The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. II., No. 5, April, 1836

_Servant._--The Minister of Police----

_Tallien._--Attend him hither-- Fouché--perhaps to sound me; let him try-- I yet may baffle him, and one more fatal---- (_Fouché enters_.)

_Fouché._--So you are in the scales with Robespierre, And which do you expect will kick the beam?

_Tallien._--Why should you think that I will stake my power, Friends, interest, and life, in useless efforts To thwart the destined ruler of the land?

_Fouché._--Yourself have told me so. I did but mean That he had risk'd his power and party strength Against your life. You mean to strike at his. Your faltering voice and startled looks betray The secret of your heart, though sooth to say, I knew it all before.

_Tallien._--You see too far, And are for once wise over much, Monsieur; I never sought to oppose your great colleague, But would conciliate him if I might.

_Fouché._ (_sternly_.) And do you hope to throw dust in my eyes? What means this note from Madame de Cabarus Now in your bosom--sent to you this morning-- And this your answer? (_producing a billet_.) Have I fathom'd you? The mystic writing on the palace wall Scar'd not Belshazzar more than this does you. (_Tallien goes to the door_.) Nay, never call your men or make those signals, I have foreseen the worst that you can do.

_Tallien._--Chief of Police, while you are in this house Your life is in my hands--when you are gone, Mine is in yours. Now tell me why you came?

_Fouché._--To show you that I know of your designs.

_Tallien._--And is that all?

_Fouché._--Not quite. To offer service-- {306} A politician should not start as you do At every word.

_Tallien._--Ah--can I--dare I trust you?

_Fouché._--I do not ask created man to trust Honor or oath of him whose name is Fouché. I know mankind, and study my own interest-- Interest, Tallien--that mainstring of all motion-- Chain of all strength--pole star of all attraction For human hearts to turn to. Let me see My interest in supporting you, and I Can aid and guard you through the coming peril.

_Tallien._--Name your terms.

_Fouché._--My present post and what Beside is mentioned in this schedule. (_giving a paper_.)

_Tallien_.--Your _price_ is high, but I am pledged to pay it. (_giving his hand_.)

_Fouché._--Thou knowest I never was over scrupulous, But he whom I was link'd with, Robespierre, Can stand no longer. Earth is weary of him. The small majority in the Convention He calculates upon to be his plea For wreaking summary vengeance on the heads Of all who, like yourself, are not prepared To grant him supreme power or dip their hands In blood for any, every, or no profit. A ravenous beast were better in the chair. Henriot and the civic force here, stand Prompt to obey him. Were we only sure To raise the citizens, these dogs were nothing-- But, sink or swim, to-morrow is the day Must ruin him or us. Do you impeach him, And paint his crimes exactly as they are; Have a decree of arrest, and I and mine Will see he quits not the Convention Hall But in the custody of friends of ours. 'Tis true I bargain'd to assist the fiend The better to deceive him. Mark, Tallien, A presage of his fall--not only I Abandon him, but I can bring Barrère And all his tribe to give their votes against him. Give me _carte blanche_ to pay them for their voices.

_Tallien._--But think you I can move them to arrest him?

_Fouché._--That is a _chance_ unknown even to myself, There are so many waiters on the wind, Straws to be blown wherever it may list That surety of success we cannot have, But certain ruin if we pass to-morrow.

_Tallien._--Is't true she aim'd a weapon at his life?

_Fouché._--A lie of his invention. I have seen The weapon he pretended to have snatch'd From her fair hands, and know it for his own. Though I seem foul compar'd to better men, I claim to appear an angel match'd with him.

SCENE III.

ROBESPIERRE'S HOUSE.

_Robespierre, Fouché, Henriot and others._

_Henriot._--All things are ready now, six thousand men And twenty cannon wait your word to-morrow.

_Robes._--Henriot, I have a word to say to thee: Thou hast _one_ vice that suits not with a leader, If that thou hopest to thrive in our attempt, Taste not of wine till victory is ours.

_Henriot._--I thank your caution.

_Fouché_.--I have seen Tallien And offered peace between you; he knew not That Laurens' daughter had assail'd your life, Or he had mentioned it. Nor did he dream Of what will peal upon his ears to-morrow.

_Robes._--Then, friends, farewell until to-morrow dawns.

_Fouché._--And ere its night sets in we hail thee Ruler, Dictator of the land.

