第二百七十四章 第四章 孩子看见老人大吃一惊
第四章 孩子看见老人大吃一惊
这时，在圣约翰市场——那里的岗哨早就被解除了武装——伽弗洛什刚与安灼拉、古费拉克、公白飞、弗以伊等人率领的一支队伍“会师”。他们多少都有点武器。巴阿雷和让·勃鲁维尔找到了他们，加入了这支队伍。安灼拉有一杆双管猎枪，公白飞有一支国民自卫军的步枪，枪上刻着他那个团的番号，他敞开的衣襟下露出两把插在腰带上的手枪，让·勃鲁维尔有一支老式的骑兵马枪，巴阿雷有一支步枪，古费拉克挥舞着一把出鞘的剑杖。弗以伊手握一把明晃晃的剑，走在队伍前头，高呼：“波兰万岁！”
他们来到莫尔兰河岸。他们没戴领带，没戴帽子，气喘吁吁，被雨淋得湿透，眼睛里闪着怒火。伽弗洛什镇静地走近他们。
“我们上哪儿去？”
“跟着来，”古费拉克说。
在弗以伊后面走着的，或者不如说蹦跳着的，是巴阿雷，他在暴动中就像鱼在水中一样自如。他穿着猩红色的背心，说着那些能把一切打碎的话。他那件背心惊呆了一个行人，那人茫然地喊道：
“红党来了！”
“红党，红党！”巴阿雷回敬道。“怕得真怪，小市民。我嘛，我见了罂粟花并不发抖，小小的红帽子也不会使我恐惧。听我说，小市民，让有角牲口去害怕红色吧。”
他看见墙角落里贴着一张世界上最温和的纸片，一张准许吃蛋的许可证，这是巴黎大主教发给他那些“羔羊”的四旬斋训令。
巴阿雷喊道：
“‘羔羊’；这是称呼鹅的一种客气说法。”
他一把将那训令从钉子上扯了下来。这一举动赢得了伽弗洛什的赞赏。从那时起，伽弗洛什开始留心观察巴阿雷。
“巴阿雷，”安灼拉指出，“你错了。那张训令你本该留着，现在不是跟它算账的时候，你这是在白白耗费你的愤怒。留点力气吧。用灵魂射击和用枪射击一样，都不该离开队列。”
“各有各的办法，安灼拉，”巴阿雷反驳道，“这位主教的废话惹我生气，我想吃蛋，却还要得到许可。你的办法是冷一冷再热一热，我呢，我是在寻开心。再说，我并没有浪费力气，我是先活动活动；我扯下那张训令，赫拉克利！纯粹是为了开开胃口。”
这“赫拉克利”一词引起了伽弗洛什的注意。他寻找一切机会学习，这位揭招贴的人赢得了他的尊敬。他问他：
“赫拉克利是什么意思？”
巴阿雷回答：
“这是拉丁文，意思是‘该死的狗名’。”
这时，巴阿雷认出一个窗口有个蓄着黑胡子的苍白青年，他正看着他们走过，很可能是一位ABC的朋友。他向他喊道：
“快，子弹，para bellum①。”
①拉丁文：准备打仗。
“好一个美男子！确实如此，”伽弗洛什说，他现在懂得拉丁文了。
一群喧嚣的追随者伴随着他们——学生、艺术家、艾克斯古古尔德社的年轻成员、工匠、码头工人，带着棍棒和刺刀；有些人像公白飞那样，把手枪插在裤腰里。
一个看上去极其年迈的老人也在这支队伍中行走。
他没有武器，他走得很快，为的是不致掉队，尽管他面带沉思的神色。
伽弗洛什瞥见了他：
“这是什么人？”他问古费拉克。
“一个老家伙。”
那是马伯夫先生。
In the meantime, in the Marché Saint-Jean, where the post had already
been disarmed, Gavroche had just “effected a junction” with a band led
by Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly. They were armed after
a fashion. Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire had found them and swelled the
group. Enjolras had a double-barrelled hunting-gun, Combeferre the gun
of a National Guard bearing the number of his legion, and in his belt,
two pistols which his unbuttoned coat allowed to be seen, Jean
Prouvaire an old cavalry musket, Bahorel a rifle; Courfeyrac was
brandishing an unsheathed sword-cane. Feuilly, with a naked sword in
his hand, marched at their head shouting: “Long live Poland!”
They reached the Quai Morland. Cravatless, hatless, breathless, soaked
by the rain, with lightning in their eyes. Gavroche accosted them
calmly:—
“Where are we going?”
“Come along,” said Courfeyrac.
Behind Feuilly marched, or rather bounded, Bahorel, who was like a fish
in water in a riot. He wore a scarlet waistcoat, and indulged in the
sort of words which break everything. His waistcoat astounded a
passer-by, who cried in bewilderment:—
“Here are the reds!”
“The reds, the reds!” retorted Bahorel. “A queer kind of fear,
bourgeois. For my part I don’t tremble before a poppy, the little red
hat inspires me with no alarm. Take my advice, bourgeois, let’s leave
fear of the red to horned cattle.”
He caught sight of a corner of the wall on which was placarded the most
peaceable sheet of paper in the world, a permission to eat eggs, a
Lenten admonition addressed by the Archbishop of Paris to his “flock.”
Bahorel exclaimed:—
“‘Flock’; a polite way of saying geese.”
And he tore the charge from the nail. This conquered Gavroche. From
that instant Gavroche set himself to study Bahorel.
“Bahorel,” observed Enjolras, “you are wrong. You should have let that
charge alone, he is not the person with whom we have to deal, you are
wasting your wrath to no purpose. Take care of your supply. One does
not fire out of the ranks with the soul any more than with a gun.”
“Each one in his own fashion, Enjolras,” retorted Bahorel. “This
bishop’s prose shocks me; I want to eat eggs without being permitted.
Your style is the hot and cold; I am amusing myself. Besides, I’m not
wasting myself, I’m getting a start; and if I tore down that charge,
Hercle! ’twas only to whet my appetite.”
This word, _Hercle_, struck Gavroche. He sought all occasions for
learning, and that tearer-down of posters possessed his esteem. He
inquired of him:—
“What does _Hercle_ mean?”
Bahorel answered:—
“It means cursed name of a dog, in Latin.”
Here Bahorel recognized at a window a pale young man with a black beard
who was watching them as they passed, probably a Friend of the A B C.
He shouted to him:—
“Quick, cartridges, _para bellum_.”
“A fine man! that’s true,” said Gavroche, who now understood Latin.
A tumultuous retinue accompanied them,—students, artists, young men
affiliated to the Cougourde of Aix, artisans, longshoremen, armed with
clubs and bayonets; some, like Combeferre, with pistols thrust into
their trousers.
An old man, who appeared to be extremely aged, was walking in the band.
He had no arms, and he made great haste, so that he might not be left
behind, although he had a thoughtful air.
Gavroche caught sight of him:—
“Keksekça?” said he to Courfeyrac.
“He’s an old duffer.”
It was M. Mabeuf.
