The shocks of youthful minds among themselves have this admirable property, that one can never foresee the spark, nor divine the lightning flash. What will dart out presently? No one knows. The burst of laughter starts from a tender feeling.
At the moment of jest, the serious makes its entry. Impulses depend on the first chance word. The spirit of each is sovereign, jest suffices to open the field to the unexpected. These are conversations with abrupt turns, in which the perspective changes suddenly. Chance is the stage-manager of such conversations.
A severe thought, starting oddly from a clash of words, suddenly traversed the conflict of quips in which Grantaire, Bahorel, Prouvaire, Bossuet, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were confusedly fencing.
How does a phrase crop up in a dialogue? Whence comes it that it suddenly impresses itself on the attention of those who hear it? We have just said, that no one knows anything about it. In the midst of the uproar, Bossuet all at once terminated some apostrophe to Combeferre, with this date:--
"June 18th, 1815, Waterloo."
At this name of Waterloo, Marius, who was leaning his elbows on a table, beside a glass of water, removed his wrist from beneath his chin, and began to gaze fixedly at the audience.
"Pardieu!" exclaimed Courfeyrac ("Parbleu" was falling into disuse at this period), "that number 18 is strange and strikes me. It is Bonaparte's fatal number. Place Louis in front and Brumaire behind, you have the whole destiny of the man, with this significant peculiarity, that the end treads close on the heels of the commencement."
Enjolras, who had remained mute up to that point, broke the silence and addressed this remark to Combeferre:--
"You mean to say, the crime and the expiation."
This word crime overpassed the measure of what Marius, who was already greatly agitated by the abrupt evocation of Waterloo, could accept.
He rose, walked slowly to the map of France spread out on the wall, and at whose base an island was visible in a separate compartment, laid his finger on this compartment and said:--
"Corsica, a little island which has rendered France very great."
This was like a breath of icy air. All ceased talking. They felt that something was on the point of occurring.
Bahorel, replying to Bossuet, was just assuming an attitude of the torso to which he was addicted. He gave it up to listen.
Enjolras, whose blue eye was not fixed on any one, and who seemed to be gazing at space, replied, without glancing at Marius:--
"France needs no Corsica to be great. France is great because she is France. Quia nomina leo."
Marius felt no desire to retreat; he turned towards Enjolras, and his voice burst forth with a vibration which came from a quiver of his very being:--
"God forbid that I should diminish France! But amalgamating Napoleon with her is not diminishing her. Come! let us argue the question. I am a new comer among you, but I will confess that you amaze me. Where do we stand? Who are we? Who are you? Who am I? Let us come to an explanation about the Emperor. I hear you say Buonaparte, accenting the u like the Royalists. I warn you that my grandfather does better still; he says Buonaparte'. I thought you were young men. Where, then, is your enthusiasm? And what are you doing with it? Whom do you admire, if you do not admire the Emperor? And what more do you want? If you will have none of that great man, what great men would you like? He had everything. He was complete. He had in his brain the sum of human faculties. He made codes like Justinian, he dictated like Caesar, his conversation was mingled with the lightning-flash of Pascal, with the thunderclap of Tacitus, he made history and he wrote it, his bulletins are Iliads, he combined the cipher of Newton with the metaphor of Mahomet, he left behind him in the East words as great as the pyramids, at Tilsit he taught Emperors majesty, at the Academy of Sciences he replied to Laplace, in the Council of State be held his own against Merlin, he gave a soul to the geometry of the first, and to the chicanery of the last, he was a legist with the attorneys and sidereal with the astronomers; like Cromwell blowing out one of two candles, he went to the Temple to bargain for a curtain tassel; he saw everything; he knew everything; which did not prevent him from laughing good-naturedly beside the cradle of his little child; and all at once, frightened Europe lent an ear, armies put themselves in motion, parks of artillery rumbled, pontoons stretched over the rivers, clouds of cavalry galloped in the storm, cries, trumpets, a trembling of thrones in every direction, the frontiers of kingdoms oscillated on the map, the sound of a superhuman sword was heard, as it was drawn from its sheath; they beheld him, him, rise erect on the horizon with a blazing brand in his hand, and a glow in his eyes, unfolding amid the thunder, his two wings, the grand army and the old guard, and he was the archangel of war!"
All held their peace, and Enjolras bowed his head. Silence always produces somewhat the effect of acquiescence, of the enemy being driven to the wall. Marius continued with increased enthusiasm, and almost without pausing for breath:--
"Let us be just, my friends! What a splendid destiny for a nation to be the Empire of such an Emperor, when that nation is France and when it adds its own genius to the genius of that man! To appear and to reign, to march and to triumph, to have for halting-places all capitals, to take his grenadiers and to make kings of them, to decree the falls of dynasties, and to transfigure Europe at the pace of a charge; to make you feel that when you threaten you lay your hand on the hilt of the sword of God; to follow in a single man, Hannibal, Caesar, Charlemagne; to be the people of some one who mingles with your dawns the startling announcement of a battle won, to have the cannon of the Invalides to rouse you in the morning, to hurl into abysses of light prodigious words which flame forever, Marengo, Arcola, Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram! To cause constellations of victories to flash forth at each instant from the zenith of the centuries, to make the French Empire a pendant to the Roman Empire, to be the great nation and to give birth to the grand army, to make its legions fly forth over all the earth, as a mountain sends out its eagles on all sides to conquer, to dominate, to strike with lightning, to be in Europe a sort of nation gilded through glory, to sound athwart the centuries a trumpet-blast of Titans, to conquer the world twice, by conquest and by dazzling, that is sublime; and what greater thing is there?"
