At that epoch, which was, to all appearances indifferent, a certain revolutionary quiver was vaguely current. Breaths which had started forth from the depths of '89 and '93 were in the air. Youth was on the point, may the reader pardon us the word, of moulting. People were undergoing a transformation, almost without being conscious of it, through the movement of the age. The needle which moves round the compass also moves in souls. Each person was taking that step in advance which he was bound to take. The Royalists were becoming liberals, liberals were turning democrats. It was a flood tide complicated with a thousand ebb movements; the peculiarity of ebbs is to create intermixtures; hence the combination of very singular ideas; people adored both Napoleon and liberty. We are making history here. These were the mirages of that period. Opinions traverse phases. Voltairian royalism, a quaint variety, had a no less singular sequel, Bonapartist liberalism.
Other groups of minds were more serious. In that direction, they sounded principles, they attached themselves to the right. They grew enthusiastic for the absolute, they caught glimpses of infinite realizations; the absolute, by its very rigidity, urges spirits towards the sky and causes them to float in illimitable space. There is nothing like dogma for bringing forth dreams. And there is nothing like dreams for engendering the future. Utopia to-day, flesh and blood to-morrow.
These advanced opinions had a double foundation. A beginning of mystery menaced "the established order of things," which was suspicious and underhand. A sign which was revolutionary to the highest degree. The second thoughts of power meet the second thoughts of the populace in the mine. The incubation of insurrections gives the retort to the premeditation of coups d'etat.
There did not, as yet, exist in France any of those vast underlying organizations, like the German tugendbund and Italian Carbonarism; but here and there there were dark underminings, which were in process of throwing off shoots. The Cougourde was being outlined at Aix; there existed at Paris, among other affiliations of that nature, the society of the Friends of the A B C.
What were these Friends of the A B C? A society which had for its object apparently the education of children, in reality the elevation of man.
They declared themselves the Friends of the A B C,--the Abaisse,-- the debased,--that is to say, the people. They wished to elevate the people. It was a pun which we should do wrong to smile at. Puns are sometimes serious factors in politics; witness the Castratus ad castra, which made a general of the army of Narses; witness: Barbari et Barberini; witness: Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram, etc., etc.
The Friends of the A B C were not numerous, it was a secret society in the state of embryo, we might almost say a coterie, if coteries ended in heroes. They assembled in Paris in two localities, near the fish-market, in a wine-shop called Corinthe, of which more will be heard later on, and near the Pantheon in a little cafe in the Rue Saint-Michel called the Cafe Musain, now torn down; the first of these meeting-places was close to the workingman, the second to the students.
The assemblies of the Friends of the A B C were usually held in a back room of the Cafe Musain.
This hall, which was tolerably remote from the cafe, with which it was connected by an extremely long corridor, had two windows and an exit with a private stairway on the little Rue des Gres. There they smoked and drank, and gambled and laughed. There they conversed in very loud tones about everything, and in whispers of other things. An old map of France under the Republic was nailed to the wall,-- a sign quite sufficient to excite the suspicion of a police agent.
The greater part of the Friends of the A B C were students, who were on cordial terms with the working classes. Here are the names of the principal ones. They belong, in a certain measure, to history: Enjolras, Combeferre, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Lesgle or Laigle, Joly, Grantaire.
These young men formed a sort of family, through the bond of friendship. All, with the exception of Laigle, were from the South.
This was a remarkable group. It vanished in the invisible depths which lie behind us. At the point of this drama which we have now reached, it will not perhaps be superfluous to throw a ray of light upon these youthful heads, before the reader beholds them plunging into the shadow of a tragic adventure.
Enjolras, whose name we have mentioned first of all,--the reader shall see why later on,--was an only son and wealthy.
Enjolras was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible. He was angelically handsome. He was a savage Antinous. One would have said, to see the pensive thoughtfulness of his glance, that he had already, in some previous state of existence, traversed the revolutionary apocalypse. He possessed the tradition of it as though he had been a witness. He was acquainted with all the minute details of the great affair. A pontifical and warlike nature, a singular thing in a youth. He was an officiating priest and a man of war; from the immediate point of view, a soldier of the democracy; above the contemporary movement, the priest of the ideal. His eyes were deep, his lids a little red, his lower lip was thick and easily became disdainful, his brow was lofty. A great deal of brow in a face is like a great deal of horizon in a view. Like certain young men at the beginning of this century and the end of the last, who became illustrious at an early age, he was endowed with excessive youth, and was as rosy as a young girl, although subject to hours of pallor. Already a man, he still seemed a child. His two and twenty years appeared to be but seventeen; he was serious, it did not seem as though he were aware there was on earth a thing called woman. He had but one passion--the right; but one thought--to overthrow the obstacle. On Mount Aventine, he would have been Gracchus; in the Convention, he would have been Saint-Just. He hardly saw the roses, he ignored spring, he did not hear the carolling of the birds; the bare throat of Evadne would have moved him no more than it would have moved Aristogeiton; he, like Harmodius, thought flowers good for nothing except to conceal the sword. He was severe in his enjoyments. He chastely dropped his eyes before everything which was not the Republic. He was the marble lover of liberty. His speech was harshly inspired, and had the thrill of a hymn. He was subject to unexpected outbursts of soul. Woe to the love-affair which should have risked itself beside him! If any grisette of the Place Cambrai or the Rue Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais, seeing that face of a youth escaped from college, that page's mien, those long, golden lashes, those blue eyes, that hair billowing in the wind, those rosy cheeks, those fresh lips, those exquisite teeth, had conceived an appetite for that complete aurora, and had tried her beauty on Enjolras, an astounding and terrible glance would have promptly shown her the abyss, and would have taught her not to confound the mighty cherub of Ezekiel with the gallant Cherubino of Beaumarchais.
