The open sea. Edgar Lee Masters

Already. Horror stares! You killed Marat.

       That is your place in Time: you killed Marat!

       You sneaked upon a great man, true man, weak

       From torture of disease, contracted serving

       Democracy, and slew him like a beast.

       Charlotte Corday, assassin! That’s your place,

       And character in history.

      Charlotte

      Let it be.

       Assassin. Well, assassins kill assassins:

       The words repel, destroy each other, sir.

       If any grieve for me I beg of them

       To think of me in the Elysian Fields

       With Brutus and the heroes.

      Chaveau-Lagarde

      Gentlemen!

       The deed’s admitted. What to say, but ask

       Your clemency? The girl’s fanatical.

       The prosecutor argues well for me

       In saying that a lie corrupted her,

       And maddened her to act; which is to say

       If that lie were a truth, she had the right

       To slay Marat. With this regard Voltaire,

       Great minds before him, painted Brutus great

       Because he slew a tyrant. But if Cæsar

       Was not a tyrant, how does Brutus stand

       But mad-man who believed, was honest, slew

       In honesty of heart? Then what’s the case?

       To punish for ill-judging of the facts,

       Or mercy show for human frailty

       Of judgment and of vision? Great Marat

       Has done his work, and left his legacy.

       We cannot help him, meting death for death.

       And would his noble spirit ask her death?

       Think of it! You will answer no, I think.

       He would say: kill the ideas of Caen,

       The world which fires these Charlottes with a lie.

       Smallpox is deadly as a butcher knife,

       He had to die. The syllabus is death

       In this our human logic: what’s the odds

       What premises produce conclusions? Knives,

       Consumptions, fevers, wars? We may be gods

       Withholding death where we have power to kill;

       Withhold it saying: She mistook, believed

       A lie, was faultless for believing it,

       And slew believing. Were it truth and all

       Believed we would applaud, as nations war,

       Bound in a common vision of one truth.

       The Revolution, France, will lose not, rather

       Gain by this clemency; ’twill lift a light,

       First in the world, of reason, justice purged

       Of hatred’s refuse: vengeance, fear, all passions

       Of bitterness of soul. We worship Reason,

       And this is Reason.

      Charlotte

      You have done your part

       And served me well. I thank you.

      The Jury

      Let her join

       Brutus in the Elysian Fields. We say:

       The guillotine!

      The Mob

      (Outside) To the guillotine! To the guillotine!

      Charlotte

      I am content.

A MAN CHILD IS BORN

       (February 12th, 1809. Log Hut near Hodgenville, Ky.) (A neighbor woman is talking)

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