The Fall of Robespierre. An Historic Drama/Act 1
THE
FALL OF ROBESPIERRE.
ACT I.
SCENE, The Thuilleries.
Barrere.THE tempest gathers—be it mine to seekA friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him.But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant's soul—Sudden in action, fertile in resource,And rising awful 'mid impending ruins;In splendor gloomy, as the midnight meteor,That fearless thwarts the elemental war.When last in secret conference we met,He scowl'd upon me with suspicious rage,Making his eye the inmate of my bosom.I know he scorns me—and I feel, I hate him—Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble!(Exit.)
Enter Tallien and Legendre.
Tallien.It was Barrere, Legendre! didst thou mark him?Abrupt he turn'd, yet linger'd as he went,And towards us cast a look of doubtful meaning.
Legendre.I mark'd him well. I met his eye's last glance;It menac'd not so proudly as of yore.Methought he would have spoke—but that he dar'd not—Such agitation darken'd on his brow.
Tallien.'Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from burstingTh' imprison'd secret struggling in the face:E'en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwardsHurries the thunder cloud, that pois'd awhileHung in mid air, red with its mutinous burthen.
Legendre.Perfidious Traitor!—still afraid to baskIn the full blaze of power, the rustling serpentLurks in the thicket of the Tyrant's greatness,Ever prepar'd to sting who shelters him.Each thought, each action in himself converges;And love and friendship on his coward heartShine like the powerless sun on polar ice:To all attach'd, by turns deserting all,Cunning and dark—a necessary villain!
Tallien.Yet much depends upon him—well you knowWith plausible harangue 'tis his to paintDefeat like victory—and blind the mobWith truth-mix'd falshood. They led on by him,And wild of head to work their own destruction,Support with uproar what he plans in darkness.
Legendre.O what a precious name is LibertyTo scare or cheat the simple into slaves!Yes—we must gain him over: by dark hintsWe'll shew 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 sunBeholds the Tyrant living—we are dead!
Tallien.Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty meanings—
Legendre.Fear not—or rather fear th' alternative,And seek for courage e'en in cowardice———But see—hither he comes—let us away!His brother with him, and the bloody Couthon,And high of haughty spirit, young St. Just.(Exeunt.)
Enter Robespierre, Couthon, St. Just, and Robespierre, Junior.
Robespierre.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 pointVain, 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 harlots' downy pillowResigns his head impure to feverish slumbers!
St. Just.I cannot fear him—yet we must not scorn him.Was it not Antony that conquer'd Brutus,Th' Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony?The state is not yet purified: and thoughThe stream runs clear, yet at the bottom liesThe thick black sediment of all the factions—It needs no magic hand to stir it up!
Couthon.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 enduredTo make of Lyons one vast human shambles,Compar'd with which the sun-scorcht wildernessOf Zara, were a smiling paradise.
St. Just.Rightly thou judgest, Couthon! He is one,Who flies from silent solitary anguish,Seeking forgetful peace amid the jarOf elements. The howl of maniac uproarLulls to sad sleep the memory of himself.A calm is fatal to him–then he feelsThe dire upboilings of the storm within him.A tyger mad with inward wounds!———I dreadThe fierce and restless turbulence of guilt.
Robespierre.Is not the commune ours? The stern tribunal?Dumas? and Vivier? Fleuriot? and Louvet?And Henriot? We'll denounce an hundred, norShall they behold to-morrow's sun roll westward.
Robespierre, Junior.Nay–I am sick of blood; my aching heartReviews the long, long train of hideous horrorsThat still have gloom'd the rise of the republic.I should have died before Toulon, when warBecame the patriot!
Robespierre.Most unworthy wish!He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitorsWould be himself a traitor, were he not A coward! 'Tis congenial souls aloneShed tears of sorrow for each other's fate.O thou art brave, my brother! and thine eyeFull firmly shines amid the groaning battle—Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pityAsserts too large a share, an ill-timed guest!There is unsoundness in the state—To-morrowShall see it cleans'd by wholesome massacre!
Robespierre, Junior.Beware! already do the sections murmur—"O the great glorious patriot, Robespierre—"The tyrant guardian of the country's freedom!"
Couthon.Twere folly sure to work great deeds by halves!Much I suspect the darksome fickle heartOf cold Barrere!
Robespierre.I see the villain in him!
Robespierre, Junior.If he—if all forsake thee—what remains?
Robespierre.Myself! the steel-strong Rectitude of soulAnd 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 Couthon.)
Couthon solus.So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtuesBloom on the poisonous branches of ambition!Still, Robespierre! thou'l't 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.(Exit, Couthon.)
Enter Robespierre and Barrere.
Robespierre.There is no danger but in cowardice.—Barrere! we make the danger, when we fear it.We have such force without, as will suspendThe cold and trembling treachery of these members.
Barrere.'Twill be a pause of terror.—
Robespierre.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?—'Tis all their life.
Barrere.Yet much they talk—and plausible their speech.Couthon's decree has given such powers, that
Robespierre.That what?
Barrere.The freedom of debate—
Robespierre.Transparent mask!They wish to clog the wheels of government,Forcing the hand that guides the vast machineTo bribe them to their duty—English patriots!Are not the congregated clouds of warBlack all around us? In our very vitalsWorks not the king-bred poison of rebellion?Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottingsOf wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fearsOf him, whose power directs th' eternal justice?Terror? or secret-sapping gold? The firstHeavy, but transient as the ills that cause it;And to the virtuous patriot rendered lightBy the necessities that gave it birth:The other fouls the fount 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.