By the side of Enjolras, who represented the logic of the Revolution, Combeferre represented its philosophy. Between the logic of the Revolution and its philosophy there exists this difference--that its logic may end in war, whereas its philosophy can end only in peace. Combeferre complemented and rectified Enjolras. He was less lofty, but broader. He desired to pour into all minds the extensive principles of general ideas: he said: "Revolution, but civilization"; and around the mountain peak he opened out a vast view of the blue sky. The Revolution was more adapted for breathing with Combeferre than with Enjolras. Enjolras expressed its divine right, and Combeferre its natural right. The first attached himself to Robespierre; the second confined himself to Condorcet. Combeferre lived the life of all the rest of the world more than did Enjolras. If it had been granted to these two young men to attain to history, the one would have been the just, the other the wise man. Enjolras was the more virile, Combeferre the more humane. Homo and vir, that was the exact effect of their different shades. Combeferre was as gentle as Enjolras was severe, through natural whiteness. He loved the word citizen, but he preferred the word man. He would gladly have said: Hombre, like the Spanish. He read everything, went to the theatres, attended the courses of public lecturers, learned the polarization of light from Arago, grew enthusiastic over a lesson in which Geoffrey Sainte-Hilaire explained the double function of the external carotid artery, and the internal, the one which makes the face, and the one which makes the brain; he kept up with what was going on, followed science step by step, compared Saint-Simon with Fourier, deciphered hieroglyphics, broke the pebble which he found and reasoned on geology, drew from memory a silkworm moth, pointed out the faulty French in the Dictionary of the Academy, studied Puysegur and Deleuze, affirmed nothing, not even miracles; denied nothing, not even ghosts; turned over the files of the Moniteur, reflected. He declared that the future lies in the hand of the schoolmaster, and busied himself with educational questions. He desired that society should labor without relaxation at the elevation of the moral and intellectual level, at coining science, at putting ideas into circulation, at increasing the mind in youthful persons, and he feared lest the present poverty of method, the paltriness from a literary point of view confined to two or three centuries called classic, the tyrannical dogmatism of official pedants, scholastic prejudices and routines should end by converting our colleges into artificial oyster beds. He was learned, a purist, exact, a graduate of the Polytechnic, a close student, and at the same time, thoughtful "even to chimaeras," so his friends said. He believed in all dreams, railroads, the suppression of suffering in chirurgical operations, the fixing of images in the dark chamber, the electric telegraph, the steering of balloons. Moreover, he was not much alarmed by the citadels erected against the human mind in every direction, by superstition, despotism, and prejudice. He was one of those who think that science will eventually turn the position. Enjolras was a chief, Combeferre was a guide. One would have liked to fight under the one and to march behind the other. It is not that Combeferre was not capable of fighting, he did not refuse a hand-to-hand combat with the obstacle, and to attack it by main force and explosively; but it suited him better to bring the human race into accord with its destiny gradually, by means of education, the inculcation of axioms, the promulgation of positive laws; and, between two lights, his preference was rather for illumination than for conflagration. A conflagration can create an aurora, no doubt, but why not await the dawn? A volcano illuminates, but daybreak furnishes a still better illumination. Possibly, Combeferre preferred the whiteness of the beautiful to the blaze of the sublime. A light troubled by smoke, progress purchased at the expense of violence, only half satisfied this tender and serious spirit. The headlong precipitation of a people into the truth, a '93, terrified him; nevertheless, stagnation was still more repulsive to him, in it he detected putrefaction and death; on the whole, he preferred scum to miasma, and he preferred the torrent to the cesspool, and the falls of Niagara to the lake of Montfaucon. In short, he desired neither halt nor haste. While his tumultuous friends, captivated by the absolute, adored and invoked splendid revolutionary adventures, Combeferre was inclined to let progress, good progress, take its own course; he may have been cold, but he was pure; methodical, but irreproachable; phlegmatic, but imperturbable. Combeferre would have knelt and clasped his hands to enable the future to arrive in all its candor, and that nothing might disturb the immense and virtuous evolution of the races. The good must be innocent, he repeated incessantly. And in fact, if the grandeur of the Revolution consists in keeping the dazzling ideal fixedly in view, and of soaring thither athwart the lightnings, with fire and blood in its talons, the beauty of progress lies in being spotless; and there exists between Washington, who represents the one, and Danton, who incarnates the other, that difference which separates the swan from the angel with the wings of an eagle.
Jean Prouvaire was a still softer shade than Combeferre. His name was Jehan, owing to that petty momentary freak which mingled with the powerful and profound movement whence sprang the very essential study of the Middle Ages. Jean Prouvaire was in love; he cultivated a pot of flowers, played on the flute, made verses, loved the people, pitied woman, wept over the child, confounded God and the future in the same confidence, and blamed the Revolution for having caused the fall of a royal head, that of Andre Chenier. His voice was ordinarily delicate, but suddenly grew manly. He was learned even to erudition, and almost an Orientalist. Above all, he was good; and, a very simple thing to those who know how nearly goodness borders on grandeur, in the matter of poetry, he preferred the immense. He knew Italian, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew; and these served him only for the perusal of four poets: Dante, Juvenal, AEschylus, and Isaiah. In French, he preferred Corneille to Racine, and Agrippa d'Aubigne to Corneille. He loved to saunter through fields of wild oats and corn-flowers, and busied himself with clouds nearly as much as with events. His mind had two attitudes, one on the side towards man, the other on that towards God; he studied or he contemplated. All day long, he buried himself in social questions, salary, capital, credit, marriage, religion, liberty of thought, education, penal servitude, poverty, association, property, production and sharing, the enigma of this lower world which covers the human ant-hill with darkness; and at night, he gazed upon the planets, those enormous beings. Like Enjolras, he was wealthy and an only son. He spoke softly, bowed his head, lowered his eyes, smiled with embarrassment, dressed badly, had an awkward air, blushed at a mere nothing, and was very timid. Yet he was intrepid.
Feuilly was a workingman, a fan-maker, orphaned both of father and mother, who earned with difficulty three francs a day, and had but one thought, to deliver the world. He had one other preoccupation, to educate himself; he called this also, delivering himself. He had taught himself to read and write; everything that he knew,he had learned by himself. Feuilly had a generous heart. The range of his embrace was immense. This orphan had adopted the peoples. As his mother had failed him, he meditated on his country. He brooded with the profound divination of the man of the people, over what we now call the idea of the nationality, had learned history with the express object of raging with full knowledge of the case. In this club of young Utopians, occupied chiefly with France, he represented the outside world. He had for his specialty Greece, Poland, Hungary, Roumania, Italy. He uttered these names incessantly, appropriately and inappropriately, with the tenacity of right. The violations of Turkey on Greece and Thessaly, of Russia on Warsaw, of Austria on Venice, enraged him. Above all things, the great violence of 1772 aroused him. There is no more sovereign eloquence than the true in indignation; he was eloquent with that eloquence. He was inexhaustible on that infamous date of 1772, on the subject of that noble and valiant race suppressed by treason, and that three-sided crime, on that monstrous ambush, the prototype and pattern of all those horrible suppressions of states, which, since that time, have struck many a noble nation, and have annulled their certificate of birth, so to speak. All contemporary social crimes have their origin in the partition of Poland. The partition of Poland is a theorem of which all present political outrages are the corollaries. There has not been a despot, nor a traitor for nearly a century back, who has not signed, approved, counter-signed, and copied, ne variatur, the partition of Poland. When the record of modern treasons was examined, that was the first thing which made its appearance. The congress of Vienna consulted that crime before consummating its own. 1772 sounded the onset; 1815 was the death of the game. Such was Feuilly's habitual text. This poor workingman had constituted himself the tutor of Justice, and she recompensed him by rendering him great. The fact is, that there is eternity in right. Warsaw can no more be Tartar than Venice can be Teuton. Kings lose their pains and their honor in the attempt to make them so. Sooner or later, the submerged part floats to the surface and reappears. Greece becomes Greece again, Italy is once more Italy. The protest of right against the deed persists forever. The theft of a nation cannot be allowed by prescription. These lofty deeds of rascality have no future. A nation cannot have its mark extracted like a pocket handkerchief.
Courfeyrac had a father who was called M. de Courfeyrac. One of the false ideas of the bourgeoisie under the Restoration as regards aristocracy and the nobility was to believe in the particle. The particle, as every one knows, possesses no significance. But the bourgeois of the epoch of la Minerve estimated so highly that poor de, that they thought themselves bound to abdicate it. M. de Chauvelin had himself called M. Chauvelin; M. de Caumartin, M. Caumartin; M. de Constant de Robecque, Benjamin Constant; M. de Lafayette, M. Lafayette. Courfeyrac had not wished to remain behind the rest, and called himself plain Courfeyrac.
