Towards the end of Friday morning, Gavroche came and knocked at the door, explaining that he'd found the penultimate person for the pamphlet: a pea soup man, who we could go and visit before lunch while he was thickening the soup in his home. He was very pleased with himself for having been able to apply the newly learnt word "penultimate" in conversation. I scribbled a note for Enjolras, just in case he got back before I did, to let him know where I'd gone, to try and stop him worrying like he had done yesterday evening, and followed Gavroche. On the way across to where the man lived on the Ile de la Cite, we bought an early lunch at a bakery.
Having crossed onto the island in the middle of the river, we made our way along the narrow Rue Gervais Laurent, where we were met by a young girl with a piece of sacking over her shoulders as a shawl. She clearly recognised Gavroche, and took us both inside and up several flights of narrow, rickety stairs to meet her father.
"I was a coalheaver," he said, as we sat in his attic with him and his family. "I was a-going along the plank, from one barge to another, when the plank was throwed off the 'horse,' and chucked me down, and broke my knee agin the side of the barge. Before that I was yarning upon an average my 24 francs to 36 francs a week. I was seven months and four days in hospital after this. I found they was a-doing me no good there, so I come out and went to another. I was in there nineteen months altogether, and after that I was a month in a third place, and all on 'em turned me out oncurable. You see, the bone's decayed—four bits of bone have been taken from it.
"The doctor turned me out three times 'cause I wouldn't have it off. He asked my wife if she would give consent, but neither she nor my daughter would listen to it, so I was turned out on 'em all. How my family lived all this time it's hard to tell. My eldest boy did a little—got 4 francs a week as an errand-boy, and my daughter was in service, and did a little for me; but that was all we had to live upon. There was six children on my hands, and however they did manage I can't say. After I came out of the hospital I applied to the parish, and was allowed 3 francs a week and four loaves. But I was anxious to do something, so a master butcher, as I knowed, said he would get me a pitch, if I thought I could sit at a stall and sell a few things. I told him I thought I could, and would be very thankful for it.
"Well, I had heard how the man up in the market was making a fortune at the hot-eel and pea-soup line - clearing 7 livres sometimes. So I thought I'd have a touch at the same thing. But you see, I never could rise money enough to get sufficient stock to make a do of it, and never shall, I expect—it don't seem like it, however. I ought to have 6 francs to go to market with to-morrow, and I ain't got above 1 franc 16 sous; and what's that for stock-money, I'd like to know?
"Well, as I was saying, the master butcher lent me 12 francs to start in the line. He was the best friend I ever had. But I've never been able to do anything at it—not to say to get a living."
"He can't carry anything now, sir," said his wife, as the old man strove to get the bellows to warm up the large kettle of pea-soup that was on the fire.
"Aye, I can't go without my crutch. My daughter goes to the fish market for me. I've got nobody else; and she cuts up the eels. If it warn't for her I must give it up altogether, and go into the workhouse outright. I couldn't fetch 'em. My wife can't do much; she's troubled with the rheumatics in her head and limbs."
"Yes," said the old body, with a sigh, "I'm never well, and never shall be again, I know."
"Would you accept on a drop of soup, miss?" asked the man; "you're very welcome, I can assure you. You'll find it very good, miss,"
I told him I had just had lunch, and the poor old fellow proceeded with his tale.
"Last week I earned clear about 9 francs 18 sous, and that's to keep six on us. I didn't pay no rent last week nor yet this, and I don't know when I shall again, if things goes on in this way. The week before there was a fast-day, and I didn't earn above 7 francs 5 sous that week, if I did that. My boy can't go to school. He's got no shoes nor nothing to go in. The girls go to the ragged-school, but we can't send them of a Sunday nowhere."
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Lisette
Fanfiction"Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come round again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes." - Terry Pratchett, Night Watch A retelling of part of Les Miserables, from about 1828-1832. Élise was born i...
