Chapter 16 - The Elephant of Bastille
"So, let me go through it again…" Grace sighed, summiting the last of the steps of the hill. "Lamarque was a General in Napoleons's Armies, did lots of fighting in Italy and Spain and Russia. Particularly praised for the Siege of Naples and his capture of Capri."
"All right so far." Eponine replied, glancing back down to Grace once she'd reached the top of the hill.
They were on one of their little walking tours. The Cafe d'ABC was full of drink and women and discussion, and when a woman had tried flirting with Grace and begging her to take her to bed, Eponine had been swift in saving her.
Currently, they were still in Montmartre, on the site of an old, crumbled ruin of a church which had once stood right on the crown of the hill. Eponine told her that it had been destroyed during the 1789 revolution, and nobody had done anything with the site since. But from the wonderful vista of Paris below her, and the spread of Montmartre around them, Grace quickly guessed that this is where the Sacre Coeur would eventually be erected.
So much of that modern city in her mind's eye didn't exist. The Eiffel Tower was still iron ore in the ground, the Museè du Louvre was still a work in progress, the Arc du Triomphe was a half-erected mess… Grace had got a little excited when she'd spotted a windmill on top of a building in Montmartre, but it hadn't been the Moulin Rouge. Again, Eponine had told her that these windmills were just a leftover of when this part of the city had once been countryside.
"Keep going…" Eponine prompted, snapping her out of her speculative staring.
"Umm… But he runs a cropper after Napoleon was exiled the first time." Grace continued, carrying on with what she'd remembered from her lesson.
"Was that Elba or Saint Helens?" Eponine asked, testing her memory.
"Elba." She replied confidently.
Eponine nodded in confirmation.
"Okay, so he's exiled to Elba. But then Napoleon comes back! And he's like 'Sike! You can't hold me down, bitches!' and he escapes the island and calls all of his best Generals back to his side, including Lamarque."
Eponine laughed. "Sure, sure…"
"So Napoleon is twatting up the Prussians, he's twatting up the Belgians, he's twatting up the Austrians…"
Eponine laughed again.
"But then, uh oh, it's the British." Grace mounted one of the stones in the ruin of the church and began a mouth-trumpet rendition of Rule Britannia. She glanced at Eponine, who was clutching at her sides with the force of her laughter. Grace liked making Eponine laugh, she didn't hear it often. "And our old boy Napoleon bites off more than he can chew at Waterloo. Boom! Brap-Brap! Pow! Canonnnnns to the left of them, canonnnnns to the right! Oh wait, was the Charge of the Light Brigade at Waterloo?"
"What on earth are you on about?" Eponine giggled.
"Hmm, probably not, then." Grace shrugged. "So, our dear old Wellington hands Napoleon's arse to him and he's exiled again, this time to Saint Helens. Lamarque too has got to lay low in Amsterdam for a few years."
"And when was he eventually allowed to come back to France?"
"18…1817?"
"Close. 1818."
"Ahh!" Grace sighed.
They carried on walking for a little while, kicking stones down the hill and heading for the inner streets of Paris. The twinkle of dusk was alighting around them as they walked on.
"Where are we off to tonight?" Grace asked as Eponine determinedly set off in one particular direction.
"I was thinking of paying a visit to some friends." She answered vaguely.
Grace frowned to herself and began to follow. "Well…wherever we go, can we still stay clear of-"
"Stay clear of the river. Yes, yes..." Eponine cut in shortly.
Cholera was still rampaging through Paris. Eponine did her best to steer clear of the districts where deaths were rising, but that was becoming increasingly harder as the disease spread. But Grace had also begun to request that they avoid the stinking river that cut through the centre of Paris. The Seine was an infected artery, with the waste putrefaction of the whole population, one way or another, ending up in those waters. It had taken some convincing for Eponine to give up one of her favourite routes, along the banks of the river, but after a bit of pestering, Grace had managed it.
