”
博须埃，醉得也不含糊，却还能保持镇静。
他坐在敞开的窗台上，让雨水淋湿他的背，睁眼望着他的两个朋友。
他忽然听到从他背后传来一阵鼓噪和奔跑的声音，有些人还大声喊着“武装起来！”他转过头去，看见在麻厂街口圣德尼街上，有一大群人正往前走，其中?j@!!!l?瘃? 7檅諤，古费拉克，拿把剑，让·勃鲁维尔，拿根短铳，公白飞，拿支步枪，巴阿雷，拿支卡宾枪，另外还有一大群带着武器气势汹汹的人跟在他们后面。
麻厂街的长度原不比卡宾枪的射程长多少。博须埃立即合起两只手，做个扩音筒，凑在嘴上，喊道：
“古费拉克！古费拉克！喂！”
古费拉克听到喊声，望见了博须埃，便向麻厂街走了几步，一面喊道：“你要什么？”这边回答：“你去哪儿？”
“去造街垒。”古费拉克回答说。
“来这儿！这地段好！就造在这儿吧！”
“这话不错，赖格尔。”古费拉克说。
古费拉克一挥手，那一伙全涌进了麻厂街。