Chapter 286 8 A few question marks about a man named Le Cabuc who might not actually be Le Cabuc

After Gavroche's departure, a murderous and thrilling horror occurred; would be incomplete, and the reader would lose sight of its exact and true salient aspects in the great moments of convulsions that engender society, in the throes of revolution. Those groups, we know, were snowballed together by a great variety of people.They don't ask each other about their origins.Among the passers-by who gathered along the way, led by Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, was a man in a porter's coat, with frayed shoulders, who pointed and spoke in a rough voice, The face of a savage drunk.This man's name or nickname was Le Cabuc, and those who claimed to know him did not know him. At that time, he was very drunk, or pretended to be drunk, and together with several other people, he took the wine in the hotel. A table was dragged outside and sat down.This Le Cabuc, while toasting those with whom he was conversing, seemed to be contemplating carefully the six-story building behind the barricade, which towered over the entire street and faced the Rue Saint-Denis.Suddenly he cried out:

"Guys, you know what? If you're going to shoot, you've got to be in that house. If we keep those windows, anyone who's going to come into this street deserves his life!" "Yes, but the house is locked up," said another drinker. "Let's knock on the door!" "No one will open it." "Slam the door open!" Le Cabuc ran to the door of the building, which had a rather large door-hammer, and he knocked on it.No one opened the door.He knocks again.No one answered.Knock the third time.Still ignored. "Is anyone in there?" exclaimed Le Cabuc.

Nothing happened. So he grabbed a rifle and stabbed the door with the butt of it.It was an ancient corridor door with a round top, short and narrow, strong, all made of oak, with a layer of iron sheet inside, and a whole set of iron parts, it was a real prison door.The impact of the gun butts shook the house, but the door did not budge. The people living there must have been alarmed, because in the end, there was light in a small square window on the fourth floor, and the window was opened, and a candle and an old man with gray hair appeared in the window, his face full of panic and dazed. , which is the head of the concierge.

The man who hit the door stopped. "Gentlemen," asked the porter, "what do you want?" "Open the door!" said Le Cabuc. "Gentlemen, it cannot be opened." "Go!" "No, gentlemen!" Le Cabuc aimed his rifle at the porter, but as he was standing below and it was so dark the porter could not see him at all. "Can you open it or not?" "No, gentlemen!" "You can't tell?" "I can't tell, my good..." The porter hadn't finished his sentence when the gun fired, and the bullet went into his chin, passed through his throat, and shot out from the back of his neck.The old man fell down without a sound.The candle fell below and went out.One could only see a motionless human head by the window and a plume of white smoke rising towards the roof.

"It deserves it!" said Le Cabuc, putting the butt of his rifle back on the ground. No sooner had he said this than he felt a hand, like an eagle's claw, fall on his shoulder, and heard someone say to him: "Kneel down." The murderer turned his head, and saw in front of him a pale and stern face, the face of Enjolras.Enjolras held a pistol in his hand. He heard gunshots and rushed over. With his left hand he seized Le Cabuc's collar, jacket, shirt, and suspenders. "Kneel down," he said again. With an air of incomparable authority, this frail young man of twenty years pushed down the strong bearer with broad shoulders and waist like a reed, and knelt in the mud.Le Cabuc tried to resist, but he felt himself caught in a superhuman hand.

Enjolras was pale, with his collar unbuttoned, his hair disheveled, and his almost feminine face could not be described as much like the ancient Themis at this moment.His protruding nostrils and downcast eyes gave to his implacable Greek profile an expression of wrath and chaste which, from the point of view of ancient society, befits justice. The whole barricade came running, standing in a circle at a distance, feeling in their hearts that they could say nothing about what they were about to see. Le Cabuc, dejected, made no attempt to struggle, but trembled all over.Enjolras let him go and took out his pocket watch.

"Collect your thoughts," he said. "Pray or think, whatever you want. Here's a minute." "Forgive me!" stammered the murderer, and then he bowed his head and muttered some inarticulate curses. Enjolras, without taking his eyes from his watch, let the minute pass and put it back in his waistcoat pocket.Then, by the hair of Le Cabuc, who was screaming with his arms around his knees, he put the barrel of the gun to his ear.Many of the daring men who came quietly to watch the horrific event turned their heads away. Everyone heard the shot, and the murderer fell, forehead forward, on the stone pavement.Enjolras raised his head and looked around with his confident and stern eyes.

Then he kicked the corpse and said: "Throw this outside." The rogue's body was still mechanically making its last convulsions before it died, and the three men lifted it up and threw it from the barricade into the alley of Mondeau. Enjolras stood still, thoughtful.No one knew what splendor and splendor unfolded in his eerie tranquility.Suddenly, he raised his voice.Everyone is quiet. "Citizens," said Enjolras, "what that man did was cruel, and what I did was ugly. He killed a man, so I killed him. I should do it, because an insurrection should have its Discipline. Murder should be more serious here than elsewhere, we are under the eye of the revolution, we are priests preaching the republic, we are guardians embodying sacred duties, we should not allow our battles to be People's slander. So I made a trial and sentenced the man to death. As for me, I was forced to do it, but I was disgusted, I also judged myself, and you will see how I sentenced me later my own."

Everyone who heard this was horrified. "We share our destiny with you," cried Combeferre. "Well," replied Enjolras, "I will say a few more words. I executed the man in obedience to need; but need is a monster of the old world, and the name of need is karma. And the progressive The law requires monsters to disappear before angels, and karma gives way to fraternity. Now is not the right time to bring up the word love. Never mind, I will bring it up anyway, and I will celebrate it. Love, you are the future. Death, I use You, but I hate you. Citizens, there will be no more darkness, no more lightning strikes, no more savage ignorance, and no more bloody corporal punishment. The devil does not exist, and there will be no need to exorcise Angel. In the future, no one will kill anyone. The sun will shine brightly on the earth, and human beings will only know love. This day will surely come, citizens. At that time, there will be love, harmony, light, joy and vitality everywhere. A day will come. And it is to make it come that we die."

Enjolras was silent, his virginal lips were closed, and he remained for a moment on the spot where the blood had flowed, like a statue, standing still for a long time.His gaze set off murmurs of conversation around him. Jean Prouvel and Combeferre stood at the corner of the barricade, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, with a reverence tinged with regret, to the sternness who was both executioner and priest, clear as crystal and solid as rock. The young man watched with bated breath. Let's talk now about what we found later.When the fighting was over and the bodies were sent to the morgue to be searched, a police card was found on Le Cabuc.Regarding this case, the author of this book also had a special investigation report written in 1832 to the Commissioner of Police in 1848.

One more point should be added.At that time there was a strange statement by the police, and it may have been justified, that this Le Cabuc was Iron Fang, if it could be believed.The fact is that no one has mentioned Iron Fang since Le Cabuc's death.There was no trace of Iron Fang's whereabouts, and he seemed to be integrated with the invisible ghost all of a sudden.His life is ambiguous and his end is dark. All the insurgents were still in shock at this tragedy which had been dealt with so quickly and ended so quickly, and Courfeyrac saw the young man who had come to his house in the morning to learn about Marius returned to the barricade. The child, who seemed to have neither fear nor scruples, ran to find those rebels late at night.