SCENE IV.
Reading edition
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?
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, 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)
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.