In a few days, Marius had become Courfeyrac's friend. Youth is the season for prompt welding and the rapid healing of scars. Marius breathed freely in Courfeyrac's society, a decidedly new thing for him. Courfeyrac put no questions to him. He did not even think of such a thing. At that age, faces disclose everything on the spot. Words are superfluous. There are young men of whom it can be said that their countenances chatter. One looks at them and one knows them.
One morning, however, Courfeyrac abruptly addressed this interrogation to him:--
"By the way, have you any political opinions?"
"The idea!" said Marius, almost affronted by the question.
"What are you?"
"A democrat-Bonapartist."
"The gray hue of a reassured rat," said Courfeyrac.
On the following day, Courfeyrac introduced Marius at the Cafe Musain. Then he whispered in his ear, with a smile: "I must give you your entry to the revolution." And he led him to the hall of the Friends of the A B C. He presented him to the other comrades, saying this simple word which Marius did not understand: "A pupil."
Marius had fallen into a wasps'-nest of wits. However, although he was silent and grave, he was, none the less, both winged and armed.
Marius, up to that time solitary and inclined to soliloquy, and to asides, both by habit and by taste, was a little fluttered by this covey of young men around him. All these various initiatives solicited his attention at once, and pulled him about. The tumultuous movements of these minds at liberty and at work set his ideas in a whirl. Sometimes, in his trouble, they fled so far from him, that he had difficulty in recovering them. He heard them talk of philosophy, of literature, of art, of history, of religion, in unexpected fashion. He caught glimpses of strange aspects; and, as he did not place them in proper perspective, he was not altogether sure that it was not chaos that he grasped. On abandoning his grandfather's opinions for the opinions of his father, he had supposed himself fixed; he now suspected, with uneasiness, and without daring to avow it to himself, that he was not. The angle at which he saw everything began to be displaced anew. A certain oscillation set all the horizons of his brains in motion. An odd internal upsetting. He almost suffered from it.
It seemed as though there were no "consecrated things" for those young men. Marius heard singular propositions on every sort of subject, which embarrassed his still timid mind.
A theatre poster presented itself, adorned with the title of a tragedy from the ancient repertory called classic: "Down with tragedy dear to the bourgeois!" cried Bahorel. And Marius heard Combeferre reply:--
"You are wrong, Bahorel. The bourgeoisie loves tragedy, and the bourgeoisie must be left at peace on that score. Bewigged tragedy has a reason for its existence, and I am not one of those who, by order of AEschylus, contest its right to existence. There are rough outlines in nature; there are, in creation, ready-made parodies; a beak which is not a beak, wings which are not wings, gills which are not gills, paws which are not paws, a cry of pain which arouses a desire to laugh, there is the duck. Now, since poultry exists by the side of the bird, I do not see why classic tragedy should not exist in the face of antique tragedy."
Or chance decreed that Marius should traverse Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau between Enjolras and Courfeyrac.
Courfeyrac took his arm:--
"Pay attention. This is the Rue Platriere, now called Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, on account of a singular household which lived in it sixty years ago. This consisted of Jean-Jacques and Therese. From time to time, little beings were born there. Therese gave birth to them, Jean-Jacques represented them as foundlings."
And Enjolras addressed Courfeyrac roughly:--
"Silence in the presence of Jean-Jacques! I admire that man. He denied his own children, that may be; but he adopted the people."
Not one of these young men articulated the word: The Emperor. Jean Prouvaire alone sometimes said Napoleon; all the others said "Bonaparte." Enjolras pronounced it "Buonaparte."
Marius was vaguely surprised. Initium sapientiae.
