On the 4th of June in the year 1832, the member of Les Amis de l'ABC were in the backroom of the Musain as usual. The night air felt warm for June as if it too supported their cause. Yes, this was the night before the rarely recorded rebellion of the same month and year and Enjolras and his comrades were preparing for battle.
The evening began with chatter as always, but Enjolras quickly put a stop to it.
"Citizens, the time is at hand! Tomorrow we shall meet at the funeral of Lamarque and there we will begin the people's fight. Sleep well tonight in the knowledge that the following days will bring freedom and equality for all along with proper justice!" Enjolras declared with a passion matched by few and surpassed by none. There were cheers of agreement as his friend's gazed upon their leader.
"There is much to be done before the night is over, so let us go about it!" Enjolras finished and looked to Combeferre. The cynic sat in his dark corner partaking in a foul drink. His eyes were dark and his heart ached for his friends. How foolish of them! the drunkard stood and stumbled over to Enjolras, grabbing him by the arm.
"Grantaire, if you will not help, go back to your corner!" Apollo snapped and shook the other's arm away.
"You are sending them to their death! For you, a great god, it must seem like nothing, but these men are young and foolish! You haven't even acknowledged to them that many, if not all of you, will die!" Grantaire replied desperate to make the leader see reason.
"They are not blind, winecask, they are aware of the risks." Enjolras answered coolly. "You would have us stay quietly in the shelter of our homes as many suffer? You would turn away from the beggars at your feet? You disgust me." he spat.
Grantaire stumbled backwards as if he had been hit, but Enjolras paid no more mind to him. The Greek god went to join the others in preparing weapons and tables for the morrow.
The next morning, once the barricade had been established, Enjolras stood with musket in hand, surveying their battlefield. He could hear the drunken cries of Grantaire from inside the café, and finally, having enough of them, turned to look at the man.
"Grantaire," he called, "go sleep your wine off somewhere else. Do not dishonour the barricade." He had not expected his words to have any effect on the cynic, but suddenly the man appeared sober. He sat down with his elbows on a table by the window and gazed so sweetly upon Enjolras that it caused the latter great uneasiness.
"You know I believe in you!"
"Go away." Enjolras replied sternly.
"Let me sleep here, and if need be, die here."
Enjolras looked scornfully at him.
"Grantaire, you are incapable of believing or thinking or willing or living or dying."
"You'll see." replied Grantaire gravely. Enjolras glared at him once more and turned away. There was still much to do.
Enjolras' heart was soaring as he glanced around at his friends. The blond was not a fool; he knew many of his friends were likely to fall. But he believed it would be worth it if it brought peace to his country. The man was cold and brave and seemed inhuman, but he truly loved all those who stood around them. He was not sending lambs to a slaughter, but rather his friends. Still, he would gladly do it for the republique.
Suddenly, a shot rang out. Enjolras turned to the source of the sound and found a man standing under an open window. The windowsill held up the head of a dead man. Rage filled Enjolras' entire being as his mind was brought back to '89. The French Revolution had been great, it's leaders inspired, but there had been no order and they had killed without consequence. Enjolras did not wish it to happen again. They would only kill those who must be killed in order for peace and true justice to rein.
This man who had shot another was a murderer and so he must be punished as such. The beautiful but terrible angel laid a hand on the criminal's shoulder.
"On your knees." He commanded in a menacingly quiet voice. The man turned to confront the white cold face of Enjolras, who had a pistol in his other hand. When Le Cabuc, the man in question, did not move, Enjolras repeated the order.
"On your knees," and with an imperious gesture the slender youth of twenty, compelling the muscular broad-shouldered dock-worker to bend like a reed before him, forced him to kneel in the mud. Le Cabuc tried to resist, but seemed to be in the grip of a superhuman power. Enjolras, with his girlish face, his bare neck and untidy hair, had at that moment something of the look of an antique god. His expression was that of chaste and righteous anger which in the ancient world was the face of justice.
The men of the barricade came to look upon the scene and were unable to utter a word as they watched their leader.
Le Cabuc made no further attempt to struggled and was now trembling violently. Enjolras, still in his anger, released his hold on the other and got out his watch.
"Pray or ponder. You have one minute."
"Mercy!" The murderer gasped, and then, with his head bowed, fell to muttering inarticulate profanities. The others were still watching in horror and Combeferre was close to protesting, but couldn't bring the words from his mouth. Enjolras did not remove his eyes from his watch, and when the minute had passed he returned it to his pocket. He gripped Le Cabuc by the hair, and as the man knelt screaming, pressed the muzzle of the pistol to his ear. His heart was beating hard against his chest with anger, but also adrenalin at what his body knew he was to do. He closed his fingers around the trigger.
The shot rang out, the murderer fell face down on the cobbles, and Enjolras, straightening, gazed sternly and assuredly about him. He thrust aside the body with his foot and said:
"Get rid of that."
As he watched the body be removed, Enjolras stood deep in thought. His mind circled around what he had just done. He had executed a man. This man, although he had done wrong, had not been trying to harm Enjolras. The act was not self preservation, it was killing. It was murder, but also justice. It was the first blood Enjolras had taken with his own hand, and although he remained outwardly calm, his conscience was bothering him.
After a pause, Enjolras raised his head.
"Citizens," he began. "what that man did was abominable and what I have done is horrible. He killed, and that is why I killed. I was obliged to do it, for this rebellion must be well disciplined. Murder is an even greater crime here than elsewhere. We are under the eyes of the revolution, priests of the republic, the tokens of a cause, and our actions must not be subject to calumny. Therefore I judged this man and condemned him to death." He paused here for half a second, a pause barely noticed by the others. "But at the same time, compelled to do what I did but abhorring it, I have passed judgement on myself, and you will learn in due course what my sentence is."
The others stared on at the man they trusted and followed. They wished to protest, but could not for the second time that night. Finally, Combeferre stood and took a step towards his brother.
"We will share your fate." the medical student replied.
"It may be," Enjolras agreed as he locked eyes with Combeferre. "I have more to say. In executing that man, I bowed to necessity, but necessity was a monster conceived in the old world, and its name is fatality. By the law of progress, this fatality must give way to fraternity. This is a bad moment for speaking the word 'love'; nevertheless, I do speak it, and glory in it. Love is the future. I have had to resort to death, but I hate it. In the future, citizens, there will be no darkness or lightnings, no savage ignorance or blood feuds. No man will kill his fellow, the earth will be radiant, mankind will be moved by love. That time will come, citizens, the time or peace, light, and harmony, of joy and life. It will come. And the purpose of our death is to hasten its coming."
Enjolras fell silent. His virgin lips closed. Combeferre and Jean Prouvaire clasped hands and stared at Enjolras in a mixture of admiration and compassion. They both could see the struggle within him. Combeferre because he was the man's closest friend; Prouvaire because he could see the heart of every living creature.