Tal. 'Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from bursting
Th' imprison'd secret struggling in the face:
E'en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwards
Hurries the thunder-cloud, that poised awhile
Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous burthen.
Leg. Perfidious Traitor !-still afraid to bask
In the full blaze of power, the rustling serpent
Lurks in the thicket of the Tyrant's greatness,
Ever prepared to sting who shelters him.
Each thought, each action in himself converges ;
And love and friendship on his coward heart
Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice:
To all attach'd, by turns deserting all,
Cunning and dark--a necessary villain!
Tal. Yet much depends upon him—well you know
With plausible harangue 't is his to paint
Defeat like victory-and blind the mob
With truth-mix'd falsehood. They, led on by him
And wild of head to work their own destruction,
Support with uproar what he plans in darkness.
Leg. O what a precious name is Liberty
To scare or cheat the simple into slaves!
Yes--we must gain him over: by dark hints
We'll show enough to rouse his watchful fears,
Till the cold coward blaze a patriot.
O Danton! murder'd friend! assist my counsels
Hover around me on sad memory's wings,
And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart.
Tallien! if but to-morrow's fateful sun
Beholds the Tyrant living-we are dead!
Tal. Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty mean
Leg. Fear not-or rather fear th' alternative,
And seek for courage e'en in cowardice,
e-hither he comes-let us away!
His brother with him, and the bloody Couthon,
And high of haughty spirit, young St. Just.
Enter ROBESPIERRE, COUTHÓN, ST. JUST, and ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR.
Rob. What! did La Fayette fall before my power? And did I conquer Roland's spotless virtues? The fervent eloquence of Vergniaud's tongue? And Brissot's thoughtful soul unbribed and bold? Did zealot armies haste in vain to save them? What! did th' assassin's dagger aim its point Vain, as a dream of murder, at my bosom? And shall I dread the soft luxurious Tallien ? Th' Adonis Tallien? banquet-hunting Tallien? Him, whose heart flutters at the dice-box? Him, Who ever on the harlot's downy pillow Resigns his head impure to feverish slumbers!
St. Just. I cannot fear him-yet we must not scoru him.
Was it not Antony that conquer'd Brutus,
Th' Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony?
The state is not yet purified: and though
The stream runs clear, yet at the bottom lies
The thick black sediment of all the factions-
It needs no magic hand to stir it up!
Cou. O we did wrong to spare them-fatal error!
Why lived Legendre, when that Danton died?
And Collot d'Herbois dangerous in crimes?
I've fear'd him, since his iron heart endured
To make of Lyons one vast human shambles,
Compared with which the sun-scorch'd wilderness
Of Zara were a smiling paradise.
St. Just. Rightly thou judgest, Couthou! He is one, Who flies from silent solitary anguish,
Seeking forgetful peace amid the jar
Of elements. The howl of maniac uproar
Lulls to sad sleep the memory of himself.
A calm is fatal to him-then he feels
The dire upboilings of the storm within him.
A tiger mad with inward wounds.—I dread
The fierce and restless turbulence of guilt.
Rob. Is not the commune ours? The stern tribunal?
Dumas? and Vivier? Fleuriot? and Louvet?
And Henriot? We'll denounce a hundred, nor
Shall they behold to-morrow's sun roll westward.
Rob. jun. Nay-I am sick of blood; my aching
Reviews the long, long train of hideous horrors
That still have gloom'd the rise of the republic.
I should have died before Toulon, when war
Became the patriot!
He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitors,
Would be himself a traitor, where he not
A coward! 'Tis congenial souls alone
Shed tears of sorrow for each other's fate.
O thou art brave, my brother! and thine eye
Full firmly shines amid the groaning battle-
Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pity
Asserts too large a share, an ill-timed guest!
There is unsoundness in the state-To-morrow
Shall see it cleansed by wholesome massacre!
Rob. jun. Beware! already do the sections mur-
"O the great glorious patriot, RobespierreThe tyrant guardian of the country's freedom!"
Cou. 'T were folly sure to work great deeds by halves Much I suspect the darksome fickle heart
I see the villain in him!
Rob. jun. If he-if all forsake thee—what remains?
Rob. Myself! the steel-strong Rectitude of soul
And Poverty sublime 'mid circling virtues!
The giant Victories, my counsels form'd,
Shall stalk around me with sun-glittering plumes,
Bidding the darts of calumny fall pointless.
[Exeunt cæteri. Manet COUтHON. Cou. (solus). So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtues
Bloom on the poisonous branches of ambition !
Still, Robespierre! thou'lt guard thy country's freedom
To despotize in all the patriot's pomp.
While Conscience, 'mid the mob's applauding clamours,
Sleeps in thine ear, nor whispers-blood-stain'd tyrant!
Yet what is Conscience? Superstition's dream,
Making such deep impression on our sleep-
That long th' awaken'd breast retains its horrors!
But he returns-and with him comes Barrere.
Enter ROBESPIERRE and BARRERE. Rob. There is no danger but in cowardice.— Barrere! we make the danger, when we fear it. We have such force without, as will suspend The cold and trembling treachery of these members. Bar. 'T will be a pause of terror.—
But to whom? Rather the short-lived slumber of the tempest, Gathering its strength anew. The dastard traitors! Moles, that would undermine the rooted oak!
A pause!—a moment's pause !—'T is all their life.
Bar. Yet much they talk-and plausible their speech.
Couthon's decree has given such powers, that-
Bar. The freedom of debate
Transparent mask!
They wish to clog the wheels of government,
Forcing the hand that guides the vast machine
To bribe them to their duty-English patriots!
Are not the congregated clouds of war
Black all around is? In our very vitals
Works not the king-bred poison of rebellion?
Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottings
Of wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fears
Of him, whose power directs th' eternal justice?
Terror? or secret-sapping gold? The first
Heavy, but transient as the ills that cause it;
And to the virtuous patriot render'd light
By the necessities that gave it birth :
The other fouls the font of the republic,
Making it flow polluted to all ages;
Inoculates the state with a slow venom,
That, once imbibed, must be continued ever.
Myself incorruptible, I ne'er could bribe them-
Therefore they hate me.
Are the sections friendly?
Rob. There are who wish my ruin-but I'll make
Blush for the crime in blood!
Thou art too fond of slaughter-and the right
(If right it be) workest by most foul means!
Rob. Self-centering Fear! how well thou canst
Too fond of slaughter! matchless hypocrite!
Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died? Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming
Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'er-wearied
Reel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood?
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