Chapter 15: Patria
By the time they got back, a few more skilled shots from the barricade had rendered the cannon completely useless. It now lay on the ground, with the men surrounding it clueless as to what to do about it.
'Look, Enjolras, that side of the barricade has been worn thin by the ball,' Feuilly pointed at a section where there was only an armchair and some rubble separating the defenders from the attackers.
'We must place a mattress there,' Enjolras commanded.
'We have none,' Combeferre said, 'the wounded are lying on them.'
Even Enjolras would not have deprived a dying man of his mattress for the sake of the living. He fell silent, trying to think of another way.
The old man who had provided the fifth uniform stood up.
'Can someone lend me a double-barrelled rifle?'
This was the first time he had spoken since arriving at the barricade. Before, he had been silent and still, not taking part in any of the proceedings.
Enjolras handed him his own rifle which he had just reloaded.
The man took aim at the attic window of one of the surrounding houses. There was a mattress on it, suspended by two ropes. They were a great distance away, therefore they were closer to resembling threads.
He fired, and one of the ropes snapped. He fired again and the mattress fell.
'Here is a mattress!' The whole barricade cried, applauding.
'Yes,' pointed out Combeferre, 'But who will go and fetch it?'
The mattress had fallen in the street outside the barricade. The soldiers were firing at the barricade incessantly.
Still silent, the shooter left the barricade, walked through the storm of bullets, and carried the mattress back to the barricade on his back. He fixed the mattress against the wall so that it was invisible to the artillery-men.
The volley of shots came, but they were stopped by the mattress. This time there was no fatal ricochet.
'Citizen, the republic thanks you,' said Enjolras.
Bossuet turned to Joly and Grantaire.
'It is immoral that a mattress should have so much power. Triumph of that which yields over that which thunders. But it is all the same; glory to the mattress which nullifies a cannon.'
They ignored the bullets coming their way. They did not cause much damage, more to the windows of the Corinthe than to the barricade. Enjolras was wise: he did not make the mistake of replying and wasting all their ammunition. While the soldiers had the advantage of seemingly limitless supplies, the insurgents outwitted them.
Courfeyrac and Gavroche were taunting the assailants.
'That's right, tear up the cloth!' Gavroche cried, 'We want lint'.
'You are getting diffuse, my good men.' It was unclear whether Courfeyrac was addressing the fighters or their guns.
'There is a troublesome overseer,' Enjolras warned.
Grantaire looked up and saw a man standing on the roof. He looked like a guard.
For the second time, everyone's attention was drawn to the old man, whose name, Gavroche had heard from Marius, was Monsieur Fauchelevent. He took his musket, aimed it at the soldier, and hit his casque. Had he missed, or hit his target perfectly? – the whole barricade wondered. This question was soon to be answered, as an officer replaced the other man promptly.
Again, Fauchelevent fired, and shot the officer's casque off. The message was clear – and so was the roof.
'Why didn't you kill the man?' Bossuet demanded. Fauchelevent did not answer.
Bossuet went over to Grantaire and Combeferre.
'He has not answered my question.'
'He is a man who does kindness by musket shots,' answered Combeferre.
'Besides, he didn't even answer Enjolras. What do you expect?' Grantaire added.
'Are you suggesting I'm less threatening than Enjolras?' Bossuet said in mock indignation.
'Yes.'
They both burst out laughing.
The bullets stopped for a while, then were redoubled.
'What's happened?' Combeferre asked Enjolras.
'The soldiers have changed. The man there is Captain Fannicot. His company is the one that…' Enjolras stopped himself, although it was too late. The company that had shot Jehan.
Combeferre loaded his musket. He wanted vengeance. There was a dark look in his eyes; Grantaire did not recognise him.
According to Enjolras, Captain Fannicot was resolute – close to being a madman. He now used an entirely impatient and irrational strategy – men charging at the barricade unexpectedly. There was one running towards Combeferre, and Grantaire was sure Combeferre would choose him to enact his revenge on; however, he did not fire. The man was shot down by someone else.
The National Guard had to fall back – about fifteen had been killed, including Fannicot himself.
'The fools! They are getting their men killed and using up our ammunition, for nothing.' Enjolras was angered by the pointless attack. 'Hark! It seems to me that Paris is waking.'
As there was nothing to eat, and Enjolras had banned drinking, Courfeyrac and Bossuet provided a distraction.
'I admire Enjolras,' said Bossuet. 'His impassive boldness astonishes me. He lives alone, which renders him perhaps a little sad. Enjolras suffers for his greatness, which binds him to widowhood. The rest of us have all, more or less, mistresses who make fools of us, that is to say braves. When we are as amorous as a tiger the least we can do is to fight like a lion. It is a way of avenging ourselves for the tricks which Mesdames our grisettes play us. Roland gets himself killed to spite Angelica; all our heroisms come from our women. A man without a woman, is a pistol without a hammer; it is the woman who makes the man go off. Now, Enjolras has no woman.' Grantaire's ears pricked up. 'He is not in love, and he finds a way to be intrepid. It is a marvellous thing that a man can be as cold as ice and as bold as fire.'
Enjolras did not respond to this; Grantaire assumed he hadn't heard it. Enjolras dropped his head so his hair covered his face.
'Patria,' he muttered in an undertone.
Grantaire heard this. Patria, he thought. Motherland. He smiled.
