Chapter 36: Under the Bells
"Is red really the Radicaux color, or are you already out of coats to wear?"
Eponine rolled her eyes at Azelma. "It's the warmest thing I've got," she said as she shook some dust off her red pelisse. She bit her lip as she looked to the soaring spires of Notre Dame on her right; there were already people congregating on the cathedral steps, hoping for a slightly better vantage point of the mid-campaign debate. A platform had been set up at the south side of the square, perpendicular to the cathedral entrance. 'That is still a little too far away,' she thought as she stepped off the bench she and Azelma had been standing on.
Azelma cursed as the seat wobbled under her. "Eponine, why must we go near the front?" she whined. "You can hear them just fine from here!"
"I need to see," Eponine said, motioning for her sister to follow her through the crowd. She blinked at the pallid winter sunlight; she guessed it had to be just past nine in the morning. Despite the hour and the hubbub filling the square she still felt rather drowsy. She rubbed her hands for warmth as she looked around for another familiar face. 'Wish I'd left home at the same time Enjolras and Combeferre did,' she thought.
"Eponine!" she heard Claudine call. The older woman was standing a few paces ahead, dressed in her best green dress but with red ribbons on the neckline and cuffs. "Musichetta is somewhere up front already, let's go!"
Eponine looked back over her shoulder. "Where's Azelma? She was just behind me."
"I don't see her," Claudine said, her brow furrowing.
"Never mind, she can probably take care of herself where she's standing," Eponine said before following her friend. When she was a little way from the stage, suddenly something yanked at her from behind. Before she could yell or scream, a hand covered her mouth and she found herself looking right up at a familiar sallow face.
"Mademoiselle Thenardier, you shouldn't be here," Babet said in an undertone as he let go of her.
Eponine wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "What are you doing here, Citizen Babet?" she asked crossly.
"Passing through, then I saw this mob," Babet said. "Haven't you heard the word on the street though? If there will be trouble in that campaign, it will be today when all the swells are in one place."
"How do you know this?" Eponine demanded.
"You're a smart girl, haven't you seen it before? Like last year, at Lamarque's funeral?" Babet hissed.
"I have a hand to show for it."
"You have to leave; I don't want to have to tell the tapissier that you've been done for."
Eponine laughed. "He doesn't concern himself with me anymore, don't you know? He won't be the one looking for me if something happens here. You could give him a kiss for me once you've run for it."
Babet rubbed his fingers. . "He asks about you."
"What for?"
"Simply to know what you are about."
Eponine paused, trying to figure out what to say to this bit of news. "If he means to simply see I'm well, you can tell him I'm fine and so are his sons. But I'm still not doing his business."
"Hah, you, above Pantin now?"
"I have bread now."
"I see. Good day to you, Mademoiselle Thenardier," Babet said with a bow before hurrying off in the general direction of the west bank, dodging a cart loaded up with what appeared to be sacks of flour.
Eponine bit her lip as she looked about for Claudine, wondering if her friend had noticed she'd lagged behind. She then began walking again towards the stage, picking up the pace when she noticed a scarlet coat in the crowd. "Grantaire?" she asked aloud, trying to ascertain this person's identity.
Grantaire turned and grinned at her. "Another one who isn't content with just the red bonnet?"
She shrugged; she'd already seen Bahorel in a similarly bold waistcoat earlier that day. "Have you seen Claudine?" she asked.
Grantaire motioned to where Claudine, Musichetta, Combeferre, and Joly seemed to be in the middle of a heated argument. "I'd stay away from the walls of Troy," he advised as he tried to smooth out his hair.
"Why, what has happened?"
"Aphrodite crossing the Muses, or perhaps Athena."
Eponine shrugged at this allusion before looking to where Musichetta was now storming away from a rather shocked looking Joly. Claudine shook her head at Combeferre before hurrying after Musichetta. Seeing her chance, Eponine ran towards her friends. "Wait!"
Musichetta wheeled around sharply, nearly losing her loosely tied bonnet in the process. "Thought you'd be up front, Eponine," she said with a sigh as she steadied her hat.
"Not yet," Eponine whispered. "Did some trouble get stirred up already?"
The two older women exchanged looks. "You may as well know," Musichetta said, looking down. "Patrice asked me to marry him."
