The evil destiny surprised my brother Too suddenly he could not think on them.
Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment! The Emperor is appeased; the heavy fault Hath heavily been expiated-nothing Descended from the father to the daughter, Except his glory and his services. The Empress honors your adversity, Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you Her motherly arms! Therefore no farther fears; Yield yourself up in hope and confidence To the Imperial Grace!
COUNTESS (with her eye raised to heaven) To the grace and mercy of a greater Master Do I yield up myself Where shall the body Of the Duke have its place of final rest? In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found At Gitschin, rest the Countess Wallenstein; And by her side, to whom he was indebted For his first fortunes, gratefully he wish'd He might sometime repose in death! O let him Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor Is now proprietor of all our Castles.
This sure may well be granted us-one sepulchre Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers!
[He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.
To the Prince Piccolomini.
[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sud den anguish, raises his eyes to heaven.
ACCEPT, as a small testimony of my grateful attach- ment, the following Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavored to detail, in an interesting form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a dis- The tempest gathers—be it mine to seek astrous lustre on his name. In the execution of the A friendly shelter, ere it bursts upon him. work, as intricacy of plot could not have been at- tempted without a gross violation of recent facts, it has been my sole aim to imitate the impassioned and highly figurative language of the French Orators, and to develop the characters of the chief actors on a vast stage of horrors.
JESUS COLLEGE, September 22, 1794.
But where? and how? I fear the Tyrant's soul--- Sudden in action, fertile in resource, And rising awful 'mid impending ruins; 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. I know he scorns me-and I feel, I hate him- Yet there is in him that which makes me tremble! [Exit.
And shall I dread the soft luxurious Tallien? Th' Adonis Tallien? banquet-hunting Tallien? Him, whose heart flutters at the dice-box? Him, Who ever on the harlots' downy pillow Resigns his head impure to feverish slumbers!
I cannot fear him-yet we must not scorn him. Was it not Antony that conquer'd Brutus, Th' Adonis, banquet-hunting Antony?
1 mark'd him well. I met his eye's last glance; It menaced not so proudly as of yore. Methought he would have spoke-but that he dared The state is not yet purified: and though
Such agitation darken'd on his brow.
"Twas all-distrusting guilt that kept from bursting Th' imprison'd secret struggling in the face: E'en as the sudden breeze upstarting onwards Hurries the thunder-cloud, that poised awhile Hung in mid air, red with its mutinous burthen.
Perfidious Traitor!-still afraid to bask 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 Shine like the powerless sun on polar ice: To all attach'd, by turns deserting all, Cunning and dark-a necessary villain!
Yet much depends upon him-well you know With plausible harangue 't is his to paint 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.
O what a precious name is Liberty
To scare or cheat the simple into slaves!
Yes we must gain him over: by dark hints We'll show enough to rouse his watchful fears, Till the cold coward blaze a patriot.
O Danton! murder'd friend! assist my counsels- Hover around me on sad memory's wings, And pour thy daring vengeance in my heart. Tallien! if but to-morrow's fateful sun Beholds the Tyrant living-we are dead!
Yet his keen eye that flashes mighty meanings
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. Enter ROBESPIERRE, COUTHON, ST-JUST, and ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR.
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? What! did th' assassin's dagger aim its point Vain, as a dream of murder, at my bosom?
The stream runs clear, yet at the bottom lies The thick black sediment of all the factions- It needs no magic hand to stir it up!
O we did wrong to spare them-fatal error! Why lived Legendre, when that Danton died? And Collot d'Herbois dangerous in crimes? I've fear'd him, since his iron heart endured To make of Lyons one vast human shambles, Compared with which the sun-scorch'd wilderness Of Zara were a smiling paradise.
Rightly thou judgest, Couthon! He is one, Who flies from silent solitary anguish, Seeking forgetful peace amid the jar Of elements. The howl of maniac uproar Lulls to sad sleep the memory of himself. A calm is fatal to him-then he feels The dire upboilings of the storm within him. A tiger mad with inward wounds.I dread The fierce and restless turbulence of guilt.
Is not the commune ours? The stern tribunal? Dumas? and Vivier? Fleuriot? and Louvet? And Henriot? We'll denounce a hundred, nor Shall they behold to-morrow's sun roll westward.
Nay-I am sick of blood; my aching heart Reviews the long, long train of hideous horrors That still have gloom'd the rise of the republic. I should have died before Toulon, when war Became the patriot!
Most unworthy wish! He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitors, Would be himself 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 battleYet 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!
Beware! already do the sections murmur-"O the great glorious patriot, RobespierreThe tyrant guardian of the country's freedom
"Twere folly sure to work great deeds by halves Much I suspect the darksome fickle heart Of cold Barrere !
I see the villain in him! ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR.
If he-if all forsake thee-what remains?
So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtues Bloom on the poisonous branches of ambition! Still, Robespierre! thou 'lt guard thy country's freedom To despotize in all the patriot's pomp. While Conscience, 'mid the mob's applauding clamors, 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.
