i am savage
S O B B I N G even though i am sure 99% of you don't care about any of this
OKAY SO BASICALLY I TOTALLY FORGOT THAT MY IDEA OF ENJOLRAS/GRANTAIRE IS PRETTY MUCH FUCKING CANON. This is how Victor Hugo first introduces Grantaire's character:
Among all these passionate hearts and all these undoubting minds there was one sceptic. How did he happen to be there? from juxtaposition. The name of this sceptic was Grantaire, and he was a man who took good care not to believe anything. All these words: rights of the people, rights of man, social contract, French Revolution, republic, democracy, humanity, civilisation, religion, progress, were, to Grantaire, very nearly meaningless. A rover, a gambler, a libertine, and often drunk, he displeased these young thinkers by singing incessantly: "I loves the girls and I loves good wine."
Still, this sceptic had a fanaticism. This fanaticism was neither an idea, nor a dogma, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras. In what way did Enjolras subjugate him? By ideas? No. By a character. He admired, by instinct, his opposite. His soft, wavering, disjointed, diseased, deformed ideas attached themselves to Enjolras as to a backbone. His moral spine leaned upon that firmness.
Okay, here Enjolras is handing out assignments to the various students to go speak to others to bring them around to their side for the upcoming revolution. He has one more place left for someone to go speak at, but Marius is mysteriously absent (chasing after Cosette). He has conveniently ignored Grantaire so far:
"I must have somebody for the Barrière du Maine. I have nobody left."
"I," said Grantaire, "I am here."
"You?"
"I."
"You to indoctrinate republicans! you, to warm up, in the name of principles, hearts that have grown cold!"
"Why not?"
"Is it possible that you can be good for anything?"
"Yes, I have a vague ambition for it," said Grantaire.
"What will you say to them?"
"I will talk to them about Robespierre, faith. About Danton, about principles."
"You!"
"I. But you don't do me justice. When I am about it, I am terrible. I have read Prudhomme, I know the Contrat Social, I know my Constitution of the year Two by heart. 'The Liberty of the citizen ends where the Liberty of another citizen begins.' Do you take me for a brute? I have an old assignat in my drawer. The Rights of Man, the sovereignty of the people, zounds! I can repeat, for six hours at a time, watch in hand, superb things."
"Be serious," said Enjolras.
"I am savage," answered Grantaire.
Enjolras thought for a few seconds, and made the gesture of a man who forms his resolution.
"Grantaire," said he gravely, "I consent to try you. You shall go to the Barrière du Maine."
Grantaire lived in a furnished room quite near the Café Musain. He went out, and came back in five minutes. He had been home to put on a Robespierre waistcoat.
"Red," said he as he came in.
And, approaching Enjolras, he whispered in his ear:
"Set your mind at ease."
Grantaire is so badass. ;_; And so eager to please Enjolras when he needs it. :(
And here they are setting up the barricades. Grantaire stands up on and begins making a long drunken speech about how if he had been born rich, the world wouldn't be poor because he would have given them his money, or something like that. Enjolras does not approve.
"Grantaire," cried he, "go sleep yourself sober away from here. This is the place for intoxication and not for drunkenness. Do not dishonour the barricade!"
This angry speech produced upon Grantaire a singular effect. One would have said that he had received a glass of cold water in his face. He appeared suddenly sobered. He sat down, leaned upon a table near the window, looked at Enjolras with an inexpressible gentleness, and said to him:
"Let me sleep here."
"Go sleep elsewhere," cried Enjolras.
But Grantaire, keeping his tender and troubled eyes fixed upon him answered:
"Let me sleep here--until I die here."
Enjolras regarded him with a disdainful eye:
"Grantaire, you are incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death."
He stammered out a few more unintelligible words, then his head fell heavily upon the table, and, a common effect of the second stage of inebriety into which Enjolras had rudely and suddenly pushed him, a moment later he was asleep.
