Marcelin (or, La Republique)

Marcelin (or, La Republique)

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis.

A/N: To all the Mizzies out there!

Marcelin (or, La République)

I came to repent by the old grave in Paris,

For the sins of the past, the future and present;

I took a grouping of flowers to set on the old, sun drenched terrace.

Il fait beau, it was warm,

The weather was pleasant,

Around me summer birds gathered in swarm

As I came to relax in Marcelin's presence.

1808 - 1832

Oh, if he'd known when he'd died, if he only knew,

That all those years later --

(And those years surely flew!)

That I would be bringing him flowers to lay on his grave,

He would know that I'd done it because of the life that he gave.

Vive la République! I heard loud and clear,

As though Monsieur Marcelin were standing right here;

Vive la République! I could hear him call,

And if I should die, do not let our flag fall.

Carry it onward, carry it true,

Remember, dear France, it is carried for you.

I'm sure that he never though of someone as I,

A girl of brown hair and even browner eye,

Who's heart breaks with sorrow as we lay flowers down,

As she lays flowers down upon the soft ground

Of the Earth where he's buried,

'Neath the earth and the mud,

Of the Earth where he's buried,

Body and blood.

A woman who cries when she hears of his name,

(For his revolution has brought him some fame-)

A woman who cries upon the fifth of June,

As the sun disappears and out comes the moon,

Who cries because someone she did not know is gone,

Who cries out, "Mon Dieu! Il est ne sont pas bons!"

She loves someone that she never has known,

A love le passe cannot condone.

For it's not love of money,

Nor is it love of heart,

But it 'tis love of country that tears me apart.

You died for your country,

Don't deny it Marcelin,

You died for your country,

But what of it then?

You were so resilient, so stubborn and sure!

You were young, you were handsome, intelligent and free!

You're "Revolution" was destined for failure,

Why couldn't you see?

I stood from my spot on the soft, cooling grass,

And smiled in spite of my outburst of crass.

I knew why he did it, I knew far too well,

Marcelin tried to make France into heaven,

When France had been hell.

I turned on my heel and started to leave,

Pulling upon my light jacket's sleeve.

I felt a little bit sadder than ever before,

And I felt as though I should say just a little bit more.

A tall blonde held the cemetery grate for me,

I smiled, he nodded, yet I did not really see

Preoccupied with slipping my jacket back on,

And when I looked up, Marcelin Enjolras was gone.