At length, by dint of mounting on each other's backs, aiding themselves with the skeleton of the staircase, climbing up the walls, clinging to the ceiling, slashing away at the very brink of the trap-door, the last one who offered resistance, a score of assailants, soldiers, National Guardsmen, municipal guardsmen, in utter confusion, the majority disfigured by wounds in the face during that redoubtable ascent, blinded by blood, furious, rendered savage, made an irruption into the apartment on the first floor. There they found only one man still on his feet, Enjolras. Without cartridges, without sword, he had nothing in his hand now but the barrel of his gun whose stock he had broken over the head of those who were entering. He had placed the billiard table between his assailants and himself; he had retreated into the corner of the room, and there, with haughty eye, and head borne high, with this stump of a weapon in his hand, he was still so alarming as to speedily create an empty space around him. A cry arose:
"He is the leader! It was he who slew the artillery-man. It is well that he has placed himself there. Let him remain there. Let us shoot him down on the spot."
"Shoot me," said Enjolras.
And flinging away his bit of gun-barrel, and folding his arms, he offered his breast.
The audacity of a fine death always affects men. As soon as Enjolras folded his arms and accepted his end, the din of strife ceased in the room, and this chaos suddenly stilled into a sort of sepulchral solemnity. The menacing majesty of Enjolras disarmed and motionless, appeared to oppress this tumult, and this young man, haughty, bloody, and charming, who alone had not a wound, who was as indifferent as an invulnerable being, seemed, by the authority of his tranquil glance, to constrain this sinister rabble to kill him respectfully. His beauty, at that moment augmented by his pride, was resplendent, and he was fresh and rosy after the fearful four and twenty hours which had just elapsed, as though he could no more be fatigued than wounded. It was of him, possibly, that a witness spoke afterwards, before the council of war: "There was an insurgent whom I heard called Apollo." A National Guardsman who had taken aim at Enjolras, lowered his gun, saying: "It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower."
Twelve men formed into a squad in the corner opposite Enjolras, and silently made ready their guns.
Then a sergeant shouted:
"Take aim!"
An officer intervened.
"Wait."
And addressing Enjolras:
"Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?"
"No."
"Was it you who killed the artillery sergeant?"
"Yes."
Grantaire had waked up a few moments before.
Grantaire, it will be remembered, had been asleep ever since the preceding evening in the upper room of the wine-shop, seated on a chair and leaning on the table.
He realized in its fullest sense the old metaphor of "dead drunk." The hideous potion of absinthe-porter and alcohol had thrown him into a lethargy. His table being small, and not suitable for the barricade, he had been left in possession of it. He was still in the same posture, with his breast bent over the table, his head lying flat on his arms, surrounded by glasses, beer-jugs and bottles. His was the overwhelming slumber of the torpid bear and the satiated leech. Nothing had had any effect upon it, neither the fusillade, nor the cannon-balls, nor the grape-shot which had made its way through the window into the room where he was. Nor the tremendous uproar of the assault. He merely replied to the cannonade, now and then, by a snore. He seemed to be waiting there for a bullet which should spare him the trouble of waking. Many corpses were strewn around him; and, at the first glance, there was nothing to distinguish him from those profound sleepers of death.
Noise does not rouse a drunken man; silence awakens him. The fall of everything around him only augmented Grantaire's prostration; the crumbling of all things was his lullaby. The sort of halt which the tumult underwent in the presence of Enjolras was a shock to this heavy slumber. It had the effect of a carriage going at full speed, which suddenly comes to a dead stop. The persons dozing within it wake up. Grantaire rose to his feet with a start, stretched out his arms, rubbed his eyes, stared, yawned, and understood.
A fit of drunkenness reaching its end resembles a curtain which is torn away. One beholds, at a single glance and as a whole, all that it has concealed. All suddenly presents itself to the memory; and the drunkard who has known nothing of what has been taking place during the last twenty-four hours, has no sooner opened his eyes than he is perfectly informed. Ideas recur to him with abrupt lucidity; the obliteration of intoxication, a sort of steam which has obscured the brain, is dissipated, and makes way for the clear and sharply outlined importunity of realities.
Relegated, as he was, to one corner, and sheltered behind the billiard-table, the soldiers whose eyes were fixed on Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat his order: "Take aim!" when all at once, they heard a strong voice shout beside them:
"Long live the Republic! I'm one of them."
Grantaire had risen. The immense gleam of the whole combat which he had missed, and in which he had had no part, appeared in the brilliant glance of the transfigured drunken man.
He repeated: "Long live the Republic!" crossed the room with a firm stride and placed himself in front of the guns beside Enjolras.
"Finish both of us at one blow," said he.
And turning gently to Enjolras, he said to him:
"Do you permit it?"
Enjolras pressed his hand with a smile.
This smile was not ended when the report resounded.
Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained leaning against the wall, as though the balls had nailed him there. Only, his head was bowed.
Grantaire fell at his feet, as though struck by a thunderbolt.
A few moments later, the soldiers dislodged the last remaining insurgents, who had taken refuge at the top of the house. They fired into the attic through a wooden lattice. They fought under the very roof. They flung bodies, some of them still alive, out through the windows. Two light-infantrymen, who tried to lift the shattered omnibus, were slain by two shots fired from the attic. A man in a blouse was flung down from it, with a bayonet wound in the abdomen, and breathed his last on the ground. A soldier and an insurgent slipped together on the sloping slates of the roof, and, as they would not release each other, they fell, clasped in a ferocious embrace. A similar conflict went on in the cellar. Shouts, shots, a fierce trampling. Then silence. The barricade was captured.
The soldiers began to search the houses round about, and to pursue the fugitives.