We might almost, so far as Courfeyrac is concerned, stop here, and confine ourselves to saying with regard to what remains: "For Courfeyrac, see Tholomyes."
Courfeyrac had, in fact, that animation of youth which may be called the beaute du diable of the mind. Later on, this disappears like the playfulness of the kitten, and all this grace ends, with the bourgeois, on two legs, and with the tomcat, on four paws.
This sort of wit is transmitted from generation to generation of the successive levies of youth who traverse the schools, who pass it from hand to hand, quasi cursores, and is almost always exactly the same; so that, as we have just pointed out, any one who had listened to Courfeyrac in 1828 would have thought he heard Tholomyes in 1817. Only, Courfeyrac was an honorable fellow. Beneath the apparent similarities of the exterior mind, the difference between him and Tholomyes was very great. The latent man which existed in the two was totally different in the first from what it was in the second. There was in Tholomyes a district attorney, and in Courfeyrac a paladin.
Enjolras was the chief, Combeferre was the guide, Courfeyrac was the centre. The others gave more light, he shed more warmth; the truth is, that he possessed all the qualities of a centre, roundness and radiance.
Bahorel had figured in the bloody tumult of June, 1822, on the occasion of the burial of young Lallemand.
Bahorel was a good-natured mortal, who kept bad company, brave, a spendthrift, prodigal, and to the verge of generosity, talkative, and at times eloquent, bold to the verge of effrontery; the best fellow possible; he had daring waistcoats, and scarlet opinions; a wholesale blusterer, that is to say, loving nothing so much as a quarrel, unless it were an uprising; and nothing so much as an uprising, unless it were a revolution; always ready to smash a window-pane, then to tear up the pavement, then to demolish a government, just to see the effect of it; a student in his eleventh year. He had nosed about the law, but did not practise it. He had taken for his device: "Never a lawyer," and for his armorial bearings a nightstand in which was visible a square cap. Every time that he passed the law-school, which rarely happened, he buttoned up his frock-coat,--the paletot had not yet been invented,--and took hygienic precautions. Of the school porter he said: "What a fine old man!" and of the dean, M. Delvincourt: "What a monument!" In his lectures he espied subjects for ballads, and in his professors occasions for caricature. He wasted a tolerably large allowance, something like three thousand francs a year, in doing nothing.
He had peasant parents whom he had contrived to imbue with respect for their son.
He said of them: "They are peasants and not bourgeois; that is the reason they are intelligent."
Bahorel, a man of caprice, was scattered over numerous cafes; the others had habits, he had none. He sauntered. To stray is human. To saunter is Parisian. In reality, he had a penetrating mind and was more of a thinker than appeared to view.
He served as a connecting link between the Friends of the A B C and other still unorganized groups, which were destined to take form later on.
In this conclave of young heads, there was one bald member.
The Marquis d'Avaray, whom Louis XVIII. made a duke for having assisted him to enter a hackney-coach on the day when he emigrated, was wont to relate, that in 1814, on his return to France, as the King was disembarking at Calais, a man handed him a petition.
"What is your request?" said the King.
"Sire, a post-office."
"What is your name?"
"L'Aigle."
The King frowned, glanced at the signature of the petition and beheld the name written thus: LESGLE. This non-Bonoparte orthography touched the King and he began to smile. "Sire," resumed the man with the petition, "I had for ancestor a keeper of the hounds surnamed Lesgueules. This surname furnished my name. I am called Lesgueules, by contraction Lesgle, and by corruption l'Aigle." This caused the King to smile broadly. Later on he gave the man the posting office of Meaux, either intentionally or accidentally.
The bald member of the group was the son of this Lesgle, or Legle, and he signed himself, Legle [de Meaux]. As an abbreviation, his companions called him Bossuet.
Bossuet was a gay but unlucky fellow. His specialty was not to succeed in anything. As an offset, he laughed at everything. At five and twenty he was bald. His father had ended by owning a house and a field; but he, the son, had made haste to lose that house and field in a bad speculation. He had nothing left. He possessed knowledge and wit, but all he did miscarried. Everything failed him and everybody deceived him; what he was building tumbled down on top of him. If he were splitting wood, he cut off a finger. If he had a mistress, he speedily discovered that he had a friend also. Some misfortune happened to him every moment, hence his joviality. He said: "I live under falling tiles." He was not easily astonished, because, for him, an accident was what he had foreseen, he took his bad luck serenely, and smiled at the teasing of fate, like a person who is listening to pleasantries. He was poor, but his fund of good humor was inexhaustible. He soon reached his last sou, never his last burst of laughter. When adversity entered his doors, he saluted this old acquaintance cordially, he tapped all catastrophes on the stomach; he was familiar with fatality to the point of calling it by its nickname: "Good day, Guignon," he said to it.
These persecutions of fate had rendered him inventive. He was full of resources. He had no money, but he found means, when it seemed good to him, to indulge in "unbridled extravagance." One night, he went so far as to eat a "hundred francs" in a supper with a wench, which inspired him to make this memorable remark in the midst of the orgy: "Pull off my boots, you five-louis jade."
Bossuet was slowly directing his steps towards the profession of a lawyer; he was pursuing his law studies after the manner of Bahorel. Bossuet had not much domicile, sometimes none at all. He lodged now with one, now with another, most often with Joly. Joly was studying medicine. He was two years younger than Bossuet.
Joly was the "malade imaginaire" junior. What he had won in medicine was to be more of an invalid than a doctor. At three and twenty he thought himself a valetudinarian, and passed his life in inspecting his tongue in the mirror. He affirmed that man becomes magnetic like a needle, and in his chamber he placed his bed with its head to the south, and the foot to the north, so that, at night, the circulation of his blood might not be interfered with by the great electric current of the globe. During thunder storms, he felt his pulse. Otherwise, he was the gayest of them all. All these young, maniacal, puny, merry incoherences lived in harmony together, and the result was an eccentric and agreeable being whom his comrades, who were prodigal of winged consonants, called Jolllly . "You may fly away on the four L's," Jean Prouvaire said to him.[23]
[23] L'Aile, wing.
Joly had a trick of touching his nose with the tip of his cane, which is an indication of a sagacious mind.
All these young men who differed so greatly, and who, on the whole, can only be discussed seriously, held the same religion: Progress.
All were the direct sons of the French Revolution. The most giddy of them became solemn when they pronounced that date: '89. Their fathers in the flesh had been, either royalists, doctrinaires, it matters not what; this confusion anterior to themselves, who were young, did not concern them at all; the pure blood of principle ran in their veins. They attached themselves, without intermediate shades, to incorruptible right and absolute duty.
Affiliated and initiated, they sketched out the ideal underground.
