Chapter Sixteen: Little Great Souls

'Something new!' exclaimed Courfeyrac. 'My name is Eight-Pounder'.

The artillery-men placed this second gun next to the first. It would seem that they had learnt from before, as there were metal plates covering the wheels.

As this cannon fired at the barricade, two others were heard from a distance.

'That is coming from the barricade at St. Merry,' said Feuilly.

'We must at all events diminish the inconvenience of those pieces,' said Enjolras. 'Fire at the front left wheel!'

The barricade, which had hitherto been silent, opened fire. The street was, once again smothered in smoke, which took a few minutes to clear. When it did, it revealed the wheel broken. There were two bodies lying next to it.

'This goes well. Success!' Bossuet said to Enjolras.

Enjolras shook his head.

'An hour more of this success, and there will not be ten cartridges in the barricade.'

Not long after this remark, Grantaire saw a small figure in the street at the foot of the barricade. With horror, he recognised it as Gavroche, who held a basket from the wine-shop and was collecting the ammunition of dead National Guards.

'Gavroche, what are you doing there?'

'I am filling my basket, Grantaire.'

'For God's sake, the bullets, Gavroche!'

'Well, it rains. What then?'

'Get back here!' Grantaire cried.

'Directly,' said the gamin, before springing into the street. He collected the cartridge boxes of the dead from Fannicot's company – some twenty men had been left behind.

Smoke filled the barricade, separating the two sides as if by a veil. Gavroche used it to hide, but as a result Grantaire could not see him either. He had no indication of life from the boy, until he heard his voice singing.

On est laid à Nanterre,

C'est la faute à Voltaire,

Et bête à Palaiseau,

C'est la faute à Rousseau.

Another shot fired. Grantaire was unsure of whether it had hit him or not, but the silence was once again broken by another verse. This continued for a while, until one bullet hit him. He stumbled, then fell.

The barricade was stunned: momentarily, they had forgotten about the danger Gavroche was in. Too late, they had been reminded of his mortality.

But Gavroche was not to be stopped. He rose up, blood streaming down his face, and turned to face the direction from which the shot came.

Je suis tombé par terre,

C'est la faute à Voltaire,

Le nez dans le ruisseau,

C'est la faute à–

He never got to finish. A gun fired again – the same gun that had hit him before – and he fell, face forward, onto the ground. This time, he did not move again. As someone who had been there that night put it – the little great soul had taken flight.

Grantaire sprang from the barricade, at a speed matched only by Marius. He leaned over the body – there was no life left in it. His forehead stung suddenly, but he paid no attention to it. He only moved when Marius lifted Gavroche up in his arms. He picked up the basket of cartridges and carried it back.

Marius was carrying Gavroche towards the basement, probably to put him on the table beside Mabeuf. Grantaire followed him blindly, but Enjolras stopped him.

'You are hurt,' he said.

Grantaire raised his hand up to his forehead and winced. When he took his hand back, it was covered in blood.

'I don't think it's serious,' Enjolras continued, 'probably just a graze.' He took off his cravat and bandaged Grantaire's forehead with it.

Combeferre had taken Grantaire's basket without him noticing and was now distributing the cartridges. Fauchelevent refused to take any, unsurprisingly.

Combeferre did not even venture to offer ammunition to Grantaire. He was dazed, and had only one aim – to see Gavroche. He headed straight into the Corinthe and stood staring at Gavroche, lying next to Mabeuf: two very different heroes.

Grantaire remained in a similar state until he was disturbed by Enjolras issuing an order: 'Carry some paving stones into the house. Fortify the windows with them. Half the men to the muskets, the other half to the stones. Not a minute to lose.'

He went into the basement and saw Grantaire kneeling by the table. He went up to him and spoke to him gently.

'Grantaire, come and help me.'

'What with?'

'We've fortified the windows with paving stones now, as much as we can, and now I'm going to take these bottles upstairs.' He gestured to underneath the table, where he had hidden the wine earlier. 'Broken glass will be our last defence.'

'Why are you taking it upstairs?' Grantaire asked as he was following Enjolras with a crate.

'It's where the last survivors will go, like the keep of a castle.'

They reached the top of the stairs and he suddenly turned around.

'Grantaire?' he said, his voice quiet and wavering.

'Enjolras?'

'The fighting is going to break out pretty seriously any moment now. We might not- I mean, we probably will get separated at some point. And people are going to die. Including our closest friends. So if- if at any time- I know you're not going to be fighting so if there's nothing more to be done, just please try to come back here. Even if you do make it back I can't guarantee this place will be safe for long, but- I'll be here. And- I just want to see you again. Alive.'

'I understand. And I will try.'

Enjolras went down and was instructing Feuilly on what to do when the barricade is taken. He turned to Javert.