①此处俄瑞斯忒斯影射安灼拉，皮拉得斯影射格朗泰尔。
最后，叠人成梯，再利用断梯，爬上墙，攀住天花板，劈伤洞口最后几个抵抗者，二十个左右的进攻者，有士兵、国民自*和保安警察队，大家乱成一团，一大半人在惊心动魄的攀登中面部受伤，流血使眼睛看不见东西。他们怒不可遏，野性大发，冲进了二楼室中。那里只有一个人还站着，这就是安灼拉。他一无子弹，二无利剑，手中只有一管枪筒，枪托已在侵入者的头上敲断了。他把弹子台横在自己和进攻者之间，自己退至屋角，目光炯炯，昂首挺立。他握着断枪，神情可怖，致使无人近前。突然一声大叫：
“这是头头，是他杀死了炮长。他倒挑了个地方，倒也不坏，就让他这样待着，就地枪决！”
“开枪吧。”安灼拉说。
他摔掉手里的枪筒，两臂交叉，挺起胸等着。
英勇就义总是令人感动的。一旦安灼拉叉起双臂，接受死刑，震耳的厮杀声在屋中顿时寂静下来，混乱状态立刻平息，变为坟场般的肃穆。安灼拉手无寸铁，一动不动，凛然不可犯。这年轻人，似乎对嘈杂声施展了一种压力，是唯一没有受到一点伤的人。他举止高贵，浑身沾满鲜血，神态动人，象不会受伤的人那样无动于衷，好象单凭他那镇静的目光就迫使这凶狠的人群怀着敬意来枪杀他。他那英俊的容貌，此刻再加上他的傲气，使他容光焕发，他好象既不知疲劳，也不会受伤，经过了这可怕的二十四小时，仍面色红润鲜艳。事后一个证人在军事法庭上谈到的人可能就是他：“有一个暴动者，我听见大家叫他阿波罗。”①一个国民自*瞄准安灼拉后，又垂下他的武器说：“我感到似乎要去枪杀一朵花。”
①此处指安灼拉容貌英俊，和阿波罗相似。
十二个人在安灼拉的角落对面组成了一个小队，默默地准备好他们的武器。
然后一个班长叫了一声：“瞄准！”
一个军官打断了说：
“等一会儿。”
他问安灼拉：
“需要替您蒙上眼睛吗？”
“不要。”
“是不是您杀了我们的炮长？”
“是的。”
格朗泰尔已经醒了一会儿了。
格朗泰尔，我们记得，从昨晚起他就睡在酒店的楼上，坐在椅子上，扑倒在桌上。
他和从前的那种比喻完全一样：死醉。这种可恶的迷人的烈性酒精使他昏睡。他的桌子太小，对街垒起不了作用，所以就留下给他了。他老是保持同一种姿势，胸部俯向桌面，头平伏在手臂上，周围有着玻璃杯、啤酒杯和酒瓶。他沉重的睡眠有如冬眠的熊和吸足了血的蚂蟥，排枪齐射、炮弹、霰弹从窗口打进他所在的屋内，甚至连袭击惊人的叫嚣，一切对他都不起作用。对炮声他有时以鼾声作答。免得使自己醒来，他好象在等着一颗子弹。好几个尸体躺在他的四周，乍一看他和这些死去的沉睡者是分不清的。
喧嚣不曾吵醒一个醉汉。寂静反而使他醒来。这种怪现象不止一次地被人见到。四周坍塌的一切格朗泰尔都一无知觉，坍塌好象使他睡得更稳。在安灼拉面前停止的喧嚣对这位昏睡者也起了震撼的作用。等于一辆飞跑着的车子突然停下来一样，车中的酣睡者因此醒来。格朗泰尔突然直起身来，撑开两臂，揉揉眼睛望望，打个呵欠，终于明白了。
醉性过去就象拉开帷幕。醉汉一眼就全部理解了幕布遮住的一切。种种情况都在他脑中浮现，他不知道二十四小时以来发生过什么事，但刚一睁眼，就全明白了。头脑突然又清醒过来，沉醉时的模糊不清，那迷惑头脑的雾气，消失了，随之而来的是摆脱不开的清清楚楚的现实。
士兵们盯着那个退在角落里的安灼拉，他象被弹子台隐蔽着一样，一点也没看见格朗泰尔。班长正准备再一次发令：“瞄准！”这时他们忽然听见一个洪亮的声音在旁边喊着：
“*万岁！我也是一个。”
格朗泰尔站起来了。
他错过了的整个战斗的无限的光辉，此刻在变得高尚的醉汉目光中闪耀着。
他重复说着“*万岁！”并用坚定的步伐穿过这间房，靠着安灼拉站到一排枪前。
“你们一次打两个吧！”他说。
又转向安灼拉温和地问他：
“你允许吗？”
安灼拉微笑着握了握他的手。
这微笑尚未结束，排枪就响了。
安灼拉，中了八枪，靠着墙象被子弹钉在那儿一样，只是头垂下了。
格朗泰尔被打倒在他脚下。
不久以后，士兵们把最后几个藏在房子顶部的暴动者赶了下来，他们穿过一个木栅栏对准阁楼放枪。人们在阁楼中交战。有人把人从窗口扔了出来，有几个还是活的。两个正在设法扶起打坏了的公共大马车的轻骑兵，被阁楼里打来的两枪送了命。一个穿罩衫的人被抛了出来，肚子被刺刀戳穿，倒在地上呻吟。一个士兵和一个暴动者同时从瓦砾坡上滑下来，互不松手，凶猛地扭在一起摔下来。在地窖里也进行着同样的搏斗，叫喊声、枪声以及野蛮的践踏声，然后突然寂静下来，街垒被占领了。
士兵们开始搜查四周的房屋并追捕逃亡者。
