Literary Remains | Page 7

and timid voice Of traitors murmur'd. I advised that law-- I justify it. It was wise and good.
BARRERE. Oh, wondrous wise, and most convenient too! I have long mark'd thee, Robespierre--and now Proclaim thee traitor--tyrant!
[Loud applauses.]
ROBESPIERRE. It is well;--I am a traitor! oh, that I had fallen When Regnault lifted high the murderous knife; Regnault, the instrument, belike of those Who now themselves would fain assassinate, And legalize their murders. I stand here An isolated patriot--hemm'd around By faction's noisy pack; beset and bay'd By the foul hell-hounds who know no escape From justice' outstretch'd arm, but by the force That pierces through her breast.
[Murmurs, and shouts of --Down with the tyrant!]
ROBESPIERRE. Nay, but I will be heard. There was a time When Robespierre began, the loud applauses Of honest patriots drown'd the honest sound. But times are changed, and villany prevails.
COLLOT D'HERBOIS. No--villany shall fall. France could not brook A monarch's sway;--sounds the dictator's name More soothing to her ear?
BOURDON L'OISE. Rattle her chains More musically now than when the hand Of Brissot forged her fetters; or the crew Of Hebert thunder'd out their blasphemies, And Danton talk'd of virtue?
ROBESPIERRE. Oh, that Brissot Were here again to thunder in this hall,-- That Hebert lived, and Danton's giant form Scowl'd once again defiance! so my soul Might cope with worthy foes. People of France, Hear me! Beneath the vengeance of the law Traitors have perish'd countless; more survive: The hydra-headed faction lifts anew Her daring front, and fruitful from her wounds, Cautious from past defects, contrives new wiles Against the sons of Freedom.
TALLIEN. Freedom lives! Oppression falls--for France has felt her chains, Has burst them too. Who, traitor-like, stept forth Amid the hall of Jacobins to save Camille Desmoulins, and the venal wretch D'Eglantine?
ROBESPIERRE. I did--for I thought them honest. And Heaven forefend that vengeance e'er should strike, Ere justice doom'd the blow.
BARRERE. Traitor, thou didst. Yes, the accomplice of their dark designs, Awhile didst thou defend them, when the storm Lour'd at safe distance. When the clouds frown'd darker, Fear'd for yourself, and left them to their fate. Oh, I have mark'd thee long, and through the veil Seen thy foul projects. Yes, ambitious man, Self-will'd dictator o'er the realm of France, The vengeance thou hast plann'd for patriots, Falls on thy head. Look how thy brother's deeds Dishonour thine! He, the firm patriot; Thou, the foul parricide of Liberty!
ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR. Barrere--attempt not meanly to divide Me from my brother. I partake his guilt, For I partake his virtue.
ROBESPIERRE. Brother, by my soul, More dear I hold thee to my heart, that thus With me thou dar'st to tread the dangerous path Of virtue, than that nature twined her cords Of kindred round us.
BARRERE. Yes, allied in guilt, Even as in blood ye are. Oh, thou worst wretch, Thou worse than Sylla! hast thou not proscrib'd, Yea, in most foul anticipation slaughter'd Each patriot representative of France?
BOURDON L'OISE. Was not the younger Caesar too to reign O'er all our valiant armies in the south, And still continue there his merchant wiles?
ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR. His merchant wiles! Oh, grant me patience, heaven! Was it by merchant wiles I gain'd you back Toulon, when proudly on her captive towers Wav'd high the English flag? or fought I then With merchant wiles, when sword in hand I led Your troops to conquest? fought I merchant-like, Or barter'd I for victory, when death Strode o'er the reeking streets with giant stride, And shook his ebon plumes, and sternly smil'd Amid the bloody banquet? when appall'd The hireling sons of England spread the sail Of safety, fought I like a merchant then? Oh, patience! patience!
BOURDON L'OISE. How this younger tyrant Mouths out defiance to us! even so He had led on the armies of the south, Till once again the plains of France were drench'd With her best blood.
COLLOT D'HERBOIS. Till once again display'd Lyons' sad tragedy had call'd me forth The minister of wrath, whilst slaughter by Had bathed in human blood.
DUBOIS CRANCE. No wonder, friend, That we are traitors--that our heads must fall Beneath the axe of death! when Caesar-like Reigns Robespierre, 'tis wisely done to doom The fall of Brutus. Tell me, bloody man, Hast thou not parcell'd out deluded France As it had been some province won in fight Between your curst triumvirate. You, Couthon, Go with my brother to the southern plains; St. Just, be yours the army of the north; Meantime I rule at Paris.
ROBESPIERRE. Matchless knave! What--not one blush of conscience on thy cheek-- Not one poor blush of truth! most likely tale! That I, who ruin'd Brissot's towering hopes, I, who discover'd Hebert's impious wiles, And sharp'd for Danton's recreant neck the axe, Should now be traitor! had I been so minded, Think ye I had destroy'd