Among all these glowing hearts and thoroughly convinced minds, there was one sceptic. How came he there? By juxtaposition. This sceptic's name was Grantaire, and he was in the habit of signing himself with this rebus: R. Grantaire was a man who took good care not to believe in anything. Moreover, he was one of the students who had learned the most during their course at Paris; he knew that the best coffee was to be had at the Cafe Lemblin, and the best billiards at the Cafe Voltaire, that good cakes and lasses were to be found at the Ermitage, on the Boulevard du Maine, spatchcocked chickens at Mother Sauget's, excellent matelotes at the Barriere de la Cunette, and a certain thin white wine at the Barriere du Com pat. He knew the best place for everything; in addition, boxing and foot-fencing and some dances; and he was a thorough single-stick player. He was a tremendous drinker to boot. He was inordinately homely: the prettiest boot-stitcher of that day, Irma Boissy, enraged with his homeliness, pronounced sentence on him as follows: "Grantaire is impossible"; but Grantaire's fatuity was not to be disconcerted. He stared tenderly and fixedly at all women, with the air of saying to them all: "If I only chose!" and of trying to make his comrades believe that he was in general demand.
All those words: rights of the people, rights of man, the social contract, the French Revolution, the Republic, democracy, humanity, civilization, religion, progress, came very near to signifying nothing whatever to Grantaire. He smiled at them. Scepticism, that caries of the intelligence, had not left him a single whole idea. He lived with irony. This was his axiom: "There is but one certainty, my full glass." He sneered at all devotion in all parties, the father as well as the brother, Robespierre junior as well as Loizerolles. "They are greatly in advance to be dead," he exclaimed. He said of the crucifix: "There is a gibbet which has been a success." A rover, a gambler, a libertine, often drunk, he displeased these young dreamers by humming incessantly: "J'aimons les filles, et j'aimons le bon vin." Air: Vive Henri IV.
However, this sceptic had one fanaticism. This fanaticism was neither a dogma, nor an idea, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras. To whom did this anarchical scoffer unite himself in this phalanx of absolute minds? To the most absolute. In what manner had Enjolras subjugated him? By his ideas? No. By his character. A phenomenon which is often observable. A sceptic who adheres to a believer is as simple as the law of complementary colors. That which we lack attracts us. No one loves the light like the blind man. The dwarf adores the drum-major. The toad always has his eyes fixed on heaven. Why? In order to watch the bird in its flight. Grantaire, in whom writhed doubt, loved to watch faith soar in Enjolras. He had need of Enjolras. That chaste, healthy, firm, upright, hard, candid nature charmed him, without his being clearly aware of it, and without the idea of explaining it to himself having occurred to him. He admired his opposite by instinct. His soft, yielding, dislocated, sickly, shapeless ideas attached themselves to Enjolras as to a spinal