Part 224 (2/2)
”Conclusion: we remain,” said Laigle. ”Well, then, let us drink.
Besides, we might miss the funeral without missing the riot.”
”Ah! the riot, I am with you!” cried Joly.
Laigle rubbed his hands.
”Now we're going to touch up the revolution of 1830. As a matter of fact, it does hurt the people along the seams.”
”I don't think much of your revolution,” said Grantaire. ”I don't execrate this Government. It is the crown tempered by the cotton night-cap. It is a sceptre ending in an umbrella. In fact, I think that to-day, with the present weather, Louis Philippe might utilize his royalty in two directions, he might extend the tip of the sceptre end against the people, and open the umbrella end against heaven.”
The room was dark, large clouds had just finished the extinction of daylight. There was no one in the wine-shop, or in the street, every one having gone off ”to watch events.”
”Is it mid-day or midnight?” cried Bossuet. ”You can't see your hand before your face. Gibelotte, fetch a light.”
Grantaire was drinking in a melancholy way.
”Enjolras disdains me,” he muttered. ”Enjolras said: 'Joly is ill, Grantaire is drunk.' It was to Bossuet that he sent Navet. If he had come for me, I would have followed him. So much the worse for Enjolras!
I won't go to his funeral.”
This resolution once arrived at, Bossuet, Joly, and Grantaire did not stir from the wine-shop. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the table at which they sat was covered with empty bottles. Two candles were burning on it, one in a flat copper candlestick which was perfectly green, the other in the neck of a cracked carafe. Grantaire had seduced Joly and Bossuet to wine; Bossuet and Joly had conducted Grantaire back towards cheerfulness.
As for Grantaire, he had got beyond wine, that merely moderate inspirer of dreams, ever since mid-day. Wine enjoys only a conventional popularity with serious drinkers. There is, in fact, in the matter of inebriety, white magic and black magic; wine is only white magic.
Grantaire was a daring drinker of dreams. The blackness of a terrible fit of drunkenness yawning before him, far from arresting him, attracted him. He had abandoned the bottle and taken to the beergla.s.s. The beer-gla.s.s is the abyss. Having neither opium nor has.h.i.+sh on hand, and being desirous of filling his brain with twilight, he had had recourse to that fearful mixture of brandy, stout, absinthe, which produces the most terrible of lethargies. It is of these three vapors, beer, brandy, and absinthe, that the lead of the soul is composed. They are three grooms; the celestial b.u.t.terfly is drowned in them; and there are formed there in a membranous smoke, vaguely condensed into the wing of the bat, three mute furies, Nightmare, Night, and Death, which hover about the slumbering Psyche.
Grantaire had not yet reached that lamentable phase; far from it. He was tremendously gay, and Bossuet and Joly retorted. They clinked gla.s.ses.
Grantaire added to the eccentric accentuation of words and ideas, a peculiarity of gesture; he rested his left fist on his knee with dignity, his arm forming a right angle, and, with cravat untied, seated astride a stool, his full gla.s.s in his right hand, he hurled solemn words at the big maid-servant Matelote:--
”Let the doors of the palace be thrown open! Let every one be a member of the French Academy and have the right to embrace Madame Hucheloup.
Let us drink.”
And turning to Madame Hucheloup, he added:--
”Woman ancient and consecrated by use, draw near that I may contemplate thee!”
And Joly exclaimed:--
”Matelote and Gibelotte, dod't gib Grantaire anything more to drink.
He has already devoured, since this bording, in wild prodigality, two francs and ninety-five centibes.”
And Grantaire began again:--
”Who has been unhooking the stars without my permission, and putting them on the table in the guise of candles?”
Bossuet, though very drunk, preserved his equanimity.
<script>