"To be free," said Combeferre.
Marius lowered his head in his turn; that cold and simple word had traversed his epic effusion like a blade of steel, and he felt it vanishing within him. When he raised his eyes, Combeferre was no longer there. Probably satisfied with his reply to the apotheosis, he had just taken his departure, and all, with the exception of Enjolras, had followed him. The room had been emptied. Enjolras, left alone with Marius, was gazing gravely at him. Marius, however, having rallied his ideas to some extent, did not consider himself beaten; there lingered in him a trace of inward fermentation which was on the point, no doubt, of translating itself into syllogisms arrayed against Enjolras, when all of a sudden, they heard some one singing on the stairs as he went. It was Combeferre, and this is what he was singing:--
"Si Cesar m'avait donne[25] La gloire et la guerre, Et qu'il me fallait quitter L'amour de ma mere, Je dirais au grand Cesar: Reprends ton sceptre et ton char, J'aime mieux ma mere, o gue! J'aime mieux ma mere!"
[25] If Cesar had given me glory and war, and I were obliged to quit my mother's love, I would say to great Caesar, "Take back thy sceptre and thy chariot; I prefer the love of my mother."
The wild and tender accents with which Combeferre sang communicated to this couplet a sort of strange grandeur. Marius, thoughtfully, and with his eyes diked on the ceiling, repeated almost mechanically: "My mother?--"
At that moment, he felt Enjolras' hand on his shoulder.
"Citizen," said Enjolras to him, "my mother is the Republic."
青年们的相互接触有那么一种可喜的地方，那就是人们在其中无法预见火星，也无法预测闪电。过一会儿将会爆发什么？谁也不知道。温婉的交谈常引起一阵狂笑。人在戏谑时又常突然转入严肃的话题。偶然一个字能使人冲动。每个人都被激情所主宰。一句玩笑话已够打开一个意外的场面。这是一种山回路转、景物瞬息万变的郊游。偶然是这种交谈的幕后操纵者。
那天，格朗泰尔、巴阿雷、勃鲁维尔、博须埃、公白飞和古费拉克一伙谈得起劲，你一言，我一语，混战正酣，不料从唇枪舌剑中突然出现了一种奇怪的严肃思想，穿过喧杂的语声。
一句话怎样会在言谈中忽然出现的？它又怎么会突然吸引住听者的注意力？我们刚才说过，这是谁也不知道的。当时，在喧嚷哄闹声中，博须埃忽然对着公白飞随便说出了这个日期：
“一八一五年六月十八日：滑铁卢。”
马吕斯正对着一杯水，一手托着腮帮，支在一张桌子边上坐着，听到“滑铁卢”这三个字他的手腕便离开了下巴，开始注视在座的人们。
“上帝知道，”古费拉克喊着说（在当时，“天晓得”已经不大有人说了），“十八这个数字是个奇怪的数字，给我的印象非常深。这是决定波拿巴命运的数字。你把路易放在它的前面，雾月放在它的后面，①这人的整个命运便全显现在你面前了。这里又还有这么一个耐人寻味的特点，那就是开场是被结局紧跟着的。”