_Robes._--If such your will-- Without you I am nothing--fare you well. (_they leave him_.) (_looking up to the stars_.)--Unchang'd, unfading, never-dying lights-- Gods, or coeval with them! If there be In your bright aspects aught of influence Which men have made a science here on earth, Shed it benignly on my fortunes now! Spirit of Terror! Rouse thee at my bidding-- Shake thy red wings o'er Liberty's Golgotha-- Palsy men's energies and stun their souls, That no more foes may cross my path to-morrow Than I and mine can drown in their own blood; Or, let them rise by thousands, so my slaves Fight but as heartily for gold and wine As they have done ere now. When I shall lead them, Then 'mid the artillery's roar and bayonet's flash I write my title to be Lord of France In flame and carnage, o'er this den of thieves. Beneath th' exterior, frozen, stern demeanor, How my veins throb to bursting, while I think On the rich feast of victory and revenge The coming day may yield me! Yes, this land Of bigot slaves who tremble at a devil, Or frantic atheists who with lifted hands Will gravely VOTE their Maker from his throne, This horde of dupes and miscreants shall feel And own in tears, blood, crime and retribution, The iron rule of him they trampled on-- The outrag'd, ruin'd, and despised attorney. Though few the anxious hours that lie between My brightest, proudest hopes, or sure destruction, All yet is vague, uncertain, and obscure As what may chance in ages yet to come. How if the dungeon or the scaffold--Ha! That shall not be--my hand shall overrule it-- Ingenious arbiter of life and death! (_looking to the charge of a small pistol_.) Be thou my bosom friend in time of need! No--if my star is doom'd to set forever, The cheeks of men shall pale as they behold The lurid sky it sinks in. Should I fall Leading my Helots on to slay each other, Then death, all hail!--for only thou canst quench The secret fire that rages in my breast; If there be an hereafter, which I know not, He who hath borne _my_ life may dare its worst, And if mortality's last pangs end all, Welcome eternal sleep!--annihilation!

SCENE IV.

THE HALL OF THE NATIONAL CONVENTION.

_Couthon concluding a speech from the Tribune. Tallien, Fouché, Carnôt, and others, standing near him. Robespierre, St. Just, and others, in their seats._

_Tallien_ (_to Fouché_.)--Are you ready? {307}

_Fouché._--Doubt not my aid--denounce him where he stands-- And lose no time--this hour decides our fate.

_Couthon_ (_to the Convention_.)--Our country is in danger--I invoke Your aid, compatriots, to shield her now! Fain as I am to avoid confiding power Without control, in even patriot hands, We cannot choose--and much as I abhor To see blood flow, let punishment descend On traitors' heads, for this alone can save us.

_Tallien_ (_approaching him_.) Thou aged fangless tiger! not yet glutted? Torrents of blood are shed for thee and thine-- Must thou have more? Descend--before I trample Thee to the earth. Thou art not fit to live. (_he drags Couthon down by the hair of his head and mounts the Tribune_.) (_addressing the Convention_.) Yes, citizens, our country is imperiled, And by a band of dark conspirators, Soul-hardened miscreants, in whose grasp the ties That bind mankind together are rent asunder By spies--by fraud--by hope of power and spoils-- By baser fears, and by increasing terror Of their dread engine, whose incessant strokes And never failing stream astound mankind. These men have pav'd the way, that open force May crush the hopes of France, and bend our necks Unto a despotism strange as bloody. And who, my countrymen, hath been their leader? Ye know him well--and every Frenchman breathing Hath need to rue the hour which gave _him_ birth-- A wretch accursed in heaven--abhorred on earth, Hath dared aspire to sway most absolute In this Republic--and the dread tribunals Which for the land's protection were established When pressed by foreign arms and homebred treason, He hath converted to the deadly end Of slaughtering all who crossed his onward path. His black intrigues have occupied their seats With robbers and assassins--whose foul riot, Polluted lives, and unquenched thirst of gold, Have beggar'd France and murdered half her sons. Witness those long--long lists of dire proscription Prepar'd at night for every coming day, Even in the very chamber of the tyrant! Witness the wanton, groundless confiscations, Which ruin helpless men, to feed his minions! Witness the cry of woe too great to bear, That hath gone up to heaven from this fair land! Yes--hear it, every man who loves his country-- France, for a ruler now, is ask'd to choose The vampire who would drain her dearest blood: A sordid slave, whose hideous form contains A mind in moral darkness and fierce passions Like nothing, save the cavern gloom of hell, Which knows no light but its consuming fires! I need not point to him. Your looks of terror, Disgust and hatred turn at once upon him. Though there be others of his name, this Hall-- This City--France--the World itself contains Only one--Robespierre. (_the Assembly in great confusion_.)