AN INEXPRESSIBLE GENTLENESS. ALKS;JDLFKJA;SDLKJ
OKAY AND THEN THIS. The barricade has fallen. The National Guard has Enjolras cornered and are about to execute him. Everything's gone quiet. And then:
Within a few seconds, Grantaire had awakened.
Grantaire, it will be remembered, had been asleep since the day previous in the upper room of the wine-shop, sitting in a chair, leaning heavily forward on a table.
He realised, in all its energy, strength, the old metaphor: dead drunk. The hideous potion, absinthe-stout-alcohol, had thrown him into a lethargy. His table being small, and of no use in the barricade, they had left it to him. He had continued in the same posture, his breast doubled over the table, his head lying flat upon his arms, surrounded by glasses, jugs, and bottles. He slept with that crushing sleep of the torpid bear and the overfed leech. Nothing had affected him, neither the musketry, nor the balls, nor the grape which penetrated through the casement, nor the prodigious uproar of the assault. Only, he responded sometimes to the cannon with a snore. He seemed waiting there for a ball to come and save him the trouble of awaking. Several corpses lay about him; and, at the first glance, nothing distinguished him from those deep sleepers of death.
Noise does not waken a drunkard; silence wakens him. The halt in the tumult before Enjolras was a shock to his heavy sleep. Grantaire rose up with a start, stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, looked, gaped, and understood.
Retired as he was in a corner and as it were sheltered behind the billiard-table, the soldiers, their eyes fixed upon Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat the order: "Take aim!" when suddenly they heard a powerful voice cry out beside them:
"Vive la République! I belong to it."
Grantaire had arisen.
He repeated: "Vive la République!" crossed the room with a firm step, and took his place before the muskets beside Enjolras.
"Two at one shot," said he.
And, turning towards Enjolras gently, he said to him:
"Will you permit it?"
Enjolras grasped his hand with a smile.
The smile was not finished when the report was heard.
Enjolras, pierced by eight balls, remained backed against the wall as if the balls had nailed him there. Only he bowed his head.
Grantaire, stricken down, fell at his feet.
You guys. You guys. ;________;
OKAY SO BASICALLY I TOTALLY FORGOT THAT MY IDEA OF ENJOLRAS/GRANTAIRE IS PRETTY MUCH FUCKING CANON. This is how Victor Hugo first introduces Grantaire's character:
Among all these passionate hearts and all these undoubting minds there was one sceptic. How did he happen to be there? from juxtaposition. The name of this sceptic was Grantaire, and he was a man who took good care not to believe anything. All these words: rights of the people, rights of man, social contract, French Revolution, republic, democracy, humanity, civilisation, religion, progress, were, to Grantaire, very nearly meaningless. A rover, a gambler, a libertine, and often drunk, he displeased these young thinkers by singing incessantly: "I loves the girls and I loves good wine."
Still, this sceptic had a fanaticism. This fanaticism was neither an idea, nor a dogma, nor an art, nor a science; it was a man: Enjolras. Grantaire admired, loved, and venerated Enjolras. In what way did Enjolras subjugate him? By ideas? No. By a character. He admired, by instinct, his opposite. His soft, wavering, disjointed, diseased, deformed ideas attached themselves to Enjolras as to a backbone. His moral spine leaned upon that firmness.
Okay, here Enjolras is handing out assignments to the various students to go speak to others to bring them around to their side for the upcoming revolution. He has one more place left for someone to go speak at, but Marius is mysteriously absent (chasing after Cosette). He has conveniently ignored Grantaire so far:
"I must have somebody for the Barrière du Maine. I have nobody left."
"I," said Grantaire, "I am here."
"You?"
"I."
"You to indoctrinate republicans! you, to warm up, in the name of principles, hearts that have grown cold!"
"Why not?"
"Is it possible that you can be good for anything?"
"Yes, I have a vague ambition for it," said Grantaire.
"What will you say to them?"
"I will talk to them about Robespierre, faith. About Danton, about principles."
"You!"
