In Which the Young Revolutionists Meet at the ABC Cafe One Last Time
Enjolras wandered around the streets, watching people pass by. Each French citizen had his own place to hurry to; a mother, pulling her child impatiently to her feet, hurried and was quickly enveloped into a loud buzzing sound that came from a group of women chatting in a corner; a young girl was making her way slowly to the market, too relaxed under the pleasant haze of the sun to be in a hurry to complete her errands; men disappeared into shops and taverns, laughing boisterously as they went. Young students walked quietly by, making their way back to the dark silence of the lecture room.
But Enjolras continued his little exercise. He had nowhere to go; there was no welcome home waiting for him—his parents cared not a wit for what he dedicated his entire life to. There was no one expecting him.
At least, not at the moment. It was noontime; but when the soft, dark evening came, then! Then a whole company would be waiting for him, in that happy, bright ABC café! That was perhaps the best and worst time of day for the rich young student. It was the best because that was the time when familiar, cheerful faces greeted him so pleasantly and he was not alone. It was the worst because sometimes—and more often than not—it became loud and hot and head aching in that small shop, where hundreds of voices grew from tiny, individual whispers to one great, unified buzz!
Rather, Enjolras believed he enjoyed being alone. Is the writer contradicting herself now? No, for Enjolras believed he preferred solitude. Little was he aware of how he looked forward to seeing and hearing those other passionate men, each one gathering together for a single purpose: revolution! Little did he know how fond he was of those students and workers, and how much his heart might ache for them if they ceased to meet at the ABC café.
He did not have anyone or anything to care for, and thus, he poured all he had into what was just and right. Liberty! Equality! Fraternity! How those words stirred his very soul!
As he walked around the square, Enjolras shifted his thoughts to what had passed during the morning. Henri had been a regular, little visitor to the ABC café, where the owner of the shop would give him a little bread and water for supper. The tiny urchin would sit down and listen to the students and other young men give passionate speeches and argue with each other. He was a great favorite with Enjolras, who had noticed him from the very beginning. But suddenly, two nights ago, he had stopped coming. Enjolras tried finding him, recollecting what little the gamin had told him about his home and family, but the rich young man soon gave up the attempts. It simply took too much of his time looking for a boy who perhaps knew the streets of Paris better than himself!
Enjolras had been more than relieved when he found Henri standing near a shop; he had been more than surprised, then, to see the suspicious stalker of young Marius accompanying the child.
"Enjolras!"
Interrupted from his thoughts, he turned to see who had noisily summoned his attention. It was that drunken skeptic, Grantaire. Enjolras sighed. Of all the young men who met at the ABC café, Grantaire was the worst. He cared not for liberty, nor the rights of man, nor for revolution. What Enjolras did not know was that poor Grantaire listened to every speech given at the café just for the sake of seeing his idol, Enjolras himself, who to him was perfect in every way.
"What is it, Grantaire?"
"The others sent me to look for you," replied the drunkard, offering a dirty hand and a silly grin. "They are all waiting for you."
"Well, come on then! Or are you going to skip my lecture? Hurry up!" Enjolras didn't wait for a reply. He hurried away to the others, without giving a second glance to the poor Grantaire.
Cheerful shouts of greeting arose as Enjolras appeared at the doorway. "Where have you been, Enjolras?" "As you're none too early by my watch, you owe me a drink!" "Oh, don't mind Lesgles! You said you'd deliver a speech today! Out with it!"
Enjolras looked around him, hoping to see the small glowing face of Henri. Finally, seeing there was no child present in the room, he moved forward, pushed himself onto one of the several tables the men were gathered around, and said solemnly:
"I need some time to think first."
With that, he bent down and forced his full attention onto the pile of papers that lay before him. Instantly, the room, once intense with a still, quiet atmosphere, was bursting with noise, as the men began arguing and speaking all at once.
He could still distinguish the voices of some of the students.
Combeferre the philosopher: "At Notre Dame the sections are prepared!"
"At the rue de Bac they're straining at the leash!" came the voice of poetic Feuilly.
"… like the river of the tide, Paris is coming to our side!" cried passionate Courfeyrac.
As he listened to these announcements, his heart pounding excitedly, Enjolras was quite unaware of the two strangers who had entered quietly entered the room and were sitting in a corner farthest from him. Entirely covered from head to foot, they were unrecognizable, but one seemed to be only a child, by way of height, while the other was taller but just as skinny.
Completely unconscious of those two newcomers, Enjolras stood up and, holding his hands up, cried, "Silence!"
The dizzying buzz of the room instantly hushed—the two newcomers started.
In a loud voice ringing with impatience for justice, he began, "The time is near. So near, it's stirring the blood in our veins! And yet beware. Don't let the wine go to your brains!" and here he gave a sharp look at Grantaire, who wasn't at his sober best and was grinning wide from the attention, "For the army we fight is a dangerous foe…"
On he continued, oblivious to what was happening among his companions. How unconscious he was of all the hearts he was stirring! More than one person in the room felt his soul tremble with passion as Enjolras cried out,
"We need a sign! To rally the people, to call them to arms! To bring them in line!"
Suddenly the door creaked open and a young man with dark curly hair walked softly in, a shade of red colored noticeably on his usually marble cold cheeks. As he entered, many people turned to look, some amused with his embarrassment, others laughing outright. Giving a stern, "Marius, you're late,", Enjolras noticed the thin, taller stranger give a sudden start at the name and then turn to look at the floor, his face hidden under the brim of a cap.
Enjolras's eyes narrowed, but he thought no more of the matter at the moment, for Joly's voice cut the sharp silence: "Marius, what's wrong with you today? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"
As Enjolras turned to hear Marius' explanation, the two strangers stood up and hurried out of the room.
I wrote this chapter rather vaguely, so my apologies if you had a difficult time reading through it. I was listening to a bunch of songs from the Les Miserables 25th anniversary, especially Do You Hear the People Sing?... Karimloo was just so brilliant that I couldn't help glancing at the video as I wrote. I think I replayed it a hundred times! Anyways, hope you enjoyed! :D