Eponine gasped. "He did? But..." she trailed off, seeing Musichetta shake out a handkerchief. "You didn't say yes?" she asked more softly.
"I'm not sure if I could," Musichetta said.
"You mean you're not sure if you want to," Claudine pointed out.
Musichetta rolled her eyes. "I love him, you know that. I've known him since I left Picpus. Being Madame Joly doesn't suit me though!" she said with an expression of horror. She cast a scornful glance at Joly's general direction. "He could at least look like he's not pining; it's embarrassing to do that!"
Eponine winced, even as she noticed that Claudine's expression grew pensive. "Claudine?"
"Now don't mind me, you two," Claudine scolded lightly. "We ought to take proper notes as to what these gentlemen all have to say and figure out what to do about it."
"Claudine, you ought to run for the legislature next elections," Musichetta teased.
"I would but could I?" Claudine replied sardonically, craning her neck to get a better look at where some of the candidates were gathering to one side of the stage. "If they'd stick their heads out a little more instead of huddling all the time, they'd be more sensible about legislating!"
Musichetta sighed. "That is why we must pick the man with the most between his ears, and lucky for us the candidates from our quartier show some promise."
"One representative out of five in Paris does not equate having a law," Claudine seethed. She gritted her teeth and crossed her arms. "I'm sorry. I've had far too much to worry about lately," she apologized.
"We're all tired, Claudine," Musichetta said understandingly. "A few more weeks, then things will be quiet again, you'll see."
"One can hope," Claudine said before waving to someone else in the crowd. "Where on earth are those candidates? Eponine didn't you and Enjolras leave the house together? You'd better go find him and the others."
Eponine shook her head. 'He at least left two loaves at the table for breakfast,' she thought as she stood on tiptoe to try to find her friend. She bit her lip when at last she caught sight of a tall golden-haired figure near the stage, talking with Blanchard and some other men. 'At least he's impossible to miss,' she thought as she excused herself and headed down to the front of the crowd.
Blanchard noticed her first, judging by his grin. "Now there is a rose in winter!" he said cheerily.
"A thistle maybe, Citizen," Eponine replied a little uneasily. Nevertheless she couldn't help but smile when she saw Enjolras; she was sure that he had chosen to wear red specifically for this occasion. "I wanted to wish you luck," she said to him.
"Thank you, Eponine," Enjolras said. An amused smile crossed his lips as he looked at her. "Where will you stay during the debate?" he asked.
"I s'pose to the left," she replied, pointing to one side of the dais. "I could see very well from there, and I'm sure you could find me right away too."
Enjolras nodded approvingly. "You won't miss anything from that place."
Blanchard looked about, as if checking if they would be overheard. "You'd better be careful with that shifty Citizen Rossi over there. I know he's looking for those mischief makers, but he ought to look closer to home first."
Eponine glanced to where Rossi was talking to some other gentlemen clad in blue. "He's been helpful. He wouldn't have come to us if he didn't make some sort of sense."
Blanchard sighed. "You are too trusting, young lady."
"At this point we cannot accuse nor exonerate anyone," Enjolras pointed out.
"Not from ours," Blanchard muttered. "We know who are in our ranks."
"Which are not immune to discord," Enjolras said. He glanced towards where someone was calling for all the participants in the debate to gather near the stage. "I'll see you later," he told Eponine.
She quickly clasped his hand. "You'll do well, Enjolras. They'll all be listening to you," she said before walking off to the side. She cast a look over her shoulder in time to see him and Blanchard meeting the other candidates. After a few moments she located a rickety bench and climbed on top of it.
'Everyone will be off with someone, I think,' she thought as she glanced towards where the debate was being called to order. She craned her neck to get a look at the square, which was crammed with spectators wearing various ribbons and decorations in red, white, and blue, or bearing party insignias and posters. Some people had even climbed to the second floors of houses, or onto awnings and roofs. Further off, there were some policemen stationed at the corners and entrances to the square. She saw that Azelma had somehow found Prouvaire and Grantaire, while Musichetta had deigned to rejoin Joly, Bossuet, and Combeferre. She blinked at the sight of a familiar flash of reddish hair. 'That must be Coutard,' she realized, noticing at last that this man was standing with Feuilly and Bahorel. She heard a muffled giggle from nearby; Paulette had apparently been listening to some commentary from Claudine and Courfeyrac. After a few moments Courfeyrac caught Eponine's gaze and raised his hat by way of greeting before gesturing to the stage, where the candidates were being introduced. She had to muffle a giggle when she realized that he was pointing out young Bamatabois, who'd almost sweat through his own cravat.