Barrere.Are the sections friendly?
Robespierre.There are who wish my ruin—but I'll make themBlush for the crime in blood!
Barrere.Nay—but I tell thee,Thou art too fond of slaughter—and the right(If right it be) workest by most foul means!
Robespierre.Self-centering Fear! how well thou canst ape Mercy!Too fond of slaughter!—matchless hypocrite! Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died?Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming streetsOf Paris red-eyed Massacre o'er weariedReel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood?And when (O heavens!) in Lyons' death-red squareSick fancy groan'd o'er putrid hills of slain,Didst thou not fiercely laugh, and bless the day?Why, thou hast been the mouth-piece of all horrors,And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for murder! NowAloof thou standest from the tottering pillar,Or, like a frighted child behind its mother,Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of—Mercy!
Barrere.O prodigality of eloquent anger!Why now I see thou'rt weak—thy case is desperate!The cool ferocious Robespierre turn'd scolder!
Robespierre.Who from a bad man's bosom wards the blowReserves the whetted dagger for his own.Denounced twice—and twice I saved his life!(Exit.)
Barrere.The sections will support then—there's the point!No! he can never weather out the storm—Yet he is sudden in revenge—No more!I must away to Tallien.(Exit.)
SCENE changes to the house of Adelaide.
Adelaide enters, speaking to a servant.
Adelaide.Didst thou present the letter that I gave thee? Did Tallien answer, he would soon return?
Servant.He is in the Thuilleries—with him Legendre—In deep discourse they seem'd: as I approach'dHe waved his hand as bidding me retire:(Returns the letter.)I did not interrupt him.
Adelaide.Thou didst rightly.(Exit. Servant.) O this new freedom! at how dear a priceWe've bought the seeming good! The peaceful virtuesAnd every blandishment of private life,The father's cares, the mother's fond endearment,All sacrificed to liberty's wild riot.The winged hours, that scatter'd roses round me,Languid and sad drag their slow course along,And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings.But I will steal away these anxious thoughtsBy the soft languishment of warbled airs,If haply melodies may lull the senseOf sorrow for a while.
SOFT MUSIC.
Enter Tallien.
Tallien.Music, my love? O breathe again that air!Soft nurse of pain, it sooths the weary soulOf care, sweet as the whisper'd breeze of eveningThat plays around the sick man's throbbing temples.
SONG. Tell me, on what holy ground May domestic peace be found? Halcyon daughter of the skies, Far on fearful wing she flies, From the pomp of scepter'd state, From the rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottag'd vale she dwells List'ning to the Sabbath bells! Still around her steps are seen, Spotless honor's meeker mein, Love, the sire of pleasing fears, Sorrow smiling through her tears, And conscious of the past employ, Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
Tallien.I thank thee, Adelaide! 'twas sweet, though mournful.But why thy brow o'ercast, thy cheek so wan?Thou look'st as a lorn maid beside some streamThat sighs away the soul in fond despairing,While sorrow sad, like the dank willow near her,Hangs o'er the troubled fountain of her eye.
Adelaide.Ah! rather let me ask what mystery lowersOn Tallien's darken'd brow. Thou dost me wrong—Thy soul distemper'd, can my heart be tranquil?
Tallien.Tell me, by whom thy brother's blood was spilt?Asks he not vengeance on these patriot murderers?It has been born too tamely. Fears and cursesGroan on our midnight beds, and e'en our dreamsThreaten the assassin hand of Robespierre.He dies!—nor has the plot escaped his fears.
Adelaide.Yet—yet—be cautious! much I fear the Commune— The tyrant's creatures, and their fate with hisFast link'd in close indissoluble union.The pale Convention—
Tallien.Hate him as they fear him,Impatient of the chain, resolv'd and ready.
Adelaide.Th' enthusiast mob, confusion's lawless sons—
Tallien.They are aweary of his stern morality,The fair-mask'd offspring of ferocious pride.The sections too support the delegates:All—all is ours! e'en now the vital airOf Liberty, condens'd awhile, is bursting(Force irresistable!) from its compressure—To shatter the arch chemist in the explosion!
Enter Billaud Varennes and Bourdon l'Oise.
(Adelaide retires.)
Bourdon l'Oise.Tallien! was this a time for amorous conference?Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted creature,Marshals the force of Paris: The fierce club,With Vivier at their head, in loud acclaimHave sworn to make the guillotine in bloodFloat on the scaffold.—But who comes here?
Enter Barrere abruptly.
Barrere.Say, are ye friends to freedom? I am her's!Let us, forgetful of all common feuds, Rally around her shrine! E'en now the tyrantConcerts a plan of instant massacre!
Billaud Varennes.Away to the Convention! with that voiceSo oft the herald of glad victory,Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in their earsThe names of tyrant, plunderer, assassin! The violent workings of my soul withinAnticipate the monster's blood!(Cry from the street of—No Tyrant! Down with the Tyrant!)
Tallien.Hear ye that outcry?—If the trembling membersEven for a moment hold his fate suspended,I swear by the holy poniard, that stabbed Cæsar,This dagger probes his heart!(Exeunt omnes.)