column. His moral backbone leaned on that firmness. Grantaire in the presence of Enjolras became some one once more. He was, himself, moreover, composed of two elements, which were, to all appearance, incompatible. He was ironical and cordial. His indifference loved. His mind could get along without belief, but his heart could not get along without friendship. A profound contradiction; for an affection is a conviction. His nature was thus constituted. There are men who seem to be born to be the reverse, the obverse, the wrong side. They are Pollux, Patrocles, Nisus, Eudamidas, Ephestion, Pechmeja. They only exist on condition that they are backed up with another man; their name is a sequel, and is only written preceded by the conjunction and; and their existence is not their own; it is the other side of an existence which is not theirs. Grantaire was one of these men. He was the obverse of Enjolras.
One might almost say that affinities begin with the letters of the alphabet. In the series O and P are inseparable. You can, at will, pronounce O and P or Orestes and Pylades.
Grantaire, Enjolras' true satellite, inhabited this circle of young men; he lived there, he took no pleasure anywhere but there; he followed them everywhere. His joy was to see these forms go and come through the fumes of wine. They tolerated him on account of his good humor.
Enjolras, the believer, disdained this sceptic; and, a sober man himself, scorned this drunkard. He accorded him a little lofty pity. Grantaire was an unaccepted Pylades. Always harshly treated by Enjolras, roughly repulsed, rejected yet ever returning to the charge, he said of Enjolras: "What fine marble!"
这时代，表面上平静无事，暗地里却奔流着某种革命的震颤。来自八九和九三深谷的气流回到了空中。青年一代，请允许我们这样说，进入了发身期。他们随着时间的行进，几乎是不自觉地在起着变化。在时钟面上走动的针也在人的心里走动。每个人都迈出了他必须迈出的脚步。保王派成了*派，*派也成了*派。
那好象是阵高涨中的海潮，东奔西突，百转千回，回转的特点便是交融，从而出现了一些非常奇特的思想的汇合，人们竟在崇拜拿破仑的同时也崇拜*。我们在这里谈点历史。这正是那个时代的幻觉，见解的形成总得经过不同的阶段。伏尔泰保王主义，这一异种曾有过一个和它门当户对的主义，其奇特绝不在它之下：波拿巴*主义。
另外一些组织比较严肃。有些探讨原理，有些热衷于*。人们热烈追求绝对真理，探索无边的远景；这绝对真理，凭着它本身的严正，把人们的思想推向晴空，并使遨翔于霄汉。没有什么比信念更能产生梦想，也没有什么比梦想更能孕育未来。今天的乌托邦，明天的肉和骨。
在当时，先进思想有它的两种土壤，隐蔽和可疑的暗中活动正开始威胁着“既定秩序”。这苗头是极富于革命意味的。当政诸公的心计和人民的心计在坑道里碰了头。组织武装起义的准备和组织政变的密谋同在酝酿中。
当时在法国还没有象德国的道德协会①或意大利烧炭党那样庞大的地下组织，可是，这儿那儿，暗地里的渗透工作却在伸展蔓延。苦古尔德社正在艾克斯开始形成，巴黎方面，除了与这类似的一些团体以外，还有“ABC的朋友们社”。
什么是“ABC的朋友们”呢？这是一个在表面上倡导幼童教育而实际是以训练成人为宗旨的社团。
他们自称为ABC的朋友。Abaissé②，就是人民。他们要让人民站起来。这种双关的隐语，谁要嘲笑那是不对的。双关语在政治方面有时是严肃的，如Castratus ad castra③曾使纳尔塞斯④成为军团统帅，又如Barbari et Barberini⑤，又如Fueros y Fuegos⑥，又如Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram⑦，等等。
①道德协会，德国爱国青年的组织，成立于一八○八年。
②Abaissé，法语，意思是“受屈辱的”，和ABC发音相同。
③拉丁语，意思是“阉人上战场”。
④纳尔塞斯（Narsès，472-568），拜占庭帝国的一个宦官，后为统帅。
⑤拉丁语，意思是“蛮族和巴尔柏里尼”。巴尔柏里尼是佛罗伦萨一有权势的家族，为了建造宫殿而进行抢劫。
⑥西班牙语，西班牙*派联络的暗号，意思是“独立和策源地”。
⑦拉丁语，意思是“你是彼得（石头），在这石头上……”
ABC的朋友为数不多。那是个在胚胎状态的秘密组织，几乎可以说是一种*结合，如果*结合也能产生英雄人物的话。他们在巴黎有两处聚会场所，都在大市场附近，一处是名为“科林斯”的酒店，以后我们还会谈到这地方，一处是圣米歇尔广场的一家小咖啡馆，名为“缪尚咖啡馆”，现已被拆毁。这些聚会地方的第一处接近工人，第二处接近大学生。
“ABC的朋友们”的秘密会议经常是在缪尚咖啡馆的一间后厅里举行的，来往得经过一条很长的过道，厅和店相隔颇远，有两扇窗和一道后门，经过一道隐蔽的楼梯通到一条格雷小街。他们在那里抽烟，喝酒，玩耍，谈笑。他们对一切都高谈阔论，但当涉及某些事时，却又把声音低下来。墙上钉着一幅共和时期的法兰西的旧地图，这一标志足以使警探们警觉的了。
“ABC的朋友们”大部分是大学生，他们和几个工人有着深厚友谊。下面是几个主要人物的名字。这些人在某种程度上已是历史人物了：安灼拉、公白飞、让·勃鲁维尔、弗以伊、古费拉克、巴阿雷、赖格尔、若李、格朗泰尔。
这些青年，由于友情成了一家人。赖格尔除外，全出生在南方。