Eponine rubbed her hands again as she watched the first candidates take their places towards the front of the platform while the rest sat to one side. 'All about prices again,' she thought, shaking her fingers with that restlessness that usually accompanied her ennui. She frowned when she saw that the speaker from the Radicaux party was Blanchard, and that the representatives from the other parties were two other men she only knew by name. 'If he says the same thing he said at the Pantheon, I shan't pay him a bit of attention,' she thought as she stuck her hands in her coat pockets. Yet it appeared that the debate would soon turn heated after all; the representative from the Democrates party was a furious man from Montmartre, with statements as sweeping as the rather outlandish flare of his green morning coat. A few times it seemed as if these candidates would be booed off the stage, if not for several of the parties' senior members calling for order.
After a few minutes it was time for the second round of debates, namely on the topic of capital punishment. 'Enjolras' turn to speak,' Eponine realized, seeing him get to his feet. She heard some gasps, murmurs and applause in the crowd as she watched this impassive young man take his place with two other candidates. She felt something catch in her throat as she looked in his direction; for a passing moment he had also found her in the throng, and nodded to her by way of acknowledgment. She had to pinch her wrist in order to bring her attention back to what he had to say, even if she had already discussed the matter with him the night before.
Halfway through Enjolras' speech, Eponine noticed someone running away from the side of the stage. She slipped off her perch and went to catch this wayward figure as he wove his way through the crowd. "Gavroche, what are you doing here?" she hissed, grabbing her brother by his shoulders.
"Taking in the air," Gavroche replied impetuously. "You cannot apprehend me for that."
"Not apprehending; I haven't a bagne to send you to," Eponine retorted. She gritted her teeth when she saw Navet also grinning beside her brother. "You both shouldn't be here!"
"The Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau is a poor theater," Gavroche said "I'd rather take the balcony seat again, at the Rue de Chanvrerie."
"Well this isn't a barricade, this is political," Eponine scolded crossly. Gavroche merely stuck out his tongue at her before adding in his own voice to the cheering, raising his fist gleefully.
Navet whistled over the applause at the end of Enjolras' speech. "He's got them!" he shouted eagerly.
Eponine nodded even as she noticed the Democrates candidate taking the center of the stage. 'Dufour, from that meeting at Picpus,' she thought. It was at that moment that a single sharp report came from the rear of the crowd, drawing a scream from a child standing nearby.
"What-" an astounded Dufour asked before his voice was drowned out by a warning shout, moments before two deafening roars pierced the morning, filling the air with smoke, sulphur and splinters.
A sharp pain blossomed in Eponine's left hand; somehow she'd thrown her arms out in an effort to break her fall. She raised herself to her knees and shook Gavroche's shoulder. She screamed at him to run, but somehow she could not hear her own voice. Nevertheless Gavroche nodded and yanked Navet to his feet. Eponine ducked at the sounds of shots being fired, people yelling for help or calling for their loved ones. Some people were now pounding on the cathedral doors, begging to be let in. Many more were stampeding towards the bridges in an effort to escape the still ongoing crossfire.
As she got up, something caught her across her shoulders and her upper back, sending her sprawling into the mud. Despite the vicious pain, she managed to reach for a broken piece of wood, which she swung in time to stop a cane before it could deal her another blow. Her eyes widened as she found herself looking up at a burly man whose face was obscured by a mask and a hat. The attacker pushed her down, nearly pinning her to the ground with the cane across the makeshift club she was holding. Eponine wriggled enough to draw her knee up so she could kick this man right in his instep, eliciting a muffled howl of pain. He loosened his grip for a few moments, which was enough time for her to push him off and struggle to her feet. As she ran towards the platform, she heard a terrible creaking followed by a shout of relief; someone had drawn the bolts of the church doors, and now dozens of bystanders were seeking sanctuary in the cathedral.