Still, Eponine led on. Guiding her through the narrow streets and cobbled roads In this part of the city, nobody knew them. The faces were unfamiliar and they could disappear into the throng. The shops around them were all tanners and craftsmen. The air was a potent mix of urine and cured leather. A month ago, Grace would have gagged at the smell, but Enjolras had told her that she'd one day get used to the stench of Paris, and she had.
"You didn't finish." Eponine said, elbowing her in the arm.
"Huh?"
"Lamarque."
"Oh, well… He retreats to his ancestral home. Hated the new Bourbon King. Buys up land and farming equipment for the poor. Advocates for social and economic reform-"
"Hang on, you're going really fast now…"
"Lamarque is begrudgingly recruited into the services of Louis-Phillipe. But he carried on supporting liberal causes. Advocates for the poor and working classes. Continued to speak out against the ancient regimeè…."
"And that brings us up to now."
Grace nodded.
She was grateful to Eponine, yet again, for bringing her historical knowledge of this place up to scratch. If anyone had asked Grace a few months ago what the Third War of the Coalition or the Battle of Austerlitz was, she would have stared rather blankly at them. However, after she'd displayed her ignorance in the cafe, when Marius and Enjolras had told the group of Lamarque's rumoured illness, she'd been too embarrassed to ask one of the boys to bring her up to speed.
Now, whenever the two of them went walking together at night, Eponine liked to give her little history lessons and then spend the hours till dawn drilling her on the names and dates and places.
They had walked for long enough to find themselves in the Place de Bastille.
"When did the storming of the Bastille-" Eponine prompted her.
"July the fourteenth." Grace cut in quickly. "Knew you were gonna ask me that one."
"Good, good." Eponine said with a sly smile.
Here, there was a large square where the famous prison had once stood, but in place of where the jail had been stood a long column of stone…and a gargantuan elephant.
At twenty-four metres high and cast from iron, it was an eyesaw. The great beast loomed above the square looking sick, sad and crumbling. The coloured plaster that had once decorated it was cracked and ruined, a half-rotten palisade surrounding its feet. Drunken coachmen and whores would approach it to piss or vomit on the wood, before stumbling away, back to the brothels that surrounded the square. It was a deeply unsettling landmark, least of all because of the filth and vermin that accumulated around it, but also because of what it represented.
"Our friend, Monsieur Elephant. Why was he b-"
"To commemorate Napoleon's victory at the Battle of Friedland." Grace cut in swiftly, yet again. "And the project was abandoned after Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo."
A memory of better times, and a reminder of a national humiliation. Forgotten, left to rot, and despised by everyone. Grace added silently in her head.
"You're getting too good at this. I'm gonna have to think of some harder questions." Eponine said with a smile.
The two of them approached the beast and Eponone rapped hard on one of his legs.
"Oi! It's me!" She shouted.
Grace heard a skittish metallic thumping coming from inside the Elephant. The first time she had been brought here and she'd heard that sound, Grace had thought Eponine had disturbed some great nest of rats inside the belly of the beast. But after a moment, she heard the voices of excited children.
A hatch opened in the belly of the Elephant and the face of little Gavroche appeared from out of the gloom.
"Y'allright? Good t' see you!"
"What have you been stealing, you little sewer rat?" Eponine responded warmly, pinching his cheek.
Gavroche shook free of her and turned back into the insides of the Elephant. "Boys! We have guests!"
More faces appeared at Gavroche's side. One of the faces was the boy who had tried to distract Grace with his big, blue eyes in that alleyway and she instinctively hugged her bag a little closer to her.
"Come on then, any rich pickings?" Eponine asked again.
"Me an' the boys have been trying out some new and fertile ground, as it were…"
"Fertile ground?" Grace asked.
"Down in the Luxembourg Gardens. Lots of posh folk promenading around. They aren't used to lookin' at poverty, y'see. It offends their eyes."
"Right…" Grace said with a frown.
"Lots of posh ladies like cooing around us 'poor, cute little things'. They dab their eyes with their ivory handkerchiefs and slip bonbons into our pockets. Little do they realise, that we're slippin' our fingers into their pockets too!"
