Literary Remains | Page 5

a traitor, were he not A coward! 'Tis
congenial souls alone Shed tears of sorrow for each other's fate. O, thou
art brave, my brother! and thine eye Full firmly shines amid the
groaning battle-- Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pity Asserts too
large a share, an ill-timed guest! There is unsoundness in the
state--to-morrow Shall see it cleansed 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 heart Of 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 soul And 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. Manet Couthon.]
COUTHON. So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtues Bloom 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
suspend The 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 machine To bribe
them to their duty.--English patriots! Are not the congregated clouds of

war Black all around us? In our very vitals Works not the king-bred
poison of rebellion? Say, what shall counteract the selfish plottings Of
wretches, cold of heart, nor awed by fears Of him, whose power directs
th' eternal justice? Terror? or secret-sapping gold? The first. Heavy, but
transient as the ills that cause it; And to the virtuous patriot render'd
light By 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 them
Blush 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
streets Of Paris red-eyed Massacre, o'er wearied, Reel'd heavily,
intoxicate with blood? And when (O heavens!) in Lyons' death-red
square Sick 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! Now
Aloof 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 blow,
Reserves the whetted dagger for his own. Denounced twice--and twice
I sav'd his life!
[Exit.]
BARRERE. The Sections will support them--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 Tuilleries--with him, Legendre-- In deep
discourse they seem'd: as I approach'd He waved his hand, as bidding
me retire: I did not interrupt him.
[Returns the letter.]
ADELAIDE. Thou didst rightly.
[Exit Servant.]
O this new freedom! at how dear a price We've bought the seeming
good! The peaceful virtues And 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