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
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? [Exit COUTHON. 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,
Enter ROBESPIERRE and BARRERE.
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.
Or, like a frighted child behind its mother, Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of—Mercy!
prodigality of eloquent anger!
Why now I see thou 'rt weak-thy case is desperate The cool ferocious Robespierre turn'd scolder!
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 me, Languid and sad drag their slow course along, And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings. But I will steal away these anxious thoughts By the soft languishment of warbled airs, If haply melodies may lull the sense Are the sections friendly? Of sorrow for a while.
Ah! rather let me ask what mystery lowers On Tallien's darken'd brow. Thou dost me wrong- Thy soul distemper'd, can my heart be tranquil?
Tell me, by whom thy brother's blood was spilt? Asks he not vengeance on these patriot murderers? It has been borne too tamely. Fears and curses Groan on our midnight beds, and e'en our dreams Threaten the assassin hand of Robespierre. He dies!-nor has the plot escaped his fears.
Tallien! was this a time for amorous conference? Henriot, the tyrant's most devoted creature, Marshals the force of Paris: the fierce club, With Vivier at their head, in loud acclaim Have sworn to make the guillotine in blood Float on the scaffold.-But who comes here? Enter BARRERE abruptly.
Say, are ye friends to Freedom? I am her's! Let us, forgetful of all common feuds, Rally around her shrine! E'en now the tyrant Concerts a plan of instant massacre !
Away to the Convention! with that voice So oft the herald of glad victory,
Rouse their fallen spirits, thunder in their ears The names of tyrant, plunderer, assassin! The violent workings of my soul within Anticipate the monster's blood?
[Cry from the street of "No Tyrant! Down with the Tyrant!"
ye that outcry?-If the trembling members Even for a moment hold his fate suspended, I swear, by the holy poniard that stabb'd Cæsar, This dagger probes his heart!
SCENE.-The Convention. ROBESPIERRE (mounts the Tribune). Once more befits it that the voice of Truth, Fearless in innocence, though leaguer'd round By Envy and her hateful brood of hell, Be heard amid this hall; once more befits The patriot, whose prophetic eye so oft Has pierced through faction's veil, to flash on crimes Of deadliest import. Mouldering in the grave Sleeps Capet's caitiff corse; my daring hand Levell'd to earth his blood-cemented throne, My voice declared his guilt, and stirr'd up France To call for vengeance. I too dug the grave Where sleep the Girondists, detested band! Long with the show of freedom they abused Her ardent sons. Long time the well-turn'd phrase The high-fraught sentence, and the lofty tone Hate him as they fear him, of declamation, thunder'd in this hall,
Yet-yet-be cautious! much I fear the Commune- The tyrant's creatures, and their fate with his Fast link'd in close indissoluble union. The Pale Convention-
Impatient of the chain, resolved and ready.
Th' enthusiast mob, Confusion's lawless sons
They are aweary of his stern morality, The fair-mask'd offspring of ferocious pride. The sections too support the delegates : All-all is ours! e'en now the vital air Of Liberty, condensed awhile, is bursting (Force irresistible!) from its compressure- To shatter the arch-chemist in the explosion!
Till reason 'midst a labyrinth of words Perplex'd, in silence seem'd to yield assent. I durst oppose. Soul of my honor'd friend! Spirit of Marat, upon thee I call-
Thou know'st me faithful, know'st with what wa.
I urged the cause of justice, stripp'd the mask From Faction's deadly visage, and destroy'd Her traitor brood. Whose patriot arm hurl'd down Hebert and Rousin, and the villain friends Of Danton, foul apostate! those, who long Mask'd Treason's form in Liberty's fair garb,
Long deluged France with blood, and durst defy Omnipotence! but I, it seems, am false! I am a traitor too! I-Robespierre! I-at whose name the dastard despot brood
Look pale with fear, and call on saints to help them! Who dares accuse me? who shall dare belie My spotless name? Speak, ye accomplice band, Of what am I accused of what strange crime Is Maximilian Robespierre accused,
That through this hall the buzz of discontent Should murmur? who shall speak?
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?
I did for I thought them honest. And Heaven forefend that vengeance ere should strike Ere justice doom'd the blow.
Traitor, thou didst. Yes, the accomplice of their dark designs, Awhile didst thou defend them, when the storm Lower'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 Dishonor 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.
Brother, by my soul More dear I hold thee to my heart, that thus With me thou darest to tread the dangerous path Of virtue, than that Nature twined her cords Of kindred round us.
Yes, allied in guilt, Even as in blood ye are. Oh, thou worst wretch, Thou worse than Sylla! hast thou not proscribed, Yea, in most foul anticipation slaughter'd, Each patriot representative of France?
Was not the younger Cæsar too to reign O'er all our valiant armies in the south, And still continue there his merchant wiles?
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 Waved 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 smiled Amid the bloody banquet? when appall'd, The hireling sons of England spread the sail
« AnteriorContinuar » |