The children in the Elephant produced fistfuls of pocket-watches, shining silver rings, silken fans, and tinkling coins. Each of their faces was a proud grin.
"Christ! They are rich pickings!" Eponine exclaimed.
"Has Mamman had the new bab yet?" Gavroche asked, his voice going slightly weary.
Grace frowned in sympathy. Back in 2023, a new baby was often a celebration. In 1831, a new baby was just another mouth to feed. Something that seemed so precious and valuable in the future was almost mundane in this time. But as Grace thought to herself, in a time without contraception and a high likelihood of infant death, another baby was just that: another baby. And when most men in this era considered sex not just a privilege, but a right, the majority of the young working-class women Grace saw in the streets were either pregnant or carrying babies in their arms.
"Not yet." Eponine sighed. "She looks like she's just about to burst though! She wasn't as big when she was carryin' you inside her, and I can't really remember when she had Azelma. But this is gonna be a big one. I wouldn't be looking forward to pushing that one out!"
Grace winced. She didn't have any sisters or close friends who had given birth, so she'd never really been around that aspect of womanhood. But the idea of having to get through labour without modern painkillers and doctors turned her stomach.
"Here." Gavroche said, extending a golden chain out to Eponine. "I 'eard about your failed hoofing down on the Ile-de-Cite the other night." He added, his face alight with a cheeky grin.
Memories of that snowy night came rushing back to Grace. The smashed window, the heavy wooden bedframe, the Inspector…
"If someone hadn't stopped for a rest, we might have got away with it!" Eponine said, pointedly glancing at Grace.
"It was heavy!" Grace protested.
Luckily, Eponine hadn't pressed her for too much information about that night. Grace had managed to convince her that she'd shaken off the policemen that had interrupted their theft and she'd managed to run off into the snowy night too. She'd told her nothing about Javert. Nothing about the conversation they'd had. Nothing about their "welfare checks" too. Somehow, she thought Eponine wouldn't approve of it. Nobody liked the police around here, least of all an Inspector.
In fact, she was due to meet Javert tonight. And she was looking forward to it just as much as a dental appointment. It had been hovering at the back of her mind all week, never leaving her alone for long enough to let her forget it. And now that it was finally here, she felt nauseous with anticipation.
She'd thought about not turning up at all. But then she'd remembered poor Jocelyn and Julius. What The Inspector had said was true; she didn't want to leave them worrying for days, wondering if she was still alive or not. She owed them that peace of mind, if nothing else.
"Take that to the pawnbroker." Gavroche said, ignoring the little argument Grace and Eponine had been having. "You should be able to get a good couple of sous for it. It's real gold, y'know! Don't let him swindle ya!"
"You know I can haggle better than anyone in the family." Eponine said with a smile.
"Well, just make sure the Old Man doesn't see it. You know what he's like. He'll take it for himself and spend it on booze."
Eponine took the gold chain from the young boy, stuffing it deep into an inner pocket and out of sight.
"Get Mamman a cot or something with the money." Gavroche said quietly. "She shouldn't have to be birthin' on the floor."
Grace's heart panged with pain. Gavroche was eight, maybe nine years old. And in that moment he looked much older than the child he was. He should have been playing, going to school, free from worry. But here he was, stealing to keep himself alive, living in the belly of a rat-infested Elephant, looking after the other boys in his little gang. And on top of all of that, it was him who would be providing for his own parents, when the adults in his life had failed to do so.
Such responsibility should never be on the shoulders of a kid… She thought.
Grace was suddenly wrenched out of her speculations when she heard a wooden rattling and a pained wail coming from behind them.
She turned around, her stomach sinking as she saw a horse-drawn hearse, bearing three different-sized coffins in the back. A woman clad in black, and leaning heavily on another mourner, sobbed loudly as she walked behind the coffins. They passed through the square like a ghostly spectre. The clop of the horses hooves and the cries of the woman bounced off the buildings, ringing in Grace's ears.
As they passed, Eponine took off her cap and made the sign of the cross.
"That's the third time today he's gone by." Gavroche sighed. "That undertaker will be makin' a mint."