_Robes._ (_to St. Just_.) This blow is sudden.

_St. Just._--Up to the Tribune--speed--your life--our power All hang upon a moment. Art thou dumb?

_Tallien_ (_continuing_.) The evil spirit who serv'd abandons him, And I denounce him as the mortal foe Of every man in France who would be free-- Impeach him as a traitor to the State In league with Henriot, Couthon and St. Just. To overawe by force and crush the Assembly! I appeal for proof to those who plotted with him, But now repentant have abjur'd his cause. I move that he be instantly arrested With Henriot and all accomplices.

_Robes._ (_to St. Just_.) See how they rise like fiends and point the hand Of bitterest hatred at your head and mine, Our veriest bloodhounds turn and strive to rend us. (_he rushes towards the Tribune, amid loud cries of "Down with the tyrant!"_)

_Robes._--Hear me, ye members of the Mountain--hear me, Cordeliers, who have prais'd and cheer'd me on-- Ye Girondists, give even your foes a hearing-- Ye members of the Plain, who moderate The fury of contending factions--hear me For all I have done or have designed to do, I justify myself--and I appeal To God--and---- (_he pauses choked with rage_.)

_Tallien._--Danton's blood is strangling him. Consummate hypocrite!--darest thou use Thy Maker's name to sanctify thy crimes, Thou lover of Religion! Saintly being! The executioner! thou prayerless atheist! To thy high priest. The scaffold is thy temple-- The block thy altar--murder is thy God. And could it come to this? Oh, France! Oh, France! Was it for this that Louis Capet died? For this was it we swore eternal hatred To kings and nobles--pour'd our armies forth-- Crush'd banded despots and confirmed our rights? And have we bled, endur'd and toil'd, that now Our triumph should be to disgrace ourselves And bend in worship to a man whose deeds Have written demon on his very brow? What! style Dictator--clothe with regal honors And more than regal power this Robespierre, So steep'd in guilt--so bath'd in human blood! It may not be--France is at last awake From this long dreary dream of shame and sorrow, And may her sons in renovated strength Shake off the lethargy that drew it on! Spirits of Earth's _true_ heroes!--if ye see us From the calm sunshine of your blest abodes, Look with approval on me in this hour! (_turning to the statue of Brutus_.) Thee, I invoke!--Shade of the virtuous Brutus! Like thee, I swear, should man refuse me justice I draw this poignard for the tyrant's heart Or for my own. Tallien disdains to live The slave of Robespierre. I do not ask Nor can expect him to receive the meed Which should be his. Death cannot punish him Whose life hath well deserv'd a thousand deaths, But let us purge this plague-spot from among us, {308} And tell wide Europe by our vote this night That Terror's reign hath ceas'd--that axe and sceptre Are both alike disown'd, destroyed forever. Let us impeach him, Frenchmen, with the spirit That springs from conscious rectitude of purpose. Patriots arise! and with uplifted hands Attest your deep abhorrence of this man, And your consent that he be now arrested! (_members rising in disorder_.) Away, away with him--arrest him guards! To the Conciergerie--away with him!

(_President rising._) The National Convention have decreed The arrest of Maximilien Robespierre.

_Robes._ (_to St. Just_.) The day is theirs--with wrath and with despair My utterance is chok'd. Oh, were my breath A pestilential gale to sting their lives! (_to the President_.) Order me to be slain where now I stand, Or grant me liberty of speech.

(_President_.) Thy name is Robespierre--it is enough, And speaks for thee far more than thou wilt tell us.

_Robes._ (_to St. Just_.) Come thou with me--I see an opening yet To victory, or a funeral pile--whose light Shall dazzle France and terrify the world. (_Robespierre, St. Just and others taken out by the guards_.[2])

[Footnote 2: It may be well to recall to the reader's recollection, that Robespierre subsequently escaped from his guards to the Hotel de Ville. But such partisans as rallied around him speedily deserted, when a proclamation of outlawry from the Convention was issued against him, and enforced by pointing cannon against the building. After an ineffectual attempt at suicide he was conveyed in a cart to the guillotine, July 28th, 1794.

