Lisette

Chapter 13 ~ Signature for All to See

Over the last few months - five months - could it already be five months? - that I had spent with Enjolras, I had certainly grown to like him. From his awkward hesitancy at first, to his charm and confidence when it came to talking of the history and politics about which he was so passionate, I had come to know his moods - his likes, and dislikes - his habits - his ways of working. In truth, I couldn't imagine life without him, but I had never considered - never dared let myself think - about love. The most I let myself think was that he was kind to me - as he would be to anyone. But then, his gazing at me when he thought I wasn't looking, the way he took my hand sometimes, when we lay next to each other in bed, the dress he had bought me for Christmas... I tried to push these thoughts to the back of my mind. They would hardly do me any good, and the last thing I wanted was for things as they were between us to change for the worse. It was entirely possible, after all, that Grantaire was wrong. 

The following day, Gavroche came to find me, saying that he had someone to introduce me to, and to bring my notebook. It turned out that the person was a fiddler who could imitate all manner of farmyard animals on his instrument, as well as playing tunes. He was a quiet looking man, half-blind, wrapped in a large, old, faded black cotton great coat. At Gavroche's delighted insistence, he demonstrated for us some of the animals that he could imitate, and seemed more than happy for me to take down his story and his picture.

"I imitate all the animals of the farm-yard on my fiddle: I imitate the bull, the calf, the dog, the cock, the hen when she's laid an egg, the peacock, and the ass. I have done this in the streets for nearly twelve years. I was brought up as a musician at my own desire. When a young man (I am now 53) I used to go out to play at parties, doing middling until my sight failed me; I then did the farm-yard on the fiddle for a living. Though I had never heard of such a thing before, by constant practice I made myself perfect. I studied from nature, I never was in a farm-yard in my life, but I went and listened to the poultry, anywhere in town that I could meet with them, and I then imitated them on my instrument. The cattle in Les Halles gave me the study for the bull and the calf. My peacock I got at the Tuileries gardens. The ass is common, and so is the dog; and them I studied anywhere. It took me a month, not more, if so much, to acquire what I thought a sufficient skill in my undertaking, and then I started it in the streets. It was liked the very first time I tried it. I never say what animal I am going to give; I leave that to the judgment of the listeners. They could always tell what it was. I could make 15 francs a-week the year through. I play it in public-houses as well as in the streets. My pitches are all over Paris, and I don't know that one is better than another. Working-people are my best friends. Thursday and Friday are my worst days; Monday and Saturday my best, when I reckon 3 francs a handsome taking. I am the only man who does the farm-yard."

Gavroche spent much of the time that I was writing peering over my shoulder, seeing how much he could follow along with his newly acquired ability to read. After paying the musician for his time, and asking if he had come across anyone by the name of Thenardier (he hadn't) we took our usual trip to a bakery.

"Why did you ask about someone called Thenardier?" Gavroche asked, as he sat next to me on the edge of the fountain in the Place du Château d'Eau, swinging his legs back and forth, and seeing how long he could make the apple puff last.

"One of the boys - Marius - wants to find a Monsieur Thenardier. It was a Monsieur Thenardier who saved his father's life, and he wants to repay him, but can't find any trace. Apparently he used to live in Montfermeil, or Chelles, or somewhere, but no one there knows what's become of him."

"We used to live in Montfermeil," Gavroche said absently. "My parents used to have an inn there, but my father lost all his money - that's why we came to Paris."

"Marius said that Thenardier was an innkeeper," I said, my hopes rising. "What's your father's surname?"

Gavroche shrugged. "Jondrette. You could come and speak to him if you like. Though I doubt he'd be very willing to tell you all his business like some people. He doesn't trust anyone."