Meanwhile, the area near the platform was now blocked not just with smoke but with people trying to help or head towards the cathedral. Eponine bit back a shriek as she saw men carrying away a small child covered in blood. She ran back towards where she'd been standing a few minutes before, hoping against all hope for the sight of any of her friends unscathed or at least on their feet.
"Eponine! I need your help here!" Combeferre shouted from behind a pile of wreckage. The young physician was trying to extricate an unconscious Dufour from under a beam that had been part of the stage. Splinters littered this man's shirt and one was even stuck in his arm. "Steady his head," Combeferre instructed before he went to shift the beam.
Eponine felt her gut twist at the sight of Dufour's shallow breathing. "He's done for, isn't he?"
"He took a blow to the head," Combeferre said. "Have you seen Enjolras?"
She shook her head. "He should be here..."
Combeferre swore under his breath. "Get Dufour into the cathedral. Keep your head down."
"But-"
"Go now, Eponine!"
Before Eponine could protest, Combeferre had rushed off to tend to another wounded man near the side of the now collapsed stage. She looked down at Dufour, whose face was now turning pale. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she tried to pull him along by his coat, only to end up dragging him a few paces. She could feel a burning starting up in her shoulders, making her pause momentarily to catch her breath. When she looked down, she found that the left cuff of her pelisse was now stained a dark crimson. She bit her lip, if only to hold back a whimper of pain until they were almost at the steps of Notre Dame.
"Citizenness Thenardier?" a hoarse voice called. She turned and saw Bamatabois limping on the cathedral steps. The young man bit back a cry on seeing Dufour. "God no..."
"I'm sorry-"Eponine whispered.
Bamatabois shook his head furiously. "I'll stay with him. You go look for the others," he said before yelling for someone to help carry Dufour into the cathedral.
'Please, please let me find them here,' Eponine begged silently as she went into the church. The shiny floors were now slick with melt water, dirt, and blood as the wounded and other onlookers huddled on or between the pews, or on pieces of wood and garments serving as makeshift stretchers. She could see Joly, Musichetta, and Claudine among those tending to the injured. In a corner, Paulette was curled up on the floor, practically inconsolable despite Courfeyrac's attempts to comfort her. Before she could go to them, she felt someone yank her elbow.
"Did you see them?" Leonor asked. Her eyes were wild and her right cheek was caked with dried blood.
"Who?" Eponine asked.
"Those murderers. They went running, I thought you might have noticed," Leonor whispered. She looked towards where Coutard and Bahorel were sitting by a form that had been covered with a coat. "He had no chance," she added, casting a glance towards where a priest was administering the last rites to another unfortunate stretched out near the altar.
"Leonor, not now," Feuilly said, walking up to her and placing an arm around her waist. The fan maker was also covered in splinters and a clumsy bandage supported his other arm. "I saw your brother running. Navet was with him," he informed Eponine.
"To where?"
"Pont au Change."
Eponine nodded with relief. "Azelma?"
"I saw her with Prouvaire; Bossuet and I helped them and some others get to the Marche Neuf before we got into a scuffle there," Feuilly said, glancing to where Bossuet was sitting up against a pillar with his leg in a splint. He paled as he saw Joly to tend to Dufour. "He's the only one among the candidates who was brought here."
"Combeferre is still outside helping the others," Eponine replied. "Grantaire isn't here too?"
"He ran to help someone who was trapped near the platform," Bahorel chimed in. Bahorel's eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was completely dishevelled, except where it had been flattened by a length of linen serving as a bandage over his forehead. "Enjolras might be there too," he added.
"I should find-"Eponine began before she felt another pain shoot through her shoulders and back. She gritted her teeth and looked up in time to see Claudine already hurrying over, carrying a bowl of water and some bundles of cloth.
"I'll take it from here," Claudine said to the young men and Leonor before ushering Eponine to a corner. She clucked her tongue as she surveyed the dark patches all over Eponine's coat. "No wonder no one noticed right away. What happened?"
"Mostly a cane," Eponine said. She tried not to wince as she gingerly removed her stained pelisse before lying on the cold floor. It was all she could do not to look at the dirtied garment, knowing that the sight of blood would make her feel even worse. 'I'm sure my dress is ruined too,' she realized as she let Claudine undo the back of her dress. She gasped at the sting of water against her wounds, and had to bite her sleeve to keep from crying out.