Cholera. Grace thought, as the shiver of death crept up her spine. In this region.
"Eponine…" Grace said nervously.
"Alright, alright." Eponine replied shortly. "We better get back to the Cafe." She said to her brother.
"I gotta be goin' too." The young boy said with a chipper air. "It's past this lot's bed time and I gotta get the little'uns to sleep."
Grace and Eponine both bade their goodbyes and Gavroche closed up the hatch in the Elephant's belly. They walked away from the great, steel beast with heavy hearts, both in their own private world of thoughts.
"Eponine, why does Gavroche live in the Elephant?" She asked carefully. "If he's…If he's family, then why doesn't he live with y-"
"Dad used to beat him something fierce. Mum too, sometimes." Eponine cut in quickly. "Trust me, it's better for him to be in that Elephant than with us."
She said it so matter-of-fact that it hit Grace like a sledgehammer. Her stomach churned inside her.
"And he still wants to help them?" Grace asked confusedly.
Eponine merely shrugged.
Again, there was that strange aspect of human behaviour that had victims returning back to the people who hurt them the most. She didn't pretend to understand it. All she knew is that it left a hollow taste in her mouth as they put the Elephant of Bastille to their backs.
The bells of Notre-Dame rang out at the stroke of midnight.
The Pont au Double was indeed empty, just like the last time Grace had been there. It was cold and frosty, ice crunching under her feet as she approached.
As Grace glanced nervously around, she saw that there was not a soul to be seen. It would have been a beautiful and calming vista, had it not been for the lone gentleman waiting on the bridge for her…
She approached him slowly. Part of her had hoped that he wouldn't be here to meet her, but there he was. A shadowy outline of a top-hatted silhouette in the darkness.
He stood as rigid and still as the stone saints on the cathedral. His face betrayed nothing. No hint of emotion. But perhaps she caught the flare of something alight in those startlingly blue eyes when she drew close. A tiny spark prickling away amongst the kindling…
"Wh…What's this?" Grace asked, pointing to the nearby wall of the bridge.
The Inspector had set up what looked like an al-fresco dinner. There was a candle holder, lit with a simple duo of two running candlesticks . A wicker basket, covered with a tantalising linen cloth and emanating a wealth of delicious smells. And laid out on a clean white handkerchief was a single plate.
"If you don't want it, Mademoiselle, I'll take it all back to the barracks."
"B-but…" she stuttered, a little thrown. Of the hundreds of things she'd expected Javert to say, or the dozens of ways she'd pictured this meeting going, this hadn't been part of it. "But why?"
"You appeared… I mean to say, last time I saw you, Mademoiselle… You looked…"
She squinted at the Inspector as he stumbled through his words. This was a man who inspired fear and awe. Who'd burnt homes to the ground, had others running in terror at the mere mention of his name, commanded a legion of followers at his back…
… and yet, here he was, almost sweet in his awkwardness. Grace couldn't help but smile a little at his apparent uncomfortableness, and she decided to put him out of his misery.
"Thank you." She said gently.
Her smile grew wider, brightening her whole face and sending Javert's stomach tieing into knots.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to hide the redness that bloomed in his cheeks with the darkness of his hat's brim.
"What did you bring me?" She asked, reaching for the basket.
"Uhh…Oh, just some leftovers that were going to go to waste in the barracks."
Grace pulled out a whole bottle of wine and eyed it hungrily. She unstopped the cork and took a swig, moaning with pleasure.
Javert's blush grew fiercer and he looked at his shoes. He chided himself for behaving like a schoolboy, turning crimson at the slightest hints of entendre. This was not like him. And it was she who was doing this to him. So he forced his embarrassment into anger.
"Oh, just sit down and you can enjoy it properly!" He snapped at Grace.
Javert snatched the bottle from her and rummaged inside the wicker basket for a cup. Grace did as she was told, feeling like a scalded toddler who'd forgotten their table manners, taking a rather shocked seat on the bridge wall. Patiently, she waited for her wine to be poured, biting her lip and smothering a giggle as The Inspector thrust a cup at her. He sighed irritably and returned back to the basket.
