SCENE I.
Reading edition
ROBESPIERRE'S HOUSE. Robespierre and St. Just meeting.
St. Just.—Danton is gone!
Robespierre.—Then can I hope for all things, Since he is dead whose shadow darken'd me; Did the crowd cheer or hiss him?
St. Just.—Neither, sir: Save a few voices, all look'd on in silence.
Robes.—Ha! did they so?—but when the engine rattled, And the axe fell, didst thou perceive him shudder?
St. Just.—He turn'd his face to the descending steel, And calmly smil'd. A low and ominous murmur Spread through the vast assemblage—then, in peace, They all dispers'd.
Robes.—I did not wish for this.
St. Just.—No man, since Louis Capet——
Robes.—Say no more My worthy friend—the friend of France and freedom— Hasten to guard our interest in yon junto Of fools and traitors, who, like timid sheep, Nor fight nor fly, but huddle close together, Till the wolves come to gorge themselves among them— And in the evening, you and all my friends Will meet me here, deliberate, and decide To advance, or to recede. Be still, we cannot; And hear me, dear St. Just—A man like you, Firm and unflinching through so many trials, Who sooner would behold this land manured With carcases and moistened with their blood, Than yielding food for feudal slaves to eat, True to your party and to me your brother— For so I would be term'd—has the best claim That man can have to name his own reward When France is all our own. Bethink you then What post of honor or of profit suits you, And tell me early, that I may provide, To meet your views, a part in this great drama.
St. Just.—Citizen Robespierre—my hearty thanks; Financial Minister, by any name Or trumpery title that may suit these times, Is what I aim at—gratify me there And I am yours through more blood than would serve To float the L'Orient.1
1 A French line of battle ship. Burnt at the battle of Aboukir.
Robes.—'Tis well, St. Just, But wherefore citizen me? I have not used The term to you—we are not strangers here.
St. Just.—Pardon me, sir, (or Sire, even as you please) The cant of Jacobins infects my tongue, I had no meaning farther. One word more Before we part—now Danton is cut off, We may be sure that all his partisans And personal friends are our most deadly foes, And it were politic and kind in us To spare their brains unnumbered schemes of vengeance And seize at once the power to silence them. To give them time were ruin; some there are Whose love of gold is such that were it wet With Danton's blood they would not less receive it. These may be brib'd to league with us. Farewell.
Robes. (solus.) Blood on its base—upon its every step— Yea, on its very summit—still I climb: But thickest darkness veils my destiny, And standing as I do on a frail crag Whence I must make one desperate spring to power, To safety, honor, and unbounded wealth, Or be as Danton is, why do I pause? Why do I gaze back on my past career, Upon those piles of headless, reeking dead? Those whitening sculls? those streams of guiltless blood Still smoking to the skies?—why think I hear The shrieks, the groans, the smothered execrations That swell the breeze, or seem as if I shrank Beneath the o'ergrown, yet still accumulating, Curse of humanity that clings around me? Is not my hate of them as fixed, intense, And all unquenchable as theirs of me? But they must tremble in their rage while I Destroy and scorn them. (reads a letter.)
"Exert your dexterity to escape a scene on which you are to appear once more ere you leave it forever. Your dictatorial chair, if attained, will be only a step to the scaffold, through a rabble who will spit on you as on Egalité. You have treasure enough. I expect you with anxiety. We will enjoy a hearty laugh at the expense of a people as credulous as greedy of novelty."
He but little knows, Who wrote this coward warning, what I am. I love not life so well, nor hate mankind So slightly as to fly this country now: No, I will ride and rule the storm I have rais'd, Or perish in its fury. (Madame de Cabarus enters.) Ha! a woman! How entered you?
Lady.—Your civic guard were sleeping; I pass'd unquestioned, and my fearful strait Compels appeal to thee, great Robespierre! Deny me not, and Heaven will grant thy prayer In that dread hour when every mortal needs it. Repulse me not, and heaven thus at the last Will not repulse thee from eternal life. I am the daughter of the unhappy Laurens, Who hath but one day more to live on earth. Oh, for the sake of all thou holdest dear, (kneeling before him.) Spare to his only child the misery Of seeing perish thus her much lov'd sire. His head is white with age—let it not fall Beneath yon dreadful axe. Through sixty years A peaceful and reproachless life he led. Thy word can save him. Speak, oh speak that word, For our Redeemer's sake redeem his life, And child and father both shall bless thee ever.
Robes. (aside.) I know her now—the chosen of Tallien How beautiful in tears! A noble dame And worthy to be mine. 'Twould sting his heart To lose his mistress ere I take his head; If I would bribe her passions or her fears, As well I trust I can, I must be speedy. Those drunken guards—should any see her here, Then what a tale to spread on Robespierre, The chaste, the incorruptible, forsooth—— (coldly approaching her.) Lady, I may not save your father's life— Duty forbids—he holds back evidence Which would convict Tallien; nay, do not kneel, I cannot interfere.
Daughter.—Oh, say not so. He is too peaceful for intrigues or plotters— Too old, too helpless for their trust or aid. Oh, for the filial love thou bearest thy sire, Thy reverence for his years——
Robes.—If he were living And spoke in thy behalf, it were in vain.
Daughter.—For the dear mother's sake who gave thee birth And suffer'd agony that thou might'st live——
Robes.—Not if her voice could hail me from the tomb, And plead in thy own words to save his life.
Daughter.—If thou hast hope or mercy——
Robes.—I have neither. Rise and depart while you are safe—yet stay, One path to his redemption still is open— It leads to yonder chamber—Ha! I see Thou understandest me.
Daughter.—I trust I do not. I hope that Heaven beholds not—Earth contains not A being capable of such an offer.
Robes.—And dare you scorn me, knowing who I am? Bethink you where you stand—your sire—and lover— And hear my offer. Life and wealth for them, Jewels and splendor and supremacy Shall wait on thee—no dame shall breathe in France But bends the knee before thee.
Daughter.—Let him die. Better he perish now than live to curse His daughter for dishonor. Fare you well. There is a time for all things, and the hour May come when thou wilt think of this again.
Robes. (laughing.) Ha! ha! Wouldst thou depart to spread this tale? Never, save to such ears as will not trust thee! Choose on the spot between thy father's death, Thy lover's and thine own, or my proposal.
Daughter.—My choice is made, let me rejoin my sire.
Robes.—I'll furnish thee a passport—guards awake! (seizing her arm.) Without there! murder! treason! guards come hither! (Jacobins rush in and seize her.) A watchful crew ye are, to leave me thus To perish like Marât by the assassins; See that you guard her well, and keep this weapon Which, but I wrench'd it from her, would have slain me.
Daughter.—And thus my father dies and one as dear. 'Tis joy to suffer with them, though I perish. I feel assured thou canst not triumph long— And I adjure thee by the Heaven thou hast scorn'd, Whose lingering fires are not yet launch'd against thee, And by the Earth thou cumberest, which hath not Yet opened to entomb thee living, come, Meet me, and mine, and thy ten thousand victims, Before God's judgment seat, ere two days pass. (the guards take her out.)
Robes.—She must have thought in sooth I was a Christian.