"There, there it will be done soon," Claudine whispered soothingly as she dabbed a rag over Eponine's left shoulder. "At least there are no splinters; Joly and Musichetta drew something like a spike out of someone's belly."
"What was it? That thing that blew up?" Eponine murmured, flinching again with pain.
"A cannon held in one hand," Grantaire said from where he was sitting some distance off. His shirtsleeves were red up to the elbow with blood, but otherwise he seemed unscathed.
Claudine paled as she continued sponging down Eponine's back. "A grenade?"
"That's what they are saying," Grantaire said. He leaned back against a pillar. "I'm thirsty."
"Haven't you got something to drink?" Eponine asked.
"I may as well drink from the font," Grantaire replied as the church door opened. Navet ran in, followed by some men entering in by pairs or threes, many of them covered with blood or with improvised bandages. The last to enter were Combeferre and Enjolras; the latter leaning heavily on the former.
Eponine would have sat up if not for Claudine's hand between her shoulder blades. "You can go to him when I've bandaged you up," Claudine said firmly as she brought out a roughly folded strip of linen. "It will be over in a little while."
It was all that Eponine could do to keep still as she waited for Claudine to finish her work. She tilted her head a little in an attempt to watch Combeferre tending to Enjolras near one of the pews. His coat was also stained with dark patches, but it did not seem as if he had taken any particularly serious injury to his chest or midsection. However he was seen to bite his lip when he stretched out his leg, and again when Combeferre helped him remove his coat.
At length she felt Claudine do up the dress again except for the topmost portion. "Here, take this shawl; it's too cold for you to go as you are," Claudine advised as she helped Eponine sit up.
"Thank you," Eponine murmured before ambling over to where Enjolras and Combeferre were seated. It was slow going; every movement sent a dull pain through her but in time she'd crossed to the pews. She held on to a pew before calling Enjolras' name.
Enjolras looked up quickly at her, but the relief in his eyes soon shifted into shock and fear. "You're hurt," he said as he tried to inch to the side to let her sit down.
"Not where you can see it," she said, sitting down more carefully. She tried not to flinch at the sight of Enjolras' swollen left ankle as well as his right wrist, which Combeferre was binding up. "Someone set a cane on me when I was bringing Citizen Dufour here. I couldn't see who it was."
Combeferre's face was stricken. "I'm sorry, Eponine."
"No, you don't have to be."
Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"
Combeferre looked at Enjolras remorsefully. "I was the one who asked her to take care of Dufour after he was found."
Enjolras nodded understandingly after a few moments. "No one had any way of knowing what would happen. It was not your fault."
"But what happened to you? You were up there..." Eponine asked. She shivered now at the memory of the blasts; they had been much too close to where she'd been standing earlier. 'If I hadn't seen Gavroche...' she thought before willing herself to look at Enjolras, more so when she felt his hand come to rest on her arm.
"He's lucky to be alive; he managed to get Blanchard off the platform before falling down himself," Combeferre muttered. "If he didn't walk on his ankle it would be in some better shape."
"I had to; I saw who did it," Enjolras said.
'Which was probably how he got his wrist hurt,' Eponine realized. "What about everyone else?"
"Some there; you can see Blanchard and some of the others," Enjolras said, gesturing to where his colleague was trying to talk to another Radicaux party member. "Citizen Paquet was taken to one of the houses; another doctor is tending to him. Jeanne is with him. Rossi accompanied some of his colleagues to a hospital."
Combeferre shook his head. "An unnecessary delay..." he muttered. "Enjolras hold still or the bandages will slip. You've complicated things enough as it is!"
"Do you need me to hold him down?" Eponine asked. Her eyes widened when she saw Gavroche running up to them. "I told you to leave!" she exclaimed angrily at him.
"I did, with Navet. To the churchyard," Gavroche said.
Enjolras shook his head. "It's too close to danger still, Gavroche."
"Well I have a good fort, it outlasted that Bastille!" Gavroche said, gesturing to the church. The boy clapped his hands over his ears as a howl tore through the church. "Looks like someone will need a bed in that sort of garden."
Eponine bit her lip as she looked to where Bamatabois was now clutching Dufour's motionless form. 'What if we would have needed those too?' she wondered, letting her brother sit beside her as they waited for Combeferre to finish his work.