Soon after they arrived in that new world, 70
In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat,
And all alone set sail by silent moonlight
Up a great river, great as any sea,
And ne’er was heard of more: but ‘tis supposed,
He lived and died among the savage men. 75
THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE
TO
H. MARTIN, ESQ.
OF
JESUS COLLEGE
CAMBRIDGE
DEAR SIR,
Accept, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the following
Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavoured to detail, in an interesting
form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a disastrous
lustre on his name. In the execution of the work, as intricacy of plot
could not have been attempted without a gross violation of recent facts,
it has been my sole aim to imitate the empassioned and highly figurative
language of the French orators, and to develope the characters of the
chief actors on a vast stage of horrors.
Yours fraternally,
S. T. COLERIDGE.
JESUS COLLEGE, September 22, 1794.
ACT I
SCENE — The Thuilleries.
Barrere. The tempest gathers — be it mine to seek
A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him.
But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant’s soul —
Sudden in action, fertile in resource,
And rising awful ‘mid impending ruins; 5
In splendor gloomy, as the midnight meteor,
That fearless thwarts the elemental war.
When last in secret conference we met,
He scowl’d upon me with suspicious rage,
Making his eye the inmate of my bosom. 10
I know he scorns me — and I feel, I hate him —
Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble! [Exit.
Enter TALLIEN and LEGENDRE.
Tallien. It was Barrere, Legendre! didst thou mark him?
Abrupt he turn’d, yet linger’d as he went,
And towards us cast a look of doubtful meaning. 15
Legendre. I mark’d him well. I met his eye’s last glance;
It menac’d not so proudly as of yore.
Methought he would have spoke — but that he dar’d not —
Such agitation darken’d on his brow.
Tallien. ‘Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from bursting 20
Th’ imprison’d secret struggling in the face:
E’en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwards
Hurries the thundercloud, that pois’d awhile
Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous burthen.
Legendre. Perfidious Traitor! — still afraid to bask 25
In the full blaze of power, the rustling serpent
Lurks in the thicket of the Tyrant’s greatness,
Ever prepared to sting who shelters him.
Each thought, each action in himself converges;
And love and friendship on his coward heart 30
Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice;
To all attach’d, by turns deserting all,
Cunning and dark — a necessary villain!
Tallien. Yet much depends upon him — well you know
With plausible harangue ‘tis his to paint 35
Defeat like victory — and blind the mob
With truth-mix’d falsehood. They led on by him,
And wild of head to work their own destruction,
Support with uproar what he plans in darkness.
Legendre. O what a precious name is Liberty 40
To scare or cheat the simple into slaves!
Yes — we must gain him over: by dark hints
We’ll shew enough to rouse his watchful fears,
Till the cold coward blaze a patriot.
O Danton! murder’d friend! assist my counsels — 45
Hover around me on sad Memory’s wings,
And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart.
Tallien! if but tomorrow’s fateful sun
Beholds the Tyrant living — we are dead!
Tallien. Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty meanings — 50
Legendre. Fear not — or rather fear th’ alternative,
And seek for courage e’en in cowardice —
But see — hither he comes — let us away!
His brother with him, and the bloody Couthon,
And high of haughty spirit, young St. Just. [Exeunt. 55
Enter ROBESPIERRE, COUTHON, ST. JUST, and ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR.
Robespierre. What? did La Fayette fall before my power?
And did I conquer Roland’s spotless virtues?
The fervent eloquence of Vergniaud’s tongue?
And Brissot’s thoughtful soul unbribed and bold?
Did zealot armies haste in vain to save them? 60
What! did th’ assassin’s dagger aim its point
Vain, as a dream of murder, at my bosom?
And shall I dread the soft luxurious Tallien?
Th’ Adonis Tallien? banquet-hunting Tallien?
Him, whose heart flutters at the dice-box? Him, 65
Who ever on the harlots’ downy pillow
Resigns his head impure to feverish slumbers!
St. Just. I cannot fear him — yet we must not scorn him.
Was it not Antony that conquer’d Brutus,
Th’ Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony? 70