这一伙人是值得重视的。他们现在已消失在我们脑后的那些踪影全无的深渊中了。但在我们进入这段悲壮故事以前，在读者还没有见到他们在一场壮烈斗争中是怎样死去时，用一线光明把这些青年的面目照耀一下也许不是无益的。
安灼拉，我们称他为首领，下面就会知道这是为什么，他是一个有钱人家的独生子。
安灼拉是个具有魅力的青年，可是也会变得凶猛骇人。他有天使那么美。是安提诺①再世，但也粗野。
①安提诺（Antinous），希腊著名美男子，罗马皇帝阿德里安的近侍。
当他那运用心思的神色从眼中闪射出来时，人们见了，也许会说他在前生的某一世便经历过革命风暴了。他仿佛亲眼见过并承袭了革命的传统。他知道这一大事的全部细节。性格庄严持重而又勇敢，这在青年人身上是少有的。他有才能，又有斗志，就目前的目标来说，他是个*主义的战士，但处于当前的活动之上，他又是最高理想的宣传者。他目光深沉，眼睑微红，下嘴唇肥厚，易于露出轻蔑的神情，高额。脸上望去只见额头，就象地平线上有辽阔的天空。正如本世纪初和前世纪末的某些少年得志的青年人那样，他有着过多的青春活力，鲜润如少女，虽然偶尔也显得苍白。他已是成人了，却还象个孩子。他二十二岁，看去却象十七，性情庄重，似乎不知道人间有所谓女人。他只有一种热情：*；一个志愿：清除障碍。在阿梵丹山上，他也许就是格拉古①，在国民公会里，他也许就是圣鞠斯特。他几乎不望玫瑰花，不知道春天是什么，也不听雀鸟歌唱；和阿利斯托吉通相比，爱华德内敞着的喉颈也不会更使他感动，对他来说，正如对阿尔莫迪乌斯②一样，鲜花的用处只在掩蔽利剑。他在欢乐中也不苟言笑。凡是和共和制度无关的，他见到便害臊似的把眼睛低下去。他是*女神云石塑像的情人。他的语言是枯燥的，并且颤抖得象寺院中的歌声。他的举动常常显得突兀出人意外。哪个多情女子敢到他身边去冒险，算她自讨没趣！如果有个什么康勃雷广场或圣让·德·博韦街上的俏女工见了这张脸，以为是个逃学的中学生，看他的行动，又象个副官，还有那细长的淡黄睫毛、蓝眼睛、迎风飘动的头发、绯红的双颊、鲜艳的嘴唇、美妙的牙齿，竟至想要饱尝这满天曙光晓色的异味，而走到安灼拉跟前去卖弄姿色的话，一双料想不到的狠巴巴的眼睛便会突然向她显示出一道鸿沟，叫她不要把以西结③的二品天使和博马舍的风流天使混为一谈。
①格拉古（Gracchus），兄弟俩，皆为罗马著名法官和演说家，他们曾建议制订土地法，限止罗马贵族的贪欲，分别在公元前一三三年和一二一年的*中被杀。
②阿尔莫迪乌斯（Harmodius）和阿利斯托吉通（Aristogiton）是公元前六世纪的雅典人，曾合力杀死暴君伊巴尔克。
③以西结（Ezéchiel），希伯来著名先知，《圣经·旧约》中四大先知的第三名，传为《以西结书》的作者。
在代表革命逻辑的安灼拉旁边，有个代表哲学的公白飞。在革命的逻辑和它的哲学之间，有这样一种区别：它的逻辑可以归结为战斗，它的哲学却只能导致和平。公白飞补充并纠正着安灼拉。他没有那么高，横里却比较壮些。他要求把一般思想的广泛原理灌输给人们，他常说“革命，然而不忘文明”，在山峰的四周，他展示着广阔的碧野。因而在公白飞的全部观点中，有些可以实现也切实可用的东西。公白飞倡导的革命比安灼拉所倡导的要来得易于接受。安灼拉宣扬革命的神圣权利，而公白飞宣扬自然权利。前者紧跟着罗伯斯庇尔，后者局限于孔多塞。公白飞比安灼拉更多地过着人人所过的生活。如果这两个青年当年登上了历史舞台，也许一个会成为公正无私的人，而另一个则成为慎思明辨的人。安灼拉近于义，公白飞近于仁。仁和义，这正是他俩之间的细微区别。公白飞的温和，由于天性纯洁，正好和安灼拉的严正相比。他爱“公民”这个词，但是更爱“人”这个字，他也许还乐意学西班牙人那样说“Hombre”。他什么都读，常去看戏，参加大众学术讲座，跟阿拉戈学习光的极化，听了若弗卢瓦·圣伊雷尔在一堂课里讲解心外动脉和心内动脉的双重作用而大为兴奋，这两动脉一个管面部，一个管大脑。他关心时事，密切注意科学的发展，对圣西门和傅立叶作比较分析，研究古埃及文字，随手敲破鹅卵石来推断地质，凭记忆描绘飞蛾，指责科学院词典中的法文错误，研究普伊赛古和德勒兹①的著述，什么也不肯定，连奇迹也不肯定，什么也不否认，连鬼也不否认，浏览《通报》集，爱思索。他说未来是在小学教师的手里，他关心教育问题。他要求社会为知识水平和道德水平的提高、科学的实用、思想的传播以及青年智力的增长而不断工作，他担心目前治学方法的贫乏，两三个世纪以来所谓古典文学拙劣观点的局限、官家学者的专横教条、学究们的成见和旧习气，这一切最后会把我们的学校都变成牡蛎的人工培养池。他学识渊博，自奉菲薄，精细，多才多艺，钻劲十足，同时也爱深思默虑，“甚至想入非非”，他的朋友们常这样说他。他对铁路、外科手术上的免痛法、暗室中影象的定影法、电报、气球的定向飞驰都深信不疑。此外，对迷信、专制、成见等为了反对人类而四处建造起来的种种堡垒，他都不大害怕。他和有些人一样，认为科学总有一天能扭转这种形势。安灼拉是个首领，公白飞是个向导。人们愿意跟那个战斗，也愿意跟这个前进。这并不是因为公白飞不能战斗，他并不拒绝和障碍进行肉搏，他会使出全身力气不顾生死地向它攻打，但是他觉得，一点一点地，通过原理的启导和法律明文的颁布，使人类各自安于命运，这样会更合他的心意；在两种光明中他倾向于光的照耀，不倾向于烈火的燃烧。一场大火当然也能照亮半边天，但是为什么不等待日出呢？火山能发光，但究竟不及曙光好。公白飞爱好美的白色也许更胜于辉煌的烈焰。夹杂着烟尘的光明，用暴力换来的进步，对这温柔严肃的心灵来说只能满足他一半。象悬崖直下那样使人民突然得到真理，九三年使他惧怕，可是停滞不前的状态却又是他所更加憎恶的，他在这里嗅到腐朽和死亡的恶臭。整个地说，他爱泡沫甚于沼气，急流甚于污池，尼亚加拉瀑布甚于隼山湖。总之，他既不要停滞不前，也不要操之过急。当他那些纷纭喧噪的朋友们剑拔弩张地一心向往着绝对真理、热烈号召进行辉煌灿烂的革命斗争时，公白飞却展望着进步的自然发展，他倾向于一种善良的进步，也许冷清，但是纯净；井井有条，但是无可指责；静悄悄，但是摇撼不动。公白飞也许能双膝着地，两手合十，以待未来天真无邪地到来，希望人们去恶从善的巨大进化不至于受到任何阻扰。“善应当是纯良的。”他不断地这样反复说。的确，如果革命的伟大就是看准了光彩夺目的理想，爪子上带着血和火，穿越雷霆，向它飞去，那么，进步的美，也就是无瑕可指；华盛顿代表了其中的一个，丹东体现了其中的另一个，他俩的区别，正如生着天鹅翅膀的天使不同于生着雄鹰翅膀的天使。
①普伊赛古和德勒兹，两个磁学专家。
让·勃鲁维尔的色调比公白飞来得更柔和些。他自称“热安”①，那是那本在研究中世纪时必读的书里那次强烈而深刻的运动连系在一起、凭一时小小的奇想触发的。让·勃鲁维尔是个多情种子，他喜欢栽盆花，吹笛子，作诗，爱人民，为妇女叫屈，为孩子流泪，把未来和上帝混在同一种信心里，责怪革命革掉了一个国王和安德烈·舍尼埃②的头。他说话的声音经常是柔婉的，但又能突然刚劲起来。他有文学修养，甚至达到渊博的程度，他也几乎是个东方通。他最突出的特点是性情和善；在作诗方面，他爱豪放的风格，这对那些知道善良和伟大是多么相近的人来说是极简单的事。他懂意大利文、拉丁文、希腊文和希伯来文，这对他所起的作用是他只读四个诗人的作品：但丁、尤维纳利斯、埃斯库罗斯和以赛亚③。在法文方面，他爱高乃依胜过拉辛④，爱阿格里帕·多比涅⑤胜过高乃依。他喜欢徘徊在长着燕麦和矢车菊的田野里，对浮云和世事几乎寄以同样的关切。他的精神有两个方面，一面向人，一面朝着上帝；他寻求知识，也静观万物。他整天深入钻研这样一些社会问题：工资、资本、信贷、婚姻、宗教、思想*、爱的*、教育、刑罚、贫困、结社、财产、生产和分配、使下界芸芸众生蒙蔽在阴暗中的谜；到了夜间，他仰望群星，那些巨大的天体。和安灼拉一样，他也是个有钱人家的独生子。他说起话来语调轻缓，俯首低眉，腼腆地微笑着，举动拘束，神气笨拙，无缘无故地脸羞得通红，胆怯。然而，猛不可当。