三 马吕斯的惊奇
没过几天，马吕斯便成了古费拉克的朋友。青年人与青年人相遇，是能一见如故，水乳交融的。马吕斯在古费拉克的身旁能自由地呼吸，这，对他来说，是件相当新鲜的事。古费拉克没有问过他什么话。他甚至想也没想过有什么要问。在那种年龄，全都是摆在脸上，一望而知的。语言是用不着的东西。我们可以说，有这样一种青年人，有什么立即表现在脸上。彼此望一眼，便相互认识了。
可是在某天早晨，古费拉克突然问了他这么一句话：
“我说……您有政治见解吗？”
“啊！”马吕斯说，几乎感到这问题有些唐突。
“您的派别呢？”
“波拿巴民主派。”
“象个安分的小灰老鼠。”
第二天，古费拉克带他到缪尚咖啡馆，带着笑容，凑近他耳边轻轻地说：“我应当引您去革命。”于是他领着他走进“ABC的朋友们”的那间大厅，把他介绍给其他的伙伴们，低声说着这样一句马吕斯听不懂的简单话：“一个开蒙学生。”
马吕斯落在一伙一窝蜂似的人群中了。而他，尽管平时严肃寡言，却也不是没有翅膀和螫针的。
马吕斯，由于习惯和爱好，从来就是性情孤僻、喜欢独自思考问题、自问自答的，现在见了他周围这一群吵吵嚷嚷的青年，感到有些不自在。所有这些初次接触的新鲜事物都一齐刺激着他，使他晕头转向。所有这些自由自在和从事工作的青年人的喧嚣往来急遽搅乱了他的思想。有时在这纷扰中，他会想得远远的，以致他再也拉不回来。他听到大家谈论哲学、文学、艺术、历史、宗教，谈论的方式是他没有预料到的。他隐约见到一些奇异的形象，由于他不能从远处着眼，便不免有些莫名其妙。当他从外祖父的见解转到父亲的见解时，他总以为自己已经站稳了，现在却又怀疑起来，感到自己并不稳，他心里苦闷，不敢自信。他惯于用来观察各种事物的角度又重新开始移动了。某种摆动使他头脑里的见识全都动摇了。这是一种奇特的内心震动。他几乎为这痛苦。
在那些青年人的心目中好象没有什么“已成定论”的东西。在各种问题上，马吕斯经常听到一些奇特的言词，使他那仍然怯懦的心情感到不大中听。
他们看到一张剧院海报，赫然写着所谓古典派悲剧中一出老剧目的名字。巴阿雷喊道：“打倒资产阶级喜爱的悲剧！”
马吕斯便听到公白飞回答说：
“你这话不对，巴阿雷。资产阶级喜爱悲剧，在这一点上应当听凭资产阶级去喜爱。戴着假发上演的悲剧有它存在的理由，我不是一个那种以埃斯库罗斯的名义去反对它的存在权利的人。自然界有不成熟的东西，在天地造化之中就出现过许多平庸的作品，有不成鸟嘴的鸟嘴，不成翅膀的翅膀，不成鳍的鳍，不成爪子的爪子，加上一种令人听了要发笑的苦痛的叫声，这便是鸭子。既然家禽可以和飞鸟共存，我就看不出为什么古典悲剧①不能和古代的悲剧同存共荣。”
①指法国十七世纪高乃依、拉辛等人所作悲剧。
另一次，马吕斯走在安灼拉和古费拉克的中间，经过让－雅克·卢梭街。
古费拉克把住他的臂膀说道：
“你们注意。这是从前的石膏窑街，今天叫做让－雅克·卢梭街，因为在六十来年前，这里住过一家奇怪的人家。让－雅克和戴莱丝。他们隔不多久便生个孩子，一个接着一个。戴莱丝专管生，让－雅克专管放生。”
安灼拉责备古费拉克说：
“在让－雅克跟前不许乱说！这个人，我敬佩他。他固然遗弃了自己的孩子，可是他爱人民如子女。”
在这些青年当中，谁也不说“皇上”这个词儿。只有让·勃鲁维尔偶尔称呼拿破仑，其他的人都说波拿巴。安灼拉说成“布宛纳巴”。
马吕斯暗自惊奇。混沌初开。