'I won't forget you.' He laid down a pistol on the table. 'The last man to leave this room will blow out the spy's brains.'

'Here?' someone asked.

'No, do not leave this corpse with ours. You can climb over the little barricade on the Rue Mondétour. It is only four feet high. The man is well tied. You will take him there, and execute him there.'

Enjolras sat down at the end of the table and loaded his carbine; it was clear he intended to stay there. Perhaps he wanted to be the last one to leave and kill the spy himself. Fauchelevent went up to him.

'You are the commander?'

'Yes.'

'You thanked me just now.'

'In the name of the republic. The barricade has two saviours, Marius Pontmercy and you.'

'Do you think that I deserve a reward?' Grantaire knew where this was heading.

'Certainly.'

'Well, I ask one.'

'What?'

'To blow out that man's brains myself.'

Javert had looked up at that point and spotted the old man.

'That is appropriate,' he said.

Enjolras stood up and surveyed the room. There were about a dozen men in there, all watching him expectantly. Grantaire could see that he was making a difficult decision. Enjolras' eagle gaze deliberately avoided Grantaire. He knew he did not agree.

'No objection,' he said finally, and he did not have a choice. He could not choose Grantaire's feelings over a room full of people who had no reason to spare Javert's life. Had he not just ordered his death?

'Take the spy.' He stood up and gave his seat up to Fauchelevent.

As soon as the man picked up the pistol, the sound of trumpets reached their ears.

'Come on!' Marius called.

Javert laughed.

'Your health is hardly better than mine.'

'All outside?' Enjolras ignored his comment.

As the insurgents rushed to take up their positions, Enjolras took Grantaire aside for a moment.

'I tried. You know I tried.'

'I know.'

'I was going to stay there and let him go after everyone else had left. I didn't expect anyone to want to be the executioner! Especially Fauchelevent. It is strange, if you think about it. Remember the sentries with the casques?'

'Yes. It seems unlikely. But from the way I've seen Javert react, I think they may know each other somehow.'

'Revenge?'

'I don't know.'

'Anyway, since the attack has started and I have to be there, I will leave my duty to you.' And, handing him a pistol. 'I don't expect you to use it, even just for threatening. I know you will think of something.'

With that, he ran off.

'Farewell till immediately!' Javert called after him. His words, though malicious, had wit in them.

Grantaire left, as though following Enjolras, then returned straight away and hid behind the door. The two older men thought they were alone.

Fauchelevent untied the rope that held Javert to the table and motioned to him to get up. He afterwards led him slowly out of the wine-shop. They crossed the interior of the barricade – the insurgents were facing the other way. Grantaire noticed that Marius had seen them pass, but he also turned around and Grantaire slipped past him unseen.

Grantaire observed them through a gap in the little barricade in Rue Mondétour. They were facing away from him, so he could not see what they were looking at, but he recognised Javert's voice.

'It seems to me that I know that girl'. Grantaire could only assume they were talking about a dead person's body. Strange, he thought. I don't recall seeing any girl here, and certainly not wounded.

'Javert, it is I,' Fauchelevent said, as if it was not obvious that Javert already knew him.

'Take your revenge.' He was still proud and had an air of authority about him.

In reply, Fauchelevent took out a knife.

'A surin! You are right. That suits you better.'

As the knife drew close to Javert's throat, Grantaire panicked. He could not think of any perfect solution. He had not fired a gun before, but knew his aim would never be anything like Fauchelevent's. He was about to stand up and draw attention to himself, but it appeared he did not need to.

Instead of slitting his throat, Fauchelevent cut the rope around Javert's neck, then did the same with his wrists and feet.

'You are free,' he said.

Javert was no longer the cold, distanced figure of authority. He was shaken. There was no better word to describe it. He could not speak.

'I don't expect to leave this place,' Valjean continued. 'Still, if by chance I should, I live, under the name of Fauchelevent, in the Rue de l'Homme Armé, Number Seven.'

'Take care,' Javert warned through clenched teeth.

'Go.'

'You said Fauchelevent, Rue de l'Homme Armé?' Does Javert not know his name? Is Fauchelevent not his real name?

'Number Seven.'

Javert repeated it under his breath, then buttoned up his coat, stood up straight, turned around and walked a few steps forward. He turned around.

'You annoy me. Kill me rather!' he cried, desperation in his voice. He sounded like a man who did not know what to do next. However, his tone was more respectful.

'Go away.'

Javert obeyed, and left.

"Fauchelevent" fired the pistol and returned to the barricade.

'It is done,' he said.

Grantaire went to Enjolras, who was waiting for him.

'Well?'

'It is done,' he said, but his meaning was entirely different to the old man's. 'But it is not I who have done it.'