①热安（Jehan），十五世纪一部小说中的主人公，是个嘲弄英国老国王的法国青年王子。热安与让（Jean）读音近似。
②安德烈·舍尼埃（AndréChénier，1762-1794），法国诗人，写了许多反革命诗歌，还从事反革命政治活动，一七九四年以“人民敌人”的罪名处死。
国王路易十六在他前一年上了断头台。
③以赛亚（EsaiGe），希伯来先知，是《圣经·旧约》中四大先知之一。
④拉辛（Racine，1639-1699），法国剧作家，法国古典主义的著名代表。
⑤阿格里帕·多比涅（AgrippadAubigné，1552?630），法国十七世纪诗人。
弗以伊是个制扇工人，一个无父无母的孤儿，每天挣不到三个法郎，他只有一个念头：拯救世界。他还另外有种愿望：教育自己，他说这也是拯救自己。通过自学他能读能写，凡是他所知道的，全是他自己学来的。弗以伊是个性情豪放的人。他有远大的抱负。这孤儿认人民为父母。失去了双亲，他便思念祖国。他不愿世上有一个没有祖国的人。他胸中有来自民间的人所具有的那种锐利的远见，孕育着我们今天所说的“民族思想”。他学习历史为的是使自己能对他人的所作所为愤慨。在这一伙怀有远大理想的青年人当中，别人所关心的主要是法国，而他所注意的是国外。他的专长是希腊、波兰、匈牙利、罗马尼亚、意大利。这些国名是他经常以公正无私的顽强态度不断提到的，无论提得恰当或不恰当。土耳其对克里特岛和塞萨利亚，俄罗斯对华沙，奥地利对威尼斯所犯的那些暴行使他无比愤怒。尤其是一七七二年①的那次暴行更使他无法容忍。真理与愤慨相结合，能使辩才所向披靡，他有的正是这种辩才。他滔滔不绝地谈着一七七二这可耻的年份，这个被叛变行为所伤害的高尚勇敢的民族，由三国同谋共犯的罪行，这丑恶而巨大的阴谋，从这以后，好几个国家都被吞并掉，仿佛一笔勾销了它们的出生证，种种亡国惨祸都是以一七七二作为模型和榜样复制出来的。现代社会的一切罪行都是由瓜分波兰演变来的。瓜分波兰仿佛成了一种定理，而目前的一切政治暴行只是它的推演。近百年来，没有一个暴君，没有一个叛逆，绝无例外，不曾在瓜分波兰的罪证上盖过印、表示过同意、签字、画押的。当人们调阅近代叛变案件的卷宗时，最先出现的便是这一件。维也纳会议②在完成它自己的罪行之前便参考过这一罪行。一七七二响起了猎狗出动的号角，一八一五响起了猎狗分赃的号角。这是弗以伊常说的话。这位可怜的工人把自己当作公理的保护人，公理给他的报答便是使他伟大。正义确是永恒不变的。华沙不会永远属于鞑靼族，正如威尼斯不会永远属于日耳曼族。君王们枉费心机，徒然污损自己的声誉。被淹没的国家迟早要重行浮出水面的。希腊再成为希腊，意大利再成为意大利。正义对事实提出的*是顽强存在着的。从一个民族那里抢来的赃物不会由于久占而取得所有权。这种高级的巧取豪夺行为绝不会有前途。人总不能把一个国家当作一块手绢那样随意去掉它的商标纸。
①一七七二年，俄、普、奥三国初次瓜分波兰。
②一八一五年，拿破仑失败后，俄、普、奥三战胜国在维也纳举行会议。
古费拉克的父亲叫德·古费拉克先生。对贵族的风尚，在王朝复辟期间，资产阶级有过这样一种错误的认识，那就是他们很重视这个小小的字。我们知道，这个小小的字并没有什么含义。可是《密涅瓦》①时代的资产阶级把这可怜的“德”字看得那么高，以致认为非把它废掉不可。德·肖弗兰先生改称为肖弗兰先生，德·科马尔丹先生改称为科马尔丹先生，德·贡斯当·德·勒贝克先生改称为班加曼·贡斯当先生，德·拉斐德先生改称为拉斐德②先生。古费拉克不甘落后，也干脆自称为古费拉克。
关于古费拉克，我们几乎可以仅仅只谈这些，并只补充这么一点：古费拉克象多罗米埃③。
①《密涅瓦》（Minerve），法国王朝复辟时期一种流行的周刊。
②拉斐德（Lafayette，1757-1834），法国将军，北美殖民地独立战争（1775-1783）的参加者，十八世纪末法国资产阶级革命时期的大资产阶级的领袖之一。一七九二年八月十日后逃往国外，一八三○年七月革命的领袖之一。
③多罗术埃，即珂赛特的父亲，见本书第一部。
古费拉克确实具有人们称为鬼聪明的那种青春热力。这种热力，和小猫的可爱一样，过后是会消失的，整个这种妩媚潇洒的风度，在两只脚上，会变成资产阶级，在四个爪子上，便会变成老猫。
这种鬼聪明在年年走出学校和年年应征入伍的青年中，几乎是老一套，一辈又一辈地彼此竞相传递着，因此，正如刚才我们指出的，任何一个人如果在一八二八年听到古费拉克谈话，便会以为自己是在一八一七年听到多罗米埃谈话。不过古费拉克是个诚实的孩子。从表现出来的聪明看，多罗米埃和他有着同样的外貌，可是在外貌的后面他们是大不相同的。存在于他们里面的那两个内在的人，彼此是截然不同的。在多罗米埃身上蕴藏着一个法官，在古费拉克身上蕴藏着一个武士。
安灼拉是首领，公白飞是向导，古费拉克是中心。其他的人发着较多的光，而他散着更多的热，事实是他有一个中心人物所应有的种种品质。
巴阿雷参加过一八二二年六月年轻的拉勒芒①出殡那天的流血冲突。
①拉勒芒（Lallemand），参加一八二二年六月*派游行示威的被害者。
巴阿雷是个善于诙谐而难与相处的人，诚实，爱花钱，挥霍到近于奢侈，多话到近于悬河，横蛮到近于不择手段，是当魔鬼最好的材料；穿着大胆的坎肩，怀着朱红的见解；捣起乱来，唯恐捣得不够，就是说，他感到再没有什么比争吵更可爱的了，如果这不是骚动的话；也感到再没有什么比骚动更可爱的了，如果这不是革命的话。随时都准备砸破一块玻璃，再掘掉一条街上的铺路石，再搞垮一个*，为的是要看看效果。他是十一年级的学生。他嗅着法律，但不学它。他的铭言是“决不当律师”，他的徽志是个露着一顶方顶帽的便桶柜子。他每次打法学院门前走过时（这对他来说是不常有的事），他便扣好他的骑马服（当时短上衣还没有被发明），并采取卫生措施。望见学院的大门，他便说：“好一个神气的老头儿！”望见院长代尔凡古尔先生，却说：“好一座大建筑！”他常在他的课本里发现歌曲的题材，也常在教师们的身上发现漫画的形象。他无所事事地吃着一笔相当大的学膳费，三千法郎。他的父母是农民，对父母他是知道反复表示敬意的。
关于他们，他常这样说：“这是些农民，不是资产阶级，正因为这样，他们才有点智慧。”
巴阿雷，这个任性的怪人，常在好几个咖啡店里走动，别人有常到的地点，而他却没有。他四处游荡。徘徊，人人都会，唯有游荡是巴黎人的习性。究其实，他是个感觉敏锐的人，不能以貌取人，他是有思想的。
他在“ABC的朋友们”和其他一些还没有具体成立、要到后来才形成的组织之间，起着联络作用。
在这一群青年的组织里，有一个秃顶成员。
阿瓦雷侯爷是在路易十八逃亡那天把他扶上一辆雇用马车而被升为侯爵的，这位侯爷曾谈过这样一件事：国王在一八一四年从加来登陆回到法国时，有个人向他递了一份呈文。国王说：“您想要什么？”“陛下，一个驿站。”“您叫什么名字？”“赖格尔。”①国王皱起眉头，望那呈文上的签字，看见那名字是这样写的：Lesgle。这个波拿巴味道不浓的写法感动了国王，他开始带点笑容了。“陛下，”那个递呈文的人说，“我的祖先是养狗官，诨名叫Lesgueules。这诨名成了我的名字。我叫做LesAgueules，简写是Lesgle，写错便成了L’Aigle。”这样一说，国王越发笑了起来。过后，他把莫城②的驿站派给了他，也许是故意，也许是无心。
这组织里的那个秃顶成员便是这Lesgle或L’Aigle的儿子，他自己签字是赖格尔（德·莫）。他的同学们，为了省事，干脆称他为博须埃③。
