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To die a martyr is to inject blood into the veins of society. -Farsi proverb

Oh Captain, My Captain!

As soon as he says my name, my heart leaps. I can't believe that he is praising me. He is staring right at me and lauding me in front of all these people. And these might be his last words! I am not so special that I deserve this kind of attention from him. I am merely one man, who did what any honorable man would do. Just because I came from poverty does not make me any worthier than my friends who came from wealth. If anything, they are worthier, because they chose to give up a bright future for the cause.

Everyone here is staring at me. I feel as if I should wave, or smile, or perhaps launch into a discourse of my own. But I cannot think of anything to say that Enjolras could not say better. Yes, it is true; I have adopted the people. But he has done so as well, and done so more completely than anyone else here. I could not sing his praises enough. I adore him; I have faith in him; I would die for him, as would any man who heard him speak, Ami or not. Had I not found him when I did, it is quite likely that I would not have discovered my political beliefs, or that I would have abandoned them much sooner for lack of encouragement. I hope fervently that one day he will do for all of France what he has done for my friends and me. It would be the greatest honor to vote for him as the first president of the true French Republic, and to be by his side as he enacts laws for the betterment of all. Combeferre may be his right-hand man, his guiding light, but I hope to widen his horizons even more. I wish to make him love the whole world the way he loves his Patria, for the whole world is his Patria. I should like for him to see that what he loves in France is also present, festering in the hearts of the people in other soon-to-be republics. Perhaps when this is over, we all shall go on a diplomatic tour to Warsaw, Berlin, Amsterdam, London, Madrid, Moscow, Rome, Milan, and inspire revolutions to take place all over Europe. Russia needs a revolution more than any of them. I dearly hope that I shall live long enough to see the end of serfdom, that terrible vestige of slavery that remains on our continent. If not, then the reason shall be that I have died tomorrow, trying to achieve a tiny part of that very goal here in Paris.

The Blood of the Martyrs

"I suppose you'll never have to pay for a round of drinks again as long as you hang around us," said Courfeyrac, putting his arm around my shoulder. "That was quite an impressive speech Enjolras had to give about you."

"Thank you, but I couldn't anyway," I told him. "I'm broke. And I won't be making any more money. I spent my last sou this morning. Bought a loaf of bread for these two orphan children."

"What?" asked Courfeyrac, pulling away abruptly in disbelief. "Why? Are you stupid?"

"I wouldn't have any use for it or anyone to leave it to," I said calmly, shrugging. "And I don't call it stupid to leave a defenseless person with a means to support himself. Indeed, it is what our whole organization has been trying to accomplish. You see, I don't intend to leave this barricade alive. But I do intend to see to it that everyone else here shall."

Courfeyrac gasped. "Feuilly, that's insane," he said. "Your life is worth just as much as anyone's. Weren't you even listening to Enjolras? You have big dreams. You can fulfill them when the revolution succeeds. There's no need to protect us."

"Well, I will, whether you want me to or not," I said stubbornly. "You know what they say- 'If it is necessary to die for the republic, let me be the first*'."

"That's very noble, but the republic is worth living for, not just dying for. It needs teachers for the many schools we are going to build for the children. You would make an excellent teacher."

"What would I teach?" I asked. "I have forfeited a formal education to be a laborer."

"The world needs laborers just as much as it needs doctors and lawyers," said Courfeyrac. "Maybe more. It is not a sign of failure to be a fan-maker, but it is a failure of society that some professions are valued so much more than others. Everyone has their role to play, and should be allowed to learn a trade other than the one his father practiced. We will have justice when we have mobility."

I smiled. "I agree completely," I said. "But I have already chosen my role in society, my role in life. Clearly, not everyone can do it. But it is the greatest role any man can play."

And with that, I turned and climbed the barricade again.

FIN

A/N: I love Feuilly, I think he's one of the more interesting Friends and it's sad that there's so little fic about him, but I couldn't think of a good piece about him until now. He strikes me as Communist because of his status as a worker and also his fascination with what will become the Soviet bloc. That's why I picture him with a turn-of-the-century cap a la Newsies. Also, I know he sounded infatuated with Enjolras, but that was not my intention.

*"A la Volonte du Peuple", the French version of "Do you Hear the People Sing?".