Even through his rather benign drunk, Honoré could sense the increased tension in the little barricade and beyond. The long roll, which had been muted in the tavern, rat-a-tatted inside his head with renewed vigor. Shots could be heard intermittently, but distantly. Young Chauvert and the rest of Honoré's entourage sat with their hands on their knees between two wry, but unhappy looking insurgents. Their expressions seemed unsure, as did that of the guardsmen, whether they were guarding the soldiers as prisoners or protecting them from their fellows. Honoré rolled up to him, seized the trumpet from his astonished hands and barked, "Now hear this," across the barricade.
"It is General Reille?" A general murmur rose on the other side, which generally increased General Reille's general headache.
"That's right. Pay close attention, mes enfants. We're going to withdraw from this conflict, but now. Prepare the retreat, and wait for my next order."
Enjolras seized Grantaire's sleeve, hissing into his ear, "What are they doing? This totally defeats us!"
"What are we to do, go home?" Asked another of the insurgents, incredulously.
"Wait for another pack of wolves to not attack us?" shouted another. Grandeur gave Adrien a dulcet, obliging expression, patted him on the rear-end, and strode up to Honoré. Without any preface he seized the general by the sleeve and half-hauled him bodily up the face of the barricade. Honoré's unit, which, far from packing up, had only raised their weapons a the noise, lowered them upon spying their General, who stood even taller than the flag atop the barricade. They half-raised them again upon spying the infamous Capitaine Grandeur, but he faced his back to their muskets and cannon, thus confounding everyone, including Honoré.
"There will be blood. Of that, dear friends, I will assure you. Your ardor has not been rashly nor impotently stoked! But I ask you-- all of you-- whose blood shall it be? Should it be that of this bald eagle here--" to the insurgents it seemed that Grandeur meant the pale-pated Bossuet, while the attackers thought he meant the distinguished general beside him "--or shall it be mine, or yours? None of these, I say to you! For more than men, and other, shall die today. And you, men of arms, men of parts, of faith and of freedom, of bright ideals and exalted goals, will you begin this transformation with murder?" There were murmurings, but no answers. Response was not possible while Grandeur wove his magic of words over both sides. Honoré alone cocked an eyebrow at him, but likewise remained silent. Grantaire continued.
"Here, men of the barricade; look upon your uncles and despise them not! Men of the uniform, look upon your sons here standing and sweating and do not chide them! We are an oasis of reason in a desert city, mad and in hiding: the shops closed and boarded with fear as the streets are barricaded with hope. This fear is the death of us all, and the peacekeepers' cannon is no less mad than the insurgent rifle or the citizen-subject in abject silence! The only sanity is before you, in the form of frank discussion and clear ideas, and the questions which all men given the luxury of reason must ponder: what is more important, to be comfortable, or to be free?
I say there may be both monsieurs, but to attain the one you must risk the other. Today is the shadow-world made visible, the eternal battle of whore in the street and cutthroat in the alley. You, the content, have been content to ignore it, for it has been out of your sight. You are informed, you read the papers: These cannot read. You go home to your bed, these lay their heads on the newspapers you discarded in the afternoon. And why not? What is a mugging in the street, an occasional robbery, the fallen woman: it is the emeuté in miniature, it is injustice turning to criminality and chased by the law, it is the dog being eaten by the bitch who spawned it. Those are jobs for the police, this is a job for the Guard: but they are the same job, of that you may be sure.
I said before there would be blood, and now I will tell you why: because there are still men who are hungry. A man kept hungry is an animal, his thought is consumed with eating, and there can be no more until he is fed.
And what does an animal do when he is hungry? He kills.
But let me face you this puzzle: What does a woman do when she is hungry? What does a child?
The answer to the first may be found in the brothels of the Rue D'esperisons, a clue to the latter in forgotten graves, the gutters and the sewers, and in the faces of the Gamins here standing with muskets." He indicated Gavroche, who found himself, on his side of the fracas, regarded with a new horror, "but one day he must grow up, and learns he may, by strength alone, knock down a man and put a knife to his throat. And if today is not the death of him, or else the rebirth of him so it must be."
Gavroche would have cried out in protest at this, save that something in him was struck by it to his swift-beating sparrow's heart, and that Enjolras put a hand on his shoulder. The silence was utter, save the roll, and Grantaire's voice took on that sort of quiet that carries to every corner. He addressed the Army side of the barricade now.
"So shall we kill for him, my friends, we who are not hungry, you and I? Yes, we shall indeed. With light we shall slice through this damnable fog, and with grim resolve we shall murder madness in it's rampaging tracks, through the boulevards and alleys, all the way to the Palais. It is the illusion of Kingship, that old withered man with his battered tin sword which dies today, from sickness, yea, not the louisette! Why bother? Why does the mirage of the king exist? To perpetuate the illusion of the serf. Remember that another man wields power over you only because he has convinced you that you have none, and that is all. You have waited long enough for someone else to dispel this daydream for you. No more delays, no more waiting. Let us gather together, and go."
A great cheer rose from the insurgent side of the barricade, and a little from the army, though these were largely silent out of a deep and stunned shame.
"What says our General?" cried out one of them clearly, a large blond with hair in a generous mop, standing at the back of one of those diabolical cannon.
Honoré, shaking off his own transfixed despair, shrugged.
"You too are men of Paris-- Citizens, as it were-- and I'll admit that we are in the midst of a genuine fracas. For my own part, I feel compelled not to fire upon these brave boys, nor am I inclined to order you to do so. I believe what Monsieur Grandeur has said. Should my word not be enough for you, I submit it in the spirit of these fine Republican sympathies: let the matter be put to a Vote."
This, in particular the emphasis on the last word, raised a cry of great acclaim and alarm. Men on both sides of the barricade were forcibly reminded of the Convention and it's fatal power, and saw that the matter here was no less grave, and no less fueled by overwhelming emotion. Great power was here to be seized, and permission had just been granted by one who was believed, popularly to have that authority! Honoré was rather pleased with himself. The move had served the double purpose of sympathizing himself with the greater Republican Ideal, in which he did believe at bottom, and of covering his tail. For, in the case of failure, he could honestly claim to have been overwhelmed by the majority. Grantaire realised this and was about to congratulate the General on his subtle prudence, when a shot fired from the side of the army.