"Who will join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?"
Again,
another character from Les Misérables.
Enjolras was the leader of the revolution, a stark contrast to Marius, who was
much too busy with the affairs of his heart. He rallied the people to
rise, for freedom, for life. I don't know about any of you, but I sure
was more than willing to stand with him when he uttered the war cry. The
book Les Misérables covered the
characters in more detail.
Enjolras...was an only son and was rich. He was a charming young man, capable of being intimidating. He was angelically beautiful...A pontifical and warrior nature, strange in a youth. He was officiating and militant; from the immediate point of view, a soldier of democracy; above the movement of the time, a priest of the ideal. He had a deep eye, slightly red lids, thick underlip, readily disdainful, and a high forehead...Like certain young men...who become illustrious in early life, he had an exceedingly youthful look, as fresh as a young girl's, though he had moments of pallor. Already a man, he still seemed a child. His twenty-two years appeared as seventeen; he was serious, he did not seem to know that there was a being on earth called woman. He had one passion only, justice; one thought only, to remove all obstacles...Before anything but the Republic, he chastely dropped his eyes. He was the marble lover of liberty. His speech was roughly inspired and had the tremor of a hymn. He would spread his wings unexpectedly and astonish you by his soaring. Woe to the love affair that should venture to intrude on him! Had any grisette...seeing this college boy's face, the body of a page, long fair lashes, blue eyes, that hair flying in the wind, rosy cheeks, pure lips, exquisite teeth, felt a desire to taste all this dawn, and tried her beauty on Enjolras, a surprising and terrible look would have suddenly shown her the great gulf, and taught her not to confuse Beaumarchais's dashing cherubino with this fearsome cherubim of Ezekiel.---Victor Hugo
Enjolras died in the revolution, along with almost all the others. His death, portrayed in the book is slightly different from that of the musical. Both are stunningly touching. In the musical, he was shot as he waved the flag atop the barricade, and he lay down and died, still holding the flag. In the book,
There was now only one single man there on his feet, Enjolras. Without cartridges, without a sword, he had remaining in his hand only the barrel of his carbine, whose stock he had broken over the heads of those coming in. He had put the billiard table between the assailants and himself; he had retreated to the corner of the room, and there, with proud eye, haughty head, and that stump of a weapon in his grasp, he was still so formidable that a large space was left around him. A cry went up, "This is the leader. He is the one who killed the artilleryman. Since he's put himself there, it's a good place. Let him stay. Let's shoot him on the spot."
"Shoot me," said Enjolras.
And, throwing away the stump of his carbine, and crossing his arms, he presented his breast.
The audacity to die well always moves men. The moment Enjolras had crossed his arms, accepting the end, the uproar of the conflict in the room and all that chaos suddenly hushed into a sort of sepulchral solemnity. It seemed as though the menacing majesty of Enjolras, disarmed and motionless, weighed on that tumult, and as though, merely by the authority of his tranquil eye, this young man, who alone had no wound, superb, bloody, fascinating, indifferent as if he were invulnerable, compelled that sinister mob to kill him respectfully. His beauty, augmented at that moment by his dignity, was resplendent, and, as if he could be no more fatigued than wounded, after the terrible twenty-four hours just elapsed, he was fresh and healthy...A National Guard who was aiming at Enjolras dropped his weapon, saying, "It is though I'm about to shoot a flower."
Twelve men formed in platoon in the corner opposite Enjolras and readied their muskets in silence.
Then a sergeant cried, "Take aim!"
An officer intervened.
"Wait."
And addressing Enjolras, "Do you wish your eyes bandaged?"
"No."
...A few seconds earlier Grantaire had woken up.
...Relegated as he was to a corner and as though sheltered behind the billiard table, the soldiers, their eyes fixed upon Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat the order: "Take aim!" when suddenly they heard a powerful voice cry beside them, "Vive la Republique! Count me in."
Grantaire was on his feet.
The immense glare of the whole combat he had missed and in which he had not been, appeared in the flashing eye of the transfigured drunkard.
He repeated, "Vive la Republique!" crossed the room firmly, and took his place in front of the muskets beside Enjolras.
"Two at one shot," he said.
And, turning toward Enjolras gently, he said to him, "Will you permit it?"
Enjolras shook his hand with a smile.
The smile was not finished before the report was heard.
Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained backed up against the wall as if the bullets had nailed him there. Except that his head was tilted.
Grantaire, struck down, collapsed at his feet.---Victor Hugo
The many quotations were obtained from Jen's wonderful website "Barricade Of Revolution".