"What are you doing?"
Gavroche stopped his merry-making and looked around, only becoming aware of his surroundings now. Caught up in the wild ecstasy of the march that Gen. Lamarque's funeral had dissolved into, he had in fact been separated from the volatile crowds. They were not very far away; he could still hear the jubilant cries and loud singing of the great processional through the thin spaces stretching between the crowded buildings.
The voice that had brought all this to Gavroche's attention originated from a young girl, no older than four and no larger, it seemed to the boy, than a newborn lamb. Her clothes were very clean, certainly cleaner than his own tattered coat, but still frayed and warn. Her bones were prominent and pronounced on her skinny frame, and her condition tugged at the gamin's raucous heart.
With a soft smile and reply he said, "Why, Mademoiselle, I was singing!"
She bit her lip and hugged her arms around her tiny body in a show of comfort. "Why?"
"Why?" Gavroche repeated animatedly, "Why?! Mademoiselle, you surprise me! I am singing because I am full of fighting spirit and joy! Hope has sprung up in the people once again thanks to my friends and for that it has been all the more re-kindled in myself. Anyone who does not carry on as I have been is truly unfortunate."
The girl continued to stare with large eyes. "I do not understand."
"Surely you can hear the crowds?" she nodded. "My dear friends have riled the poor and oppressed masses up and are going to lead them to a glorious dawn of freedom!" With that, the young boy was so filled with revolutionary fervor that he began to sing again, leaping and gesturing with wild abandon and all the youthful joy and hope his lithe body possessed. The little girl watched him, still wary and uncertain, but a little less tense.
Gavroche soon grew tired of his solitary celebration and began to look about him for a route back to the mob. His bright eyes alighted again on the girl, who still stood watching him.
"Maman says the crowds are dangerous. She has ordered me to stay away from them and stay inside," the girl said, her tremulous voice betraying her fear. At the mention of danger, Gavroche puffed up his chest and came over to her with a swagger he surely picked up from a certain Center.
"Revolutions are dangerous," he pronounced. "Dangerous to all who oppose and try to thwart them! The people have been held down long enough!" And he was up and dancing again, his voice carrying through the echoing streets and his words penetrating something within the tiny girl's heart.
"Who has held them down?" she asked. She had to repeat herself with growing volume before Gavroche stopped his prancing and looked at her quizzically. She repeated yet again, "Who has held the people down?"
"Why, the king, of course! The monarchy! The bourgeoisie who have grown fat off the labours and oppression of the poor, of people like you and me, Mademoiselle. They have held us down for their own gain and have kept us silent, but no more!" He was clearly parroting someone and didn't have a complete and well-rounded understanding of all the words, but the sentiment was certainly the same. Here was a young revolutionary who believed with all his heart in the cause and the people who championed it.
The little girl seemed to mull this over. "And what are the people being held down from?" This was a very good question, though a simple one, and Gavroche was ready with the answer.
"Freedom, Mademoiselle, freedom! The freedom to live and grow and prosper, to seek out opportunities and advancements regardless of birth. Look at me, for example! I am free, free of sadness and commands! But many people are not as lucky as I, and so they must fight for their freedom. And others are helping them to fight. So, my dear mademoiselle, does that answer your question?"
The little girl shuffled her feet and nodded. Before Gavroche went off whooping once more down the street, her voice stopped him again.
"Why do you call me mademoiselle? I am no pretty lady in a fine dress."
"Perhaps not, dearie, but you should have all the opportunities those fine ladies do, for you are just as, and likely more, deserving of them then they themselves are. That is why I must join my friends in their fight, that is why we fight, and what we fight for: the day when all the petite mademoiselles like you around the country may have pretty dresses."
"All of them?" the child asked. Her face was the picture of awe and childlike wonder and hope, and though Gavroche had been exaggerating for dramatic effect, her look warmed his heart so that he could not bare to tell her that it was unlikely.
"Yes!" She smiled then, and it was worth the small lie. Clothing all those little girls in fine fabrics would have been impractical and expensive, not to mention fool-hardy, but she needn't be privy to that knowledge. "And I will require your thoughts and cheers from your safe home to do it!"
"Monsieur," Gavroche's new little friend asked, "do you truly believe such a small person as me can help your rev-lution?"
Gavroche looked down at her in silence, and then knelt in the street muck so that he was now looking up at her tiny, pensive face. He took her hands in his grimy ones.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "Even the tiniest or seemingly most insignificant person can make a difference in the world. Most people think I myself am too little to be of use or to make a change, but I make it my mission daily to prove them wrong. And I want you to promise me," he pumped her hands emphatically up and down, "before I take my leave of you, that you will try to do the same. There are always things worth fighting for, my dear, even if they appear small or impossible to other people. Remember that. And remember that you can do so much, even though you are little!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Gavroche noted a tall, pale woman standing in the doorway of a nearby building, scanning the street. It was logical to assume this was his new friend's mother, and that it was time to be going. He stood and released the girl's hands, then swept her a bow Courfeyrac would be proud of.
"My dear, dear mademoiselle, I must now go join my friends and fight for your freedom. Remember what I have said! And send your thoughts to those of us on the barricades!" And then the young gamin was off, loping down the streets and singing loud and bawdy songs all the way. The echoes of his voice could be heard long after he had dipped out of sight.
The little girl did not know what a barricade was, but she could hear her world-worn parents discussing them in hushed tones long after she was supposed to be sleeping, and, true to her word, she sent all the thoughts and prayers and hopes she could amass from her tiny form to wherever the street boy was.
In the morning, her maman was silent and had a face like stone, and her papa's eyes were wells of fury and sadness and regret. And though she did not fully understand all that had occurred and been said, she knew that the boisterous gamin would not be seen on her forlorn street again.
But she kept his words in her heart, his promises of a future and change and things worth fighting for. And, years later, she would join those who flocked to the streets to try and enact change, and she would continue to try for all her remaining days.
HAPPY BARRICADE DAY! This is my first active Barricade Day on this site so I of course had to publish something. It's cute and I enjoy it, but it's definitely not my greatest work. Enjoy your day! Bahorel and Jehan and Eponine are in our hearts, and I know we will all mourn for the others tomorrow. Just remember Gavroche's words to our little friend from above - I don't know about y'all, but I'm ready to storm the palace! - and feel free to leave a review if you so choose (they're much appreciated!)