①棘格尔（L’Aigle），鹰，是拿破仑的徽志，所以国王听了不顺耳。
②莫城（Meaux），在巴黎附近。
③十七世纪，法国有个出名的教士，叫博须埃（Bossuet），当过莫城的主教，被称为莫城的鹰（L’Aigle de Meaux），因而这个赖格尔·德·莫就被同学们称为博须埃。
博须埃是个遭遇不好的快乐孩子。他的专长是一事无成，相反地对一切都付之一笑。二十五岁，便秃了顶。他的父亲终于有了一所房子和一块田地，可是他，做儿子的，急急忙忙，在一次失算的投机买卖中，把这房子和田地全赔光了。他有学识和智力，但不成功。他处处失利，事事落空，他架起的楼阁老砸在自己头上。他砍柴也会砍着自己的手指。他找到一个情妇，立即会发现他也有了个朋友。他随时都能遇到倒霉事，因此，他总是快快活活的。他常说：“我住在摇摇欲坠的瓦片下面。”他从不大惊小怪，因为意外的事，对他来说，正是意料中事，他面对逆运，泰然自若，对命运的戏弄，报以微笑，只当别人在闹着玩儿。他没有钱，可他衣袋里的兴致是取不尽用不完的。他能很快用到他最后一个苏，却从不会笑到他的最后一声笑。恶运来临，他便对这老相知致以亲切的敬礼，灾星下降，他拍拍它的肚子，遇到厄运，他也亲热到叫它的小名。“你好，小淘气。”他常这样说。
命运的种种折磨使他成了个富有创造力的人。他胸中满是门道。他一文钱也没有，可他有办法在他高兴时“一掷万金”。一天晚上，他竟带着个傻大姐，一顿夜宵吃了一百法郎，这次的欢宴触发了他的灵感，使他说了这么一句值得回忆的话：“五个路易的姑娘①替我脱靴。”
①法语Fille de cinq louis（五个路易的姑娘）和Fille de Saint Louis（圣路易的女儿）读音相同。路易是法国金币，值二十法郎，圣路易是十三世纪法兰西国王。
博须埃慢慢地走向当律师的职业，他学习法律，和巴阿雷的态度一样。博须埃不大有住处，有时还完全没有。他时而和这个同住，时而和那个同住，和若李同住的时候最多。若李攻读医学，比博须埃小两岁。
若李是个无病呻吟的青年。他学医的收获是治病不成反得病。二十三岁，他便以病夫自居，日日夜夜对着镜子看自己的舌头。他认为人和针一样，可以磁化，于是，他把卧室里的床摆成南北向，使他血液的循环不致受到地球大磁场的干扰。遇到大风大雨，便摸自己的脉搏。可是在所有这些人中，他是最热闹的一个。年轻，乖僻，体弱，兴致高，这一切不相连属的性格汇集在他一人身上，结果使他成了个放荡不羁而又惹人喜爱的人，那些不怕浪费子音的同学们常称他为Jolllly。“你可以在四个翅膀①上飞翔了。”让·勃鲁维尔常向他这样说。
①若李（Joly）名字中只有一个l，而l和aile（翅膀）发音相同。若李的同学们把他名字中的l慢慢发出来，听来就象有四个l。
若李惯常用他的手杖头叩自己的鼻尖，这是心思细密的人的一种标志。
所有这些年轻人，尽管形形色色，却有一个共同的信念：
进步。我们只能抱着严肃的态度来谈他们。
他们全是法兰西革命的亲生儿子。其中最轻佻的几个在提到八九年时也都会庄重起来。他们的父辈，感受各不相同，或曾是斐扬派、保王派、空论派，这没有多大关系，他们年轻，发生在他们以前的那种混乱状态和他们无关，道义的纯洁血液在他们的血管里流着。他们坚持着不容腐蚀的正义和绝对的职责，没有中间色彩。
他们有组织，有初步认识，在暗地里追寻理想。
在这一伙热情奔放和信心十足的心灵中，却有一个怀疑派。他是怎样到这里来的呢？连比而来。这个怀疑派的名字叫格朗泰尔，他惯于用R①这个有两重意义的字母来签字。格朗泰尔是个不让自己轻信什么的人。他还是那些在巴黎求学的大学生中学习得最多的一个，他知道最好的咖啡是在朗布兰咖啡馆，最好的台球台是在伏尔泰咖啡馆，在梅恩路的隐士居有绝妙的千层饼和绝妙的姑娘，沙格大娘铺子里有无骨烤鸡，古内特便门有上好的葱烧鱼，战斗便门有一种不出名的好酒。无论什么，他全知道哪里的好；此外，他能踢飞脚，弹腿，也稍能跳舞，还是个有造诣的棍术家。尤其是个大酒鬼。他的相貌，丑到出奇，当时的一个最漂亮的绣靴帮的女工，伊尔玛·布瓦西，为他相貌丑陋而生气时，曾下过这样的判词“格朗泰尔是不可能的”，但是自命不凡的格朗泰尔并不因此而扫兴。他见到所有的女人总一往情深地呆望着，那神气仿佛是对她们中的每一个都想说：“我愿意……”而且老要使同学们相信他是受到普遍的追求的。
①大写的R（grand r）和Grantaire（格朗泰尔）发音相同。
民权、*、社会契约、法兰西革命、共和、*、人道、文明、宗教、进步，所有这些词儿，对格朗泰尔来说都几乎是毫无意义的。他对这些都报以微笑。怀疑主义，人类智慧的这一痈疽，不曾在他思想里留下一个完整的概念。他在嘲笑中过活。这是他常说的一句话：“只有一件事是可靠的：我的杯子满了。”对任何方面的忠心，无论是同辈或父辈，无论是年轻的罗伯斯庇尔或洛瓦兹罗尔，他一概加以嘲笑。他常这样说：“这些人死了也是先进的。”对耶稣受难像，他说：“这才是个成功的绞刑架呢。”游手好闲、赌博、放荡、时常醉酒，他还不怕那些思考问题的青年们厌烦，不停地唱着：“我爱姑娘们，我也爱好酒。”曲调用的是《亨利四世万岁》。
此外，这怀疑派有一种*病。这*病既不是一种思想，一种教条，也不是一种艺术，一种科学，而是一个人：安灼拉。这个乱七八糟的怀疑者在这一伙信心坚定的人中，向谁靠拢呢？向最坚定的一个。安灼拉又是怎样控制着他的呢？从思想方面吗？不是。从性格方面。这是常有的现象。一个无所不疑的人依附一个一无所疑的人，这是和色彩配合律一样简单的。我们所没有的往往吸引着我们。没有谁比瞎子更喜爱阳光。没有谁比矮子更崇拜军鼓手。癞蛤蟆的眼睛总是向着天，为什么？为了看鸟飞。格朗泰尔，因为疑心在他身体里蠢动，所以爱看安灼拉的信心飞翔。他需要安灼拉。这个束身自爱、健康、坚定、正直、刚强、淳朴的性格常使他依依不舍，这是他自己不清楚也不想对自己分析清楚的。他凭本能羡慕着自己的反面。他的那些软弱无力、曲就退让、支离破碎、病态畸形的思想把安灼拉当作脊梁那样紧紧依靠着。他精神的支柱离不了这坚强的人。在安灼拉的身旁，格朗泰尔才有点象人。他本身其实是由两种从表面看来似乎不相容的成分构成的。他爱挖苦人，但也忠厚，一切无所谓，但也有所爱好。他的精神可以不要信念，他的心却不能没有友情。这是种深深的矛盾，因为感情也是一种信念。他的性格就是这样的。有些人仿佛生来就是充当反面、背面、翻面的。波吕丢刻斯、帕特洛克罗斯、尼絮斯、厄达米达斯、埃菲西荣、佩什美雅便是这类人物。他们只是在依附另一个人的情况下才有生活；他们的名字是附属物，总是写在连接词“和”的后面的；他们的存生不属于他们自己，而是别人命运的另一面。格朗泰尔便是这一类人中的一个。他是安灼拉的背面。
人们几乎可以说：这种结合是从字母开始的。在字母的次序当中，O和P是分不开的。照你的意见读O和P也可以，读俄瑞斯忒斯和皮拉得斯①也可以。
格朗泰尔，安灼拉的真正的卫星，寓居在这些青年人的活动场所里，他生活在那里，他只是在那里才感到舒适，他随时随地都跟着他们。他的快乐便是望着这些人的影子在酒气中来来往往。大家看见他的兴致高，也就对他采取了容忍态度。
安灼拉，一个信心坚定的人，是瞧不起这种怀疑派的，他生活有节制，更瞧不起这种醉鬼。他只对他表示一点点高傲的怜悯心。格朗泰尔想做皮拉得斯也办不到。他经常受到安灼拉的冲撞，严厉的摈斥，被撵以后，仍旧回来，他说，安灼拉是“座多美的云石塑像”！
①希腊神话中一对好朋友。俄瑞斯忒斯（Oreste）是阿伽门农和克吕泰涅斯特拉之子，阿伽门农被其妻及奸夫杀害后，俄瑞斯忒斯之姐将其送往父亲好友斯特洛菲俄斯家避难，俄瑞斯忒斯长大后与其姐共谋，杀死母亲及奸夫，为其父报仇。皮拉得斯（Pylade），斯特洛菲俄斯之子，俄瑞斯忒斯的好友，他帮助俄瑞斯忒斯报杀父之仇。
