"The range of his embrace was immense. This orphan had adopted the peoples."

~ A Group That Barely Missed Becoming Historic

Feuilly is a fan maker.

For the money? Yes, although fans don't sell for much. He makes three francs each day- sometimes less. Feuilly can go without supper if he has to.

Is he poor? In a way, yes. It's all about perspective, Feuilly knows, and when compared to others, he is rich. He has a roof over his head, a job he enjoys, and good friends. Excellent friends. Money would not be so valuable to Feuilly if he didn't need it to stay alive.

Feuilly is a fan maker.

For the work itself? Yes, although his fingers are cramped and sticky with paint, and the slender sticks of wood leave splinters before they are smoothed and domesticated. A brush's bristles seem to dance slowly around to the groaning wind outside, to the melting flickerings of Feuilly's candle. There is pride in a work well done- there is a satisfaction in finishing touches, in unfolding slowly a picture or design made beautiful by the fog-grey shadows of the creases.

Feuilly is a fan maker.

For the people? Yes, although most do not know this. They come, they buy, they go, not bothering to return a smile to the one Feuilly offers with the expression in his eyes as he watches them enter. Watches them spread his workmanship before their faces, seeing both their scoffing disdain and delighted pleasure.

At the end of the day, Feuilly walks sometimes to Corinthe (which is near), sometimes to the Musain (which is farther), sometimes home, sometimes elsewhere.

Sometimes, one of his well-earned francs will find its way into the hands of a starving woman, or a shivering man, or sad boys and girls, and Feuilly rejoices that he has something to give.

Feuilly is a fan maker.

For France? Yes, although his country doesn't seem to recognize his efforts. Feuilly is the kind of man who believes everyone has their place in the world, that the wrongs of society can be righted, that the people have a chance to change things, to live.

If only something will wake them up.

There have been years of patience, of anxious words, until the time comes. All questions are resolved except one: When?

They are ready. Feuilly lays aside his paintbrush for his sword and his courage, for a stone that will emblazon words of hope into the restless hours of the barricade.

He has no way of knowing he will not come back.

Honest work converted into fighting, fierce love for his nation's people.

Valiant sacrifice.

Feuilly was a fan maker.