The language put into his mouth in the following pages, is of course inconsistent with historical probability, as he had wounded himself with a pistol ball in the lower part of his face.]

SCENE V.

ROBESPIERRE AND ST. JUST IN A CART CONDUCTED BY GUARDS TOWARDS THE PLACE DE GRÊVE.

_St. Just._--So here ends our part in a tragic farce, Hiss'd off the stage, my friend--ha, ha! (_laughing_.) I am content--I mean I am resigned-- As well die now as later. Does your wound Pain you severely that you look so gravely? Cheer thee, my comrade, we shall quickly learn The last dread secret of our frail existence, Few moments more will cut our barks adrift Upon an ocean, boundless and unknown, Even to ourselves who have despatched so many To explore for us its dark and fathomless depths. Give me some wine. (_they give him wine_.) Here's to a merry voyage! What in the fiend's name art thou musing on!

_Robes._--My thoughts were with the past--the days of youth, And peace, and innocence, and woman's love, And ardent hope--the blossoms of a life So baleful in its fruits. This day, the last Of my career, is the anniversary Of one, from which my after life may date Its withering influence. Wouldst thou not think That I, whom thou hast known for a few years, Must ever have been, even from my earliest youth, A hard and cruel man?

_St. Just._--Much like myself. I think you were no saint even when a child.

_Robes._--Such is the common blunder of the world To think me, like the demon they believe in, From the beginning, "murderer and liar;" So let it be--I would not change their thoughts. But I, St. Just, strange as it seems to you, Even I, whose name, even in this age of crime, Must stand aloft alone a blood-red beacon And warning to posterity, was once Young, warm, enthusiastic, generous, Candid, affectionate, a son and brother, But proud and sensitive. I lov'd a maid-- Yes, if entire and all-absorbed devotion Of life and soul and being to her, were love-- If to be willing to lay down my life, My hopes of fame and honorable notice, And all the world holds dear, for her dear sake, May be call'd love, then I most truly lov'd her. I was a thriving lawyer, and could raise My voice without reward to shield the oppress'd, I lov'd my kind and bore a stainless name. (_a funeral crosses the street_.)

_St. Just_ (_to the officer_.) Whose obsequies are these, That look as if the dead one had _not_ perished By trying our Republican proscription, The guillotine?

_Officer._--'Tis Madame de la Harpe. Your worthy friend there sent his satellites To bring her to the bar of your tribunal, The high-soul'd lady sooner than be made A gaze for all the outcasts in the city, As you are now, hurl'd herself from a window.

_Robes._--How strange a meeting this! Ah! foolish woman, Had she but dar'd to live another day, She might have died at ninety in her bed, And I, who sought to escape her threatened doom, Baffled of self-destruction, could not die. (_they pass on_.) (_to St. Just_.) How small a thing may sometimes change the stream Of a man's life even to its source, to poison! A trifle scarcely worthy of a name, The sarcasms of a brute, while I was pleading An orphan's cause, convulsed the court with mirth, Marr'd all my rhetoric, and snatch'd the palm Of truth and justice from my eager grasp-- My wrath boil'd forth--with loud and fierce reproach I brav'd the judge, and thunder'd imprecations On all around. This passion ruin'd me. And she too laugh'd among that idiot throng-- Oh, tell not me of jealousy or hate Or hunger for revenge--no sting so fierce, So all tormenting to a proud man's soul As public ridicule from lips belov'd. Have they not rued it? Let yon engine tell: (_pointing to the scaffold in the distance_.) What I have been since then mankind have seen, But could they see the scorpion that hath fed Where once a heart beat in this breast of mine, They would not marvel at my past career. I quit the world with only one regret, {309} I would have shown them how the scrivener, Who with his tongue and pen hath rack'd this land, Could plague it with a sword. Had yonder cowards Who vainly hope to save themselves, but stood As prompt to follow me as I to lead them, Our faction would have rallied. Might the cries Of death and rapine through this blazing city Have been my funeral knell I had gladly died. Then had they seen my spirit whelm'd and crush'd, Yet gazing upward like the o'erthrown arch fiend To a _loftier_ seat than that from which he fell. But now----

_St. Just._--Regrets are useless! such as we May not join hands or say farewell, like others; But since we die together, let us face This reptile crowd, like men who've been their lords, And show them, though they slay, they cannot daunt Those who were born to sway their destinies. (_men and women surrounding the cart_.)