"I. But you don't do me justice. When I am about it, I am terrible. I have read Prudhomme, I know the Contrat Social, I know my Constitution of the year Two by heart. 'The Liberty of the citizen ends where the Liberty of another citizen begins.' Do you take me for a brute? I have an old assignat in my drawer. The Rights of Man, the sovereignty of the people, zounds! I can repeat, for six hours at a time, watch in hand, superb things."
"Be serious," said Enjolras.
"I am savage," answered Grantaire.
Enjolras thought for a few seconds, and made the gesture of a man who forms his resolution.
"Grantaire," said he gravely, "I consent to try you. You shall go to the Barrière du Maine."
Grantaire lived in a furnished room quite near the Café Musain. He went out, and came back in five minutes. He had been home to put on a Robespierre waistcoat.
"Red," said he as he came in.
And, approaching Enjolras, he whispered in his ear:
"Set your mind at ease."
Grantaire is so badass. ;_; And so eager to please Enjolras when he needs it. :(
And here they are setting up the barricades. Grantaire stands up on and begins making a long drunken speech about how if he had been born rich, the world wouldn't be poor because he would have given them his money, or something like that. Enjolras does not approve.
"Grantaire," cried he, "go sleep yourself sober away from here. This is the place for intoxication and not for drunkenness. Do not dishonour the barricade!"
This angry speech produced upon Grantaire a singular effect. One would have said that he had received a glass of cold water in his face. He appeared suddenly sobered. He sat down, leaned upon a table near the window, looked at Enjolras with an inexpressible gentleness, and said to him:
"Let me sleep here."
"Go sleep elsewhere," cried Enjolras.
But Grantaire, keeping his tender and troubled eyes fixed upon him answered:
"Let me sleep here--until I die here."
Enjolras regarded him with a disdainful eye:
"Grantaire, you are incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death."
He stammered out a few more unintelligible words, then his head fell heavily upon the table, and, a common effect of the second stage of inebriety into which Enjolras had rudely and suddenly pushed him, a moment later he was asleep.
AN INEXPRESSIBLE GENTLENESS. ALKS;JDLFKJA;SDLKJ
OKAY AND THEN THIS. The barricade has fallen. The National Guard has Enjolras cornered and are about to execute him. Everything's gone quiet. And then:
Within a few seconds, Grantaire had awakened.
Grantaire, it will be remembered, had been asleep since the day previous in the upper room of the wine-shop, sitting in a chair, leaning heavily forward on a table.
He realised, in all its energy, strength, the old metaphor: dead drunk. The hideous potion, absinthe-stout-alcohol, had thrown him into a lethargy. His table being small, and of no use in the barricade, they had left it to him. He had continued in the same posture, his breast doubled over the table, his head lying flat upon his arms, surrounded by glasses, jugs, and bottles. He slept with that crushing sleep of the torpid bear and the overfed leech. Nothing had affected him, neither the musketry, nor the balls, nor the grape which penetrated through the casement, nor the prodigious uproar of the assault. Only, he responded sometimes to the cannon with a snore. He seemed waiting there for a ball to come and save him the trouble of awaking. Several corpses lay about him; and, at the first glance, nothing distinguished him from those deep sleepers of death.
Noise does not waken a drunkard; silence wakens him. The halt in the tumult before Enjolras was a shock to his heavy sleep. Grantaire rose up with a start, stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, looked, gaped, and understood.
Retired as he was in a corner and as it were sheltered behind the billiard-table, the soldiers, their eyes fixed upon Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat the order: "Take aim!" when suddenly they heard a powerful voice cry out beside them:
"Vive la République! I belong to it."
Grantaire had arisen.
He repeated: "Vive la République!" crossed the room with a firm step, and took his place before the muskets beside Enjolras.
"Two at one shot," said he.
And, turning towards Enjolras gently, he said to him:
"Will you permit it?"
Enjolras grasped his hand with a smile.
The smile was not finished when the report was heard.
Enjolras, pierced by eight balls, remained backed against the wall as if the balls had nailed him there. Only he bowed his head.
Grantaire, stricken down, fell at his feet.
You guys. You guys. ;________;