①路易十八是拿破仑失败后的法国国王。十八雾月，指共和八年雾月十八日，是拿破仑发动政变取得第一执政衔的日子。按法语习惯，先说日期，后说月份。
安灼拉一直没有说过一句话，这时他才开口，对着古费拉克说了这么一句：
“你是要说罪行被惩罚紧跟着吧。”
马吕斯在突然听见人家提到“滑铁卢”时，他已很紧张了，现在又听人说出“罪行”这种字眼，那就更超出他所能接受的限度了。
他站起来，从容走向那张挂在墙上的法兰西地图，地图下端，原有一个隔开的方格，方格里有个岛，他把手指按在那方格上，说道：
“科西嘉。一个使法兰西变得相当伟大的小岛。”
这是一股冰冷的风。大家全不说话了。大家都觉得要发生什么事了。
巴阿雷正在摆出他常爱用的那种正襟危坐的姿势来和博须埃对驳，他也为了要听下文而放弃了那种姿态。
安灼拉的蓝眼睛并没有望着谁，仿佛只望着空间，这时他眼睛虽不望马吕斯，嘴里却回答说：
“法兰西并不需要科西嘉来使它自己伟大。法兰西之所以伟大，只因为它是法兰西。‘因为我的名字叫狮子。’”
马吕斯绝没有退却的意思，他转向安灼拉，他那出自肺腑的激越的声音爆发出来了：
“上帝惩罚我要是我有贬低法兰西的意思，但是把它和拿破仑结合在一起，这并不贬低它一丁点。真怪，我们来谈谈吧。我在你们中是个新来的，但是老实说，你们确使我感到奇怪。我们是在什么地方？我们是谁？你们是谁？我是谁？让我们就皇帝这个问题来谈谈各自的见解吧。我常听见你们说布宛纳巴，象那些保王党人一样，强调那个‘乌’音。老实告诉你们，我那外祖父念得还更好听些：他说布宛纳巴退。我总以为你们都是青年。你们的热情究竟寄托在什么地方？你们的热情究竟要用来作什么？你们佩服的是谁，如果你们不佩服皇上？你们还要求什么？如果你们不要这么一个伟大的人物，你们要的又是些什么样伟大的人物？他是一个全才。他是一个完人。他的脑子包含着人类种种才智的三乘。他象查士丁尼那样制定法典，象恺撒那样独理万机，他的谈吐兼有帕斯加尔的闪电和塔西佗的雷霆，他创造历史，也写历史，他的战报是诗篇，他把牛顿的数字和穆罕默德的妙喻糅合在一起，他在东方留下了象金字塔那样高大的训谕；他在提尔西特把朝仪教给各国帝王，他在科学院里和拉普拉斯争鸣，他在国务会议上和梅尔兰辩论，他经心整饬纪律，悉力排难解纷，他象检察官一样了解法律，象天文学家一样了解天文；象克伦威尔吹灭两支蜡烛中的一支那样，他也到大庙①去为一粒窗帘珠子讨价还价；他见到一切，他知道一切，这并不妨碍他伏在他小儿子的摇篮上笑得象个天真烂漫的人；突然，惊骇中的欧洲屏息细听，大军源源开拔了，炮队纷纷滚动了，长江大河上建起了浮桥，狂风中驰聘着漫山遍野的骑兵，叫喊声，号角声，所有的宝座全震动了，所有的王国的国境线全在地图上摇晃起来了，人们听到一把超人的宝剑的出鞘声，人们看见他屹立在天边，手里烈焰飞腾，眼里光芒四射，霹雳一声，展开了他的两翼，大军和老羽林军，威猛天神也不过如此！”
①巴黎的大庙是摊贩集中的地方。
大家全不言语，安灼拉低着脑袋。寂静总多少有那么点默许或哑口无言的味儿。马吕斯，几乎没有喘气，以更加激动的心情继续说：
“我的朋友们，应该公正些！帝国有这么一个皇帝，这是一个民族多么辉煌的命运啊，而这个民族又正是法兰西，并且能把自己的天才附丽于这个人的天才！到一国便统治一国，打一仗便胜一仗，以别国的首都为兵站，封自己的士卒为国王，连连宣告王朝的灭亡，以冲锋的步伐改变欧洲的面貌，你一发威，人们便感到你的手已握住了上帝的宝剑的柄；追随汉尼拔、恺撒和查理大帝于一人；作一个能使每天的曙光为你带来响亮的前线捷报的人的人民；以残废军人院的炮声为闹钟，把一些彪炳千古的神奇的词抛上光明的天际，马伦哥、阿尔科拉、奥斯特里茨、耶拿、瓦格拉姆！随时把一些胜利的星斗罗列在几个世纪的天顶，使罗马帝国因法兰西帝国而不能专美于前，建大国，孕育大军，象一座高山向四方分遣它的雄鹰那样，使他的百万雄师飞遍整个大地，征服，控制，镇压，在欧洲成为一种因丰功伟绩而金光灿烂的民族，在历史中吹出天人的奏凯乐，两次征服世界，凭武功，又凭耀眼的光芒，这真卓绝，还能有什么比这更伟大的呢？”
“自由。”公白飞说。
这一下，马吕斯也把头低下去了。这个简单冰冷的词儿象把钢刀似的插进他那激昂慷慨的倾诉里，登时使他冷了半截。当他抬起眼睛时，公白飞已不在那里了。他也许因为能对那谀词泼上一瓢冷水而心满意足，便悄悄地走了，大家也全跟着他一道走了，只留下安灼拉一个人。那厅堂变成空的。安灼拉独自待在马吕斯旁边，闷闷地望着他。马吕斯这时已稍稍理了一下自己的思绪，但仍没有认输的意思，他心里还剩下一股未尽的热流在沸腾着，正待慢条斯理地向安灼拉展开争论，忽又听到有人在一面下楼梯一面歌唱，那正是公白飞的声音，他唱的是：
恺撒如给我
光荣与战争，
而我应抛弃
爱情与母亲，
我将对伟大的恺撒说：
收回你那指挥杖和战车，
我更爱我的母亲，咿呀嗨！
我更爱我的母亲！
公白飞的既柔婉又粗放的歌声给了那叠句一种雄伟的气势。马吕斯若有所思，呆望着天花板，几乎是机械地跟着唱：
“我的母亲！”
这时，他觉得安灼拉的手在他的肩头上。
“公民，”安灼拉对他说，“我的母亲是共和国。”