"I'm afraid it's no banquet." He grumbled, placing a hunk of baguette on her plate. "Some bread, salted pork, cheese, a few vegetables…"
Grace moaned again and took a large bite out of the bread. She had barely chewed it before she was reaching for the wedge of Roquefort he had placed down before her. In truth, she hadn't realised just how hungry she was until that moment. And she was ravenous.
He let her enjoy the food for a while in silence, contentedly watching her munch and sip with real, palpable pleasure on her face. Eventually his misplaced anger melted away into contentedness and he allowed himself a small smile.
It was then that she decided to glance up at him.
"What are you grinning at?" She asked, smiling herself.
"Nothing, Mademoiselle… I umm…" he stammered, feeling caught off-guard again. But he gathered his wits and tried to tame his beating heart. "I've just never seen someone enjoying army rations so much."
Grace laughed and wiped her mouth. "Would you take me as one of your recruits, Inspector? Three square meals a day and a nice uniform, what's not to love about the police force, ehh?"
He tried to hide the little squirm of discomfort that passed through him. Javert knew she was jesting, but the idea of her in his battalion, around him all day, every day, made him feel strange. Like he had an oddly pleasant, wriggling nest of worms in his stomach.
He cleared his throat and straightened his back. "I must admit, many of the new recruits join for… less loftier reasons than I'd like…"
"Why did you join?" Grace asked suddenly.
Javert closed his mouth, his jaw becoming taut. How to condense down his life, and the long, winding road that had led him to Paris into one sentence. How to tell her about Froid, and Camille, and Egypt, and the prison haulks, and the criminal he had been fooled by…
"I am just a servant, Mademoiselle." He said stoically. "My motivations and milieus are of little importance to the Law."
"Oh, uhh, right." Grace muttered, her shoulders slumping a little.
A sense of disappoint pulled at his gut, feeling that he'd somehow made a mistake. Before, he'd purposefully kept information about himself private. It was safer that way; he didn't want criminals getting wind of anything they could lever against him. But now, it felt backwards, wrong, contradictory to stonewall Grace.
"I suppose…" he began, pushing the words out of his mouth.
Grace sat up straighter, somewhat surprised that The Inspector was speaking after he'd so forcefully shut the conversation down.
"I suppose… it's all I've ever known." He said quietly. "I was raised in its shadow, and it welcomed me back when I came home."
Grace narrowed her eyes at him. She could see memories dancing behind Javert's eyes, strong and painful. She didn't want to push him for more. She could see just how much of an effort it was for him to relinquish just this small bit of him to her. And after tonight, with the taste of the wine and the food he'd bought her still on her tongue, she began to think that perhaps this man of stone wasn't
completely solid.
"Javert…" she said softly.
The tenderness of her voice made him tense up. "Yes, Mademoiselle?"
"Don't drink the water."
"Pardon?" He asked, blinking through his confusion.
"There's cholera in the water." She said simply. "Don't ask me how I know, but… Just don't drink water from wells or pumps. Not until the disease goes away, at least."
"I… I don't understand." He stuttered.
"You don't have to. Just do as I say. Trust me."
He wanted to scoff.
Trust her!
Out of the small handful of people he had trusted in his life, that trust had been mercilessly dashed. Javert was a man who trusted no one. It muddied the waters. Compromised his ability to act independently of human emotion.
But something teased away at his heart as he looked into her eyes. A gentle hand that soothed and caressed, telling him to lay it down. Let it in.
He nodded, not able to quite summon the words.
Grace paused for a second and nodded too.
When she left that night, Grace wondered to herself why exactly she'd told Javert about the water. Of all the people she could have warned about cholera, why him? Still, as she left the sanctuary of Notre-Dame, she couldn't help but feel The Inspector's eyes on her, right up until the last moment, the last second, until she was completely out of sight of the cathedral. And it didn't feel oppressive or intimidating, as she might have expected the gaze of a policeman to feel. It felt… comforting. Safe, even.
Like she was being watched over by one of those saints on the walls of Notre-Dame.